[For Galatea]

[jinxsley]

Linden did not like to consider himself a coward, but he imagined that the sorting hat had placed him in Hufflepuff--rather than Gryffindor--for more than the most superficial of reasons. The members of his House demonstrated fierce loyalty and steadfast bravery, but they also tended not to rush headlong into destruction for the sake of boldness alone. Now and then, circumstances dictated the wisdom of a little caution, and despite his unquestionably wayward personality, Linden could guess the moments when mindfulness would save him some grief.

For that reason, he was perched on a chair outside the ice cream shop at precisely one o'clock, all his usual disrespect for deadlines aside. Galatea Merrythought was simply not the sort of woman that one kept needlessly waiting, and if Linden was more than a little intimidated by her even after teaching alongside her for three full years... He liked to think that was simply unavoidable common sense.

Comments

[mitescent]

Punctuality was, in truth, something Galatea didn't care for as a concept. To schedule one's life down to the very minute seemed to be a needless exercise, and if anything it forced people into acting in a way that was unnatural, cutting off trains of thought and removing some of the malleability that she felt was best about the human race. At the same time, being a professor had also impressed upon her how much it was necessary to give students a date and time so that they wouldn't completely fritter away time while lost in daydreams, so that she could squeeze in as much teaching as she could into every last second that she had with them, because inevitably, she never had enough of it.

It was all about nuance. And that was, in the end, why Galatea had decided to arrive precisely two minutes after the hour. Time she had in relative abundance, or at least would set aside for her colleagues and students, and so it was completely within Galatea's power to arrive on the dot, or perhaps even earlier. But waiting made people nervous, a sentiment that she would have to do her best to avoid bringing about in Linden, as he was there to confide in her— it wouldn't do to have him hold his tongue or spare any of the details.

So she swept over to the tables at precisely two minutes past the hour, keeping her hair in its windblown appearance, nothing too put together— this was not a meeting as colleagues, not as professionals, but one between friends. Or so she hoped.

"Linden," she greeted with a brilliant smile, Irish accent slightly stronger than it usually was during lessons. "Dear me, I hope I haven't kept you waitin' too long. Got caught up in findin' food that would satisfy my fussy cat."