//Closed//Style, Yes I've Got It

The roar of an engine capable of drowning out the thunder of a thousand hooves rumbled in the distance. At first, the convertible was only a black speck on the horizon, speeding along the winding, Irish road. The tires kicked up clouds of dust, spat loose stones into the air, as they ate up the substitute for asphalt. Racing the wind and winning, the driver’s midnight black hair rippled like a turbulent ocean of oil. If it wasn’t for the windshield and his dark shades, the wind, always such a sore loser, would have been whipping in his face until his slate-blue eyes teared up. The man loosed a laugh and pressed the pedal to the metal, which on the rough roads of rural Ireland was probably the worst thing he could do.

When his car skidded on the coarse stones and dirt, the man tightened his grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. Knuckles of already pale hands blanched until they were the color of bleached bone as he brought the convertible back under control. The engine gave a defeated whine as he lessened the weight of his foot on the accelerator. After his near spin-out, the man kept an almost reasonable speed as he raced towards Caislin Hallows.

The gleaming black convertible seemed out of place in the Irish landscape, among the forests of trees whose naked branches reached towards the heavens like gnarled, knobby fingers, and the vibrant green fields that stretched for miles, despite the chill of the air. With a grinding of gravel beneath the tires, the car slowed to puttering pace as it passed through the open gate into the courtyard. Revving the engine again, the driver took off as if he’d just pulled onto a speedway. His shocks creaked and groaned as the cobblestones jostled the car, forcing him to decelerate so that he couldn’t take the turn like a NASCAR driver as he rounded the drive towards the main entrance to the castle. Skidding to a halt, the car bumping across the stones that made up the pavement, the driver just barely kept from fishtailing and destroying either a fountain and the stone railing leading up the steps or possibly both.

With a twist of the key, a motion as quick as snapping a fairy’s neck, the driver shut off his car. “Finally, made it. Never thought I’d make it here—wonder where the bathroom is…” muttered the man to himself as he swung his door open and stepped out. He stretched, arms extending towards the sky like the branches of the naked trees he’d passed and his body bowing outward as he lifted up onto the balls of his feet. A trio of cracks from his back burst the silence and his hands snapped down to rub at his spine. “Such a long drive.”

Sellar had been certain that he’d just missed smashing into the bench and railing, but the stinging statement that the woman spat at him implied otherwise. A finger tucked beneath one arm of his sunglasses, thumb resting on the plastic-coated metal that curved around his ear. By turning his hand, the sunglasses pivoted around his thumb so that the lenses lifted above his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me, I was sure I missed it,” complained the man, only realizing a moment later as he circled his car that he should have said ‘them’ and not ‘it’. He sighed, the sound filling the momentary silence, as if he could exhale his frustrations. “Well this is just great.”

The man shoved his hands into his pants pockets, the cloth creasing from the sudden intrusions. “Well, I guess that’s going to be coming out of my pocket—both the damage to the school and my car. That’s just great. They couldn’t get some actual asphalt, no, no, not classy enough,” muttered the man as he inspected the scratches in his car. In places, the black paint had been chipped away to reveal the unprotected metal beneath. At least he’d lucked out since there didn’t appear to be any actual structural damage to the car. A paintjob was a lot less expensive than bodywork. “Oh, what the hay, this justifies me getting that fancy paintjob now… just as soon as I find a place in this backwater town to do it,” chuckled the man, giving a shrug to topple the worries that had bothered him only moments before from his shoulders.

Slate-blue eyes drifted from the bumper of the convertible to the shattered masonry that had spilled across the lawn and drive. “And I guess they’ll just dock some of my pay for a few months—not like there’s many places to spend it around here, anyway.” Another shrug, and the last of his worries were gone.

The man turned to face the sarcastic woman. “Hi, I’m Sellar Chevalier. I’ve been hired to be the school’s fencing instructor. How do you do?” He thrust a hand towards her. As his eyes met hers, the smile on his lips was more than polite, it was genuine.

Noting her delicate grip, the way her fingers draped over his and provided a gentle squeeze, Sellar quirked an eyebrow. He dipped into a bow while lifting her hand upward a few inches to meet his descending lips. The velvet-soft flesh brushed her knuckles, as he breathed, “The pleasure is all mine,” against her skin. Raising up from the bow, Sellar gave another shrug. “I’m sure I’ll adjust. Grandmother always frowned on ‘modern’ conveniences, so I went visiting, I would have to do without.”

When Sellar felt the faint tug of her hand on his to indicate his car, he made sure to release her fingers, if she wasn’t too fond of maintaining the contact. “A few scratches, nothing too terrible. She just needs some fresh paint, and she’ll be good as new.” His smile broadened as he admired the mostly intact, black convertible. It hadn’t been cheap to ferry it across the ocean and he was quite fond of the vehicle, even if it was badly suited for the poorly maintained Irish roads. The drive to Caislin Hallows had probably done a bit to the shocks as the road has bounced his car as much as a bucking bronco.

“So, you teach Astrology? How’s that going for you?” he asked, flashing his grin to her again. At least while he was occupied with his conversation with the comely teacher his thoughts didn’t drift to the empty two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew sitting in the passenger’s seat of his car and that he’d drank all of it on the drive without hitting a rest stop.

When Mary-Lynn mentioned the lack of cars, the corners of Sellar’s Hollywood smile drooped. If there weren’t many cars, then the chances that he’d find a bodyshop nearby were pretty slim. As the female teacher launched into her tirade about her class, Sellar snapped back from his reverie on pending difficulties to listen to her. Every so often, he gave a gentle nod to acknowledge what she was saying. Once she was done, he smiled to her again. “Well, at least it sounds like the school is good about getting equipment. I know I’m going to have to order quite a bit to get my class up and running.”

He paused a moment, considering another of her statements. “What is so peculiar about the students here? I had heard rumors, was told to expect unusual stuff.” Another pause and then he continued, “In my correspondence with the administration, they expressed that I would not be out of place here, as I might have been at other schools in my past. Any idea what they meant?” Lofting an eyebrow, Sellar regarded his peer as he waited for an answer.

His hand, recently freed from her grasp, smoothed along the wrinkled front of his suit jacket. It was an idle gesture, one that his hands often performed while unoccupied because the man knew that smoothing the wrinkles in his clothing was a battle he’d never win—he’d be as successful as his ancestors, at least on one side, had been at soothing the superstitions of men.

At the beckoning of Mary-Lynn’s curling finger, Sellar leaned in close to her to listen. His eyes widened as she spoke, and then he grinned long before she pulled away. “You don’t say,” chuckled the man after his colleague had confessed the school’s secret about its students to him. Little did she know that the man that she spoke to was a descendent of a being straight out of ‘the lore’s of Medieval times’ as she put it. Sellar grinned, his Hollywood smile twinkling like starlight, as he straightened and added, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, you haven’t told me anything.” The sentence was punctuated by a wink.

When the other teacher offered to escort him, the corners of his lips drooped just a little again. Sellar didn’t want to go to the registration office first, and he didn’t really feel like it was necessary for her to find out where he planned to go instead. A clever, misleading truth was all he figured he needed to divert her without causing any disappointment. “As much as I’d love to haveyour company, I probably should try finding it on my own. I’ve had several ‘first days’ before, and I’ve found that it helps to be lost a while without any guide to really learn the layout of the school.”

Sellar’s smile glimmered again, eyes sparkling with the flare of an idea. “I heard there’s a coffee shop in the village or town or whatever nearby. You want to meet up there tomorrow morning for a cup before school starts?” he suggested, as he dipped into a small bow, intending to excuse himself shortly.

When he heard her tease him about the dungeons, he gave a laugh and wink. “Oh, wouldn’t you? Then you could come to my rescue. The daring damsel saving the wayward prince--now, wouldn’t that be a story to tell the grandkids!” he exclaimed the gentleman with a grin. While Sellar didn’t mind idea of being somewhere dark and private with the beauty in front of him, he figured that the stench of century old filth, the skitter of rodent’s feet, and the cold, dank stone chambers were hardly befitting a romantic mood. The thought didn’t diminish his smile though.

When she agreed to coffee, he gave a nod. “Sound wonderful, yes, tomorrow at eight-thirty!” answered Sellar. There was as much urgency as excitement in his voice as he gave a bow, arm tucked beneath his folded waist. “Until then, I bid you adieu, Mademoiselle.” Lifting from his bow, Sellar turned and quickly made for the door that led into the school. He threw it open and then disappeared down the hall, hoping a bathroom wouldn’t be too far off or too hard to find. Behind him, the door swung shut on nearly silent hinges, leaving Mary-Lynn alone in the courtyard, with a slightly damaged convertible as the centerpiece of her drawing if she chose to continue it.
[Exit]