Carol looked down at her arm coat, spotting the tiniest piece of lint on her deep purple recently ironed jacket. She plucks the annoyance off her clothing and flicks it onto the sidewalk of where she stood as the rain beat against her umbrella.

She shuffled her position a bit as she tapped her cane against the pavement before ultimately looking down at her watch.

8:55 was the time, and her driver was to pick her up at 9 o'clock today.

She moved her eyes away from the device and used those few minutes to observe Ilden’s residents as they passed her by. An activity that was always an answer to her boredom.

The smog casting an enteral red glow on everything and everyone, this suited itself well with the residents. From regular middle-class Ilden’s citizens rushing to work on the variety of fast-pace transportation, to more destitute individuals, most of whom were Beast-kin trying to make their way through the public transport of the city. The ghost pain of her back, as always, crept into her mind and she hoped it was not another pain attack.

She then lowered her head to prevent her black formal cap from falling off and messing her neatly combed black hair. It already took a lot of effort to get it that tidy in the first place, and she did not want to go through it a second time.

Doing another shift in posture, she breathed into her gloved hand to smell her breath.

She was thankful it did not have its usual mild fragrance of alcohol.

Finally, her ride appeared at 9 o’clock on the dot. A slick black vehicle with silver trimming made its way down the street, turning many heads in her direction.

“People are very strange,” she thought, “why this car, that’s not even mine, makes them turn their heads, don’t they have something better to do?”.

Breaking through her thoughts, a bristly voice came out of the Vehicle.

“Madam, are you Ms. Carole Losnedahl?” he asked

“Yes”

Put off by her brisk reply, he cleared his throat-clearing phlegm and continued, “Okay Ms. May I see your ID?”.

As instructed, she took out her citizen's ID and handed it over to the man as he rolled down his window, revealing a large, somewhat chubby man with a drawn morose face.

“Oh thank goodness,” he said, “I know it was on such brief notice, but they will force you to begin your lessons precisely tomorrow at 9 AM.”

She gave an inward sigh but did not let it show. Why do all these rich clients have such awful scheduling with her?

Despite her annoyance at the timetable, she only said, “hmm... I already know how I will go about this...Will not be a problem.”

The man gave her a big smile, “I just want you to know we appreciate this, I knew our recommendations wouldn’t let us down. You are doing your country a great service”.

He then put out his bare hand for a handshake, “Mr. Albert Rosmous, young lady,” he chimed.

His greasy, salty bare hands, Carole had no desire to shake nor touch it even with her gloves. It made her uncomfortable. She gave a brisk nod and entered the vehicle carefully, making sure she placed her cane in an easily accessible position.

This cold shoulder disappointed Mr. Rosmous, but he said nothing of it and just started the vehicle, causing the engine to rumble.

Maybe she came off too rude.

Maybe that's why she was never good at first impressions, not even when greeting her own students on the first day. This of course made her, among many other reasons, not hired all that often.

Neither said anything else, as the warmed, luxurious car rode through the rain and wind to the Asbjorn manor.

The city skyscrapers and tall, cluttered buildings grew fewer and more classy with every mile. The people alongside the buildings financial standing grew better and better alongside the more lavished buildings. The Ventis winds grew thicker and thicker with every meter.

Calling this place Asbjorn manor was a very poor choice of words. The compound itself was a town, with a large towering building that grew with every inch closer they got.

The sights took Carole aback as she stared out the car window; she had never been this close to the manor itself before. If only the rain had stopped, then the steel and plexiglass building may have shone against the smog. Spotlights from many installed beacons lit the path to the architecture.

As she looked on out at the sights, Mr. Rosmous finally broke the silence with a clearing of his throat.

“They are delicate boys, you know,” he started, “they are just a little…. difficult sometimes, but I’m sure you have enough experience with those types anyway, Ms”.

Carole’s eyes still did not tear themselves from the window as she nodded in affirmation

“Hmm, I’m not too worried about that,” she said

“Oh! that's good, that’s good”

An awkward silence fell between them once more.

“You know it isn’t too often we see an angel round here, You must be a young one right?,” he asked, “I would have thought they were more... fantastical,” he chuckled, “So you have fancy abilities like the rest of the-”

“No..”

“Oh, um... I guess maybe what happened to you may have messed you up pretty badly, right?”

He was, of course, referring to her obvious scars on her nose, under-eye and near her lips and cane.

“You know you can get skin grafts to fix up and make you have a pretty face, you know. Be at least cuter”

She didn’t reply, turned to him only for the man to turn away from her piercing purple eyes immediately.

Was she that unsettling to this man? Or did he just hate eye contact? She could relate to the latter. Many people berated her for that supposed rudeness.

He once again said no more, as they drove in silence for the next 10 minutes of their trip.