Ira was just settling into her languid procrastination when she was interrupted by a man's voice. She immediately discarded her half-baked lesson plan, her still-torpid mind grasping at any promise of excitement or salvation from monotonous boredom. She turned her chair and faced the man, extricating herself from her slumped posture and adopting one much more becoming. Absentmindedly flattening her dress, she responded in a voice like bell-chimes, letting tinges of the inferno drip into her timbre. She found it distasteful and vulgar, but evidently some found it impressive or, flames forbid, [i]attractive[/i].

"Indeed we haven't, Wesley. It is a pleasure to finally make your proper acquaintance, especially on the account of such a generous offer. I was afraid that I would go mad from the work. It's happened more than once, in truth." She smiled broadly, and gestured to a spare chair that had been floating around the office for some years no, no-one willing to remove it or claim ownership. Continuing, she spoke again, her eyes never breaking contact in the interim.

"So, you teach art. How are you finding the students, receptive? I've had my share of troubles shaping young minds, as it were, but I would imagine art would be a much more desirable subject for adolescents, isn't it?"