She glared and fumed as he walked off, fists clenched by her sides and face flaming with both anger and latent embarrassment.
As if she'd be taking him up on anything! She had enough problems in her life.
![[Image: c01fa1fa15306da3d6feed2c149a3e2a_fancy-l...70-198.png]](https://img.clipartfest.com/c01fa1fa15306da3d6feed2c149a3e2a_fancy-lines-go-racer-fancy-line-clipart-free-transparent-background_370-198.png)
Bree was a bitch.
In a lot of senses of the word. In this particular case, she was a bitch in the sense that no sooner than Mr. Jackson had left the library the first time, she'd put in a request for every single one of Radaghast's books herself.
Evan Jackson was also a bitch, however, because over half of them had missing pages.
Missing. Pages.
The librarian had been very unamused. He had paid for the damage, which had been no small amount, but it was the principle of the thing, both to the library, and to Bree herself. She'd probably have to track down those books herself if she wanted to get them replacements in any kind of timely manner. She was considering enlisting Jean's help, which just made her even angrier.
She had warned Evan Jackson about the condition of those books. Clearly he had done this to spite her.
She'd decided to find his office and have words. Which was when she realized there was no Evan Jackson in the faculty directory. She called several people in the humanities department. There was no Professor Evan Jackson, although one woman said 'oh, Evan!' in a very charmed sort of voice. She'd been unable to tell Bree what he taught, and did not seem to be of the opinion he was in the humanities at all.
She had been able to tell Bree what building his office was in. And from there?
Well. She had books he'd been with for over a month. She was no bloodhound, but she had a good nose. She was very pleased with herself when she found a door that reeked of him, though she could barely tell over the stench of herbs that was probably not nearly so strong to anyone else. It was probably pleasant, in fact.
She was even more pleased when she tried the doorknob and realized it was unlocked. Subtle was not her strong point. She slammed the door open and--ooh, this was a nice office no focus. There he was, lounging in a goddamn armchair of all things, sipping a cup of something that smelled vaguely herbal. She slammed the door shut as hard as she'd opened it, rattling the walls, then stormed right over him. She grabbed the tea cup straight from his hands, contemplated pouring it on him but there were too many books. So she set it on a side table and then gripped the front of his stupid goddamn sweater yet again, lifting him up towards her as she brought herself towards him, essentially straddling him in the armchair.
"Mister Jackson," she said, acid dripping from her words. "I think we need to have a talk about what I mean when I say a book should be returned in good condition."
As if she'd be taking him up on anything! She had enough problems in her life.
Bree was a bitch. In a lot of senses of the word. In this particular case, she was a bitch in the sense that no sooner than Mr. Jackson had left the library the first time, she'd put in a request for every single one of Radaghast's books herself.
Evan Jackson was also a bitch, however, because over half of them had missing pages.
Missing. Pages.
The librarian had been very unamused. He had paid for the damage, which had been no small amount, but it was the principle of the thing, both to the library, and to Bree herself. She'd probably have to track down those books herself if she wanted to get them replacements in any kind of timely manner. She was considering enlisting Jean's help, which just made her even angrier.
She had warned Evan Jackson about the condition of those books. Clearly he had done this to spite her.
She'd decided to find his office and have words. Which was when she realized there was no Evan Jackson in the faculty directory. She called several people in the humanities department. There was no Professor Evan Jackson, although one woman said 'oh, Evan!' in a very charmed sort of voice. She'd been unable to tell Bree what he taught, and did not seem to be of the opinion he was in the humanities at all.
She had been able to tell Bree what building his office was in. And from there?
Well. She had books he'd been with for over a month. She was no bloodhound, but she had a good nose. She was very pleased with herself when she found a door that reeked of him, though she could barely tell over the stench of herbs that was probably not nearly so strong to anyone else. It was probably pleasant, in fact.
She was even more pleased when she tried the doorknob and realized it was unlocked. Subtle was not her strong point. She slammed the door open and--ooh, this was a nice office no focus. There he was, lounging in a goddamn armchair of all things, sipping a cup of something that smelled vaguely herbal. She slammed the door shut as hard as she'd opened it, rattling the walls, then stormed right over him. She grabbed the tea cup straight from his hands, contemplated pouring it on him but there were too many books. So she set it on a side table and then gripped the front of his stupid goddamn sweater yet again, lifting him up towards her as she brought herself towards him, essentially straddling him in the armchair.
"Mister Jackson," she said, acid dripping from her words. "I think we need to have a talk about what I mean when I say a book should be returned in good condition."