fandomhigh | Unofficial Office Hours, Tactics of War

Honor stepped back from the wall, examining her handy work. The small office was fairly comfortable. An initial recon, however, found the walls a bit bare, and she took it upon herself to provide a bit of decoration. Not much -- this assignment was temporary, she kept telling herself -- but enough to make it feel more like her office.

"It looks perfect, My Lady," LaFollet intoned from the doorway.

She glanced back at him. "Thanks, Andrew," she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nimitz nod his approval. But then, the last photo, the one she was hanging, was of him and his mate, Samantha. He was probably a little biased, she thought.

Mostly satisfied, Honor then turned toward the desk itself. Underneath Nimitz was a stack of books and notebooks she intended to use to prepare her lecture for Monday. "Okay, Stinker, time to do some real work. And for that -- " she paused encouraging him to take his place on the portable perch she had installed " -- you need to move."

Nimitz wasn't thrilled about the idea, but moved anyway. Honor could sense his mild discontent even as he climbed up and assumed a similar position. Still, he understood when there was work to be done.

"If that will be all, My Lady," Andrew began, "I'll take my post outside."

"That's fine, Andrew. And thanks."

LaFollet smiled. "Not a problem, My Lady. Just part of the service we offer."

Watching as Andrew disappeared around the edge of the doorframe, no doubt taking his post right outside her door. He was unarmed, as was required by the school, but still offered a layer of protection between her and anyone who tried to attack her; through their training sessions, he had become as adept in coupe de vitesse as he was with the blaster. She could only hope he would let any students in who needed to see her.

Honor shook her head with a sigh, then settled in to read and take notes.

[OOC: Available for office hours if needed, and feel free to handwave getting past LaFollet. He's just there to look official.]

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Pip took a seat. "Thank you. And it's pronounced "Bernadette", by the way. French. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about something that slipped my mind on Monday. I'm on the Student Council for the school and we run a monthy gaming night for the students. This month's is taking place next week and the game is Risk. Are you at all familiar with that game?"

Honor nodded. The game was something of an antique, but provided a simplified view of strategy, which she appreciated. It was not, however, a part of her usual repertoire. "I am." She furrowed a brow, not entirely sure where the conversation was headed.

"The person who's running the game night, Peter Parker, asked me if I would talk to you about possibly participating that night? Play with the students, perhaps give them a few strategy lessons, stuff like that. Might make the night more fun, maybe a little educational." He shrugged. "If nothing else, it'd be a chance for the new teacher to meet some of the student body."

Honor was a bit surprised by the invitation. In her experience, there was usually an invisible line between students and teachers that kept the professors at arm's length. On the other hand, Raoul Courvoisier had managed to reach across that line to become both surrogate father figure and mentor to her. She hoped she could do the same -- or at least inspire some interest.

"I think I'd like that, Mister Bernadette," she said, very careful of her French pronunciation. "When and where?"

"Next Tuesday in one of the dorm common rooms," Pip said. "I think. I can't recall the exact time, but if you call Peter Parker at 555-WEBS (http://peter--parker.livejournal.com/317.html), he can tell you more. He might also have something specific he wants you to do while you're there."

Making a note of the possible location and Mr. Parker's name and phone number, she nodded. "That will give me enough time to pick up a new copy of the game. I'm afraid my copy was, ah, misappropriated when I left the Academy."

Pip nodded. "Great." He turned back to look at LaFollet standing by the door.

He was silent for a few moments, drumming his fingers on the desk before he turned back. He coughed a bit. "Professor Harrington is it a problem that... I'm a mercenary?"

"I'll admit that it does make Major LaFollet a bit nervous," Honor said, after taking a moment to mull over the answer. "For the moment, I don't see a problem; we'll only have a problem if you ever take assignment from hostile forces."

She hoped the tone of her voice conveyed exactly what kind of problem they would have if Mr. Bernadette ever worked for the Peeps.

Pip nodded. "Well, I'm not actually working right now. In school and all. And while I can't speak for my grandfather and his people they are somewhat discerning when it comes to choosing jobs. At least, as discerning as mercenaries get. But I'd hope I wouldn't be held accountable for the actions of my family."

He leaned back in his seat and toyed with a pen he seemed to have absent-mindedly pulled from his pocket. "I probably don't need to tell you this," he said, "but despite what Aeryn thinks, there actually are some mercenaries with a sense of honor and decency."

To this, Honor nodded. "I know, Mister Bernadette. It's one of the reasons I stepped into that conversation at dinner. I'm willing to hope that you're one of them.

"As far as your family is concerned...I try to separate the individual from the 'family business.' Provided you're not covered under the same retainer, we should be fine."

Pip nodded. "Thank you ma'am. I'm glad to hear it." He stood up. "I'll see you next class, then."

"I look foward to it, Mister Bernadette." Honor gave a smile and a nod. "Have a good day."

Unofficial Office Hours, Tactics of War

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