[The aftermath of a disaster is always a busy time--one collects one's students and sorts out all the little things that make teaching lessons in Asgard fundamentally different to anywhere she might have at home. What was assigned, but wasn't turned in, and won't be turned in, or will be turned in late, because a student was killed and spent several days haunting the streets of the city. Who was a part of the class, but isn't now, and won't be again, because she's been sent away to whatever home she came from. It's always something a little different, slightly different pieces to put back together as they review whichever declension was forgotten in the scuffle--but there's always something.
This occasion has been no different in that regard, and yet entirely different for the fact that the school found itself suddenly without a head. Sorting that out has been a new and unpleasant headache, accompanied by the lingering, guilty ambivalence she feels towards the news. And after all that, she purposely hasn't made plans beyond "sit at home with a book and a cat who is still annoyed she disappeared so long."
Not until she finds a doctor and a potted plant on her threshold, anyway.]
Leonard! What a pleasant surprise. [The door opens a little more, even as she's nudging the cat away from escaping through it.] Won't you come in?
no subject
This occasion has been no different in that regard, and yet entirely different for the fact that the school found itself suddenly without a head. Sorting that out has been a new and unpleasant headache, accompanied by the lingering, guilty ambivalence she feels towards the news. And after all that, she purposely hasn't made plans beyond "sit at home with a book and a cat who is still annoyed she disappeared so long."
Not until she finds a doctor and a potted plant on her threshold, anyway.]
Leonard! What a pleasant surprise. [The door opens a little more, even as she's nudging the cat away from escaping through it.] Won't you come in?