The dean's office wasn't entirely what Filia had expected. Granted, she was a denizen of Hell and had never attended anything resembling a formal school before, so she had no real frame of reference for her observations. However, she had expected... well, more than what she saw. Dean McGarvey was an incredibly organized man. There were no loose papers on the desk, no errant pens on the cabinet behind him. The IN and OUT trays on his desk were each about half full. When she'd entered, he'd put his pen down at a perfect parallel to his computer keyboard.
McGarvey himself also wasn't what she'd expected - but in a better way. She'd expected some old bat with no hair and a hooked nose, rheumatic eyes watering at her behind thick glasses. While the Dean wasn't a strapping young virile human male, there were still qualities about him that drew her eye. His salt and pepper hair was neatly combed over, gel giving it a faint sheen in the light from the fan turning lazily overhead. He had a thin, trimmed beard, silvery grey. The collared shirt he wore fit him nicely, though he did have a bit of a paunch that Filia could see over his desk.
"Have a seat, miss...?" His eyes narrowed a fraction as he regarded her. "I don't believe I've seen you around campus."
Filia wasn't about to go with the doofy name that Nico had given the female administrator who'd apprehended them outside. She'd had to resist the urge to smack the glamoured demon across the quad.
Francine, really.
"Festina," she said, affecting the best innocent-yet-sexy demeanor that she could. She laced her hands behind her back, pushing her arms together so her tits thrust out a little, their full curve outlined by the tight t-shirt her shadows had wrought for her. "And I'm a transfer student. Just started yesterday."
The Dean arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't informed of such a transfer. Where did you come from?"
A place you'll be very familiar with soon enough, mortal,
she purred inwardly. "Somewhere far," she said. "It was a very sudden switch." Her lower lip slid out into a pout. "Very jarring to me."
"I see." He gestured to the chair. "Have a seat then, Miss Festina."
Filia sat down in the chair while making the innocuous action as sexy as possible. She put a swivel in her hips as she sat down hard enough to make her tits bounce inside her shirt. Then she crossed her legs, so that the miniskirt hiked up her pale legs. The lower part of her ass was bare on the wooden chair, and she felt goosebumps rise along her thighs. She'd forgotten to have her shadows form undergarments, then realized she likely wasn't going to need them. They'd just get in the way.
"Since you're new," the Dean began, getting up out of his chair. Filia eyed him hungrily. He was thick about the waist, yes, but it was a good thickness, a softness with strength behind it. "It's not uncommon for young women such as yourself to have trouble adjusting to our codes of conduct, Miss Festina."
"Such as myself?" Filia echoed, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs when he looked at her, hoping to give him a flash of her tempting femininity.
"I don't know where you've come to us from, but clearly it was a place where dressing as you do was encouraged." He nodded, once. "As is the prerogative of other schools. But here at Saint Bethany's, we are committed to fostering learning within an environment that falls within the teachings of God and Christ." His eyes flicked up and down her body. "And one of the core tenants of such an environment lies in the way we present ourselves to our campus and each other each and every day."
Filia smoothed out her skirt around her legs, letting her fingers linger on the hem as she made a show of tugging it down over her bare thighs. "I know it's not exactly
standard,
but it's not like I'm walking around the campus naked, sir." She dipped her head, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Surely there's
some
room for... wiggling in the dress code?"
She saw something flicker across his eyes, just the faintest hint of some emotion. Was it disgust, or something else? "The Lord did not give us 'wiggle room' when he handed down the Commandments to Moses on the top of Mount Sinai, Festina. Jesus' apostles did not give us wiggle room when they transcribed His word into the Gospels. And in that manner, we too do not abide by the idea of wiggle room."
Filia hardened her gaze, staring at the human intently. She'd been toying with him thus far, just seeing how far she could get with her voice and shapeshifted body alone. But the haughty way he'd simply brushed her off made her want to take the gloves off. She thrust out her chest a little, calling upon the reservoir of power flowing through her veins. The human wanted to play? She'd reduce him to putty for her own amusement.
"Is that how you've lived your whole life, Dean?" she asked him. "Adhering to the same doctrine hammered into that head of yours when you were a boy? Never flinching, never wavering in your purpose?" She smirked at him. "Seems like you're more of an automaton than a man."
The Dean stared at her intently. "If you're trying to insult me, Miss Festina, I'm afraid you won't get far."
And if you're trying to resist, I'll make it impossible,
Filia thought. She reached up, running her fingers along her throat. "Seems strange. You actually managed to get married? For how long?"
"Twenty years," the Dean replied. Then he paused, as if he were surprised that he had actually answered the question.
"And you have kids?" Filia said. She got up out of the chair and took a few steps closer to him.
"Two," the Dean said. "I did not tell you you could stand, Miss Festina."
"No, you didn't," Filia said, ignoring his implied command to sit back down. She put some sway in her hips and walked around the office. She could feel the tether of her power from her spirit to his, a tendril of energy that let her read him and influence him. Human minds couldn't comprehend the forces at work, so they never took notice. It was almost
too
easy. She could've obliterated his mind, made him a blank slate, but there was little to be gained from such an act. She fed off sexual energy and desire, and blank slates had no desires, no promises to break. It was the equivalent of filling up on plain bread - all substance, no flavor. And Filia wanted only the best flavors she could feast upon.
So she kept up her reeling, like the man was a fish upon her line. There was a balance to be found. "Do you and your wife get along, Dean McGarvey?" she asked. "And please, what is your real name? Saying your title over and over just gets tiresome."
