@Saberteck
Felicity was a little restless here. She'd messed around a bit, testing her limits, but found that security was just too tight and her knowledge of this place too small to do anything big. Really, did she even want to be a thief anymore? She'd obviously left that life behind, and didn't- or couldn't- go back to it. All that money sitting in offshore accounts was going to waste, and she'd probably never see it again. She'd gotten a reputation as a rather strict teacher, not putting up with much and being hard enough on grades. She enjoyed her literature and wanted to make sure her students understood the importance of it.
She'd rarely shown her abilities, and it never seemed to come up. She had made friends with a few students that she'd shown some not so good tricks to, and cheated in a lot of poker matches downtown (never with her own face, of course!), but it was just not enough for her. She missed the huge bank heists. She missed the secret romances and barely scraping by with bread and water by counting cards in eight deck blackjack. It didn't even pay three to two. Dealer soft hitting on 16 was bullshit.
Another day of class went by where she felt unheard in how she wanted to help. It wasn't something she meant to do, but her personality just came off cold because of where she'd come from and what she'd done. She'd never killed anyone, but she let people die. She stole millions and had it stolen from her. Betrayed by her closest friend.
That was all behind her now, teaching a fairly mundane class at a very non-mundane school. There were a few students she focused on because she could read them well, because she saw a bit of herself in them. One of those happened to be James Mortii, among others.
On this particular day, though, she wanted to speak to him. As class let out after a particularly lengthy lecture on John Keats (who?), she called out his name and asked him to stay behind. He hadn't done anything particularly bad, so Ms. Chevalier's request seemed a bit out of place. Still, she sat behind her desk, carefully sculpted silver hair drifting down her shoulder, waiting idly for the rest of the class to leave and for him to stay.
Felicity was a little restless here. She'd messed around a bit, testing her limits, but found that security was just too tight and her knowledge of this place too small to do anything big. Really, did she even want to be a thief anymore? She'd obviously left that life behind, and didn't- or couldn't- go back to it. All that money sitting in offshore accounts was going to waste, and she'd probably never see it again. She'd gotten a reputation as a rather strict teacher, not putting up with much and being hard enough on grades. She enjoyed her literature and wanted to make sure her students understood the importance of it.
She'd rarely shown her abilities, and it never seemed to come up. She had made friends with a few students that she'd shown some not so good tricks to, and cheated in a lot of poker matches downtown (never with her own face, of course!), but it was just not enough for her. She missed the huge bank heists. She missed the secret romances and barely scraping by with bread and water by counting cards in eight deck blackjack. It didn't even pay three to two. Dealer soft hitting on 16 was bullshit.
Another day of class went by where she felt unheard in how she wanted to help. It wasn't something she meant to do, but her personality just came off cold because of where she'd come from and what she'd done. She'd never killed anyone, but she let people die. She stole millions and had it stolen from her. Betrayed by her closest friend.
That was all behind her now, teaching a fairly mundane class at a very non-mundane school. There were a few students she focused on because she could read them well, because she saw a bit of herself in them. One of those happened to be James Mortii, among others.
On this particular day, though, she wanted to speak to him. As class let out after a particularly lengthy lecture on John Keats (who?), she called out his name and asked him to stay behind. He hadn't done anything particularly bad, so Ms. Chevalier's request seemed a bit out of place. Still, she sat behind her desk, carefully sculpted silver hair drifting down her shoulder, waiting idly for the rest of the class to leave and for him to stay.
Normal day at a very abnormal school. James Mortii was closed off to say the least, he had very few friends and had opened up none if the teachers. None knew about his past except for his best friend and it had taken alcohol for him to open up to her.