He had been wandering the campus for a while now. As a new professor, he hadn't quite yet figured out the layout of the school, and he stops to study the map in his hands yet again. He had been given one of the older classrooms to use for his classes, which didn't bother him too much, but there was something to be said about the learning environment... The Dean told him it was on the west side, but he wasn't finding the room number.

With a slightly frustrated sigh, he stops to catch his breath on a bench. In the chilly air he had bundled up in a wool coat, and he brings out a white handkerchief to wipe discretely under his nose. His sniffling has come back in full force since being in town. Different city... different germs...

He watches the students and other members the faculty pass by. At least they seemed to know where they were going. He sits there for a while, thinking about the potential in these young minds. So hard to tap into… but if caught early, before they have a chance to be corrupted, they could achieve so much…

"Ye go' a bit o' a flu thare Mister?" Her cheery voice might very well startle him while he was caught up in the thoughts of his own, and if that didn't, the fact that there was a small student climbing over the bench from behind to perch on the back of it very well may have him cringing back from the potential of contamination.

In truth though, she'd left enough distance between herself and the Professor to be courteous and he should very well think himself lucky. Or he might have, if he knew her and the past. But that was neither here nor there really. As far as he knew she was a friendly type, with a curiousness that was etched into the depths of her dark eyes, that didn't absorb the light so much as it reflected it.

She was sitting in such a way that her sneakers were on the bench seat and her backside was on the uncomfortable rail-top of the back rest itself. Small hands, delicate in bone structure and milky pale in colour, curled around the edge of the seat, rather close to her jean clad legs. Her black hair was loose, dead straight and a glossy black. It was the type that was usually seen on asian persons and not Irish-English something like herself, and she didn't seem to mind when the wind buffeted it about the place.

While she waited for some sort of answer she took in his attire, the way he sat, anything he carried, the features of his face, the handkerchief in his hand, and the smallest of details in the way she stared at him with her eyebrows raised and faint curl to her mouth that wasn't quite a smile but seemed genuine and pleasant enough.  

He had been deep in thought, and the sudden voice popping up behind him does catch him off guard. He jumps a little bit as he straightens, looking up to the side where the girl had perched herself on the back of the bench. He quickly settles, and smiles a little self consciously at being startled like that.

"Oh.. hello, uh..." A finger pushing his glasses up as they slide a bit down the bridge of his nose. "Something like that..." He gives as an answer to her question, perhaps it was one of those things where you know you are sick but aren't quite sure what it is yet.

He tends to hunch a little bit, and with his thin body, and meek demeanor, he might come across as being weak, lacking confidence. But it is the brief glimpse of his eyes, as he manages a moment of eye contact, that hints at something underneath that frail form, something more than what he seems.

He studies her in return, though not as intently, just a somewhat curious glance.

"Are you a student here?"

"Student?" Her brows shoot up and she's left to wonder how best to answer that. Its a comical moment of her shifting her weight and scuffing her toe into the edge of the bench-seat. "Uh, well, tha' all depends really.."

"Oh whether ye be some sort o' Mister tha' will be kickin' mae out if I be sayin' I'm na." Obviously she wasn't a student here, and she was being cheeky about it. Harmless really.

He studied her, she studied him. While his was curious glances she still gave him an outright stare, thankfully she broke such intensity with the constant and fleeting smiles she gave or the friendly, very casual, demeanor she held.

Before he could go on, she was still talking, "But I saw ye 'ere, takin' a looks about mae self, an' I thoughts tha' ye could use a bit o' company. A better jacket mayhaps? Winters chill be about before ye kno', an' tha's na te do a thin' fer ye sniffles ye 'avin'." This was kindly and considerate and in no way the usual unpleasantness that majority of society held. "I dinnae mean te startle ye tho, beg me pardon fer tha'."

"Are ye a student 'ere?"

Her staring does seem to make him a bit self conscious... although he doesn't lose any of his own politeness, just more likely to glance downward as they talked... or rather, as he listens. He was about to answer her first statement, but goes silent when she goes on skipping topics like a bird hopping branches.

He glances around.. then down at his coat. It was already a pretty thick wool coat, but not impervious to cold. "Thank you for the concern, but truth be told the warmth doesn't usually make much of a difference." Usually? It is somewhat odd phrasing.

"I uh... well no, not a student either. I'm a Professor. Well... I'm new here, actually. I'll be teaching a few genetics courses." Glancing up at her again. He cracks a small smile.

"What brings you to this campus if you aren't taking classes here?" It is a gentle inquiry, nothing accusing in his tone.

"Aye aye.." She nodded, knowingly, as if she had some idea of why the Professor was cold and sick. ".. Chill o' the 'eart 'eh? Can be sayin' I know wha' tha' migh' be abouts, but I've been 'earin' enough about it. Sorry te 'ear, either way. But don' ye worry none. Nice lad like ye will be warmed up in na time." She's smiling again, and this time had pushed off the perch to sit down properly on the bench. Of course properly for her wasn't the same as others and she had one leg curled up with its heel rested on the edge of the bench, tucked in close to her behind. Her arms wrapped loosely around the denim of her knee.

"Genetics?" Of course she's still looking at him. She's interested. Lilah likes people and it can make all the difference between a colourful day and a dreary one. "Tha's got te make ye a smart cookie then. But wha', ye cannae be tha' old luv? Would na put ye much older than some o' those comin' 'ere. I bet ye somethin'."

But he's coming back to her again. She doesn't mind explaining, giving a quirk of her mouth as she quips, "Te look aroun'. Talk te fella's like ye.. Make some friends. Cannae really make 'em at the mall. Only so much ye can talk abouts the latest threads. Much rather be yappin' te the likes o' ye."

His head tilts very slightly to the side as he observes the girl move from the back of the bench to finally sit beside him. "It's uh.. more of a medical problem. Leukocytes not working like they should..." She made his sickness sound more romantic than he just did...

He covers his mouth with a fist, lightly coughing, which turns into a bit of a chuckle, and somewhat of a modest look downward at her comments on his intelligence. "Hm, no, I guess I am not that old..." Peeking back up at her, as he catches the answer to his question.

"Likes of me? Oh... I don't know if I would be a good choice as far as um.. interesting conversation. I mean, I guess that depends..." He obviously doesn't possess the gift of the gab as she seems to have. At least, not in the socializing sense. In a classroom setting, when he knows what he is talking about, that may be a different thing altogether.

"Aye, I didna' think so." Her smile becomes a bit of a grin. There's a flash of cheek in it this time, a little sass in her eyes that sparkles playfully when they touch on his age again. "Smarts o' the smarts. I bet ye one te 'ave ate all ye vegetables an' ye crust."

Pausing, her eyes drift upwards, distant for a moment as she considers what she just said, head cocked. She blinks once, a definite blink that gives her an air of distracted innocence and makes her somewhat peculiar. "No, wait. I think the crust bit is about the curly 'air, na ye brains." Her eyes train on him, quite obviously looking at his hair and taking it in.  "So just the vegies then..." Jests, she does it a lot - and easily, without effort, without care if others find it funny either. It served purpose to break the ice.

Anyway, she talks too much and doesn't give time enough for people to linger on what she has said before bombarding them with something new to consider.

"I think ye doin' fine, I do. Talkin' like ye are, just now. Mighty fine an' capturin' conversation." Her fingers toy with the denim of her jeans, nails seeking to pluck out thread from a tiny hole that has began to form by the seam near the knee. "But I gots te be askin', wha's yer name? I'm Rove."

"An'... wha's luuke-o.." Nope, she wasn't going to get that one out first shot, not with her accent. "Well, wha' ever it is, I'm sorry te 'ear about it." She still wanted to know what they were.

His brow began to furrow as she rambled on about crust and vegetables which, didn't make too much sense to him in the first place. His confused expression says as much. At some point he gets the gist of it, or at least, understands the jest, and chuckles a little under his breath, glancing up towards his, indeed, straight, short hair.

He is, if anything, a good listener. He never once tries to interrupt, or try to get a word into her constant chatter. He seems more content to listen and take it in, even if it didn't always make sense.

He blinks when she asks him a question and he finds himself able to say something. "Oh... um, right. I'm Alexander Wakeling..." A polite gesture he has been engraved with, he holds out his hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you uh.. Rove."

"Leukocytes?" A pause, somewhat sheepish. Like everyone would know the scientific term... "Uh, white blood cells. A big part of the body's immune system."

Oh right. Handshakes!

She drops her knee down and twists at the waist to grab his hand and shake it. Her hand is small, she's not all that big herself, petite and willowy, making the bones seem fragile beneath the warmth of her skin. "S'nice te meetcha."

Withdrawing her hand, she turned on the seat, crossing her legs like a school-girl and rested her side into the back of the bench with her arm resting on its back. "Alexander... few o' those in history, inn'ere? One o' them crossin' countries in huge sailin' ships te find an' fight fer his love. 'Ave ye don' anythin' like tha' Alexander? Betcha ye 'ave, goes with the name. Passion an' smarts an' sheer stubbornness."

"Sick white cells 'n all, I bet yer somethin'. Got a smile like tha'.. " Her own smile comes easily. The darkness of her eyes flood with warmth. But she moves on, just before he could get too uncomfortable with such flatting attentions,

"Ye new 'ere then? As a professor. Wha' do ye teach about genetics? Got te say, I'm a mite bit interested. Cannae afford school, but a wee yap about it. They say ye learn somethin' new everyday. Mayhaps today I'll be learnin' somethin' other than wha' Leukocytes are." She pronounces it right this time, carefully about her accent, almost mimicking the inflictions of his own tone in order to make herself not sound like a fool (rather than picking fun at him, say).

His own hand is perhaps much larger than hers, but in a somewhat lean and bony way, and he doesn't hold a very strong grip. In his own way, he feels just as fragile, with his skin a bit colder than hers, and dry. He quickly slides his hand back into his pocket when it is released.

Again, he listens to her talk, though as she compliments his name in such a romantic fashion, some color returns to his pale cheeks, a little more than the cold has managed. His mouth opens as if to quietly reject that any of that was really true... but she seems very set in her ideas, and she is of course moving on before he can say anything at all.

Mouth closed quickly, he glances down, sniffling, clearing his throat. When she mentions interest in his area of expertise, his eyes lift again, and that faint smile returns.

"Yes. Rather new... I mean, I recently just arrived in this city." He pulls a hand out of his pocket in order to push his glasses up. "I'm teaching a basics course, but I will also have a more advanced class available that focuses on my area of research: Genetic diseases."

"Oh aye? Mae too. Na been 'ere very long at all. Still be abouts makin' some friends n' all tha'. But na many are real nice like, 'ave ye noticed tha? Got te say the most nicest people I've been about are in the Asian countries, ye know? Whole lot o' hospitality tha' lot. Bit big on class, mind, but ye know. Can' 'ave it all good, 'as te be a downside te everythin'." She could certainly talk and she did so with such ease it had to be admirable. One could tell she's going to be one of those old ladies that sit next to people on buses and talk their ears off. But it was hard, again, to imagine Lilah without anything but the youthful flesh of hers; skin of silk and hair of satin. Genetics were kind (and then some) to her.

She likes the way he seems to perk when she mentions his work. Its his passion and that much is easily seen, so she takes the topic under wing and flies with it. "Ow'd ye get inte it? Always facinated by such thin's? I bet thare's loads ye know tha' would 'ave parents thinkin' twice about bearin' wee bonnies. As much as DNA is a marvelous thin', can be quite a frightenin' one too, don'cha think?"

He has gotten used to her continued voice by now, just taking things in. Though, he doesn't seem to really get bored, still somewhat curious about what she has to say. She suggested that she has traveled quite a bit, and that interests him.

He leans himself back a bit against the back of the bench, his head turned to watch his new talkative companion. He takes a moment to answer the question. "Well... yes... Um, at least, it is true genetics isn't something people always think about when bringing new life into the world. But I suppose that is what I do my research for. Discovering causes and cures, or at least treatments, so it doesn't have to be a restriction. And... yes, I guess you can say... I've always had an interest in science. Wondering how things work, figuring out what makes people... who they are. The minute factors behind it, can indeed be fascinating." A pause, he smiles faintly. "At least.. to me."

"So do ye think it's the body tha' makes the people who they be, or the soul tha' makes a person who they be? Or is it both? An' do ye even believe in souls an' tha' sort o' thin'? Is it a spirit part o' the flesh? Or is the flesh tha' spirit, I guess I'm askin'?" She's certainly interested in this, all eyes on him, her stare intense and unwavering. Its not that she sounded like a fanatic, her voice was rather casual as she considered these things, but she could share his interest with her own sort of wonder. "An, since we're on the whole sort o' topic, when does a fetus become a life, proper like? Could raise the ugly topic o' abortions an' all that. It's a fierce debate ye know, where life begins..."