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Post by thatcher owen finley on Feb 29, 2012 0:57:51 GMT -5
Thatcher looked down at her, raising an indifferent eyebrow. He tossed the crushed can in the trash, his gaze washing over her again. He had the urge to reach out and put her cigarette out for being a bitch about her running into him, but he decided not to. "'Kay." He said with a shrug, walking back to his room as slow as he possibly could. He learned a long time ago that rushing had no point. He rounded the corner, walking over his desk. He grabbed the tests he needed to grade, and walked over to the shelves again. He climbed them, sitting at the very top. He pulled his pen from his pocket and began looking over the tests, marking the wrong answers. He did this a little faster than he walked, considering the children weren't fond of not getting their grades back in a timely manner. And he didn't expect late work. So he gave them what he would like in return.
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Post by reagan tanis burke on Feb 29, 2012 1:06:38 GMT -5
The look he gave her made her want to apologize, but that just pissed her off more. She apologized for nothing, to no one. She wanted to put her cigarette out in those pretty eyes of his, but resisted the urge as he walked past her. She turned to watch him go, admiring his body, or what she could make out of it in those clothes. As she looked her cigarette crept up to her fingers, burning her slightly. With a startled yelp she threw it down and snuffed it out with a boot before a yell from behind caught her attention.
"Damnit," the word was soft, a whisper as she took off back down the hallway, dipping into the music room to hide, not seeing Thatcher sitting on top of the shelves. She eased the door closed and crouched down under the window, waiting for the guard to pass before standing and smoothing out her skirt. Her elbow brushed against the guitar and she pulled it around quickly to inspect it for damage. She let her fingers glide over it, caressing the black wood.
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Post by thatcher owen finley on Feb 29, 2012 1:17:15 GMT -5
He watched the girl come in and duck under the window. The security guard stopped and looked in. Thatcher pointed in the opposite direction and he started walking back that way. He wasn't a rat. He never had been. Some bad genes had fucked him over was all. He assumed the girl didn't see him sitting up there. Most people didn't unless he was moving. Or you were his student. It was the second place you looked for Thatcher- his desk then the shelves.
"If you break it, you may as well shoot the boy. That's his baby." He said from where he was sitting, watching her for a moment before he went back to the papers he was grading. Who's instrument /wasn't/ their baby, was the question. Thatcher treated his drums like he treated his piano and his bass and his fish, with a special care he had only shown Deacon. When the boy could be touched, that was. He wasn't always the way he was now.
"If you wanna fuck around with a guitar, get one out of the closet and don't mess with Marc's. He's bound to get pissed." He said flatly, never raising his gaze.
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Post by reagan tanis burke on Feb 29, 2012 1:33:56 GMT -5
Reagan looked up, eyes wide in surprise. She hadn't seen him come in, and she sure hadn't seen him up there when she came in to hide. Her look of surprise quickly became one of contempt though. Did he take her for an idiot? She knew how much this meant to Marc, was even somewhat surprised he'd asked her to come get it.
"He knows I play it. He's caught me." She pulled it from her shoulder though and placed it gently on the desk, sheepishly walking into the closet he had pulled the guitar from earlier. She was awed by the guitars he had in there. She couldn't afford her own, could barely afford rent as it were. Choosing one she slipped it from it's perch and sat down on the floor, tucking her legs under her. Just because she looked like a whore didn't mean she was one. She played some notes experimentally, getting a feel for the instrument. Once she was satisfied she sang softly under her breath and played, getting caught up in the music.
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Post by thatcher owen finley on Feb 29, 2012 1:41:53 GMT -5
Thatcher paid her no attention, just continued on grading the papers. After awhile, he climbed down off the shelf, walking back over to his desk. He sat those papers down and grabbed another stack. It was up the shelves again, and he sat there, his legs hanging off the edge as he started to grade those papers. He went through them slower than the last, this test having been harder than the last. These were his advanced students.
"You need to tune the third string." He told her, looking down at her. He could hear it was off. Just faintly, but it was off. He turned back to his papers, grading them again.
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Post by reagan tanis burke on Feb 29, 2012 1:51:00 GMT -5
When he spoke the magic was broken, and she realized she had been singing aloud. With a blush she reached up and adjusted the mentioned string, trying it out. He was right, and it did sound better. "Would have figured a music teacher would keep his instruments tuned at all times." There was acid in her tone, but not as much as normal. Music soothed her, made her more human as Kit liked to tease.
Thinking of Kit made her think of what she was, and when she started playing again the chords were harsh, jagged and angry. She always got in a foul mood when she was reminded of the monster she truly was, the secret her father had kept from them all. "So what if you can see, the darkest side of me," the words flowed from her lips in a whisper of the original, softer, but no less harsh and angry.
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Post by thatcher owen finley on Feb 29, 2012 1:56:13 GMT -5
"Part of learning how to play the guitar is learning how to tune it." He said flatly. He continued grading the papers. He finished one, sat it aside, and started on the next. He was half way through when he heard her harsh strumming.
"Yeah, yeah. No one can change the animal you've become. Stop molesting my guitar, okay?" He looked over at her with that same apathetic look he always had. He never showed any emotion. "If you're gonna play like that, play with one of the old ones. Take it home and beat it up. I don't care. Just stop being so rough with that one." He never said much, so the bit he did say would have been the equivilant of a lecture from anyone else.
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Post by reagan tanis burke on Feb 29, 2012 2:05:10 GMT -5
The sharp retort died on her lips as she looked up at him with genuine surprise. He was offering her one of the guitars? Her eyes welled with tears of actual gratitude, but she blinked them away furiously and looked away. "Thanks." She carefully got up, making sure not to flash him. Replacing the guitar she had been using she chose an old one, worn with continuous use, but still taken good care of. She felt like she was a child on Christmas morning again, and resisted the urge to hug it to her chest.
She did handle it as one would a lover as she brought it out of the closet and held it out, seeking his approval for some unknown reason. As she held it out though she saw the time on her watch. "Fuck! I'm late. Marc is gonna kill me!"
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Post by thatcher owen finley on Feb 29, 2012 2:28:13 GMT -5
"Marc couldn't kill a fly." He said, climbing back down the shelf with his stack of graded papers. He did need to leave, however. They would be turning the security systems on soon, and he didn't want to explain to the cops that this tattooed character really was a teacher. He grabbed his keys off the desk, then a bag beside it. He had gotten fish food this morning before coming to work. He opened the door, holding it open for her before slowly making his way down the hall. He pushed open the door with his back, holding it for her again before he slowly started his way around the school, the walk to his car nearly fifteen minutes long, a half an hour if he walked slow enough.
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Post by reagan tanis burke on Feb 29, 2012 2:37:25 GMT -5
She slung Marc's guitar across her back with as much finesse as she could muster and followed they teacher out, cradling her prize tightly to her chest. When the got outside she didn't see another car in the parking lot and turned to him. In a very un-Reaganlike moment she offered him a ride. He had after all given her one of the greatest gifts she had ever gotten.
Marc would in all honesty probably cut her some slack since she was running his errands. She also wised he had given her this guy's name. Since he hadn't though, she was stuck calling him 'Teach'.
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