SUPPLY AND DEMAND, for kyle.

[YSABEAU ROGIR]

I WAS OUT OF YOUR

LEAGUE, YOU WERE TWENTY THOUSAND UNDER THE SEA.

It seemed as though the gods had granted her wish at last: for the first time that day, Ysa was alone. Golden light (not the sun, though it was close to sunset outside - it did turn to night so quickly in the winter) fell across the keys of her instrument at the front of the room, far away from the single door on the other side. Her harsh shadow moved with her across the wallpaper, and but for it, she was the only one there. Well, that was alright with her. She didn't need any audience but herself - in fact, she rather preferred playing the piano when she was alone. Perhaps sing a song or two, or hum. Singing with her class, singing with another person, that was fine. It could be fun. But Ysa wasn't in the mood for just fun.

She'd pulled the blinds down. Drawn the flimsy old curtains. The lighting was dim, confined to a single desk lamp perched precariously atop the worn wooden piano Ysa now sat at, ankles crossed. The twenty-four-year-old (well, more than that, if you counted all of her other lives - but most people didn't) wasn't in the mood to be found. At least, not by someone she didn't feel like talking to. And she couldn't name, off the top of her head, anyone she did feel like talking to. Not a single soul. It was a pity, but it couldn't be helped. She'd been more than a bit snappish in her last class, and it was with relish that she'd mustered the energy to shepherd the last few students out the door. Some poor soul had left behind his things - a leather jacket, a thin folder of sheet music. She hadn't checked to see whose it was. Perhaps they'd come back later. (Perhaps not.) Ysabeau just didn't feel up to her normal self - and it wasn't just the cold, which she hated, even if it was more than a bit chilly.

The music room usually was, thanks to its less-than-optimal location tucked away at the bottom of a set of stairs, in what was essentially the dungeon of the school - a decent enough location to have windows along one side, but not particularly effective heat. Ysabeau was used to warning her students to wear layers in the winter, just like she had to warn them to strip down in the summer. Sadly, there was no such thing as a comfortable seventy degrees in her classroom. She did, of course, let the manipulators in her classes take advantage of their abilities. You knew to stay close to the fire manipulators in the winter, and the water- and air-affiliated ones in the summer. They were a sweet group in general, regardless of the stereotype that they were little more than enhanced humans. For her last birthday, a few of them had collaborated: flowers growing through her windows. Earth manipulators. They were probably her favorite. And they were the reason those same flowers hadn't yet withered away - because Ysa herself was, of course, terrible at taking care of plants. She didn't have a green thumb.

The Old One did, however, have quicksilver hands. Ysabeau leaned forward a bit and dragged her fingers across the keys, tenderly coaxing sound out of the instrument. Most of her students didn't love playing any instrument half as much as she did the piano. Most of her students didn't actually take the class for love of the subject, anyway, though, so she wasn't bothered. There were a few gems. Diamonds in the rough. And that was all she could hope for. That, and maybe that she wouldn't be too put-off by her mood to lose herself in the playing.

It wasn't even like Ysa was in a bad mood. That wasn't it. It was just...she had an itch. Not a literal one, because that was more than a bit disgusting. But she felt restless, uncomfortable in her own skin. A little unsettled, and by what she wasn't sure. Nothing terrible had happened recently. Nothing for her to squirm over, and she was hard to make squirm as it was. Probably - and she pulled away from the black and white keys to snort in disgust at the thought - she just needed a bit of excitement. Someone she could actually take interest in, who could make her perk up just a bit.

Ysabeau set upon the piano again, Probably, too, she was just having a fit of self-pity. Feeling sorry for yourself never ended well, and it was fairly repulsive. She pushed down the desire to wrinkle her nose in distaste at herself, and instead, lowered her eyelids and began to play from memory.

"Secret heart, what are you made of?" she sang, swaying a little as she spun out the notes. "What are you so afraid of?"

It was only after another minute or two, just as the twenty-four-year-old had finally begun to feel a little better and really play, that she heard the sharp creak of the door behind her. It made her stop playing almost immediately. Made her hands slip the wooden cover over the keys, made her bare feet slip back into her black pumps. Made her curl her fingers around the edge of the bench and glance over her shoulder to see who it was. Made her glance a second time (she was pleasantly surprised). But it also made her grin a bit, in a way that wasn't entirely appropriate, considering the person it was meant for.

"Well," she said, "hello there, darling. Did you come all the way down here just to visit me?"

ooc. ...oh bloody hell that turned out long. sorry!

TEMPLATE BY DAN IS AN ELDER @ CAUTION 2.0

[KYLE COHEN]

It had been a few days since Kyle had attended any of his classes. But, for once, it wasn't just him being a bad student, and ditching class to go drink or smoke or fuck or do any other considerably non-educational activity. For once, he actually had an excuse -- sickness. Granted, that sickness was probably due to the hard partying he had done the weekend before, but still, it was legitimate sickness.

Of course, having a reputation like his meant that people weren't all too inclined to believe him. When he went to the nurse's office in the morning complaining of a stomachache, her first reaction had been to eye him suspiciously and say,
"Mr. Cohen, if you're lying again to try and get out of taking a test--"

And that was all she managed to say before Kyle abruptly threw up all over her shirt. Well, served her right, in his opinion. She should've just believed him and avoided the problem. After that, she was far more inclined to help him out -- or at least shove some medicine at him and order him to stay in bed for a couple of days.

But, now he was completely better. He had been feeling fine since the day prior, but had decided he had definitely earned an extra day off -- and it wasn't like the nurse was going to try questioning him again. And after a day of lying around and being his usual lazy self, he had come up with the idea to go visit his hottest favorite teacher, the lovely Ms. Rogir. He was missing her gorgeous face, and he was fairly certain that the sentiment was returned.

So he showered and properly groomed for the first time in a couple of days (though he'd never admit that), put on some flattering clothes, and headed over.

Even before he was at the door, the telltale sound of music told him that he was getting close, the sounds of piano and singing creating a pleasant blend. It was enough to make him pause outside the door, not sure if it would be an unwanted interruption if he entered at that point. He considered leaving so that he wouldn't bother her, but the idea barely formed in his mind before he pushed it away. No, of course not. He was already there, and he wasn't about to turn back now. Besides -- as his overinflated ego assured him -- she would be happy to see him no matter what.

Encouraged by that thought, he pushed the door open, trying to enter as quietly as possible. It didn't work, though; the moment the door creaked open the music stopped, and Ysa turned to see him. He had the good grace to look at least slightly sheepish as he poked his head in. The sudden stop in the music, as well as the minimal lighting in the room, made him feel like he was intruding on something private, a moment not meant for his eyes. But her grin upon seeing him was enough to reassure him again, and he returned it with a bright smile of his own.

"Of course I did. Anything for my favorite teacher," he told her smoothly, taking a few steps into the classroom. "And I've missed your lovely face." He looked around, eyeing the drawn curtains and the sole lamp that was giving off light. It was strange, having the room so dark. It made it look like some kind of dungeon. Or the sex cave of some evil seductress trying to lure in innocent young men. "Plus, I wanted to tell you that I haven't been ditching the last couple of days... I mean, not that I would ever do that to you, of course," he added the last bit hastily, and then continued, "But yeah, I've actually been sick. Tragic, right?" He stuck out his lower lip and gave her a puppy-eyed pouting face, playing up the drama as much as he could.

Realizing he was rambling on a bit, he sat on a desk near the piano and waited for her to say something -- at least, he was planning on it, but he couldn't help but throw out one final sentence.

"Did you miss me too?"

[YSABEAU ROGIR]

I WAS OUT OF YOUR

LEAGUE, YOU WERE TWENTY THOUSAND UNDER THE SEA.

The twenty-four-year-old sat up a little straighter, leaning forward a bit and draping her arms prettily over her thighs, as he approached. The thought occurred to her that the setting was more than a bit ominous, the lighting in particular - but she hadn't been expecting company; and anyway, she rather liked it this dark. Better than the glaring brilliance of another stereotypical sunset, since . Sunsets were overrated in general, and they were never as beautiful as people made them out to be. Maybe sunrises were alright, but Ysabeau couldn't give an honest crap about a sunset except that it meant night was coming. And night was, of course, Ysa's favorite time of day, particularly in winter when everything was absolutely still. Couldn't hear a thing, because nothing was actually moving or making a sound. She couldn't sleep if there was noise. During the winter, she was the kind to constantly oversleep. Nearly miss her own class, as amusing as that sounded.

Speaking of missing classes - well. Ysa kept her dark eyes cast in Kyle's general direction, that same light-hearted smile playing across her lips, but she was more concerned with how often he'd been absent recently. Oh, it was good to see he was well. But she scolded herself mentally; she shouldn't have missed him as much as she had, shouldn't have glanced so often over at his empty seat. It was just so hard to regret it, though, not when he was right there. And he was one of her favorite students. Always had been. Even when he started getting sent to her classroom by the other teachers, as if to say, "I can't handle him - he likes you, you discipline him." She so rarely did, though. What was she going to do, put him in time-out? How distasteful.

But oh, he was a darling, wasn't he? Always throwing compliments at her, off-hand comments that tickled Ysabeau's fancy a right bit more than she knew they should've. He was only sixteen, after all. Seventeen. Somewhere around there - it was hard to tell; she'd heard the boy call himself a seventh year, but she was almost certain he wasn't. And of course he didn't look seventeen. He looked a bit, quite a bit, more refined than any scruffy teenager off the streets. Ysa liked that about him. No matter what age they were, men who knew how to dress themselves, and do it well, were always attractive, at least slightly. In Kyle's case, more than slightly, and he knew it. Flaunted it, really. But she didn't blame him for that. If anything the idiots were the ones who chased after him. Couldn't you tell, just by looking at him (and she was eying him up and down now, so she was speaking from personal experience), that he was the sort who couldn't be caught? Not in a serious relationship, anyway.

She reached up, exposing pale flesh for a moment as she rubbed the side of her neck casually. She'd meant to put her hair up that morning. Do something with it. But it was fine this way, falling around her shoulders. Long enough for her to curl a finger around as she let Kyle ramble on. "Lovely face," indeed. And she'd already known she was his favorite teacher. Or, at least, she liked to think so. But it was good to know he actually had some excuse for not showing up to class - it wasn't just that she'd actually missed him a little. It was also that she didn't really feel like punishing him for an unexcused leave of absence. And she didn't want to seem like too much of a softie, even if he probably already did know he was one of her favorites. It was okay to just wave him away when other teachers sent him to her, but when it was her class he was missing. Well. She took a bit of offense of that. Good boy, to have an excuse ready.

The smile widened, showed a bit of tooth, as Kyle's final question slipped out from his lips. Sweet boy. He would try a line like that on her. She knew there was only a fifty-fifty chance that it'd been calculated, as opposed to a spur-of-the-moment comment. But that was alright with her. He wasn't just a sweet boy. He was a smart one. Did he know she hadn't even bothered to mark him down for the work he'd missed? Probably not, but ah, well. Perhaps it'd be a pleasant surprise for him.

She stood reluctantly, tugging the hem of her black skirt down a little, smoothing down the thin white button-down tucked into the waistband. No need to go and inflate the boy's ego by throwing out a casual, "of course I did." Instead, Ysa walked by the desk he sat perched on, shoes clicking softly on the tile floor. As she passed by, she patted his thigh affectionately, grinning as she replied, without really answering his question, "Oh, don't fret, sweetheart. I wasn't worried. I know you can take care of yourself."

Reaching the other wall quickly, the music teacher fumbled for the lights, and they flickered to life. Better than any dowdy desk lamp, and she didn't want one of her favorite students to go bumbling around in the dark. He'd been sick, after all, and she didn't want to be the one who put him out of commission again right away. Humming again, softly, Ysabeau's hand fell to her side and she sat casually on the edge of her desk, conveniently situated right next to the light switch.

"I had some sweet girl in fifth year save all your sheet music and things. Made a folder for when you came back," she said absent-mindedly, shifting papers around the cluttered surface. Her hands moved quickly, saving one pile from toppling over and crushing the feeble-looking potted cactus on one side of the desk - a gift from a fellow teacher. Darling Evelyn. Ysa glanced up again, and paused. Her head tilted a little to the side, and she smiled indulgently, motioning for him to come closer.

"Come on, darling. Help me out. Have a heart, hmm? Your poor teacher can't even find what she needs on her own desk."

TEMPLATE BY DAN IS AN ELDER @ CAUTION 2.0

[KYLE COHEN]

Ahh, she was a sight for sore eyes. For once, Kyle's words weren't empty flattery spewed for the sake of earning favor; he actually had missed seeing her. And that sentiment was only made greater by the fact that he hadn't set eyes on a single female other than the nurse for the last three days. Even Kyle Cohen, self-proclaimed sex god, apparently couldn't find a girl to bring to bed while he was puking his guts out. But of course, he intended to make up for that. He was sure he could win at least a handful of girls into bed by using his absence to his advantage. He could easily come up with a story far more glamorous than the stomach flu, and gain enough sympathy that they would just have to spend the night with him. Getting pity fucks was fair play in his books -- but then again, there were very, very few things he actually considered 'beneath' him. He would do anything and everything to get a girl.

And that 'do anything and everything' policy certainly applied to Ms. Rogir, too. Yes, he would go to great lengths to get that fine woman into his bed -- if only he knew what to do. He would get on his knees and beg if he thought it would help, but he was fairly certain she would find that creepy and pathetic. He didn't want to try and grovel, he wanted to make himself seem more mature, which was the only reason he wasn't panting after her like an over-eager puppy... or, at least, he was trying not to.

It was just that she was so hard to read. A challenge, and that made her even more enticing. And she was fully demonstrating that trait at the moment, drawing out his wait for a reply as she walked over and patted his thigh -- which certainly got his attention -- only to leave him puzzled when she finally replied. It was the sort of answer that wasn't really an answer at all, a response that left him wondering how she really felt, and what she was implying by answering like that. But of course, he was too proud to ask what she meant by it.

And she was like that all the time, so infuriatingly hard to figure out. As if it wasn't enough that she was one of the most attractive people he had ever seen -- not to mention a teacher, which had always been a bit of a fetish for him -- but she was also a tease. Or, at least, he thought she was. He was blatant as could be with his compliments and flattery, but he found it impossible to tell whether she actually found him attractive or if she was just humoring him. She was always doing those little, teasing things, like patting him on the thigh as she walked by right then -- little touches, little glances, the tiniest of signs that he latched onto. But he could not figure out whether or not she was intentionally teasing him, or if he was only seeing what he wanted to see.

As the lights flickered on, he quickly smoothed out the perplexed crease in his forehead, hiding his thoughtful look and replacing it with his usual charming grin. He swiveled on the desk to face her, letting his gaze rake up her legs and torso in an all-too-obvious once-over before he finally looked up to her face. He stayed quiet and let his eyes follow her as she sat on the edge of her desk.

"Oh, of course, sorry," he said as soon as she asked him to help, standing up all too eagerly as she beckoned. He moved over to the desk and as close to the seated teacher as he could, and glanced over the contents of the desk in an attempt to find what she was looking for. "Messy, messy," he commented in a playfully chastising tone. "You know, if you need someone to help clean up and organize, I wouldn't mind coming in after class sometimes..."

He spotted a promising-looking folder half-buried under other papers, and leaned across her in order to point it out. He pressed closer to her in the effort to reach it, and let his fingertips brush teasingly across one of her hands on the way to resting on the corner of the folder.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, and glanced up at her, one corner of his mouth curling into a rather mischievous grin.

[YSABEAU ROGIR]

I WAS OUT OF YOUR

LEAGUE, YOU WERE TWENTY THOUSAND UNDER THE SEA.

Ysabeau hadn’t stopped looking. She liked to think that the best part of not having to be precisely and absolutely organized - file cabinets, colored tabs, they just weren't for her - was that she knew where things were anyway. She knew where she'd set down this binder or that stack of sheet music, because she trusted herself more than any old alphabetical filing system. She was just used to relying on memory instead of patterned labels or something of the sort. Now, however, it seemed as though this method had failed her - because there was nowhere else this folder could have gone. It wasn't as though it could've grown legs and walked away. No student of hers, even the gifted ones, could do that. (And she hoped they wouldn't either, because that was, quite bluntly put, just not fucking cool.)

That didn't change the situation, though: the easily annoyed twenty-four-year-old's attention was quickly taken by the task of finding the folder she'd set aside. Ysa only looked up once, but her good timing rewarded her: she hadn't seen the change in his facial expression, from perplexed to confident. She had, in fact, noticed the appreciative gaze he'd cast at her figure (but she would never have commented on it, though; it was flattering, but she didn't want to go begging for more complimentary gestures). And still, she almost hadn't heard his quickly offered apology for having to be prompted to help, had definitely not noticed as he started to walk towards her desk. But what she couldn't ignore was his closeness, his body suddenly right there. Some sweet smell (did he wear cologne?), almost sickly but not quite (otherwise she would've moved away at once). Rather nice, actually.

She let him stay there, even managing a murmured, "Thank you, my dear," as she continued to move things about. The desk was cramped, even more so than it had been before, but that was alright. Whatever he liked; the poor boy was a flirt, always had been, and it wasn't as though she was really...well. She was tempted. But she knew better than that. So even when he offered to come after class, his tone light-hearted and teasing, the twenty-four-year-old only let a bemused chuckle escape her red lips. He would offer, wouldn't he? Her lip curled, and she shifted a little, her hand moving to ruffle his hair. But before she had a chance to, he'd moved, and she had to pull back a little to get out of his way.

"How sweet," Ysa replied. "But I wouldn't want to take up too much of your time, darling. Your girlfriend" - as if he had one, at least not a serious one, "might get jealous."

She didn't get a chance to say much else though, because it was then that Kyle found (finally; she'd been on the verge of getting particularly annoyed, and she didn't want to have to take it out on one of her favorite students) the right folder. Ysa knew it right away when she saw it, and inwardly chastised herself for having passed it over when she'd saved Evelyn's miniature cactus from being crushed by sheet music. The brunette lit up, smiling as she tugged it gently from his hands and opened it.

"Ah, you're right, darling," she said, upon catching sight of his name written in her own spidery handwriting. "This is it. Bless your good eyesight."

Ysa looked back up. Considered it for the briefest of moments, but her mind made itself up really right away. Wasn’t hard to. The boy deserved it. He could've just wheedled a free pass out of her; he probably knew he could've. He was one of her favorites, after all. Did everyone know it except him? She didn't know whether the notion was amusing or disappointing. She thought he was a smart boy. And smart and oblivious were two extremely conflicting adjectives. Surely if she didn't enjoy his company, she would've kicked him out by now. Told him she'd have the new piece she'd asked students to practice for him tomorrow, maybe because she had yet to run off enough copies or some other half-assed excuse. She could've. But she hadn't, and that made all the difference. So maybe it still wasn't alright for her to lean in, fingers brushing the left side of his face as she reached to press a quick kiss on his right cheek.

But Ysa did anyway.

TEMPLATE BY DAN IS AN ELDER @ CAUTION 2.0