Eleanor Gray and The Problem Student

[Malkavia]

"Fuck, ma'am, that sounds..."

She tried to imagine it—a routine like this every week. Chalk lines and drills and a coach who listened.

With one more wipe of the old back-of-the-hand against her eyes, and the back-of-the-sleeve against her snout, Shimmerlace got herself dry. Not that she'd ever been anything other than dry and grinning and bouncing the whole time.

"Sounds pretty fuckin' dumb actually." As Shimmerlace grabbed her bag and ran her fingers through her sweat-soaked, tousled mop of pink hair, she allowed the tiniest moue of a smile. "Eight p.m. is about shitty a meeting time as they come. Just 'cause I opted to inconvenience you on day one is no indication I intend to keep our sessions at this godawful hour!"

"Though eh..." she was quick to add. "I mean. If this is the time that works for you, then..."

—

It took a few weeks for Shimmerlace to accept that Eleanor would be there. Every week, on time, right where they'd agreed, like magic.

And then, when the first few bumps in the road came — Another loss. Another tape bearing signs of her failure to digest the Don's directives — there was a new wave of doubts.

Maybe today the gym will be empty.

But it never was. And after a while, Shimmerlace quit questioning that—accepting her weekly meetings with Gunner Ellie herself with almost as much faith as she had in the miracle of sunrise and sunset.

And it continued thus, student and teacher, pink and everything but gray, until one day the two of them met outside the classroom and, unwillingly on both ends, shared a shot of fancy gin.

But that is another story altogether.