"Hey, Teach! Have ya picked out our rep for the dance yet?"
Even from her desk in the very back of the classroom, Marianne can see the sudden look of outright panic cross the Professor's face before she settles back to her usual stoicism. It's impressive, maybe even a little frightening at how quickly the Professor can master her emotions in the blink of an eye. It's a skill Marianne wishes she possessed just a fraction of, even if it wouldn't see much use, social recluse that she is.
"I have not," says the Professor as she straightens out the last of the exams, eliciting a wide variety of responses from the class- surprise, light outrage, and a rather put out "C'mon, Professor!" from Leonie. Their reactions are understandable enough- the competition is less than two weeks away. Hardly enough time to select a candidate, let alone give them enough time to practice.
"Thank you for reminding me, Claude. It must've slipped my mind."
This elicits another reaction from the crowd, mainly exasperated groans because even though their Professor is something of a tactical genius and a surprisingly capable and patient teacher, outside of the classroom and battlefield, she's…
Less so.
Easily... distracted? is what Ignatz called it.
Outright scatterbrained is what Lysithea had retorted with.
"Well, have ya got someone in mind, Teach?" From his spot in the middle of the classroom, surrounded by the rest of the Golden Deer, one arm draped over the back of his chair, Claude is the very picture of carefully crafted laid-back ease. "'Cuz I don't wanna put pressure on you or anything, but from what I've heard, the Blue Lions and Black Eagles already have their reps and if the Golden Deer show up with nothing, well…" He shrugs. "Laughingstock is going to put it lightly."
"Never mind how it would reflect upon the rest of the Alliance," Lorenz pipes up behind him, and he gets a few nods of agreement from his classmates, mostly the ones with noble relations. "Please, Professor. Despite what Claude says, expedience would perhaps be for the best."
The Professor purses her lips, seemingly thinking over her options as she scans the room. Marianne ducks her head, hiding behind her bangs when the Professor's eyes sweep over her, even though it's completely unnecessary. It's more habit than anything. There's not a snowball's chance in Aillel that the Professor would pick her to be the Golden Deer representative after all, not unless the Professor's end goal is to lose spectacularly.
Besides, there are a plethora of more suitable candidates in their class alone. Claude, for example, is an obvious choice, what with his natural charisma and effortless grace that would surely charm the judges (and the competition too, if he could get away with it). Lorenz maybe, if he can rein in his flair for the dramatics long enough for the judges to appreciate his... unique style.
Though in all honesty, this late in the month, the Professor's best bet is a candidate who has charm, finesse, and a natural talent for dance. Someone like... like...
Unconsciously, Marianne's gaze wanders over to the person sitting at the desk next to Claude's.
Hilda is playing idly with a stray pink lock, twirling it round and round a finger, only paying half attention to the going-on's from the rest of the class. When their eyes meet, she pauses briefly to throw a quick smile and a little half-wave that Marianne hesitantly returns.
Hilda's smile grows a fraction wider. She jerks her head in Lorenz's direction, mouthing along half-mockingly to the Gloucester heir's long-winded explanation of modern dance. The way she sticks her nose up in the air is surprisingly accurate, if... not very flattering.
But... it is a tiny bit funny.
Just a tiny bit.
Marianne feels her lips curling a fraction even as she wordlessly shakes her head. Hilda gives her a good-natured wink, miming zipping her mouth shut before turning away, the very picture of innocence.
Marianne slowly lowers her hand. Hilda would be the perfect choice for the competition, no doubt in her mind. Out of all the Golden Deer, Hilda is the only one who has charm, grace, and natural talent in spades. Not to mention the fact that she simply loves to dance. Choir practices have never quite been the same because of her. Though they have gotten quite a bit... livelier, thanks to her as well.
Hopefully, the Goddess doesn't mind the extra noise too much.
I hope it's Hilda. Out of all of us, she's the one who deserves it the most.
The Professor suddenly straightens, and Lorenz stops mid-sentence in his vivid description of the Teautes Two-step, whatever that is. It's a testament to the respect she commands as all chatter in the classroom instantly ceases.
"All good points, Lorenz," she mutters absently, ("I live to serve, Professor!") a distant look in her eyes as she pensively bounces the tests in her hand. She tilts her head a little off to the side as if listening to another invisible voice and nods slowly.
"When you put it like that..." she trails off.
...Which is all the warning they get before the Professor tosses the exams in her hand straight into the air. In one fluid motion, she draws the dagger strapped to her hip, aims, and throws.
Thunk!
There are more than a few surprised yelps, a relatively high-pitched scream that comes suspiciously from Lorenz's area. Poor Raphael falls out of his seat, upsetting the desks in his vicinity.
The Professor ignores all the commotion and the indignant shriek of "That better not have been my exam!" from Lysithea, in favor of walking over to the wooden beam where the unfortunate exam is pinned. She wrenches out the dagger, the test coming along with it, before loudly clearing her throat.
"Everyone, please give a warm round of applause to the Golden Deer representative for the White Heron Cup…" intones the Professor, pausing dramatically.
...And then promptly ruins the effect by glancing down again. Squints. Her brows furrow.
"...Marianne."
...Oh. What a strange choice. Automatically, Marianne begins clapping, still slightly stunned by the Professor's rather... abrupt candidate selection process. What an odd choice for representative, to be sure, but she supposes that the Professor has her reasons, whatever they may be. Hilda would have been the more sensible choice, by far, but, oh well.
After all, there's always next year to... to...
Wait…
Did… did the Professor… did she just say…
The Professor's words finally begin to sink in. With a start, Marianne realizes that she's the only one clapping. The rest of the room is dead silent. All eyes are on her, varying levels of shock and surprise in the faces of her classmates.
And none more so than Hilda, bright pink eyes wide and jaw slack, looking like she was just slapped in the face.
"Congratulations, Marianne," the Professor throws her a completely deadpan thumbs-up. "Make us proud."
Ah.
That's…
Well...
Dorte's not going to believe this, is Marianne's last thought before she leans back, and the world turns dark.