Pretty much like you expect

"You can leave that out here." She says pointing to your well traveled duffle as she steps into her inner office. Although there is a settee and armchair by the bay windows overlooking the Academy grounds. Ms. Naylor moves purposefully behind her desk leaving you a Spartan straight-backed wooden chair in front of her desk. If she hoped to make you uncomfortable, her stratagem failed; as a marine you were far more accustomed to plain chairs than fancy couches.

"Very pleased to meet you Ma'am," you say with a careful smile as you sit down. Her blazer is tightly buttoned, armour against her opponent in this battle for control of her school, you were right to prepare for war.

"I'm sure," she replies, and then there is a long pause as she studies you for any weaknesses and then finally takes a deep breath as though to steady herself.

"Mr. Hawkfeather," you could see her roll your last name like a piece of strong liquorish in her mouth, but instead of asking you about it she continued brusquely, "I expect you to maintain a level of professionalism with my staff. As I expect you've been told, I am not in agreement with the decision to bring men into the faculty. The board of regents may believe that male teachers will have a positive influence, but I fear that you and the other male teachers will be a needless distraction for both my faculty and students." Her eyes locked with yours. "I will not have you flirting with our younger staff members, and more particularly with any of the naïve students placed in my care."

You met her eyes steadily, wondering if she really believed her students were as helpless and **** as she made them seem, surely the scene you just witnessed in the classroom down the hall is not an isolated incident. Not after what the Colonel told you about this place.

Ms. Naylor leaned back and took a deep breath. "You may as well know that I particularly disagree with the decision to renew the position of Dean of Students and fill it with a man without either my approval or even consent."

"Yes Ma'am, I can understand how that might seem."

"DO you?" Ms. Naylor lashed back. "Mr. Hawkfeather-" this time she does stop. "What kind of name is that anyway? Are you actually Native American or the child of some Hippies?" You've heard more than one variation of this question. People didn't feel comfortable with blond-haired blue-eyed men carrying around Indian names from bad 60's westerns.

"Only a quarter Shawnee, ma'am." You tell her refusing to let her attitude irritate you. "As for the name, that's what the recruiter decide to put on my grandfather's enrollment papers because he couldn't understand his real name."

"Your grandfather was in the army too then?" She asks, revealing that she knows at least a little about your history. "The Marines, yes Ma'am." You correct her out of habit; no one in the Corps liked being confused with the army men. "My grandfather volunteered the day after Pearl Harbor, spent the rest of the war in the Pacific Theater." You point at your short blonde hair, "The hair and my blue eyes are from my Georgian grandmother who served in the WAC." She looks at you with a hint of interest for a moment.

"Love at first sight?" She raised her eyebrow delicately.

"For my father perhaps." You laugh, "My grandmother was almost twenty years older than him and it took a good two years before he convinced her to even give him a chance." Ms. Naylor's eyes softened momentarily.

"And then they lived happily ever after?"

"Well, Ms. Naylor this was the 40's, and Georgian ladies didn't marry penniless Injuns from the backwoods." You shrug your shoulders, "Her family flat out disowned her. I don't even think Grampa met them, but they had a good life. In spite of the age and social differences, they were good for each other."

Ms. Naylor takes a deep breath. You can tell that this unplanned side bar had not been part of the carefully scripted interview and she has to steady herself before she continues where she left off.

"Mr. Hawkfeather, it has been my experience that men always assume they know better than I how to do my job." She pulls out a letter and scans it quickly, more for effect than because she needed to be reminded of your lack of qualifications. "As far as I can see Mr. Hawkfeather, your only experience with teaching was a three year stint at Camp Pendleton instructing young men how to kill each other."

It was clear to you that like 95% of the population, Ms. Naylor had no idea the qualifications needed to attend **** Recon training, not to mention what is required be an instructor of these elite forces. Instead of arguing, you nod your head one time.

"That's correct Ma'am."

More uncomfortable silence fills the room. She knows, as do you, that your qualifications were moot; the Board of Regents had exerted its authority and you were here, as she already noted, whether she liked it or not.

"Well let's not waste any more time." She selects a small stack of papers from the side of her desk and pushes them across the polished surface towards you. "The students will arrive tomorrow, although a few of them are already here. Monday there will be orientation meetings for students, sorted by grade. Here is the schedule. Classes begin on Tuesday. You will be using the computer lab for your two sections of Computer Science in addition to your duties as our new Dean." She pauses, apparently trying to decide if it was worth asking you if you had any idea what a computer was used for, but continued without further comment. "You will be housed in Faculty cottage 5 with -" she pauses to check a different list, " -Mr. Sharp. Here is the key."

"No Ma'am." You stop her, laying the key back on the empty desk. "I can't do my job stuck out in the cabins. I understand the Dean of Students' office comes with a suite and bathroom, I'll stay there." The Headmistress makes no attempt to conceal the look of outrage.