3 Valentines … A Fairy Tale for Modern Times …

Story now closed for: hastobedone, DavidAnders & Bevatoria​

3 Valentines … A Fairy Tale for Modern Times … Introduction

Once upon a time …

And we know how the story goes:
Beautiful, virtuous girl is subjected to trials and tribulations only to find happiness with the man of her dreams.

……………………. And they all lived happily ever after …

Only real life isn’t like that. Reality for our heroine was somewhat more mundane.
At 21 she had yet to choose a direction for her life to advance in. As a student of English Literature her head was perhaps more in the clouds than most.

True she partly funded her studies by work in a London coffee shop, but as a member of the University drama group that tentative footing on reality had been offset with a starring role in the seasonal pantomime that had been taken around the schools in the local area.

Press Photo - Beauty and the Beast

The children had loved the quirky adaptation of what they now considered a Disney-originated favourite, though as a literature student our heroine took great interest in the French origins and adaptations of the folk tale: La Belle et la Bête.

It was only on 14th February that Isabelle realised that her performance must have attracted considerable adult male interest too …

Izzy was very much ‘the-girl-next-door’ type. She was pretty, but not striking; she was fun-loving, but not extrovert; she was popular, but never the diva: Which is why she was astonished to receive 3 valentines!

Any normal girl would be surprised and pleasantly so at such an unexpected occurrence, but for Izzy their arrival brought consternation and alarm.
It wasn’t the anonymity, though not knowing who her ‘admirers’ were would set any girl’s mind racing; rather it was the nature of the three missives which proved so … unsettling …

She told herself it was poetic licence that the pseudonyms used were to give her clues as to her admirer’s character.
Yet Izzy could not help but consider what had led to her 3 valentine cards being signed as ..

Your Prince, Your Avenant, Your Beast …

February 14th had proven to be a day much like any other. Isabelle had left her flat early that morning and made an early commute to the coffee shop where she worked part time. She worked very flexibly and usually fitted in the odd hour between her university hours, however today she had promised that she’d help out at the busy beginning of the day with the ‘valentine promotion’ of a free heart-shape cookie with every coffee sold. As expected, this had proven to be very popular so after a hectic 6:30 to 10:30 am shift, Isabelle was more than happy to head into Uni. arriving just in time for the 11 am lecture. Two hours taking notes on the various merits of theatre versus film adaptations of literary works saw an end to the heavy timetabling of the morning.

The late lunch was a leisurely affair …. True food in the student canteen was functional, but gave her time to chat with friends and hear about their valentine’s cards and plans and confess that what she was looking for was a quiet night in and catching up with the sleep she had sacrificed that morning!

Eventually she headed to the library, browsing the titles; searching out information for an assignment she was working on she made the relevant notes and with a glance at her watch decided to bring a halt to her studies at 16:30 and headed out for the tube.

Unlike many of her friends, Isabelle did not live in the student accommodation within the university grounds. She was fortunate to have been ‘given the use of’ a family owned flat for the duration of her studies with the possibility of extending her ‘tenancy’ in the future. The token rent she paid and the money she earned at the coffee shop usually kept her in the black and the place truly was her own with no ‘monitoring’ or interference from family so the situation was ideal! As she turned came out of the railway station and turned right and right again to begin her walk up the long road that actually ran parallel to the track Isabelle could not help but look forward to getting ‘home’ again and already had plans for a hot bath and an indulgent bottle of wine with whatever she decided to cook or order for takeaway …

Taking the key out of her pocket, Isabelle opened up the heavy front door to the vast Victorian house. The property was divided into 2 flats; the entire ground floor was let to a single tenant who seemed to travel extensively. She had seen him intermittently during the Autumn Term and though he seemed friendly enough they had never got talking. His post had been piling up for weeks now, in fact she could not remember actually seeing him since before Christmas. As the ground floor accommodation wasn’t owned by her family she had no way of knowing if there had been a change of tenant …

With a weary sigh Isabelle stopped to gather up the handful of envelopes that had gathered on the mat during her absence. Pushing the door closed, she sorted it into 3 piles: advertising/spam, downstairs tenant and a pile for herself, before picking up the latter and making her way up the stairs to her own flat which took up the 2nd floor and the 3rd ‘attic’ floor where she had her bedroom and ‘office’.

Only when she had dropped her bag in the hall way, moved to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle and hung up her coat did Isabelle give her mail any attention. Shuffling through, she found a store card bill, theatre promotion letter … she slowed as found a red envelope with her name on, but no address. It had obviously been delivered by hand. Surely it couldn’t be a valentine card?
She set it aside and continued through the pile. A second white envelope followed. It was similar, but had been posted, though the post mark was not clear enough to gain any real information from. A third envelope followed. The envelope was typed and franked and held a website address of a card store which again gave no help re: the identity of the sender.

”Oh my god… “

She murmured softly with the three in hand. This had to be some joke or conspiracy amongst her friends! One valentine and she might have believed she had a secret admirer, but three. There was no chance that they would be genuine….

Pausing to make tea from the boiling kettle, Isabelle made her way to her sitting room at the front of the house, the cards in one hand and mug in the other … taking a sip she settled down to open each one anticipating a joke or at best something from an appreciative friend.

There was no way she anticipated what followed:


Dearest Izzy,

I've watched you tantalize me from afar, and close.
On this day of fictional romantic intercession, I will no longer restrain my feelings for you. Your beauty captivates me, your passion inspires me, and your charm will win me.

I give you this pledge. I will be your suitor. And you will give me every chance to win you, wine and dine you, to make you see how you entrance me, and how you hold the keys to my heart. I need only the chance to prove to you how much I love you, and how much I will care for you. Appearances only matter so far when our hearts are right for each other.

For you will be mine...





My Beloved Izzy

I love and adore you. Ever since I first laid eyes on you I was certain that never again would man capture an image as sweet as your smile.

Ever since that first glance my life has shifted and has felt empty because in that instant I understood what love really was. in that moment, I understood that when love and joy are shared, the more intense those feelings become.

Loving you makes me feel safer and more alive. Bring me the courage to search, in purest spring, the water that will quench our trust; the strength to reach for the ripest fruit that insisted in growing in the highest branch; energy to overcome each and every obstacle and to have a forever open chest and a willing heart to keep you warm, body and soul, always.

Have absolute certainty that my biggest fulfillment is knowing that I can make you the happiest woman and the most beloved in this earth.

To be hopelessly yours; that is my fate...


My dearest Isabelle,

I can only hope not to scare you away, approaching you in secret this way, like the Phantom of the Opera to his Christine, but as he must hide behind his mask, so too must I, for my knees go weak and my words escape my mind at the very closeness of you; Were I to try and speak to you in person, just a glimpse of the matching jewels of your eyes would undo me. Even just the thought of it causes my heart to hammer within my chest, beating against my rips, aching to flee my body that it may draw near to you.

Forgive my rambling...but, as I write this, I can see you across the way, the light of the sun shining through your hair, the wind tugging at your dress to give fleeting views upon your slender, perfect legs, and even at a distance I can hear the joy in your laughter, a song that could bring envy to a choir of angels. I find myself getting lost in the feelings you inspire in me, and finally I must express them to you, if sadly in this secretive manner.

I've attached a single rose petal to this message, as this letter is only a bare degree of the affection I have for you, and can only bring myself to offer you a flower in its fullness when I can give of my love for you the same way; In its entirety.
I'm sorry I can say nothing more of who I am, but to say I'm an admirer from afar. I'm not yet so bold as to reveal myself, but I hope to, once I know you might accept my advances. I shall write you again if you wish; Tomorrow, the 15th, wear your pale pink silk shirt if you would have me proceed; If you do not, I will know to withdraw, and will content myself to desiring you privately, loving you in silence as I have for so long.

I await seeing you come tomorrow. As for tonight, we shall dance in my dreams, the one place where I can hold you always.


Isabelle read and re-read the shocking words.
But above all the pseudonyms used had her mind racing ...

Your Prince, Your Avenant, Your Beast ...

OOC: Jumping in, hoping my colleagues to do. We're still fleshing certain things out, so a lot of this is being kept vague deliberately...

IC:

He'd caught her coming out of one of her lectures that morning. Some sort of Theatre class, he recalled absently, as he idly waited for his own lecture to begin. The day after valentine's day, a day of heartbreak and tragedy for many, while others were renewed and invigorated by a reaffirmation of their love, or the start of a new, blossoming relationship. He wondered which of these he would fall in to, when all was said and done. When the talented, beautiful Izzy finally saw him for what he was, after she'd considered the valentine he'd sent her. The only thing that surprised him now was how long he'd waited to express his feelings for her, for the wonderful, passionate creature who he'd admired for so long.

She didn't know it was him who sent it, of course. But he'd know. Secret admirers were a thing of the past, in this age of social media where everyone knew far too much about everyone, mysteries a foreign concept to those who were used to constant updates, everything immediate and present. Which was why he figured she'd be floored, flabbergasted by the wonderful note, to a story linked irrevocably to Valentine's day. To let her be wooed by an unknown suitor, leading her on with his words and actions while sitting by her side every day as a classmate, a colleague, a friend. To measure her mood against his potential advances before bringing out his true feeling, and his true identity, for real.

The few shuffles of feet and people around him did not deter him from his thoughts. He had two classes with her today, and hoped he'd be lucky enough for her to sit next to him, and maybe even confide a little. While he knew that he was someone who'd sent her a valentine, as far as she knew, he was just Jesse Urban, one of the endless stream of guy friends who was stuck in the friend zone, and too tentative to do anything about it.

That would change, though. But he'd been patient for long enough that waiting a little while longer was fine by him. He smiled distractedly, not thinking of the challenges to come in wooing her from afar...but only in the hope and opportunity of doing so. The class kept filling up around him, and he kept his eye out for her, whether she ended up coming his way or not.

For beautiful, tantalizing Isabelle.

As he sat waiting for the lecture to begin, with the occasional glance to the professor as he assembled his notes for the day, he occupied himself in reading; One of the fantasy novels he loved so dearly, losing himself in the sort of world he could only wish to have been born into. Heroes battling evil, protecting the fair maidens who had won their hearts, and in turn winning their affection...none of them had trouble speaking to beautiful women. Perhaps if the world was more like these stories...perhaps if he truly were a Prince...it would all be so much easier.

But no, nothing had ever been so simply for him when it came to matters of the heart. From as young as fourteen or so, when he'd developed his first crush, the fairer sex had struck him dumb, unable to speak beyond a very quiet, senseless mumbling. By his second year of high school, he'd come to the conclusion that only by way of a love note could he express himself to the object of his desire, slipping it into her locker, leaving his name and a mobile number (though he was uncertain he would be any more at ease by phone than in person). The result, as he should have expected, was a disaster; She had distributed the number to anyone who would care to take it, and printed it out onto flyers, each digit so big as to have a sheet of paper to itself, up and down the school corridors.

And now, years of ridicule later, he was at university, and his wounds had made him wiser. There would be no name this time around, only the identity he had taken for his own. Nor would he give anything else away this time...no number, not even an email, nothing that would lead back to him. Not too quickly at least. He'd been foolishly, careless, and too hasty before; Now, as The Prince, he had to be smarter than that.

Even delivering the letter had been risky; Had Isabelle seen him at her home, she would have known him on sight, there was no chance that she wouldn't after all this time. As it was, he may have been spotted. Someone had been leaving just as he came to her home, and The Prince couldn't say for certain if he'd been noticed or not.

Looking up from his book, he pushed the wire rimmed glasses up his nose and watched the door. He'd asked Isabelle for a sign when hext he saw her, and was eager to see if she would comply. He could only hope that, whatever the outcome, favorable or no, he could keep his reaction hidden from her, and not give himself away so easily.

Dominic Pearce frowned at the murmuring that rolled around the large lecture theatre like the soft gabble of geese. His grimace was hidden slightly by the glasses that covered his eyes though he didn’t care too much if anyone saw the scorn. No one was paying him too much attention at present anyway. No one would have even cared if they were; it was widely known that he detested the position he had been given by the head of the school.

Visiting Professor of Practical Theatrics.

He didn’t know what that meant anymore than everybody else in the vast hall. He hated talking to these bloody students every week. None of them understood what it was to be an actor. They had all watched too much television and read too many magazines, forming in their minds what they thought it was to be an actor. They all wanted the lifestyle, the money, and the fame. The hard truth was you couldn’t teach performance; it was innate and came from the heart. 

Looking around the hall at the bunch of materialistic little brats he asked himself, not for the first time, why he was here; why was he bolstering their perception of his profession?

For the money, of course.

It had been a hot day, when the vice-chancellor of the university had finally spoken to him personally after weeks of badgering his agent. Weeks and weeks of offers for Mr. Pearce to come to our little university and teach our students how to be great theatre actors like himself. For weeks, Dominic had told Angie to keep rejecting whatever offer she received however tempting. That was until his personal mobile rang and the vice-chancellor had offered him the wage he was earning now.

Everything always comes down to money.

His eyes surveyed the room again and all he that he saw he despised. Except for one girl. She sat in the same seat in the front row in every lecture, pens and note paper laid out in front of her ready to take down every word he said. He knew her name, Isabelle, from a string of emails she had sent him asking question after question. It was appeared to him that she cared about the course, about acting as a form of art and not as a career. Of all the students in front of him, she was the only one he had a soft spot for.

Maybe too soft?

Casting his eyes down to the watch he wore, he decided that it was time to start the lecture. Standing up behind the small wooden lectern at the front of the hall he smiled inwardly to himself as a silence descended almost immediately amongst the gabbling geese. He began as he always began.

“It is my job to stand here and tell you that the overwhelming majority of you will never become professional actors. You may sit there and scoff but that is the cold hard truth of the matter.

“A small handful of you, maybe only one or two of you,” his eyes fell on Isabelle in the front row, “will make it and it is for them that I stand here and talk to you today.”

15th February - Isabelle - the day after ...

OOC: Thank you all for your posts. You're a formidable collaborative team!

IC:

Her alarm went off for the third time. Reluctantly Isabelle forced herself to slide out from under her duvet and head downstairs to the bathroom. Mere minutes later she stood beneath the shower, the cascade of hot water slowly bringing her to her senses and drawing a groan as she realised that the dull throbbing was wine-induced ….

Last night had not turned out as she had expected. Instead of a relaxing evening, the three missives she received had totally monopolised her thoughts. Before opening she had been amused, even flattered that others had gone to the trouble to send cards to her, even if in jest. Upon opening she was incredulous and admittedly impressed by the language and turn of phrase of all three of her suitors. Yet upon later consideration, she became increasingly concerned at the idea of being 'watched' even in an admiring way ...

Even as she toyed with the ideas that all valentines might have been sent by one person or perhaps that if there were three alleged admirers that th is might somehow have been a plan jointly devised, Isabelle set about heating up a shop-bought pizza and opened a bottle of red wine ...

It was after this that Isabelle began to re-read each slowly and finally entertained the thought that if … and she wasn’t convinced … these were genuine sentiments then somehow in going about her normal day she could in all likelihood be brushing shoulders with any one of these three men without having any idea that they were one of the three or which of the three they were! As she perused each letter and searched hopelessly for clues her 3rd and then 4th glass of wine had been consumed: Not an outrageous amount for a student, but double to her usual 'two-glass-with-food' mid-week rule.

She had agonised over the request in one of the letters that she wear her ‘pale pink silk shirt’, but in reality by the time she had gotten herself dressed and taken time to breakfast on toast and several mugs of coffee she only had time to pull on whatever was close to hand; her favourite Jeans with white cotton button through top and a grabed navy university-logo designed sweatshirt to top off her thrown together outfit. Bag of books thrown over her shoulder, she made her way hastily downstairs and out of the front door, still checking for purse and oyster card and phone as she made her way hurriedly to the station to make the commute hoping she would be in time for the 09:30 lecture!

Miraculously Isabelle arrived with a half hour to spare during which she managed to grab yet another coffee and feeling less 'hung over' found an isolated seat in an attempt to focus on the heavy study day ahead of her. Flicking through her timetable, however, Isabelle could hot help but be aware that even now one of 'the three' as she labelled them could be watching her … She couldn’t help it. She looked up and glanced around, the action deliberately casual in an attempt to catch out anyone who might be focusing on her. It was an impossible task of course! If the letter writers were already known to her, how could she tell they were watching her more closely than they usually seemed to and if one of the many students she did not know or visitors to the University how was she supposed to spot them in the habitual melee and crush that characterised her usual day as she made her way through lectures, seminars and workshops?

Besides ... she pondered as she drained her coffee, who was to say her ‘admirers’ had seen her around Uni? All the letters had told her was that she had been seen or noticed from a distance afterwhich, they implied that each had managed to admire her from a closer vantage point … That could relate to the coffee shop where she worked, or indeed a first meeting at some stage during her Christmas panto tour. Perhaps it was the pseudonyms each used that held the main clue to each of her admirer's identities, but as yet she could not work out their significance...

”Izzy!!!”

The shout across the room drew her out of her reverie with a start.

”Hurry up!!”

Reassurance at the sight of her usual 'crowd' of friends soon fled into consternation as Isabelle realised with a cry of surprise realised that it was well past 09:30! It wasn’t like her to be late and being caught daydreaming like this was totally out of character, but there was no time for talk or explanation as they flew as one downt he corridor and into the seminar room for the English Lit. lecture!

For once Isabelle was almost happy to be made to wrestle with the ‘olde englishe’ of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that for some inexplicable reason they were made to read aloud in the original form. Whilst Isabelle found Shakespeare evocative and lyrical, she found this form of English too challenging to decipher and appreciate. The Wife of Bath was the tale of the session: Isabelle could not avoid a gruding admiration for the 5 times married woman with such a zest for life, though in her own case, Isabelle had more than enough to worry about with 3 potential suitors somewhere out there.

Circumstances worked to her advantage: The hectic timetable that she had considered with such dread that morning meant that there was just a short transition between her two morning sessions, offering no real chance to gossip as the group dispersed to attend their own 'options' and Isabelle headed into the drama studio to research her creative paper; Isabelle’s next big assignment which involved selecting a literature classic and planning it’s ‘adaptation’ considering script, costume, set/location and – the subject of the morning theatrical lighting and effects …. which was genuinely fascinating! The session in the studio soon had Isabelle absorbed, so much so that she forgot to keep ‘looking over her shoulder’. She found that her passion for the studies she was undertaking were much more powerful than the slight unease and initial self-conscious feeling with which she had started the day so that as she dawdled at the end of the exiting group, still jotting notes and new ideas, she was totally oblivious to any eyes that watched her as she made her way along the corridor and into the lift that was being held open for her.

Usual practice was for her to meet up with the others in the student canteen, but wary of being caught up in the post valentine gossip Isabelle had muttered something about popping into ‘work’ to check schedules and opted instead to take herself off campus, deciding to purchase a ‘meal deal’ sandwich lunch whilst taking the time to sit and ‘people watch’ during the lunch break and determinedly refusing to consider if she in turn was being observed …


Though she was by no means amongst the first students to arrive at the lecture theatre for the first of the afternoon’s sessions she was far from the last. It wasn’t as if there was competition for her ‘usual seat’: Students on the whole tended to avoid sitting on the front row, even if they were interested in the content of the session. But Isabelle saw no point in that and could not understand why her peers selected programmes of study that didn't actually interest them! As it was, this unit seemed very well attended and given the student numbers combined with the status of the ‘visiting professor’ these sessions always took place in one of the lecture halls. Taking out her notes, she glanced across at the man who seemed to be surveying his 'audience': He was reputed to have a string of prestigious acting credits to his name – or so the rumours claimed – and to Isabelle’s mind, he certainly seemed to speak with the authority of experience and encouraged students to question and be creative …
Not that Isabelle had aspirations to become an actress … she had a passion for storytelling, for theatre and staging which coupled with her love of literature, especially ‘classics’ led her to consider aspiring to roles ‘behind the scenes’ in production, scripting or perhaps someday directing. True she had landed the role of Belle in the pantomime, but that was performing to children and playing a straightfoward role. 'To act you had to experience...' she had learned and never having lived through any crisis of emotion, other than vicariously through her study of literature, Isabelle doubted she would ever have the talent to portray the nuances and complexities of real characters on stage or screen.

Around her fellow students seemed to still. Isabelle looked up and picked up a pen in readiness as she watched the professor's eyes seem to assess the room before speaking.

“It is my job to stand here and tell you that the overwhelming majority of you will never become professional actors.”

As usual, the Professor’s opening gambit was an attention grabber!

”You may sit there and scoff but that is the cold hard truth of the matter.”

Around her she could hear fellow students muttering and assumed that they were claiming that the professor didn’t know what he was talking about. For her part she had no such illusions, but was interested in which direction this lecture was to take.

“A small handful of you, maybe only one or two of you, will make it and it is for them that I stand here and talk to you today.”

His eyes seemed to come to rest on her as he spoke, though she was sure many seated around her felt the same. True she had sent him several polite emails asking about his experience as an actor of being 'directed' and which techniques he had found most useful and though he sent her brief, but informative responses however Isabelle realised that he could not possibly be able to match her face to those queries. Lecture halls were such impersonal places, which was the main reason she sat at the front; to feel 'involved' rather than 'talked at' from a distance.

The pen still in her hand she watched the professor attentively, eager to note what he had to say ...

OOC: Still taking a backseat, for the moment. Won't stay that way

IC:

Even in the outfit she'd fairly clearly just threw on to get to school, she was beautiful. Jesse was one of many watching her, even if the vast majority of her 'watchers' were just people catching anything that came across their peripheral vision. He was, too, until he was sure her attention was elsewhere. Maybe to the friends she was with, protecting her and insulating her from any unwanted suitors, but something in her eye made Jesse smile, giving him a brief window into her thoughts. She wasn't looking for anyone she knew. Her movements were graceful even when she wasn't paying attention, and Jesse was now grateful for his perch at the rear of the room; nobody would hear his sigh.

He wasn't paying as much attention as usual to the lecture; Chaucer's Canterbury Tales was the topic of the day. Unlike Izzy, who he knew struggled with the topic, it came to him easily even as he would freely admit this was not his favorite subject. But it was a requirement for his major; one of many choices. And at this moment as he let his notes and reading go to autopilot, barely noticing the person next to him noticing damn well he wasn't looking at the professor, he wondered what turn of fate had put this beautiful person in his class. A wonderful person, charming, energetic...and with any kind of luck, one Jesse would have the opportunity to woo soon enough. It would take more then a random classroom encounter, he knew, as that was far from the place for a valentine confessional.

But he had time. After all, it wasn't like she had every guy in the school after her, right?

The class exited, and he fought the urge to follow her and confess everything. It wasn't as if he was shy, but he had more then just romantic escapades to attend to on this day. He had a study session in the evening with a classmate of his, and before that, a meeting tomorrow with a..Mister Pearce, was it? He shook his head. The name and time was written down somewhere in his daytimer.

With one more long, wistful look at his soon-to-be-love, he made his way to the library. Research, another lecture and then a gym session to unwind. Even as he knew it wouldn't deter his thoughts from their true course.

Shortly before the lecture began, Andrew Conner saw Isabelle enter the lecture hall, and his spirits took a swift blow. Rather than the silk top he had hoped to see, she was wearing a sweatshirt, and he had to consider the posibility that he had just been rejected, without even having had the chance to ask her for a single date. True, it may be better this way, if such rejection was not to be avoided, sparing him the humiliation. All the same, it stung him deeply.

Then again...there was still a definate chill in the air, spring not yet having sprung. By chance the sweatshirt was not a sign to dismiss his attentions, but was instead...well, a sweatshirt. The article he had requested would have been less than effective against cold weather, so perhaps she wore it underneath. Andrew's attention stayed with her until the professor began, hoping that his hopes would prove to be true.

Luck was not with him however, and he was left to wonder, as Isabelle did not remove her sweatshirt. As they students began reading The Wife of Bath, Andrew scowled and returned to his own reading material, trying to clear them from his head. He had attempted to read this tale before, twice in fact, but had balked both times soon after clearing 200 lines, as the woman began to boast of her five marriages, and how she had used her feminine wiles to cause each of her husbands to give her what she wanted, all but enslaving them with her sex. The concept grated on his sensibilities, and he could get no further.

Sex was all well and good, but Andrew wanted romance in his life. Five partners in a life time may well suit some, but quantity was not in him. He sought quality; A life time of happiness with one woman, who would stayed married to his memory should he die before her, as he would do if she passed first, taking no other. It was an out-dated mode of thought in this day and age, where divorce was as natural as the cycles of the moon, and a gallon of milk had a longer shelf life than some marriages. But then, he had always known he was born into the wrong century; A few hundred years earlier, and a man with his ideals would be a perfect suitor. Now however, he could only be perfect for the perfect woman, and to his mind, Isabelle was she.

As time came to an end, and students began to collect into groups or disperse from the room, Andrew checked in with the professor, if he would be needed today. For the moment, he was not, but he was to return for the afternoon session when there would be papers to go over, and he nodded as he turned to leave. Andrew had hoped to catch sight of Isabelle again, but managed only to see her departing back...and something else as well; One of the young men was watching her also. True, more than a couple were looking at her, beautiful as she was, but this one looked at her differently. It wasn't lust in his eyes...it was something deeper.

"Curiouser, and curiouser", as Lewis Carroll would say; Let us follow this white rabbit, and see what we might discover down the rabbit hole.

Follow he did, at a distance, and found himself in the library. Coming upon the young man from behind, Andrew came to his side, selecting a book from the shelf at random, and pretended to read for a moment before speaking quietly, not looking towards the other.

"I noticed that look you gave to Isabelle just a moment ago. You'll excuse me for not knowing your name by now...so many students in so many classes, you understand...but I ask for it now, as I would care to know the name of my adversary for her affections."

Andrew Conner

OOC: Well met, sir David.

IC:

Jesse enjoyed the solitude of the library, feeling at home among the vast shelves of books, the often dusty tomes of volumes and journals that were neglected by budget cuts and the advent of the internet. It wasn't that it wasn't busy, especially today, with papers in full swing, midterms a distant or recent horror for many, depending on the classes that one took. But everyone was wrapped up in their own little world, quiet murmurs or the clicking of keys the only sounds other then some moderate shuffling of seats or couches. Even when they walked, everyone seemed to want to keep quiet, as if to not break the mood.

A contemplative mood that Jesse found himself in. Even as he focused on what he was trying to find, his thoughts were racing about other matters. Or, other people, if he were to be completely honest. A part of him was dismayed that he found himself thinking about Isabelle so much, obsessing like some lovestick stalker checking facebook every five seconds. He had hoped that he wouldn't be that kind of person, but the more events were unfolding, the more that he realized that he needed to deal with this sooner rather then later, and not let it fester.

Events, however, would not be entirely kind to him. As he rifled through a book cautiously, seeing if there was any point in taking it to the alcove he'd started to hole himself up in, another person walked down the row. He was too old to be a student, and Jesse recognized the man as the assistant to the professor in one of his lectures. It seemed odd that he'd be in the library (and not in the graduate students' section), and even odder that he'd be in the same row as Jesse, but he paid him no immediate heed, even as a flicker or recognition passed on his face when their eyes met.

Another fact that was about to change.

"I noticed that look you gave to Isabelle just a moment ago. You'll excuse me for not knowing your name by now...so many students in so many classes, you understand...but I ask for it now, as I would care to know the name of my adversary for her affections."

That can't be good.

Several thoughts ran through Jesse's mind at that moment, even as a moment of hesitation gave him away, confirming the other man's rather bold observation about his feelings for Isabelle. He was very bothered that, with as unobtrusive and as hesitant as he'd been in directly showing Izzy his feelings - valentine's note aside, as it had been anonymous - that this other guy had seen right through him. Maybe it was a case of guys being able to read other guys better....

...especially when they felt the same way. Adversary for her affections? He turned back towards him, a curious look on his face.

"My name's Jesse, sir." A deferential tone to someone who was, despite his rather bold proclamation, still his superior at the university. His constantly shifting mind was racing, seeing if he could remember who this guy was supposed to be. Jesse turned towards him now, no longer interested in the book. "And I'm rather curious as to why you think I'm your adversary in this regard." A brief look of recognition passed his face, and the briefest of smiles lit it. "Mister Conner, isn't it?" An intentional jib, an attempt to remind the man in front of him that he wasn't supposed to be thinking of his students like conquests, even as it probably wasn't a big deal that he was; it would all be in his head. For all Jesse knew, the man in front of him could be no more then 2-3 years older then him, but that wasn't his concern at the moment.

His only thought was to throw the man off balance, and he put his book back, looking through another one as he turned away from his opposite number, facing the shelves.

"Well, Andrew, if you happen to be right about me being after this....Isabelle...." The smile came back to him at the game they were now playing, or at least the one he was, pretending not to be interested even as his tone gave away that he clearly did have more then a passing infatuation with this woman. "...I don't see how it's any of your business." All signs of levity left his tone and his face as he turned back to him.

"Sir."

OOC: Well met indeed. I hadn't intended a meeting...it just sort of flowed in the writing

IC:

Andrew had to admit (to himself at least, it wasn't something he wanted to give away) that Jesse was clearly made of sterner stuff than most. In the brief exchange, he had said very little, and yet had spoken rather a great deal. For one, the way he had reminded Andrew oh so subtly that he ought not be looking at the students that way, though it was more of a gray area as a professor's aide rather than an actual professor...he had never looked into the university's view of such things, and had no mind to do so now. The finality of that single word as well, 'Sir', and the tone with which it was delivered, displayed Jesse's inner strength well.

He'd be a fine match for some lucky young woman...only a shame he chose the wrong one to set sights upon

The corner of his mouth lifted in a small half smile as he replaced his book on the shelf, continuing in a hushed, casual voice. "No need for such formality as 'Sir', at least outside of the classroom, Jesse...out here, in the world outside that environment, you and I are simply two men of a single goal. Which brings me back to your question; The reason I say you're my adversary is because it seems clear that you and I are both after the same thing...the affections of sabelle...and we can't both have that. Thus, someone has to succeed, and someone has to fail."

He shrugged in summation, and was momentarily upset with himself for not being able to express the idea in a way that didn't make Isabelle sound like a prize to be had. But, no matter. "And yes Jesse, I do 'happen to be right' about your interest, because in looking at Isabelle, I've seen you more than a few times. When she arrives, she occasionally finds a place near to you, but make no more effort or point of it than she does her female friends, so clearly she's not involved with you romanticly. On the occasions you arrive later than her however, you do make it a point to get close to her...not too close, but as near as you can safely do so. So, we can see that there's very clear interest on your part." All of which were the sort of actions Andrew himself had always been prone to in his shyness, making it wasy to see in others. He gave another shrug, as if to again say that it is what it is and not worth arguing against.

"That said, I'll leave you to your studies, and to decide what you would choose to do with this information. You can certainly take it to Isabelle if you wished to, to take my piece off of the board as it were. Just be sure you're ready to explain to her why I would be telling you this at all, in case she asks, and realize how easily it can be denied given the fact I've never shown the slightest outward interest in her."

Nodding a brief, dismissive gesture, Andrew turned and began to leave the aisle, pausing and looking back at the end. "Oh...and just a reminder to you; I can usually be found in the professor's office, if there's anything more you should need to discuss regarding class."

Jesse was surprised at Andrew's response; not as much that the other gentleman had the resources to not act so surprised at his response, but simply because he couldn't imagine ever doing so himself. He'd been told he was charming but was all too often tentative in acting out in real life; holding back until the coast was clear. The TA put his book back on the shelf, no longer pretending to be interested in it as he responded; it was clear his quarry was right in front of him.

"No need for such formality as 'Sir', at least outside of the classroom, Jesse...out here, in the world outside that environment, you and I are simply two men of a single goal. Which brings me back to your question; The reason I say you're my adversary is because it seems clear that you and I are both after the same thing...the affections of Isabelle...and we can't both have that. Thus, someone has to succeed, and someone has to fail."

Jesse nodded numbly, turning back to the shelf as if that would keep him from hearing the rest of what Andrew was going to say, as if it could insulate him from the truth of it. Which it didn't. The awful, terrifying, rather...convenient truth that he was going to have to fight for her, in a war that he really had no idea how to win.

"And yes Jesse, I do 'happen to be right' about your interest, because in looking at Isabelle, I've seen you more than a few times. When she arrives, she occasionally finds a place near to you, but make no more effort or point of it than she does her female friends, so clearly she's not involved with you romantically. On the occasions you arrive later than her however, you do make it a point to get close to her...not too close, but as near as you can safely do so. So, we can see that there's very clear interest on your part." The man shrugged, as if it were a foregone conclusion..as if he was completely right. Which he was. Andrew had him pegged, like the leader of men he aspired to be.

"That said, I'll leave you to your studies, and to decide what you would choose to do with this information. You can certainly take it to Isabelle if you wished to, to take my piece off of the board as it were. Just be sure you're ready to explain to her why I would be telling you this at all, in case she asks, and realize how easily it can be denied given the fact I've never shown the slightest outward interest in her."

Jesse looked down, almost glumly. He had him. There was no way he'd take this to Isabelle, his only solace that Andrew wouldn't either. Couldn't, or he'd face the same dillemna as Jesse; answering to her as to how they knew.

A nod, meant to signal the end of their conversation. "Oh...and just a reminder to you; I can usually be found in the professor's office, if there's anything more you should need to discuss regarding class."

Ironically enough, Jesse did feel that there was something he'd have to discuss with Andrew at some point...even if there was no way there wouldn't be some tension in the conversation now. He didn't bother to acknowledge the TA as he left; all of the air out of his balloon. This would have been a tough enough task if he'd been Isabelle's only suitor, but now...knowing that he wasn't the only one after her heart...

A sigh escaped him. He had to see her, talk to her today, if for no other reason then to soothe the ache that now lit his heart. But after he was done his research.

It would do him no good to be heartsick *and* behind on his schoolwork, after all.

Mr Pearce’s class was intriguing as always. It made such a difference Isabelle thought to be taught be someone who had really experienced what he was talking about, rather than just read about it academically. And that clearly showed. He had a realism, almost a cynicism about him that she found challenging. Amongst her peers many claimed to dismiss what he said, mainly because he didn’t stroke their egos. Secretly she was sure that those who spoke most loudly against him secretly would give anything to seek his attention or approval.

Lingering at the end of class, Isabelle considered her options. She had no more scheduled lectures today and tomorrow she was working in the coffee shop for much of the time. Much as she would love to head off back to her flat, Isabelle knew that she really needed to work on Chaucer. They had been given the Miller’s Tale to read through in preparation for the next class and though Claire knew from sneakily reading a modern translation that the story was a comic and almost slapstick story of betrayal, she knew she would have to wade through the original text in order to not look a complete moron in the next session.

With a sigh she took up her bag and headed towards the library before she could change her mind. She did find it easy to work in the library. The whole place had a studious air to it, one that demanded silent concentration from those who entered it’s domain. Slowly she sauntered between the shelves towards the far end where a row of 4-seater tables were arranged along the back wall. The windows provided natural light, but they also provided a distraction as the comings and goings across the quad could easily be watched from that vantage point.

Drawing her attention back with a sigh, Isabelle resolutely opened her bag and took out the text. Opening at the Millers Tale she sighed and began to attempt to read;

Whilom ther was dwellynge at oxenford
A riche gnof, that gestes heeld to bord,
And of his craft he was a carpenter.
With hym ther was dwellynge a poure scoler,
Hadde lerned art, but al his fantasye
Was turned for to lerne astrologye,
And koude a certeyn of conclusiouns,
To demen by interrogaciouns,
If that men asked hym in certein houres
Whan that men sholde have droghte or elles shoures,
Or if men asked hym what sholde bifalle
Of every thyng; I may nat rekene hem alle.

God ... it was even worse than she remembered...