Ephemeral

Chapter 2 - Dépaysement

Dépaysement [Deh·pays·mwoh] | Noun — The feeling of being taken out of one's familiar living environment and placed in a new one for the first time | Origin: French

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There is a distinct pro, and a distinct con, to the fact that Dean Dovey's office is so far away from the bridge that's apparently called Halfway Bay despite not being a bay.

Pro: I have time to get the gunk from my hair, shirt, outside of my pants and from my jacket.

Con: We pass by a lot, and I mean a lot, of people on the way there.

I can feel their eyes on me, some openly staring, others pretending not to, some actually, thankfully, not paying attention at all. I just hope Ely got here okay and isn't having a panic attack over me. I'll ask that of Dean Dovey before anything else, if I can see him so he isn't losing his mind.

I'm not short by a long shot, but with the wolf's powerful stride and the nymph's seemingly four foot long legs, I have to almost jog to keep up with them. Around us, slender girls with thick hair and pastel gowns move like they're being carried by currents, all knowing exactly where they're supposed to go and when. At one point, the cyan haired nymph tries to stop and, I'm guessing, grab a basket of school supplies for me from another with violet hair, but the wolf snarls at them both, and we keep moving.

Dean Dovey's office has fancy double doors like dad's study, a shiny beetle crest at the center, half on each door. Simultaneously, the wolf and nymph nock. The nymph's hand, light and polite, and the wolf's, harsh and demanding.

"Come in," comes a soft, distinctly elderly voice from inside.

When the doors are opened, light hits my eyes, refracted in rainbow lines and arcs through a crystal paperweight shaped like a pumpkin that sits on the corner of the dean's desk. Dean Dovey herself is all soft lines, gentle wrinkles, kind eyes and beetle wings. She sort of reminds me of the portraits dad has shown me of my grandmother from back when she was still alive. When her doe brown eyes lift from the papers in front of her, her eyes immediately settle on me between the nymph and wolf. I fidget under her gaze, though it's nothing but neutral, though perhaps a bit suspicious. God, I hope I got all the muck off of my clothes. The visible parts, anyway. I'll have to powerwash them and myself to get rid of all of it.

To my surprise, as we step in, it's the nymph who speaks, though I thought she couldn't. "Clarissa," she says, voice airy like a trickle of water, "there appears to have been a mix up in our paperwork." She holds up my good schedule. "Princess Rya is listed to attend the School for Good, but-"

The wolf cuts in now, thrusting out my, now slightly crinkled, evil schedule. "But she's also listed as attending the School for Evil."

"Oh my," Dean Dovey says with a discomfortingly grave nod, "That is a situation." She adjusts her spectacles, which sit on the end of her nose and further remind me of my grandma. "Well, there's no sense in delaying a solution. I'll call Lady Lesso." She looks up over my head at the faces of my escorts. "The two of you ought to be getting back to work. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

From either of my sides, a schedule is shoved at me. I take them both and hold them to my chest, thumbs running over the crinkles in the evil one to smooth them out. Just like that, the two staff members are gone, the closing doors sounding like finality behind me.

I steal a glance around while Dean Dovey rummages in her desk for something. Her office is open plan to say the least, with all the windows thrown wide seemingly just so the light will come in and hit that pumpkin paperweight just so and send those rainbow slashes dancing across the walls and smooth tile.