#this is like. in undergrad when i sent my supervisor my thesis draft and she was like yeah ok cool but what the fuck is an intestine war

[catilinas]

spending one million years trying to log into the oxford english dictionary so i can see if a word i want to use is An Archaism. turns out it's not even just old fashioned :( it's obsolete :(

[roman-writing]

two, across (4/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 8,470

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

Lysithea allows herself to be distracted by Hilda for the entire weekend. She does not open her laptop to check her emails, or even sneak onto her phone to peek at the university webportal login. On the same front, Hilda does no visible work despite the fact that she has a class to teach on Monday. Whereas Lysithea only allows herself this rare luxury because she does not have her lecture until Tuesday. 

She will regret it come Monday evening, but during the weekend she cannot bring herself to care enough to actually disrupt the two days by worrying about university work. She messages one of her flatmates that she will be out all weekend, and spends the time alternatively lazing about Hilda’s apartment, or being dragged around town by Hilda to spontaneous events. 

In the past, Lysithea had never been much interested in going to animated little bars with live music and decorative antlers. Hanging out in trendy establishments specifically designed for the consumption of alcohol, when she preferred to not mix meds with spirits, is not high on her to-do list, but something about the company more than makes up for it. Hilda herself opts to not drink much either, despite being on a first name basis with everyone on the premises, including Claude, the owner -- a rakishly good-looking man with dark hair, and eyes even more cunning than his smile -- who clears out other lesser customers from the best seats in the house for them, and personally ensures that their glasses are never empty. 

So it is that on a frosty Monday morning Lysithea returns to work more refreshed than she could remember feeling in years. This time she and Hilda take the train from the apartment together. It is far too easy to go about her usual daily routine with Hilda in it; Lysithea does not even pause to think that it might be odd. It isn't until they are ordering their coffees at the cafe just around the corner from the university, that it strikes her that this is a departure from the norm. 

Lysithea murmurs her thanks to the barista as she accepts her mocha, a slight furrow in her brow. She is so preoccupied with the notion that she does not even scold Hilda for stealing one of the marshmallows resting atop the lid of her takeaway cup. 

The feeling lingers when they are waiting for the elevators with their coffees in hand, as though the return to what used to be the normal routine was more jarring than what had occurred just previous. Lysithea tries to shrug it away. Hilda doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she does not mention it. 

They do the crossword in Lysithea's office. Hilda leaves for her class -- late, as usual -- and Lysithea opens up her work emails for the first time in two days.

A few of the usual suspects litter in inbox. Three spam emails that had slipped through the cracks of the university's firewall. A flurry of students worried about their upcoming assignment at the very last minute; the paper is due at the beginning of next week, and by the looks of it some of them have only just started now. No surprise there. 

Midway through clearing the list of emails, Lysithea goes stock-still. Tomas has replied to the final thesis draft she had sent him on Friday. His response takes up only one ominous line on the screen:

‘We need to meet to discuss further. Come by my office Monday 2pm, if it suits. -T.’

Her heart races in her chest. A million possibilities pop up into her head about what could have possibly gone wrong this time. Or perhaps it has gone right for once, and she is simply over-reacting. 

The latter seems unlikely. And besides, Lysithea had never been predisposed towards optimism. Life had taught her that, and if nothing else she is an expert study.  

She responds to the email with an affirmation, and then spends the next few hours agonising over it. She wishes Hilda were here. She wishes Edelgard were here. But Hilda is in the second floor lecture hall, and Edelgard is four hours time difference away and probably busy with very important meetings. 

Briefly, Lysithea considers going to Hanneman to pick his brain, but by the time she has thought to do so it is half an hour before she must meet with Tomas. She was supposed to have spent the day writing up her lecture for tomorrow, but instead she stews in a soup of anxious anticipation, unable to bring herself to do anything more than stall and not dissolve into full-blown panic.

She arrives at Tomas' office fifteen minutes early, unable to stand the idea of waiting a moment longer. In one hand she clutches her notebook and pen, and in the other her bag. Thankfully, he is inside. The door is ajar, and the lights are on. Lysithea has to steady herself with a deep breath before she raps lightly on the door, and pushes it open.

"You wanted to see me, Tomas?"

For a portly old man who dresses all in unassuming beige, his presence never fails to fill her with dread. He glances up from his computer. "Ah, Lysithea. Good. Come in."

This is how it always starts. With smiles. With a veneer of kindness and understanding. 

Lysithea perches herself gingerly on the edge of a seat which is located at the end of his desk. She puts down her bag at her feet. He already has a copy of her latest thesis draft printed out. She feels ill at the sight of his handwriting scrawled all across the margins. 

"About this draft -" she starts, but he cuts her off before she can get more than a few words in edgewise.

"Yes. I'm glad you sent it to me." Tomas pulls his chair a little closer so that he can angle his notes towards her and they can both read them. "I have a few concerns."

"O-Oh?" She clears her throat, and tries to hide the tremble of her fingers when she opens her notebook to a fresh page. She has already labelled the top of the page with the date, time, and meeting title.

Tomas flips to midway through her thesis, where a portion of her data is spilled across the page. The rest of the extensive tables and figures are located in the appendices. Meticulously, he puts on a pair of round spectacles, and pulls out a pen of his own. 

"This main section here," he taps with the end of his pen at the corner of the data table. "It still isn't clear enough. You don't prove the correlation between your data and your results." 

Even though Lysithea is poised and ready to take notes, she cannot bring herself to write anything down. Her notebook is filled with pages and pages of figures and sketches and explanations and minutes of their meetings on this exact topic. 

"I don't understand," Lysithea says slowly. "How else can I explain it?" 

"In a way that makes sense, preferably." His answer is dry and biting. 

She has to mask a wince at his tone. She takes a moment to respond, and when she does so, it’s like hearing her own voice from a distance. 

"With all due respect, I think that what you're asking me is outside the scope of this project."

He goes still. He leans back in his seat, and studies her. His eyes look very small through the lenses of his glasses. "I beg your pardon?"

"I just -" Lysithea swallows thickly, and forces herself to sit up a little straighter. "I just don't think that what you're asking of me is what this thesis is meant to deliver."

"Incorrect. This -" he taps at the pages, "- is not a thesis."

A chill settles over her. "What?"

"This is not a thesis. If you submitted it to anyone, they would fail it."

"I don't understand," she repeats. It's a sentence she has said many times in this office, and which she imagines she will say many more times yet. "I received independent advice from other academics in the field, and they said that -"

"Which academics?" Tomas' face has gone hard. 

"Ha-Hanneman, of course -"

"A secondary supervisor is not an independent source."

"And Dr. Goneril," Lysithea adds. 

It feels like a trump card, using Hilda’s name. The rising star of the department. The young up and coming darling of the field with a bright future and an academic matrix to die for.

This time when Tomas smiles, it looks forced, like a baring of teeth. “And what did Dr. Goneril have to say?”

“She gave me constructive feedback, which I took. And then she said it was ready to submit,” Lysithea answers truthfully.

The last bit in particular had made Lysithea’s chest swell with a sense of accomplishment at the time, as though her thesis had already passed the examination stage by the grace of Hilda’s approval alone. 

Tomas takes a moment to clean his glasses with the edge of his beige sweater. “Well,” he perches the spectacles back upon his nose, “Dr. Goneril is very young. And unless I am very much mistaken, she has never been an examiner before.”

“Then, can you please tell me what you would have me do to fix whatever problem you think there is with my thesis?”

“Get more data.”

A prickle of fear down her spine. “That would take months. It’s not feasible within the timeframe to -”

“And yet it must be done. What you have here is -” He shuffles a few of the pages, and then waves at them like they’re garbage that has sullied his desk. “- nothing. It doesn’t prove anything. You’re miles away from finishing. You need more data, and you need clearer explanations as to how you arrived at your conclusions.”

“I -” Her mouth feels dry. Her stomach squirms like a bed of snakes, and with a sense of unreality she says, “No. I won’t.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t change it anymore.” Lysithea shakes her head. Her voice is faint, but immovable. “I don’t have time to rewrite my thesis to be what you want. It’s - It’s never going to be what you want.” 

Tomas stares at her for an uncomfortable length of time. A muscle leaps at his jaw. Then, he tosses his pen down, and crosses his arms. “In that case, I will not be endorsing your thesis for examination.”

Lysithea glances down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Her fingers are still clenched around the pen, poised to take notes upon a blank page. She closes the notebook, and clips the pen into its sheath. 

She grabs her bag, stands, and is surprised when her legs support her. “Then I suppose we are finished here.”

As she reaches the door, Tomas’ voice gives her pause. “You’re making a mistake, Miss Ordelia.”

She doesn't answer. Her fingers rest upon the door's handle. She pushes the door open, and walks out into the hallway. 

When the door closes behind her, Lysithea stands in the hallway for a long moment, unsure of exactly what to do. She looks at the opposite wall, at the abstract painting of a cancerous cell hanging there, until she begins to walk. Her feet carry her down the hallway in a daze, and Lysithea does not think of her destination. Indeed, she has no destination in mind, but her legs seem to know.

She strides towards her own office, but freezes when she sees that Hilda's door is open; she must have just finished her lecture. Lysithea approaches, and walks in without a word.

Hilda is wearing earphones. She hums merrily along to a song that is playing on her phone while she texts simultaneously. Upon noticing Lysithea's presence in the doorway, she glances up, beaming. "Hey! What's up?"

Lysithea's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

Hilda frowns, and reaches up to take out her headphones. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Um -" Lysithea swallows and tries again. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably now. "I - uh - I just had a meeting with Tomas, and he told me he isn't going to support my thesis."

Hilda looks blankly at her, as though she had not understood what was said. "I'm sorry -- what?"

The words fall from Lysithea’s mouth in a torrent she can’t stop. "He - He said that I would need to collect more data and rewrite whole sections for clarity, but I don't - I don't have time. I came to the university on a grant basis, which pays for full tuition and ensures I have a job, and it runs out in three months, and if I don't submit - if I drag this out any longer I'm not going to be able to stay without paying out of pocket, and my family isn't - I can't ask El to do this for me. I can’t go home like this. I can’t do that. My parents are - they aren’t -"

The world is spinning at the edges. Her chest aches, and it is difficult to breathe. Lysithea hardly registers the fact that Hilda has risen to her feet and shut the door so they are alone. Gentle hands are suddenly on her shoulders, but Lysithea flinches so abruptly she drops her pen and notebook.

"Woah. Okay. No touchy. Got it." Hilda turns off the lights, and twists the blinds shut so that the room is dimmed and nobody can peer inside. 

Faint music is still playing from Hilda’s headphones. The cheery pop tune is a stark contrast to the all-consuming panic that washes over her. The whole scene feels surreal, like she’s watching herself drown in a dream. She covers her face with one shaking hand. Her breaths are sharp and rapid against her palm. Lysithea closes her eyes and tries to will the world to stop turning so that she can collect herself -- just for a moment. 

"Do you have your phone on you?" Hilda mumbles as if to herself. This time when Lysithea feels a hand start to sneak into her bag, she does not move away. 

Hilda grabs Lysithea's phone and pulls up the screen. She unlocks it without any trouble, and starts flicking through the contact list before lifting the phone to her ear. 

A familiar voice answers on the other line, but without the speaker on, Lysithea can't quite tell what Edelgard is saying.

"Hi! Nope. It's Hilda. Yeah, sorry, no time to chat. Lysithea is having a bit of a meltdown right now, and I need you to talk to her, okay?"

A touch at her wrist. Hilda gently tugs Lysithea's arm down so that she can press the phone between her fingers. 

Trying to calm her breathing, Lysithea's voice is still a trembling mess when she says, "H-Hello?"

"Lys," Edelgard sounds grave and concerned. "What happened?"

Lysithea gasps on a sob. She tries to bite it back. Her teeth dig into her lower lip hard enough that she can feel them cut into skin. Her eyes burn, everything goes blurry, and suddenly it's all coming out in a rush. 

Edelgard listens while Lysithea babbles on the phone about the events of the day, and even her silence is thunder-graven, as though she were hanging off of Lysithea's every word. When Lysithea finally stops to choke on a sob and wipe at her cheeks, Edelgard says in a soothing tone. 

"You know I wouldn't let that happen."

"No, El."

"Lysithea -"

"No!" Lysithea has to lower the phone for a moment to compose herself. She roughly drags the back of her hand across her eyes, and brings the phone back up. "Accepting gifts is one thing but this is - this is too much. I can't. You can't solve everything for me with money. I don't want you to. I just - I just want -"

For this to have never happened. To submit her thesis. To pass. To graduate. To teach. To live without something horrible looming on the horizon, like she had for so long.

"I know," Edelgard murmurs. "And if that's what you want, of course I will respect that. But it isn't weakness to let others help you. This isn't the end of it. There is a way to solve this. You just have to find out how."

It takes a good fifteen minutes on the phone with Edelgard for Lysithea to finally get her breathing under control. By then, she has sunk down to sit on the ground, her back leaning against the wall. Hilda is sitting on the corner of her desk nearby, waiting patiently even as her foot jiggles and her fingers play with one of the gold bangles at her wrist.

Edelgard’s voice sounds distant for a moment as she pulls the phone away to speak to someone else, “Just another moment, Hubert. I’m almost done.” She brings the phone back. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

“Yeah,” Lysithea closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the wall. “I know you do.” 

“I will call you tomorrow.”

“Alright.” 

“Can you put Hilda back on the phone?”

Wordlessly, Lysithea holds the phone out, and feels Hilda cautiously take it from her. 

“Y-ello?” Hilda chirps into the phone. “Nah, it’s fine. Got it. Yup. Yuuup. I said I got it, didn’t I? Geesh. Sure thing. Bye.” 

Lysithea’s eyes are still closed. She can hear the soft beep of the call being ended, followed by silence. She opens her eyes when Hilda sits down gingerly beside her. Their thighs are pressed together. Lysithea stares down at both their shoes; her own outstretched feet stop midway somewhere between Hilda’s calves and ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” Lysithea says; she sounds raspy and wooden to her own ears.

“Sorry?” Hilda stares at the side of her face, incredulous. “For what? Tomas being a bully?”

"For -" Lysithea waves at herself and then at Hilda's office. "- barging in here and just -"

"Oh, no. You don't have to apologise for that. You know how many people in their mid-twenties I have made cry in these very walls?" Hilda leans in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So many."

Lysithea can't keep a watery laugh at bay. She wipes at her eyes again, and sniffles. "What if he's right? What if it's all complete rubbish, and I've just wasted the last three years of my life?"

"Look at me." Hilda tugs at Lysithea's hand until she reluctantly glances up. Hilda is wearing a stern expression, as though she has just been insulted. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Lysithea blinks in confusion. "What -?"

"Because that's what it sounds like to me."

"Hilda, I don't -"

"Seriously though. Seriously. Have you ever known me to spout platitudes just to make someone feel better?"

Slowly, Lysithea shakes her head.

"That's right," Hilda says. She runs her thumb across Lysithea's fingers. The gold and coral rings she wears are warm from prolonged contact with her skin. "Because I am many things. Brilliant. Talented. Funny. Gorgeous -"

Lysithea's laugh is weak, but she can still feel the smile splitting her face.

"- but a liar is not one of them. I’m a modern day Oracle of Delphi; I only speak divine truths, which no one is ready to hear or appreciate," Hilda continues. "And your thesis is good. Alright? It's really good. And Tomas may be playing some fucked up game that's unfairly involved you. I don't know what it is. Maybe he's after more grant money. Or maybe he's just a dick. Personally, my money is on the latter of those two options. Occam’s razor, or whatever."

"I don't know," Lysithea sighs. 

She allows Hilda to keep playing with her hand. She even responds, turning her palm face up and curling her fingers so that their hands are laced together. It doesn't last long; Hilda is terrible at keeping still. Soon, she's toying with Lysithea's fingertips again like they're her own personal playdough putty. 

"What am I going to do?" Lysithea says softly.

Hilda mulls over that for a moment before replying. "Well, it's your thesis, you know? And a supervisor's role is to supervise. Which is very tautological of me, but tautology has its place in the world irregardless of the fact that it's mostly bunk. So, my point still stands. It's your thesis. And technically speaking you don't need a supervisor's permission to submit it. You can just submit it on your own."

Lysithea stares at their hands, and then at Hilda herself, who is watching her intently. "But how would I find examiners, or - or -? I don't know the process behind the bureaucracy."

"No," Hilda drawls the vowel out as if savouring it in her mouth. "But there are other people in the department who do."

"I can't go to Judith," Lysithea says, adamant. "She was taught by Tomas! He's the professor with the longest tenure in the school, let alone the department! He's untouchable."

Hilda uses her free hand to tap the tip of Lysithea's nose. "Au contraire. He’s very touchable.” Realising what she has just said, Hilda makes a disgusted face. “Oh, ew. Forget I said that. Anyway! I wasn’t talking about Judith.”

“Then who do you -?” Lysithea’s eyes widen, and she pales. “You can’t mean Rhea.”

“Directly to Rhea,” Hilda confirms. “Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“I can’t do that. He would be so mad.” Lysithea even checks over her shoulder towards the closed office door and drawn windows, as if he were a boogeyman lurking just outside and eavesdropping on every word. 

“Yeah, well. Maybe he should’ve thought of that before being a fuckwad.” Hilda slips her hand free of Lysithea’s in order to shuffle a little upright and turn towards her. “Listen. I get it. Rhea puts the fear of god in me, too. But she’s the Dean. She is literally everyone’s boss. And as part of her job description, she is supposed to weigh in on these things when they crop up. Speaking of cropping -- do you want me to dismember Tomas horribly?” 

Though Hilda is smiling when she asks it, her eyes are very cold and her voice very serious.

Lysithea takes a moment to mull the offer over. “Tempting, but no. Thank you.”

“Oh, anytime. You need someone’s ass kicked? You call me.” 

“Isn’t that job reserved for older siblings, not younger ones?”

“Well, la-dee-da, Miss Only Child! When did you suddenly become an expert on sibling relationships? I’ll have you know, I kicked many a deserving ass without my brother’s help.” Hilda pauses, then adds. “That being said, if Holst were to kick someone, their individual vertebrae would pop out of their mouth like a pez dispenser.”

Lysithea pats Hilda’s knee in a consoling fashion. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if you bulked up some more, you too could kick someone into low Earth orbit like a Saturn V rocket.”

“Aww...That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Yes, nothing says romance like a girl stumbling into your office and blubbering like an idiot for thirty minutes,” Lysithea says dryly. It is a testament to Hilda’s skill at distracting her that Lysithea is even able to summon up a bit of sarcasm right now. 

In answer, Hilda uses the edge of the table to pull herself to her feet. Then she turns to offer Lysithea a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

“But -” Lysithea starts to protest, but Hilda shakes her head.

“No way. You’re not staying here after this fustercluck. Take the rest of the day off. And tomorrow, too. I know you have lectures tomorrow, but I’ll bet my studded McQueen boots that you haven’t missed a single day of class this term, so don’t even think about coming into work. Now,” Hilda wraps her scarf around her neck, and hoists her black bag over her shoulder. “Do you want to go to your place or mine? Up to you.”

At the thought of having to explain this whole thing again to each of her flatmates as they come home, Lysithea cringes. “Yours, please.”

“Great choice. I’ve got that pizza place’s phone number burning a hole in my pocket, and enough ice cream in my freezer to tranquilise a horse.”

Lysithea lets herself be pulled up from where she is seated on the floor. Crying has completely drained her, and the promise of food does little to rouse her appetite. If she had gone back to her own place, she wouldn’t have eaten at all that evening. Indeed, the idea of curling up on the ground and sleeping for the next thousand years seems like the best available option, but Hilda is already opening the door for them to go. 

As they step out into the hallway, Lysithea briefly considers grabbing her laptop from her office, but the thought makes her stomach turn, so she leaves it behind. Walking to the elevators means walking past Tomas’ office, and Lysithea skulks behind Hilda the whole way. She doesn’t relax until they are leaving the building entirely and striding across the snowy street towards the train station.   

Arriving at Hilda’s apartment feels like reaching the promised land. The familiar clutter draped over every surface, and the smell of Hilda’s perfume on the air might as well be salvation. 

Hilda flings her bag into a corner of her bedroom, and taps away at her phone to turn on her automated heating system as well as order them a pizza with all the trimmings. Without needing to be told or ask permission, Lysithea opens up one of the drawers to pull out a spare set of Hilda’s overly large sweatpants and t-shirt for pajamas. 

She wanders into the restroom, but doesn’t bother to lock the door. She runs a bath, and strips. The hot water scalds at first, then cools to just the right temperature. She cries a bit more. She lets the bath wash away the day’s events until Hilda is knocking on the door to announce that their food has arrived, and that the delivery boy was a seven. 

Lysithea emerges from the bathroom with wet hair, dressed in Hilda’s clothes. She flicks a quick email off to her students on her phone that she is feeling unwell and will be unable to make it to tomorrow’s lectures, while Hilda opens the pizza box in the kitchen and puts a few slices onto a single plate for them to share. 

Four episodes of a netflix show and a tub of ice cream later, the world outside has fallen to an early wintry night. Snow gathers on the windowsill, illuminated by the glow of the laptop on the bed between them. It’s barely nine in the evening, but snuggled up beneath the warm sheets Lysithea yawns. Hilda shuts the lid of the laptop and sets it on the ground. The room is plunged into a quiet darkness. Rolling over to face the window, Lysithea buries her head into her pillow.

The mattress dips slightly as Hilda shuffles around. “You still in no touchy mode? Or are cuddles acceptable?”

In answer, Lysithea gropes around in the dark for Hilda’s hand. She finds her wrist, and pulls it over so that Hilda’s arm is wrapped around her stomach. Lysithea lets her eyes fall shut as Hilda curls up against her. And as she drifts off, she dreams that Hilda presses a chaste kiss to the back of her neck. 

--

Lysithea decides she is very bad at playing hooky. She spends the day at Hilda’s apartment. She tries to not do work -- she really does -- but the itch is so overwhelming that it’s a relief to use Hilda’s tablet to plan her Friday lecture. 

She may not have had the crossword with Hilda that morning, but at least she can do one thing that feels normal and routine. Today of all days, Lysithea clings to any creature comforts she can get her hands on. And if that means meticulously planning out notes and a slideshow for a two hour lecture, then that's what she's going to do, god damn it.

Eventually however even that isn't enough to keep her occupied. Hilda had promised to return early from the university, but without her the apartment feels haunted by her absence. More than once Lysithea looks up, ready to speak to Hilda only to realise that she's not there. Disappointment twists her gut, which only makes her frown and throw herself back into her work with more zeal than before. By the time it reaches one in the afternoon, Lysithea has finished with her notes, and has even added a few extra slides to her powerpoint in case she needs to pad out the time, leaving her with nothing to do.

Opening a new tab in the browser, Lysithea goes to the university website. She looks up the dean's page. She chews nervously at her lower lip as she stares at Rhea's email address. And then, before she can convince herself that it's a bad idea, she copies the address and pastes it into the send bar.

The email she sends to Rhea is simple, a request for a meeting to discuss her main supervisor.

No sooner has Lysithea put down the tablet and gone hunting through Hilda's kitchen for the ingredients for a hot chocolate, than she hears a faint chime of an email in her inbox from the other room. It takes her very little time these days to find things in Hilda's apartment, and she returns to the tablet with a mug of steaming cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick as a garnish. 

She almost drops the mug when she sees that Rhea has already responded to the email.

'Of course. I have fifteen minutes in between meetings tomorrow at 3:30pm. Your schedule permitting, come around to my office then. -Rhea, President of the University for Biology and Medicine, Dean, Division of Biological Sciences and Physical Sciences, PhD.'

Lysithea takes a hasty gulp of cocoa that's too hot, but the scalding grounds her. Her stomach was a hive of anxious activity again. She didn't know if she could handle another meeting like the one she'd had with Tomas just yesterday all in the same week. 

And the worst part about it is that Hilda was right. And Lysithea just knows that Hilda is going to be insufferable about it. 

--

Lysithea sits in a chair outside the dean's office. The walls in this level of the building are sleek and wood-paneled. She feels excruciatingly out of place with her knee-length skirt and tattered old notebook clutched in her hand. For the fourth time since arriving and being told by the assistant to take a seat while she waited, Lysithea checks her watch. As she turns over her wrist, the door to her right opens, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Rhea stands in the doorway, wearing a white dress. Her hair is long, extending down her back, and from beneath the hem of her dress Lysithea can just see the hint of sandals, the kind that Hilda would have liked and therefore must have been fashionable. On anyone else, the outfit would have made the wearer appear to be an ancient Graecian noblewoman or perhaps a lost ghost from a gothic Victorian novel, but on Rhea it just makes her look sleek and imposing. 

Rhea opens the door a little wider and steps back in a wordless invitation. "Miss Ordelia. I'm glad you could make it."

Lysithea rises to her feet. When she slips past Rhea, she tries to stand a little straighter, but it has very little effect. Rhea is one of the tallest people she's met, and somehow Lysithea always feels even shorter when around her. As though Rhea were not tall at all, but that other people were merely too short to stand beside her and meet her gaze. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says. She holds her notebook and pen in both hands as though they were a shield. "I really appreciate you making the time to meet with me so promptly."

"Not at all." Rhea closes the door so that they are alone in the office. She gestures to a chair. "Please. Sit."

The office is large enough to house an enormous desk on one end, and a seating area for guests in another. Also an entire wall of floor to ceiling bookcases, complete with a marble bust of some religious figure or another that Lysithea does not immediately recognise. Rhea had gestured towards the desk half of the room, so Lysithea takes one of the seats there.

Rhea meanwhile rounds her desk and sits behind it as though seating herself upon a throne. She leans her elbows on the polished wood surface, her gaze sharp and green and attentive. "How can I help you?"

For a moment Lysithea fiddles with the lavender-coloured ribbon that marks her place in the notebook. Then, steadying herself, she explains the events of not just yesterday but the last year during which all her troubles with Tomas began. 

Rhea listens, calm, never once interrupting. Her face is a mask of composure. Lysithea wishes she could read her, but Rhea has always come across as cold and distant no matter the occasion, be it during Lysithea’s entrance interviews, or during departmental holiday parties. It makes Lysithea even more nervous, and more than once she has to pause to collect herself before she can continue once more.

Finally, when Lysithea stops, Rhea speaks. "First, allow me to apologise on the university's behalf. Students in your position are vulnerable to this sort of behaviour, as they are reliant upon their supervisors for advice and information through a very stressful time. Had this issue been brought to my attention sooner, I might have been able to act upon it then."

Hearing that, Lysithea can feel the small ballooning of hope in her chest fade. But then Rhea continues. 

"However, I believe the solution to your problem is quite simple at this point. I understand that there are certain time sensitive elements to your employment and connection to this programme, but this works in your favour, not against it.” Rhea raps her fingers against the desk as she speaks; her fingernails are painted a pale green, like Wedgwood porcelain, or the shell of an egg. “I am going to make the recommendation that Tomas’ supervisory role be transferred immediately. I will ensure the paperwork is expedited so as to take into account your grant deadline, but I will need you to first send me an email outlining everything you have told me here today. Spare no detail.”

Lysithea blinks in confusion, wondering for a brief moment if she has heard that incorrectly. “You’re going to give me a new supervisor?” she asks slowly. 

Rhea cocks her head to one side. “No. While I understand that due to the interdisciplinary nature of your work that you had two supervisors, I trust that between you and Dr. Essar, you will deliver a more than passable thesis. Unless you take objection with this option?”

Lysithea shakes her head furiously. “No! No, this is fine. Thank you.”

Hanneman as her sole supervisor. It’s better than fine. It’s what she wishes had happened to begin with, but which she only could have known in hindsight. 

“Excellent. Now,” Rhea leans forward in her seat. Her glass-green gaze is fixed and unblinking, like that of a great serpent. “Have you by any chance been keeping record of specific dates and notes of your meetings with Tomas?”

Lysithea nods. She holds up her notebook and gives it a little wave before placing it back in her lap.

Rhea’s gaze flashes with something keen and sharp. “Good. Be sure to include those as well.”

“Might I ask -?” Lysithea hesitates, waiting for Rhea to give a slight incline of her head before continuing. “What exactly are you going to be doing with this information?”

Rhea smiles, and for the first time Lyisthea notices two things. One: that Rhea has not seemed to blink even once during this entire encounter. Two: that Rhea’s teeth are remarkably sharp.

“While I cannot speak too much on the matter outside of a confidential arrangement, I can tell you that yours is not an isolated incident, Miss Ordelia. Let us say that Tomas has a not insignificant file on record. Any details, any specifics at all you can give me may be instrumental in current proceedings.” Rhea’s long, pale, green-painted nails are like talons atop the darkly-varnished wooden desk. “So, do be sure to send me that email at the first available opportunity.”

--

Less than two weeks later, Tomas is no longer her supervisor, and Hanneman is signing the administrative paperwork to submit Lysithea’s thesis. That sense of unreality still hangs over her like a cloud. Hanneman hands her the pen to sign on her own dotted line, and it feels like reaching for a piece of candy that is going to be snatched away at a moment's notice. 

The giddiness starts up when Lysithea is carrying her final bound and printed thesis copies from her office for submission. There's a bounce in her step that she hasn't felt in ages. There are two copies of over two hundred pages each, bound in white with her name in simple gold lettering embossed on the cover. 

Her step falters when she has to walk by Tomas' office. She had avoided him ever since that meeting. Every day where she went without seeing him was a day she breathed a sigh of relief. Today however, as she strode down the hall towards the elevators, she noticed his office door was wide open. 

Lysithea walks a little faster, but then pauses. She turns and peers into Tomas' office. 

The desk and chairs remain, but the shelves are empty. Indeed, all personal affects seem to have vanished. Tomas himself is nowhere to be seen.

Her grip upon the twin copies of her thesis slackens. As if she had seen a ghost, Lysithea hurries off towards the elevator, stabbing at the button with her finger to call the lift from the second floor. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and her mind whirls at the speed of light. 

Upstairs, she drops off her thesis copies and the forms Hanneman had signed onto the desk of one of the dean's many administrators. The woman seated at the desk checks over all the paperwork before stamping it with an official seal that she then signs and dates. Afterwards, she smiles up at Lysithea, and ensures her that everything is completed. She also reminds Lysithea that neither she nor Hanneman are to attempt to contact the examiners in any way, no matter how long the process takes. 

"You will hear from the dean when your examination results are in," the administrator assures her. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says for what must be the fifth time since she arrived just moments ago to turn everything in.

"Not a problem. Go. Relax." The administrator waves at her in a kindly fashion. "Try to think about something else for a while. You've earned a break."

"Thanks," Lysithea repeats, then realising that she has said it yet again, turns to leave. 

The dean's offices are located on the top floor of the building. Between the wood-paneling and the statues and the light streaming through the stained-glass windows, it feels like standing in the wing of a cathedral. Lysithea bounces on the balls of her feet, and hums to herself as she waits for the elevators to make their long haul back up to this floor. Before the elevators can arrive however, someone steps up beside her.

"Good afternoon." Rhea smiles down at her in that chillingly beatific way of hers. 

"Hello." Lysithea tries to return the smile, but it feels tremulous all the same. 

They stand in silence. Lysithea watches the light counting the floors over the shining elevator doors. She has never thought of herself as being a particularly fidgety person, but beside Rhea's poise, Lysithea feels like a child unable to keep her hands and feet still for longer than a few seconds. Perhaps she really has been spending too much time with Hilda lately.

The doors open, and Rhea gestures for her to enter first before following after her. Lysithea hits the seventh floor button, while Rhea presses the third. As the elevator doors slide shut, the image of Tomas' empty office puts an immediate dampener on Lysithea's recent triumph. The elevator shudders, then begins its descent. 

Bracing herself, Lysithea turns towards Rhea and asks, "Excuse me for asking this, but I was walking past Tomas’ office and - well. What happened to him?"

Rhea does not glance in her direction, instead watching the floor counter overhead. "I fired him."

Lysithea stares. "You - You what?"

"Perhaps I misspoke," Rhea says in that same decorous tone she always seems to use. "There was an official panel inquiry by the board of directors, and then I fired him."

Finally, Rhea looks over at her, and all of a sudden Lysithea very much wishes she hadn't. 

Lysithea drops her gaze to study her own shoes. The long hem of Rhea's elegant dress brush against her ankles, and Lysithea has to resist the urge to shuffle further away. She thinks of all the notes she had typed up and sent to Rhea in that email, all the dates, all the hours Tomas had spent berating her over data and clarity and other nonsense, all the correspondence she had forwarded between them. Damning evidence, to be sure, but she never could have dreamed it would be enough to get someone with that much history at an academic institution actually fired.

Somehow she knows even without looking in Rhea's direction that Rhea has turned her attention away again. 

"I really ought to thank you. The panel had already been meeting for over a month at various times. Your notes came at just the right time."

Lysithea's head spins. She swallows past an obstruction in her throat, but does not trust herself to speak.

"Though I should also tell you that this was not your doing alone. Tomas tied his own noose long before you arrived on the scene.” Rhea gives a wave of one hand, as if trying to clear the air of flies. “He was near impossible to get rid of due to his tenure, and so I began building a case against him some time ago. You were merely the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

Despite Rhea's obvious attempt at mollifying, Lysithea does not feel very soothed by her words. After a few seconds of chilly silence, Lysithea manages to croak out a weak, "Oh."

Rhea hums a note at the back of her throat as if in agreement. The elevator slows its descent, and Lysithea is eager to escape being alone with Rhea in a small steel box. When the seventh floor illuminates on the screen, and the doors slide open, Lysithea nearly trips over her own feet in her haste. 

“Miss Ordelia?”

Lysithea hesitates, and glances over her shoulder.

Rhea is smiling that cold smile of hers, a smile that never seems to touch her eyes. “Congratulations on your submission.”

--

The moment Lysithea returns to her office, feeling dazed and bewildered from her run in with the dean, Hilda is already waiting for her. 

"You all done?" Hilda asks. She stands leaning against the closed and locked door to Lysithea's office. Her thumbs tap away at something on her phone, but after a moment she puts her phone away and awaits Lysithea's answer with an expectant expression.

Lysithea nods. "All done. It's submitted. Now, I wait."

A slow smile spreads across Hilda's face. She pushes off from the door, and links her arm through Lysithea's so that she can steer her back down the hallway towards the elevators.

"Where are we going?" Lysithea asks. 

"Out to celebrate." Hilda hands over Lysithea's own bag, presumably pinched from her office just earlier. "You forgot this at home, by the way."

"Oh." Lysithea flushes. 

So, not pinched from her office, then. Lysithea must have been so distracted this morning at the thought of printing and submitting her thesis that she had left her bag behind at Hilda's apartment, where she had been staying for -- well, for weeks now. 

At this point, Lysithea is greeted with surprise by her flatmates when she actually returns to her own apartment.  

Hilda drags her back to Claude's bar, which Lysithea has learned was her favourite haunt in the city, though certainly not the only trendy place she frequented on her nights on the town. It's only three in the afternoon, but still the bar is flooded with customers. When they enter, Hilda waves at a few people as they call out to her. One or two even flash Lysithea a familiar smile as well, to which Lysithea reacts with pleased puzzlement. 

She has never been recognised at a bar before. Especially not one like this.

Hilda breezes her way through a few customers to get at the bar and order drinks. Lysithea has a soda, but despite the hour Hilda orders herself a fruity drink with more vodka than sense. Grabbing up both their drinks, Hilda heads towards her usual seat in the house: a series of rich leather couches on a raised platform like incredibly comfortable thrones upon a dais. The walls behind them are festooned with gold-lacquered deer antlers for which the establishment takes its name. A well-stocked fireplace keeps this area warmer than the others. Logs are meticulously stacked against one of the walls all the way up to the ceiling to give the impression that they are lounging in a luxury lodge in the middle of the woods.

Hilda leans back into one corner of the couch, her feet propped on the low table before them. From her seat, she can see everyone in the room, and they can all see her. Lysithea feels like she’s on stage sitting next to Hilda here. And indeed a few other customers glance curiously in their direction.

“So,” Hilda sips at her drink, and says around the bright yellow straw, “how was Rhea?”

“Terrifying,” Lysithea admits truthfully. 

Hilda sniggers. “You gotta admit though: she gets results.”

“She fired Tomas.”

“Good. I never liked that guy anyway. Gave me the creeps the first time I met him.” When Lysithea squirms somewhat in her seat and doesn’t answer, Hilda rolls her eyes. “Oh, please don’t tell me you feel guilty about this.”

Lysithea frowns, indignant and a little irritated that Hilda can read her so easily. “I just wish we could’ve found a better way around this whole situation.”

“Honestly? To be honest? To be perfectly frank?” Hilda gestures emphatically around the drink in her hand. “I think everyone got what they deserved. Tomas got fired. Yay. Hanneman gets to be your main supervisor. Yay again. Good for him. And you got to submit your thesis on time. Double yay.” 

Lysithea still hasn’t touched her soda. It remains on the table, atop a coaster because she remembered from the last time their visit how one of the wait staff had scolded Hilda for not using one. 

“And you?” she asks.

Hilda tilts her head. “Me?”

“What did you get?”

For a moment, Hilda appears utterly puzzled by the question. Then, she snorts. “I got to help a friend. Duh.” 

It occurs to Lysithea then that of all the times she had thanked everyone throughout this process -- Rhea, Edelgard, Hanneman, even the administrator whose name she couldn’t remember -- she hadn’t thanked Hilda. Thanking her for offering to maim Tomas just doesn’t feel the same. 

“Thank you,” Lysithea says. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Oh, pssht!" Hilda waves her away. "I didn't do anything. You and Edelgard and Hanneman and Rhea did all the work. I was just an accessory."

Lysithea shakes her head. "You and I both know that's not true. If you hadn't been here, I probably would've given up."

"Bull. Shit." Hilda slams her drink down on the broad arm of the couch, where it teeters precariously. "You would've pulled through just fine. You're amazing! I've never met anyone more resilient and hard working. Not gonna lie, it's a bit spooky. You were, like, super intimidating when I first met you."

The idea that Hilda could have been intimidated by anything let alone by Lysithea is ludicrous. Lysithea doesn't believe it for a second. She scoffs.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not special. Not like you. I'm just diligent, whereas you're -" Lysithea gestures to Hilda, "- actually gifted. You just chose to be lazy. And even then you make it all seem so effortless. I wish I were more like that."

“As much as I just love being complimented, the sincerity of your delivery is kinda starting to freak me out. Are you feeling alright?” Hilda reaches over to test the temperature of Lysithea’s forehead.

Lysithea doesn’t pull back, but she does scowl. “I’m trying to express my gratitude!”

“Yeah, well, gratitude expressed. I’m great, and you’re welcome. Anyway -”

Lysithea isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She sits up a little straighter on the couch and looks Hilda dead in the eye. “I mean it. It’s important to me that you know that I - well, I -”

The dim lights of the bar wash the room in a golden sepia glow. The fire flickers and warms the air around them. Hilda is watching her with an expression that can only be described as star-struck, and Lysithea wonders how long Hilda has looked at her like that for, or if this is just the first time she’s noticed. 

“- appreciate you,” Lysithea finishes slowly. “And everything you’ve done for me.”

A steady flush rises up Hilda’s cheeks until her face is bright pink. Lysithea stares. Hilda is the first to break eye contact. She snatches up her drink, and slouches back against the couch to sip at the straw, holding the glass like she’s trying to hide behind it. 

It hits Lysithea like a freight train, the sudden realisation. Her jaw goes slack. Hilda has already recovered, and is striking up some new spirited conversation about the band that’s setting up across the room, but Lysithea can barely hear over the blood-dimmed rush in her ears, roaring like the tide. 

She doesn’t know what’s worse. That she now has to wait a harrowing few months to find out if her thesis has passed. Or the newfound knowledge that she is absolutely, irrevocably head over heels in love with Hilda Goneril.