One Monqiue is curled up into a space that should have held perhaps three quarters of a Monique, however, it didn't seem to be affecting her too badly. A book is held in one long-fingered hand, the digits of the other tapping a silent refrain on her knees which were tucked directly beneath her square jaw in a position that should have made breathing impossible. Said book is surely at least fifteen pounds, quite enough to keep her happily engrossed for hours despite having to- ugh- study.

Students and teachers passed her by frequently in the crowded hallway, one that held a series of comfortable chairs for doing exactly what she was, though more commonly for those wanting to actively engage in their relationships. She starts to hum softly under her breath, then stops, realizing that she had not twitched for thirty minutes and circulation might be a good thing.

Tossing her bushy dark brown hair back over her ears, she tucks the book between the cushion and arm of the chair, stretching her long legs out directly into the path of whichever person was walking by next.

(Sorry, dears, this is for Sammeh.)

((I am a horrible person. Sorry I took so long, Llama.))

Alexander Barclay is one of those professors you don't ever want to have, if you happen to be poor in the subject he teaches. (English, for those who are new to the campus or who keep to themselves.) He is also one of those professors you really don't want to embarrass, because he has a nasty, cruel streak.

Or maybe it's his kind, gentle part that is a streak in the nasty cruelty.

Thus, when he trips over Monique's legs, several students who have the misfortune to know him by reputation and by sight leave as quickly and as quietly as they can. Several others pretend they didn't see, but are secretly pleased to see him stumble, struggle to catch himself, and almost drop his briefcase.

He turns dark eyes and a dark look on Monique and inquires coldly, "Is it your custom to lie in wait for unsuspecting people and cause them to fall, young lady?"

((No prob. ^-^ Feeling better?))

Monique begins to itch. First of all, she itches to reply that of course she did, she loved to trip people that might possibly dictate her grades and that she had deliberatly chosen -him- because he looked important. She also itches to comment that it wasn't her habit, she had just chosen him as the first to start on.

Unfortunatly, as she opens her mouth, she begins to itch. The sever itching along her arms and face warns her that she will soon become arachinid, and so she closes her mouth and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for ten seconds in order to retain her human form. Damn Azrael!

"No, sir, I'm sorry. I was engaged in studying and didn't notice you walking so close." She bites her lip, giving the professor what she hopes is an expression of apology while trying to fight back her temper.

Alexander would answer that with a cutting remark of his own. He has a reputation to keep up, after all, and usually, his temper wouldn't be satisfied with just the one comment.

However, it's hard to forget that kind of magic, that kind of feel.

"Come with me, young lady."

He beckons sharply. Guess what, they're going to find somewhere he can ask her about that interesting aura without surrounding witnesses and curious ears.

Monique's fear melts away her anger. Sure, she's still annoyed about being in trouble over nothing- but being in trouble is scary. She swallows and tucks her book into her backpack quickly, Lifting the bag to her strong shoulder as she follows the professor meekly.

It takes her a moment to talk, so she can be sure that her voice is the perfect blend of politeness and curiosity. "Sir- mind if I ask where we're going?" Surely he could put her on probabtion or fail her in some classes without needing to take her to his office.

((I am a horrible, horrible person.))

"Nowhere in particular."

He takes possession of an unoccupied room--it appears to be a conference room of some sort, with that table and surrounding chairs--turns to face her, and drops the 'angry professor' mask for the 'intrigued professional with a side of obsession' one.

"May I ask under what circumstances you met Him?"

The capital is audible.

(Dun worry about it, I've been doing Midterms. Bleeeh.)

Monique swallowed, even though he seemed to be a little bit more friendly. She shuffled her feet and tried to make herself look insignificant, a feat for a 5'9" broad-shouldered girl.

Although she's pretty sure what's going on now, she can't risk blurting it out and being taken to the insane asylum. She briefly debates spontaneously combusting then decides to diseemble. "Met who, sir? I've been studying for the past while, and I don't recall meeting any people that have impressed on me." Well, Az certainly isn't a person.

"There's no telling what name He gave you, or if He even gave you one at all, so I can hardly answer that question."

And there's no telling what Azrael appeared as, so he can't give her a description, either...

"Perhaps you recall white eyes?"

Those will never change.

Yes, they're definitally thinking about the same person. Now is he on her side, or not? Or is she even on a side in this debate? Likely not, but she'd do a lot to stop changing into a non-arachnid whenever she loses her temper.

"Yes, I do recall white eyes." She gives him a Look, trying to discern his motives, much good that it will do her.

"And what is it to you? Why do you care?"

"Whatever He did to you, I guarantee that what He did to me was worse." Pause. "And I don't intend to explain what it was, so don't even bother asking. Tell me the circumstances of your encounter."

Definitely 'intrigued professional with a side of obsession.' He wants to get Az. He wants to get him, and he'll do anything in order to get what he wants.

Monique, ever the stubborn one, refuses to give up control of this conversation so easily. She crosses her arms, and at a rather ominous itching sensation in her face, closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Maybe it would be better to see what this guy can do, because she's starting to get very worried she'll change in a public place.

"Well, I turn inot a giant tarantula whenever I get angry. He thought it might help me control my emotions better, or so He said, but it was more of a spite thing."

She eyes the professor warily.

Shrug.

"I know--knew, rather--a young man who was turned into an octopus. Permanently." In other words, a transformation into a giant tarantula does not impress him very much.

And Alexander himself was turned into a boy.

Yes, he used to be a girl.

"Care to demonstrate?"

Monique looks at him as him as if he's out of his mind, which he likely is in any case. She throws up her hands in resignation and sighs. "Fine. I will, but I have to be pretty angry for a long time to make it all the way, and I can't guarentee your safety in the presence of a person-sized annoyed tarantula."

A pause, while the Frenchwoman studies the older professor, though of course she's already annoyed by this point. "I also set things on fire when I'm angry."

She sets her bag down for safekeeping and stands, watching him. "You'll have to do it, I'm afraid, I can't keep myself angry long enough."

I guarantee that Alexander is out of his mind.

He smiles. It's the kind of smile designed to drive you crazy, an 'I know infinitely more than you will ever know' kind of smile, a self-satisfied smile, a smug smile.

"I assure you, I am well protected against that sort of thing. Though how I'm to make you angry..."

He pauses. He doesn't know her well enough to know how to push her buttons. Wait until he's had her in class.

She gave him a glare, a patented, one-of-a-kind superior look that was somehow all uniquely hers.

"I don't care how much more you know than me, it doens't make you a superior sort of being. Just because you have a phD and know more about Azreal than is sensibile"- let's face it, messing with Death is just stupid- "I really don't care if I'm here or not, so don't make it seem as if you're doing me a favor."

Unofruntatly, what's he's doing will likely be of utmost use to her, whether it's useful to him as well or not.

"Several more degrees than that, actually," he answers.

"I do not know enough about him--and I would suggest you didn't say his name, if you don't want to attract his attention again--and I would like to." Too bad there's no way to kill a god...

Is there?

No, probably not.

And he isn't stupid, just completely insane.

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as they start to itch again and then sprout hairs. Might just get herself worked up enough- but she usually calms down very quickly once she starts to grow fangs.

"Azrael. I don't care, what else is he going to do to me? Change me into a man? I figure once you're messed up it doesn't matter how you're messed up."

She suddenly sighs and flops back down, waving a hand at him dismissively. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Do your thing."

"He just might." Change her into a man, that is. "However, I doubt it."

The god seems to have endless inventiveness, and so far, he has not heard of Azrael playing the same trick twice.

So far.

"I confess, I am at a loss as to how I am expected to make you angry. I suppose I could insult your academic prowess, or perhaps your family, but I have no experience of either."

She actually almost smiled at that, shaking her head sadly. "No luck there, I'm afraid. I'm confident in the first, and I don't care about the second."

She waves a careless hand again, starting to play with small flames popping up over her hand, a trick she's learned since the tarantula incident. "You'll just have to get inventive. I'm sure with -several- doctorates you've learned how to solve simple problems, like making French people angry. It's not that hard, I do it all the time." Just not in order to make herself change into a giant tarantula on purpose.

Infuriating child.

"Never mind." He murmurs a word, intended to snuff the flames in her hand. Given that he's a powerful mage with decades of experience... it should work.

She rolls her eyes and closes her hand after the flame winks out, leaning down to open up her bag and pull out her textbook.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll be kind enough to exempt me from exams after you study me for awhile, so if you don't mind I have things to be doing while you try and figure this out."

Sarcasm quota reached for the next five minutes, she buries her nose.

He looks at her for a moment, eyes half closed, then shakes his head.

"I don't think I can use you anyway."

Her magic is of the wrong sort, and her connection to Azrael is only of Alexander's own sort. Nothing he can use.

"Carry on."

... who died and made him king? Oh, wait. He's always this arrogant.

Now, that -is- enough to make her a wee bit annoyed. After all, the curse is pretty much the only distinguishable thing about her, and here she's being told she's useless even with it? Her eyebrows lower as she sets the book down, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Carry on what, might I ask? My futile existance? Because I really don't think study subjects are hanging around every corner, waiting to trip you in the hopes that they might be graced with your ever-so-brilliant presence." Never mind, she's not done being sarcastic by any measure.

He rolls his eyes.

"I'm more likely to find students lying in wait to seduce me." Which is true. For some reason that he cannot fathom, he is apparently everything many young women--and a few men--could dream of.

It is highly irritating.

"Study, by all means. Improve your mind."

Monique wasn't quite sure how to take his information- be more annoyed or ignore him sullenly? Just to spite him, she chooses the second. After all, he might still find her interesting if she manages even a partial transformation, and it's also likely she wouldn't be able to touch him if she tried to attack him, as worthwhile as the thought seems.

"Maybe if I do, someday I'll be as high and lofty as you are." She eyes him with distaste at the seduction comment and opens her Psych text, engaging herself in the wonderful world of first-year brain studies.