A fellow teacher

You could almost mistake this young woman for a student. You are not great at judging ages, but if she is even 25 years old you'd be surprised and she is dressed in a sundress that seems much more like the colorful dresses you see on the students than Ms. Naylor's severe wool suit. The short sleeveless dress is splashed with swaths of red and orange and looks as hot as the blonde woman wearing it.

"Oh, Hi!" Her smile is as bright as her outfit, and although she tries to appear casual and relaxed, you can tell that her blonde wavy hair has been carefully brushed and her full lips have had a recent application of red lipstick. In her manicured hands is a small tin of cookies, but she makes no attempt to give them to you as she scans you up and down like a hungry cat eyeing a goldfish. You return the favor, taking in her tanned skin, toned legs and the flat stomach under the swell of her full breasts that are only partially hidden by the low cut top.

"Are you the new dean?" The question seems more of a polite greeting than a real inquiry, because even though you are wearing dirty T-shirt, there is no doubt in your mind that she had been waiting for you.

"Yes," you smile back. "I guess I am." Extending your hand you introduce yourself. "Kyle Hawkfeather." Her hand feels warm and soft in yours, and she makes no attempt to withdraw it after your handshake.

"Monica Fulton." She says as she hands you the cookies. "I teach French and Spanish." You wonder what Ms. Naylor would think of this look from one of her youngest and probably prettiest teachers. It doesn't seem to fit her 'we have a dress code here at the Pink Rose' attitude that you got, but maybe that is because of your gender.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ma'am." She brushes a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, clearly used to the effect that her good looks have on men, and not at all afraid to use it when she wants to. Without waiting for an invitation, she tucks her arm through yours and accompanies you the rest of the way into the Mellon building.

"I heard you were going to use Ms. Marshal's offices." Miss Fulton informs you as you pause by your door with it's brass nameplate. "I've only been here a couple years, so I never got the chance to see the inside of Ms. Marshal's dreaded domain." The young language teacher is clearly fishing for an invitation to come in, but you have nothing pressing to do and she did bring you cookies.

"Yes Ma'am." You tell her as you step out of the doorway. "Would you like to come in?"

"If you're not too busy. But Kyle," she rests her warm palm on your chest, "you have got to stop calling me Ma'am. I feel like that old bat, Ms. Naylor each time you do it." You are surprised by just how much hearing Miss Fulton's disrespectful attitude towards Diana bothers you. Instead of saying anything, you study the young teacher as she checks out your office, you have no doubt that this buxom blonde with her long tanned legs and toned shoulders is putting on a show for your benefit.

"You know, rumor has it that this office is haunted by Ms. Marshal, are you worried about running into her angry specter?" Instead of answering her directly you cock your head in a silent invitation for her to tell you more. She gracefully paces around the room like a performer on a stage, stopping only when she finds the old paddle sitting on the bookshelf. "Students say that because she wasn't properly interred, that she comes back to these offices and waits for students to discipline." You see her hesitate just a second before she traces her fingertips along the dark polished wood. You can't tell if she is interested or horrified by the relic left behind by the school's last Dean of Students. "I heard you had some issues already," she smirks with a nod back towards the main building.

"Yes." It doesn't seem right to go into the whole incident with Miss Longmire, and even less appropriate to share the conversation you had with the headmistress.

"Did you really use the old code on Tamara?" Miss Fulton apparently already knows about all what happened anyways. "Don't get me wrong, Kyle. I think it's exactly what that nymphomaniac needed, I'm just surprised Ms. Naylor let you get away with that." This pretty young teacher clearly has a lot to learn about her headmistress. "She's had her panties in a bunch since the decision was made to hire men." You don't doubt it, but compared to this young teacher's flippant attitude, you find Diana's passion and determination even more intriguing.

"I'm not sure you should be using that cavalier tone when discussing the leader of this school." You watch your visitor stiffen when she hears your rebuke. "In fact I'm pretty sure that you shouldn't."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hawkfeather." She looks even younger as she turns back to face you, biting her full lip pensively before continuing with a huskier tone. "You really are going to whip this school into shape, just like they said. Although," she hesitates as she looks you over again, "I think most of the girls are expecting a scowling red-skin with face paint, not a dimpled California surfer-dude with perfect teeth." You simply shrug off the implied question; once a day is more than enough to have to explain your history. Miss Fulton doesn't seem to mind your lack of response and goes right on with surprising boldness.

"Are you going to ensure the teachers here behave too, Mr. Hawkfeather?" Miss Fulton asks coyly as her hand returns to rest on the paddle. "Make sure that we toe the line?"