Chapter Text
Melodie Denvierre had easily adjusted to the unkind whispers that followed her around the University of Amaurot in the last six months. If she were being completely honest, she had adjusted to them long before she became a grad student, but apparently it was also a professional liability specific to being the sole doctoral candidate of one Solus Galvus, professor of History and Aetherology. It was an old university, the oldest on the continent in fact, and like all hallowed institutions of learning as old as this one, it was full of traditions, stories and urban legends embellished beyond reason.
Under normal circumstances, she would have been content to simply ignore them; often the rumours were so far removed from reality that Melodie just shook her head in incredulity and carry on with her day, but on this particular day, the overloud whispers were coming from the front row of the lecture she was in the middle of teaching and after almost an hour of talking over them, her patience had worn thin.
Turning around from the chalkboard at the front of the room, where she had just finished a lengthy explanation of important aetherological discoveries from the previous Umbral era to the current day, she aimed the duster in her hand with perfect accuracy betraying years of martial training. It landed between the two occupied students-- exploding chalk dust over their desk, their notes and up into their faces, which caused them to sneeze loudly.
The entire lecture theatre, who up until that point had been lulled into typical last bell disinterest, burst out laughing. Most students sat up a little taller in their seats and reluctantly picked up their pens again.
“Master Morota and Miss Vedelle, while I’m sure the discussion of how much alcohol I imbibe on a daily basis in order to ‘put up’ with Professor Emet-Selch is incredibly important to the both of you,” she said with a straight face, enjoying twin looks of horror as the two students realised that she had been privy to every word of their conversation, “I doubt the answer is as crucial to your peers who wish to pass this class.”
They both slouched down into their seats as she crossed over to them both to retrieve her duster. Just as Melodie opened her mouth to admonish them further, the bell rang and the entire class sprang into action, having survived another week and desiring freedom.
“Fury, weren’t you both just saved by the bell?” she muttered, as the Lalafell and Elezen physically jumped at the chance to quickly vacate the room.
Turning her attention back to the rest of the lecture theatre and realising that they were leaving before she had properly dismissed them, Melodie whistled loudly, making the entire cohort pause in shock at such a loud noise coming from such a short and unassuming Midlander.
“Alright, before you go rushing off-- outlines for your final essays are due this evening by midnight-- and may I humbly thank you all in advance for giving me something thrilling to read this weekend.”
That got another laugh from the class, even if the idea of having approximately sixty assignments waiting for her at home was decidedly less humorous to her. Her next pronouncement, however, would remove the remaining levity from the room.
“And don’t forget, the Professor is back next week, so if you all come to class as woefully unprepared as you were today, I’ll not be held responsible for what he decides to do in retaliation. Now begone with you.”
She managed a fair imitation of Professor Emet-Selch’s dismissive wave as everyone groaned and when they started moving again they all did so with a lot less energy. Melodie understood the problem well; her supervisor had a habit of assigning a lot of reading and they were often frightfully esoteric, even for a class on the history of aetherology. Still, despite the behaviour of some students to the contrary, they were all incredibly intelligent individuals. They wouldn’t have gotten into the university in the first place had it been otherwise.
With a tired sigh, and wondering if anyone had even bothered to copy it down, Melodie cleared the board of notes and gathered her belongings, debating if she even had the energy to get home, let alone start on the pile of assignments that she had waiting for her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand and even particularly disliked her responsibility to the college as a teaching assistant. When it had been explained to her, she had been excited at the opportunity to help run classes. What hadn’t been adequately explained to her at the time was that most departments had many graduate students to help share the load. Not so in Aetherology. The college was one of the smallest and prestigious departments in the university and as such, she was the only teaching assistant.
And Professor Emet-Selch had no qualms about giving her all the work if it meant he had less contact with the majority of his students. Melodie often wondered why he bothered lecturing at all, when he seemed to loathe the company of his students so intensely.
Well, Dean Elidibus had warned her that this doctorate would be the most difficult time of her life; he’d even given her an opportunity to change her mind, which she had vehemently declined. It was the fault of her own pride that Melodie had thought that her previous career as a war-time soldier would have adequately prepared her for it.
Some days it was only her sheer stubbornness that kept her going.
“You know, you’re almost as frightening as Professor Emet-Selch with that duster in your hand,” called out a cheeky and familiar voice from the top of the theatre, pulling Melodie from her thoughts. When she looked up, the energetic Miqo’te bounding down the stairs towards her was her oldest friend and current house mate. G’raha Tia had graduated from the university several years earlier and from the way he liked to tell it, had many an explosive run in with her infamous supervisor. He was the first entry on a long list of people that thought she lost her mind.
“Almost?” she huffed, chucking the offending stationery onto the lectern and brushing the chalk dust off her hands. G’raha shrugged.
“The professor would have aimed for their heads.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“You know Raha, you don’t have to call him Emet-Selch anymore. You’ve graduated.”
Melodie was referring to the Amaurotine tradition of calling the senior faculty members of the University by their title. Professor Galvus was the chair of House Emet-Selch, and a member of the university Convocation. As such, he was often referred to as Emet-Selch instead of his name and Melodie couldn’t imagine calling him anything else.
G’raha shuddered, and his russet-coloured ears flattened a little. “I’d rather not tempt fate, thank you very much. I’m still not a hundred percent sure that the walls of the university don’t whisper all their nasty secrets to him and I value my life.”
Shouldering her bag, she snorted. “You’re as bad as the first years. He’s really not as bad as you make him out to be. A little contrary certainly, but he’s not a monster.”
Honestly, Melodie was pretty sure that if the university didn’t mandate a meeting between the two of them every sennight, the professor would have long forgotten who she was. That didn’t make him a monster, just… absent.
“I’ll remind you of that later tonight when you’re half a bottle of red wine in and yelling about students using the incorrect referencing system, shall I?”
G’raha was being incredibly cavalier for someone who would most likely get roped into helping her finish the work by the end of the weekend. It definitely helped having a best friend who happened to be a genius and renowned scholar of Allagan history, who despite the fact they liked to run their mouth, were always incredibly kind and generous with their time, especially where she was concerned.
Not that Melodie would ever tell him how lucky she felt for fear it would overly inflate his ego.
“Are you going to keep sassing me, or did you actually want a lift home?”
The swish of his tail told Melodie he wasn’t quite as repentant as his sheepish smile would have her believe, but he mimed keeping his mouth shut. Together the pair headed up the stairs, out of the lecture theatre and into the cool afternoon air, bickering with each other as they weaved their way through the throng of students also leaving campus for the weekend.
Preoccupied as she was, Melodie did not take note of a pair of pale gold eyes following her departure with keen interest from the relative safety of their office doorway.