"With how little their combat uniforms leave to the imagination," Ivy murmured to Amy, trying to keep her voice down, "the schoolhouse uniform's modesty feels really pointless."
Amy laughed in agreement and responded in her own soft tone, "Makes for such great eye candy, though, doesn't it?" In a closer-to-normal volume, she gave an explanation for why the uniforms were designed in the way they were: "It's not for aesthetics. Easier for the tech to interface with their aural pathways, to help them manifest their powers."
Ivy and Amy were out and about on Ravenwood's campus on the first day of the semester, out in public, which was why they'd been sharing their inappropriate thoughts quietly – low enough the people around them couldn't hear. Classes were being conducted in earnest, Valkyrie not ones for a settling-in period.
The sparring rooms were hosted in a great concrete facility to the north and east of Ravenwood's main body, the old crumbling castle. Newer, markedly, as it needed to be. The kinds of spars going on between these girls weren't gentle things, and the modern architecture of the white washed bunker-building was engineered specifically with that in mind.
Seeing Valkyrie in action was a bit sobering.
For all Ivy knew these young girls were just that, they were remarkably competent fighters. Something Ivy knew, of course, but had yet to experience. Had yet to see first hand.
And the white and gold Valkyrie uniforms practically vacuum sealed to their muscular, lithe bodies? The angles they twisted about as they fought?
Really put the show to ten.
"We should probably keep moving," Amy sighed -- a bit forlorn. Her eyes were just as glued to the student's bodies as Ivy's were. "Still a lot more ground to cover. We've already been here too long."
"Yeah," Ivy said. "Probably should."
They kept watching.
"We've seen what we need to," Ivy commented.
"We have," Amy agreed.
They kept staring.
Finally, Ivy tore herself away – got Amy to follow suit, who likewise wrenched her lustful gaze away.
"What's next on the docket?" Ivy asked, already missing the sight of the Valkyrie students, flushed and sweaty and panting, twisting around in their skin-tight combat suits.
"Classrooms?" Amy suggested. "You can meet that instructor you mentioned. Her class should be ending soon."
"Lead away."
Walking back to the main campus, Ivy couldn't help but think:
I could do without all the eyes.
But of course she was a target of fascination, and to pretty much everyone she passed, whether it be teacher or student. By virtue of new Headmaster or Iverius's personal legend, not a single person didn't steal glances at the figure touring the Ravenwood campus.
Fortunately, not many had the nerve to approach. Her resting scowl, impressive to begin with and now aided by Iverius's icy and regal eyes meant even the staff weren't up to the task of striking conversation – and Ivy didn't encourage it. She'd prefer to further accustom to Ravenwood, and this world in general, before entering into unnecessary interactions. Interactions which, if mishandled, could give her charade away. Or at least chip away at it.
Amy led her through campus and into the schoolhouse, the great castle her office and living space occupied, but which also hosted the academic classrooms and a slew of other facilities.
Through the hallways, bodies yielded with almost fearful eagerness to the badge Ivy wore on her chest, announcing her status as Headmaster. Lots of glances though – not quite intimidating enough to scare those away.
And not all of the glances were chastely curious. Ivy wasn't the only one to think Iverius's body was … impressive. Eye-grabbing. The way Ivy's chest strained against her button-up dress shirt, the way her hips filled out her long, professional skirt, hugging tight … students were definitely taking notice. Ivy caught more than a few glances which turned to blushes, and to which she quirked an eye at, making the offender blanche and scurry away.
If only they knew what else was straining against her clothes, barely contained. Just lower down, where it wouldn't be expected on a girl.
Her target – the instructor's classroom Amy was leading her to – had been chosen for a reason. See, Ivy had done her homework.
Jamie Travens was on slippery footing with Ravenwood, and not because she was a poor instructor. Rather, she'd had some troubling complaints lodged against her these past several years. Complaints from her students over all manners of indecent actions, though none ever provable – else 'slippery footing' would have turned to 'long-gone'.
Because Jamie was careful about it. The perversion she partook in always had a veneer of plausible deniability to it; it was, she insisted, completely an accident that her hand brushed against her student's butt, and that no, it hadn't been a squeeze, certainly not -- how dare you even imply it? -- Miss Jones just had an overactive imagination.
And the fifth time? Or the tenth? Coincidence … she was just unlucky, and inattentive to her surroundings. Her hands bumped things they shouldn't. Not her fault.
And all the complaints about staring? Or the way she favored the students who – against policy – would undo their top buttons to their uniform? Maybe even more than a few, if they needed the extra points on test day? Or in the case of a lot of points, perhaps sit at the front, subtly ride their skirts up, and spread their legs, making sure to wear some, say, provocative panties that day? Well, it was hotter in her classroom than most, Jamie argued – she was just being reasonable about things. Empathetic with these poor girls' plight. The favoritism was, of course, made up. She graded fairly. Even if audits had shown some questionable exams marked with perfect scores.
(One such suspiciously marked paper, Ivy had found, had been authored by a certain Roxy Telen.)
Or the more serious allegations … the accusations of outright groping, in one or three cases? Impossible to prove. Jamie was too excellent an instructor to fire on allegations only … so she kept her job, however shaky her standing might have become.
Ivy had known immediately this was someone she needed to talk to. Had been exactly what she'd hoped for, setting out into the disciplinary records, looking for potential allies.
She'd considered the best way to approach Jamie, and eventually, Ivy realized it didn't matter – she didn't need to be subtle about it. Because, first off, the woman was obviously a lecher, however careful she might be in maintaining deniability, and two, because even if Ivy was heavy-handed, what would Jamie do? Report her?
Hah.
That wouldn't work remotely, and Ivy hoped she didn't need to explain why. Iverius's word against the known pervert's, already on shaky standing with Ravenwood?
And that was on the off chance she did report Ivy; with the offers Ivy was bringing to the table, she doubted that would be happening.
Christmas had come early for Jamie this year. She just didn't know it yet.
Amy and Ivy slipped into Jamie's classroom, making sure to make minimal noise. But still some, despite the effort – and Valkyrie were attentive. Several heads pivoted her way, not least Jamie who was lecturing at the front. Eyebrows raised and eyes widened in surprise.
Ivy waved dismissively in a 'please, continue' manner. A new Headmaster wanting to spectate the goings-on of a classroom was hardly some bizarre behavior, even if it might be unexpected.
Jamie did, however, grow visibly nervous as she continued her lesson.
That was good, Ivy thought. A rational person, when conducting themselves in the way Jamie did, would be intensely nervous about the newly instated figure of highest-authority approaching them. It spelled, to their paranoid minds, bad news.
The relief upon finding out Ivy was just as perverted – more, even – than Jamie herself was going to help smooth relations over. Massively. Relief combined with good news was effective as vodka to the average person, and especially to those with guilty consciences.
The funniest part, though, that took genuine willpower on Ivy's part to suppress her laughter, was pretending not to see the smattering of students subtly trying to button up their uniforms upon Ivy's walking into the classroom. It seemed Jamie's reputation had preceded her … this was a first-year class, and already she had willing takers to her so-called 'extra-credit' program.
Just the woman I need, Ivy thought amusedly.
Jamie herself was an attractive woman, but not permanently youthful in the way of powerful Valkyrie. Maybe she wasn't even empowered; she could be just an instructor. Not all teachers at Ravenwood were prior Valkyrie, just most.
She looked in her early thirties, but Ivy suspected maybe even a bit older, since she was a short, mousy woman, with black hair and glasses and a generally meek demeanor. Her curly black hair fell between her eyes, blocking them, and which she needed to brush away occasionally. And while she was well-spoken enough to be an adequate lecturer, Ivy had also seen more articulate individuals; she stuttered over words intermittently, had to pause to collect her breath. Though maybe that had something to do with Ivy's presence.
Cute, though. Ivy definitely wouldn't mind … having some fun with her. The quiet, shy ones always turned out the most perverted. As perhaps was being demonstrated by her reputation.
Ah, good old repression. A festering chamber for depravity.
The lesson wrapped up in short order. As the girls nervously filtered out of the room, bowing to Ivy as they went, Ivy grabbed the eyes of Jamie – indicating silently that they'd be speaking once the room was empty. She broke out into a sweat.
Amy closed the door behind the last student, took up vigil at the door. An act which definitely didn't go unnoticed by Jamie, whose nervousness grew even more visible.
"Miss Travens," Ivy said pleasantly, high heels clicking as she approached. "We should talk."