professor-lungri

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

Your students are lucky to have you.

Shere smiles at the words, the grin crinkling the edges of his eyes. "Thank you, both of you. Means a lot, honestly. I know better than most how hard it can be for out Magicks, so I try to at least make them feel like one bloody professor understands."

He knew, of course he knew, that there were other Magicks, other faculty affiliated with magic or creatures, or who held a fondness for them. Supported them.

But surely not everyone did, even if this was a Magick-friendly town. Shere had simply been lucky.

A chuckle escapes, however, as Leo tales out his phone and hands it toward him. He takes it, inputing his number before returning it.

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@exsgttibbs

Shere had a rather interesting appointment planned for the day.

While it wasn't unheard of to get younger, prospective students wanting to speak with him about the Magizoology program courtesy of the secondary, this one ass a bit different.

Firstly, she wasn't even in secondary yet, though would shortly be. Secondly, she was the daughter someone whom he knew, from various trips to the hospital and seeing him about town, so Shere wanted to be able to give the girl his proper, full attention.

If she was serious - and it seemed she was - then she deserved that.

Still, when the little knock comes to the door and the Vaagh moves to open it, a smile on his face, he doesn't quite expect her to look as she does. Small, younger, but determined.

"Hullo, you must be Tabitha. I'm Dr. Khan." Offering out the hand that doesn't have his cane resting in it, since he doesn't have Saint's with him today, he shakes her hand and gives the girl a warm, friendly grin. "It's nice to meet you. Now, why don't we come in. Take those seats right across from the desk, there. Would you or your father like a tea?"

The children are the future || Sergeant Stripes feat. Tibby

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

Takinf a sip from his drink, Shere finds him self grinning at the mention of the rehabilitation center. "I specialize in winged Magickal creatures, so running the program has been incredibly beneficial to learning about their habits and aiding their reintegration to their habits."

Nerdy? Yes. A favorite subject? Also yes.

"If you would ever like a tour, I'd be happy to do one. We give them tostudents, typically, but the town population also needs to be aware of the creatures, too, seeing as many live in their backyards."

The dark-haired man speaks and moment later and Shere turns, dark gaze looking at him for longer than a few seconds for the first time.

He nods.

"I certainly would have, so I hope they do. It is already difficult enough to be what people consider different, so I am glad to give them someplace to study."

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@lou-bonfightme

Shere nods, a brow ticking up slightly at the accent.

He'd heard it, a bit, when the man was speaking earlier but the use of the term confirmed it for him. Still, he doesn't say anything, simply nods and offers a thin smile.

"Thank you, then." Hopefully that information would help get the paint out. And, if not, we'll he could get another pair. "Are you certain you don't need anymore help?"

Splattering in the New Year || [Open]

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

"I'm the head of Magizoology," he says, voice dropping slightly, his gaze drifting to the people around them.

Strangers took to his profession in a handful of ways, but the most common was fascination or revulsion. He had time for the former and not the latter and, while he did not believe the man's curiosity was harmful, it still left Shere a bit wary.

The next question comes and he nods, reaching for his drink and taking a sip before sitting the to-go cup back onto the table, fingers playing with the edges of the cup sleeve. "Almost ten years, technically seven, I think." It was, perhaps, closer to eight now, but between lecture, seminars out of country, phoning and visiting Tiegan, and his volunteering about town, Shere had kept himself busy.

Enough so he wasn't...lonely, though sometimes he missed, well, people. On occasion. Vaagh were fairly solitary but he had grown used to the presence of his daughter, the handful of friends he'd had.

"But the students are, well, students. Young people looking to learn. Some try to come into the course and be hostile towards their Magick peers; they don't stay, nor do I allow them to. I'm a Magick myself. I don't stand for it."

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@lou-bonfightme

The tone made the Tiger want to bristle but the Man just grinNed and chuckled and looked down at his turned out leg once more.

"As I said, I'll do them once I head to university. I assume the paint is an acrylic-base?"

Splattering in the New Year || [Open]

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

The genuine-sounding interest in the man's voice was rather adorable, if that was even that correct word to use. The man was rather nice to a stranger, all things considering, especially with his silent companion sitting there.

Leaning back a bit in his seat, Shere offers the man a smile, dimpling out the left side of his face.

"About two, maybe three years. Dunno, exactly but I think it's closer to the former. I've trained him up a bit myself, but we've had decent success with it all, despite it being alow going. I can't do it all the time," he explains, gesturing down the road, "as I'm an instructor at the university."

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@lou-bonfightme

With a hum, Shere steps back so the man can get down off his ladder, feeling distinctly like he's watching the caricature of a man who thought he was a king come down off his throne dias.

Still, the Vaagh watches, even as the man negates his question, saying he will not fall. The palette, however, certainly had. It was no hard feat to assume the man would, as well, if he truly was just a man.

The scent of him said otherwise, but Shere was polite enough not to comment upon it, even if it smelled vaguely of wet dog.

"It is alright," he finally says, turning his leg out slightly to get a better look at the damage. "I suppose they can be dabbed at once I get ti the university. Dry cleaning will have to get the rest."

And if they couldn't, well, Shere had another similar pair, and Tiegan was always trying to get him into 'more fashionable' wear. This would be the perfect opportunity for his wayward, though well-meaning, daughter to strike.

Splattering in the New Year || [Open]

[professor-lungri]

@lou-bonfightme

Despite it being 'freeze your bloody tits off' cold today, Shere had chosen to walk to campus, cane in hand and messenger bag slung onto his right side, over a shoulder. He was clad in coat, slacks, scarf and mittens with a pair of solid winter boots for the snow.

He and his Tiger both almost always hated the cold, and only marginally tolerated the snow; both because he'd grown up in far warmer climes and, as such, had had such a terrible experience adjusting to the dreary English weather once he'd immigrated as a boy, and because every part of his body ached from it.

Now, one would think a car would be far easier, but travel was stunted on the roads, and Shere would rather maneuver himself through a handful of tourists gawking at moving roads and restaurants than their blaring car horns as it took him thirty minutes to make it down and over a few blocks. No, he'd much rather take his chances out on the sidewalk and streets.

A clattering dragged him from his thoughts and, frowning, the Vaagh turns toward the sound in time to tell two things: one, it was a paint palette, and a rarher large one at that, and two, the paint had splattered across the sidewalk, up his shoes and trouser leg, and over part of the lower mural the man was working on.

Shere sighs, checking his watch, and glances up at the man. The scent of him smelled different, smelled Magick, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand straighter, thiugh he was neither afraid of nor hostile toward the artist. Instead, he lifts a brow, and cocks his head to the side.

"You're not in danger of falling are you?"

Splattering in the New Year || [Open]

[professor-lungri]

send me a question and i'll answer in a voice memo!

reverb

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

Chuckling, Shere edges the seat out from the table before adjusting his leg so it didn't lean quite so badly into the man's personal space. Saint lifts his head, nudges him with a nose to discover why he was moving, and then promptly placed himself into his spot at Shere's feet once more when he was satisfied.

"It's not nearly as intensive as some other working dogs, believe me," he says, "but his name's Saint. He's adopted."

When the darker-haired man takes a seat across from him, Saint perks up again, sniffing at him before thumping his tail and giving a quiet 'boorf' in greeting. Raising a brow, Shere glances over to the other man. "Seems to like you well enough, but he usually does. He's pretty easy-going. I take him into the uni with me often enough, so hes used to being around people."

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@notmuchofatail

"Which part's strange, th' fact I've not got a drink or that you're glad?" A brow arches as he looks at the younger man, gaze dragging down Greg's torso, checking for injuries and other bills on a form of habit.

Not that Greg was even his responsibility, or that the other man had made it clear he wanted to have him around. He'd cut contact quite cleanly, and Shere often wondered why. But not even he had the gall to ask now, after an accidental meeting. (For such a small town, there were certainly plenty of places to hide when you didn't want to see a person).

"I would like if you sat, Greg. Stay for a moment," he says instead, a small grin curling around the edges of his mouth. "Please?"

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

December 9th: Shere + Orange

@professor-lungri

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

Shere hums, nodding his head, agreeing with a bit of a furrow pulling down the skin between his eyes. "Whether it's fine or not, he was still, indeed, being an arsehole," he agrees, darting his gaze over to the darker-haired man.

Still, the Vaagh waves off his thanks and, instead, nods toward the tables. "Some of us here aren't, though. If you'd like to sit for a tick –" Again, he looks at the darker, grumpier lookong man– "I've a few extra chairs, so long as you don't mind dogs. He won't hurt you, probably won't do much 'cause he's working."

Slat his acknowledgement, Saint's thumped his tail underneath the table, head on his paws once he realized he wasn't needed.

At the pronouncement, that they'd met before, Shere cocks his head to the side, then grins, when it dawns on him. "Nice to see you again, too."

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@euterpe-of-hesiod

Shere had a more difficult time with the holiday as the winds turned colder and his body began to throb, ache, with its pain. Today was no exception and he leaned more heavily on his cane than normal as he crossed through the courtyard.

It was particularly busy today, and the Vaagh wonders why, curiosity pulling him in closer. He sees a young woman with a guitar in her lap, a handful of people around her.

He doesn't realize she's speakingz and speaking to him, until it filters in. Slow, at first, but then all at once he understands.

"I'm sorry, love, but I'm just passing through. This have anything to do with all those flyers I saw around the university?"

Wintergrace || OPEN

[professor-lungri]

@agentgrumpy-gils

The first bloke seen to, Shere stands carefully and edges toward the other one on the floor. He vaguely recognized the darker haired one from a long while back, but not the one on the ground.

Snagging one of the coffees, Shere sets it down on his table before moving to help the other man up. He had a limp, but he wasn't exactly lame.

"He jus' plow right past yah both?"

falling into the season || swynopen

[professor-lungri]

@notmuchofatail

One of two things happened: first, Shere sits, blinking, as he looks at Gregory - a man he hasn't seen in months, despite the notoriously small town they lived in - half sprawled across both himself and the table he was sat at. Secondly, the person that'd run into him, while initially a dim, background grey suddenly becomes a blaring light. Bright, drawn in like a moth to flame.

An idiot, clearly, or just a rude tourist. Shere glares at them, anyway, as they scurry past, barely concerned for them at all.

"Well," he says, after a moment's, swollen silence, clearing his throat and shifting his leg to nudge the man's phone toward him where it'd bounced beside it (and Saint's muzzle). "I suppose it could've been worse, eh? Could've been drinking something. Greg, 's alright."

And there. There it was. The immediate forgiveness. He doesn't quite know why Greg earns it, why he gets it, but he does.

Because the acceptance, whether Greg knows it, chooses to see it, or not is for...many things, and not just the fact he'd nearly upended Shere's table onto him.

"Shoulder alright? Hit you hard."

falling into the season || swynopen