THIS CITY IS MY CHURCH - GRAYSON

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

waiting for a roar

Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, a slow rhythmic beat.clack clack clack clack. There was a sort of precision about the movement, an exactness to it. If one looked closely enough, they would see that the woman’s shoes never descended upon a crack. Perhaps it was superstition. More likely, it was simply the way she had always done things. The heels themselves were black and lacked anything flashy or unique. They were plain, but elegant in their simplicity. Long lean legs, wrapped in black nylon ascended up from those unostentatious shoes. The nylons ascended up, past the knee and towards a thigh where they disappeared beneath a swirl of quiet fabric. The dress, simple cotton, fell at her thighs. It cinched tight at the waist, highlighting her narrow waist. The dress, like the majority of this woman’s attire, was quiet in nature. The only reason any of this was relevant to the present situation, was simply that they illustrated the woman beneath. For this woman moved and existed in the exact same manner in which she wore her clothing. It was strict, structured, yet seemingly unostentatious in nature. It was utter and simple perfection. It was also, unfortunately, the outwards signs of severe Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. But this strayed from the point.

The woman’s name, who walked down the street with such precision, was Thaddea Aryn Melantha. She had many titles to follow that name, though rarely used any of them. At this exact moment, she was walking quite purposefully down the pathway towards the Academy’s Library. She moved at a brisk pace, weaving expertly through the various crowds that populated the sidewalks. If those very people had even suspected her thoughts, the very preciseness with which she moved, they would be stunned. They would have stopped her, perhaps recommended some form of counseling. In essence, her task would have been forcibly halted. It likely would have even brought the unwanted attention of Academy administrators. And being what she was, this was the last thing Ms. Melantha desired. For Ms. Melantha was a thing with a label, a person with a single title she would shrug off if given the chance. She was a thing hunted, a thing feared, a threat in certain aspects. She was, strangest of all, supposedly legally dead. But that didn’t matter, her vital status. It could have, in a different life. But not now. Now there was something much more important. She would have plunged a city into chaos.

Because she had gifts.

The thin line of business that formed on her lips didn’t even twitch towards a smile as she thought of those gifts. It was those gifts that had set her on her current task. For even among those like her, she was referred to as “mechanical” or “detached”, she was an oddity. She possessed what, in her lifetime, she had never seen in another. Thaddea ran a hand through her hair, pushing it quickly away from her face.Her favorite trench coat fell over her shoulders, open down the middle. She was almost happy, at least satisfied. Perhaps efficient was a better word. She was about to round a corner, quickly approaching her destination, when a she happened to glance askance at a shop window. She saw herself reflected –professional and admirable as always, the near image of perfection. But there was always something that just wasn’t quite right. She pushed the thought away, flicking her eyes from the reflexive glass. She pushed open the double doors of the Library, passing through with an echoing clack of heels. Her eyes sought out an empty table, quickly claiming it as her own. She pulled out a stack of papers. As always, she had work to do.

[GRAYSON TUCKER SCHULTZ]

The library was usually a favorite place of interest for Grayson; he felt like he could mingle with his own people, others who enjoyed school and books and talking academics without feeling like they were being looked down on or passed dark, assessing glances as they passed by. It was usually quiet, something a man such as himself preferred, and if one of his students did need something he was present and available to answer any questions. Despite his lack of social skills he always informed his students as to when he would be making a visit to the library. Making one's self available to their students was important, after all.

"Does that make sense?" Grayson asked, tones hushed but inquisitive as he observed the paper in his hands, glancing up at the student with a raised eyebrow. The student did not look extremely convinced in his own understanding and bit at his lip. "I think so. So the DNA strand goes in the same sequence no matter what?" This was all logic to the professor, someone who spent years studying the subject until he felt he could no longer obtain any more information. That did not stop him from reading new journals and books that pertained to his passion, however. "Yes," He replied, sounding slightly exasperated. "No matter what organism has DNA, the strand will be structured in the same manner. You can use your book to refer to the order in which the proteins are situated." The other man, smiled a little and nodded, looking a bit less confused than when he first approached the professor. No matter how frustrating it could come to be when dealing with some students, it was gratifying when he could see a flash of understanding on their face.

As soon as the student left, Grayson decided to go and browse around for a bit of reading to occupy himself. He would need to go home soon and care for his brother, but the aid did not mind staying overtime on occasion. He grabbed a couple of the books on his table and went searching. It was about this time that he passed by a previously empty table, which was now occupied by a rather familiar face. He was not normally one to stop and chat; even if he knew someone the chances of him making a full conversation in a place like a library was not very common, but Thaddea had been around for quite a while so he supposed saying hi could not hurt all that much. Grayson cleared his throat and adjusted the collar on his shirt. Talking was always so difficult, especially first starting out. "Ms. Melantha," The man greeted, glancing over towards the bookshelf. At least he had other books too keep him busy. He set them down with a quiet thump. "You look like you are doing well. Did you have any classes today, or was it a day off?" The professors could have days off, as they could pretty much set their own schedules. Grayson usually taught a class every day. He liked being busy. He mumbled to himself for a moment as he remembered he left his pet hermit crabs in his office, realizing he needed to give them water before heading home as well.

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

waiting for a roar

Thaddea carefully arranged the stack of papers on the desk she had claimed as her own. There were exactly nineteen – nineteen extensive essays to be graded and completed for return in the following day’s class. She hadn’t started a single one. But she’d allotted herself exactly an hour and a half at present, then a further two hours upon returning home that night. She knew such time would be more than enough. She rarely read an essay twice. She doubted she would have need. It was really quite easy to tell what kind of work had been put into an assignment, and the effort was a large portion of what counted for Thaddea. She graded based on effort, insight, quality, research and originality. She’d read a hundred essays on the rise of the Third Reich. She wanted the individuals, those who found something they had a true interest in, and pursued it. With this in mind, she uncapped her favorite red pen. Her hair fell over one shoulder. Some laying in quiet ringlets on the wood of the desk. She reached for the first paper in her pile, setting it square before herself. Her lips twitched towards a smile of sorts.

This first paper belonged to one of the few students that Thaddea could be described as having a “fondness” for. She didn’t have a fondness in the conventional meaning of the word. She wouldn’t smile and greet them, ask after their weekends. She wouldn’t often go out of her way to assist them, or spend time with them. But she appreciated their intellect. She showed this through an exercised degree of patience, an occasional effort to engage in a conversation (still as blunt and professional as all her speech patterns were), and a general degree of approval. Two of the most outstanding of these students, the first that came to mind, were actually related in a way – or soon to be. A Ms. Nell Shepherd, and her fiancé Mr. Joshua Dale. She’d actually met with Joshua in her office just the other afternoon. He was writing an excellent paper. And sitting before her was the latest of Ms. Nell Shepherd’s. Ms. Shepherd was an unusually compassionate empathetic young woman, standing out even amongst the peace-loving Earth elementals. This quality was often prevalent in her work, though not as to show bias or childish feelings of anger at the lack of “fairness” of the world. In all, it was work she generally enjoyed reading.

She’d only made her way through half of the paper when she heard herself addressed. She paused her writing, though kept the pen still poised in her hand. She glanced up, her gaze locking on that of a fellow professor, a Mr. Grayson Schultz. She dipped her head in a curt greeting, though no more curt than she gave any individual. “Professor Schultz” She was abnormally formal, even in conversation with those she considered equals, at least in the concerns of a professional setting. She blinked at him, her lips a line. “I have classes every day but Sundays.” While others may have cushioned such replies with smiles, jokes, or some other trivial words – Thaddea did not. But this was entirely within her character. For though one may have felt slighted, this feeling lessened when they realized that such treatment was in no way individualistic.

[GRAYSON TUCKER SCHULTZ]

Normally Grayson would not have stopped to make much conversation, but considering Thaddea was a colleague he figured it would be appropriate to try and exchange a few words. He was not the most social creature, nor did he know how to make effective conversation with subjects outside of his comfort zone, but there were times when he attempted to make some sort of effort. The man watched her with a penetrating blue gaze as she looked at him from her stack of papers, the pen still poised to write should she decide to turn her attention back to her work. Grayson dipped his head in return, feeling awkward now. It was not that the woman herself made him feel uncomfortable, no; he was not easily intimidated by people nor any sort of curt responses he received. It was more the fact that he was not sure what else to say. Living his life behind the pages of books and computer screens did have disadvantages.

"Ah, I see," He replied casually, now sitting across from her and cracking open one of the books he had intended to put away. There was no particular reason, really, other than the fact that he had no idea how this conversing thing fully worked and was not quite sure if wandering away after the greeting was appropriate. "I have quite the handful of papers to grade myself," Grayson finally added, not comfortable with the silence just yet. "Some of the subjects I hand out for the assignments are ones that I find to be most intriguing but the students don't seem to have the same feelings." He found this odd, the fact that other people were not fond of the same things he was. Biology had always been his favorite subject and thus anything pertaining to it was always of interest to him, but many of his students were merely taking the course as a filler and so he had to deal with handfuls of disinterested college students most of the time. How disappointing. He wanted to ask her about the papers she was grading and what the subject was on, but refrained. Grayson was not a nosy person by nature and would rather converse without prying. He despised when people did that to him, so he tended to try and avoid it if at all possible. They were just student's papers sure, but still the man held his tongue. This was why he had difficulty making and keeping friends. Instead, he cleared his throat and began scanning over the pages of the book.

[Sorry for the shortness--Gray is just...he's not very social so it makes it difficult. :/]

[THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA]

waiting for a roar

She was entirely surprised that he had engaged her in conversation to begin with. That he had continued said conversation was shocking to say the least, but on a minimal scale. She let none of her surprise show on her face, mostly because there was very little interest associated with this surprise. After having returned a comment to his own, she had returned to her paper grading. But she now paused once more, her pen again poised in her fingers. He was taking up her valuable time. And unlike the rare sections of minutes she had extra, that afternoon she was running exactly on schedule. She didn’t have extra spaces for him. She had not previously included them in her schedule. She was surprised again to see that he held her gaze. Such a thing was unusual. By her observations, often people were intimidated by the frank calculated coldness of her eyes. To her, it was a mere attempt at perfection – as the perfect person did not display untoward familiarity to relative strangers. Yet apparently this was not a shared opinion among many of her peers and coworkers. This didn’t bother her. She noted, somewhat analytically, that he had blue eyes that would likely be deemed attractive though he held no immediate feelings of sexual appeal to her.

A brief look of confusion passed her face at his words. By her standards, his words were quite the conundrum. “Then why aren’t you grading them?” Her words may have sounded harsh, perhaps judgmental, but there weren’t meant as such. In her mind, it was simply nonsensical. If one had work to do, well they did it. She never left a task uncompleted. It was lazy, unprofessional, a thing of disgust in her opinion. What was the point of complaining of work to be done, and not doing it? Thaddea very rarely had jobs that she needed to do, because she completed them as they arose. This particular stack of papers had been collected the period before. They would certainly be returned within the week. She underwent a very particular process. She would read and grade them the first day. The second day she would enter the scores into the grade book. The third day she would write out her comments for the students. The class following the third day, the papers would be returned with grades and comments. She was nothing if not perfectly punctual.

She returned to her paper, still somewhat perplexed over his comment. She made a few marks in her red pen, scanning the lines. She circled a grade at the top, flipping the paper over and moving on to the next. If he was going to interfere with her scheduled grading time, well he would have to be content to have her divided attention. She was not going to alter her entire schedule for a single conversation. She commented as she wrote. “It’s highly illogical to expect your students to share your passions. The percentage of like-minded people is quite low.”

[GRAYSON TUCKER SCHULTZ]

There was a spark of irritation in Grayson's chest, small and nagging like an itch that he could not quite scratch. The man was normally laid back and did not let a lot of things get to him but her comment brought about some agitation. However his expression remained neutral as he messed with the book in front of him; no matter how upset he seemed to become, Grayson was a very difficult book to read when it came to negative emotion. That is, unless you press the wrong buttons at the wrong time. Anything to do with his brother, for instance, was near instant wrath. His lips drew into a thin line before he managed to respond, though for him it did not look perturbed. More thoughtful. He always looked thoughtful. "Because I was busy helping my students with some of their work," The man explained with nonchalance. "I make myself available sometimes during the week at the library if they have questions." Not that he enjoyed them asking him simple-minded questions that could easily be answered by cracking their Biology book open, but his job was teaching and thus he had a responsibility. Grayson did not even feel the need to explain that he had allotted time at home to grade the papers, because he honestly had nothing else better to do to occupy his time anyway. His brother came first, but since there was someone to care for him Grayson could shift his focus to his work more often than normal.

He furrowed his brows. "It's not illogical," Grayson tossed back casually, not even fully paying attention to the conversation. "This class is designed for those who are obtaining a degree in Biology. If they do not share or at least express some sort of interest then they are in the wrong field of study." Why take such a high level course if they were only going to toss it away in the end? A waste of their time and his own, of which he liked to spend wisely and was not interested in working with a student who was not driven enough to get their act together by this point. A junior in college could not afford to fool around like a sixteen year old just wanting to sleep in class.

After sitting there and flipping through a few more pages, Grayson still did not feel comfortable with the silences between them. That was to be expected; he did intrude on her personal space and she was busy grading papers. He was the kind of person that did not do well being interrupted, so there was no need for him to do the same to another. Not even bothering to clear his throat and make a big scene of his effort to leave, all he said was "Enjoy grading your papers, Ms. Melantha. I suppose I'll see you sometime at lunch or in the teacher's lounge." He enjoyed sitting in there during down periods and doing work, but he now knew that interrupting her work was not a very wise idea. Live and learn, something he did every single day. Even at his age there were some things he was learning that he should have learned a long time ago. The man briskly put his books away and passed by her table again, leaving the library and deciding to make his way home. Trent would need him soon anyway.