Author's Notes: This is one of the shorter ones. Sorry!
It was another chilly evening at Cackle's that found Imogen tucked up in one of the armchairs with a throw blanket spread over her lap. She was turning a page in her book when the door opened and she was joined by a fellow member of staff.
'I wasn't aware you had work to do,' Constance said, sounding rather put out. She decided against up and leaving the room out of pride: it was her space as much as anyone else's—more-so, with her seniority—and it seemed foolish to grant her emotions run of her sense.
'I'm reading up on the subject,' Imogen replied. She held up the book briefly before dropping it back to her lap. In the moment of her shifted gaze, she noticed that Constance was joined by her usual feline companion.
'Is that necessary?' Constance inquired, half curious and half disdainful. She took a seat in the opposite armchair and tugged her feet out of her boots. Morgana perched on one boot as if to protect it. 'Or has that ridiculous ball-and-net game changed in the weeks since you last attempted to teach it?'
Imogen bristled at the implications of her "attempts" to teach and at the inadequacy of her subject. She stifled the urge to storm out of the room herself and took a deep breath instead. 'There are always books to read on pedagogy. You yourself know the challenges of teaching a class out-of-doors. It takes skill, no matter the subject.'
Constance was trapped between admitting Imogen's teaching required skill or conceding that her own job came with no difficulties. At last she replied, with a doubtful edge, 'Perhaps.'
In her uncomfortable shifting, however, Constance had knocked a quill from the arm of her chair. It landed on Morgana's head and rolled down the cat's body. Morgana seemed none too pleased and hurried out of her mistress' way, putting her closer to Imogen.
Imogen took her chance. She gazed down at the cat and caught her eye, blinked once very slowly, and turned away to the fire. She hoped it would be taken as the cease-fire the books had told her it would.
Morgana stared back. Imogen held her breath and repeated the gesture, sure to keep her posture loose and unintimidating.
At last Morgana looked away and settled herself onto the hearthside rug, curling up for a cat nap with a hearty yawn. She was far closer to Imogen than she had been in days.
When Imogen looked up, she was just quick enough to see Constance's gaze darting away. The woman's features were contemplative as she started back on her work.
With every page Imogen read, she glanced to the cat. In her periphery she noticed that Constance appeared to be doing the same—followed by a look up to Imogen each time.
Imogen smiled. She considered it a small success.
