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Granny did look as if she liked the tea. She had made it, after all. From somewhere behind a green-glowing pot of sugar approached Mirror and hovered at his elbow. Because Grannies have that kind of awesome power. Not Telekinesis. That was only her. But they knew the face of a person trying to stomach something unpleasant. Just like that. I win. “Sugar?” That was said in her nice voice.

A sip of tea later she got out her not-nice voice. “Look, honey, I don't care if she had to go save the world.” Yes, this was quite true. Mothers leaving their children alone. Not her type of people. “She wasn’t there when it mattered. She will meet the car.” Just like that. Bitter things I know about, her eyes said. Because I’m old. And you aren’t.

Granny was new to the Mansion. This much was clear to everyone who saw her walking – well more hobbling on a stick, but thank you, most people ignore that politely – through the corridors, trying to get acquainted with both a feeling for general directions in the building as well as all the rooms that lay hidden behind the doors branching off to both sides. Yes, she simply opened them. It was not like she was in the personal areas of students (or teachers for that matter) but rather in the corridors that held the classrooms. Most were unused at this time, most students having gone for lunch into the kitchen area. Or were outside where the leaves began to color. She had to admit, the Mansion looked quite British in fall. The big brick building, its many large windows facing outwards, the sun, had that feel of a manor house around it that was just amplified by the beginning falls changes in nature.

You almost expected a horse-and-dog hunting company to burst from the grounds and into the woods at any moment. Well not the moments that students were outside. Then you better started hiding, for chances were good that you would meet things like a burning chair, a blast of sand or any other of the hundred-something forms of mutation in this place. Meet to the face that was.

Granny opened the next door, trying to memorize the way she had taken already. Chemistry, Chemistry, Physics and now, or so it seemed, a language classroom. Shelves upon shelves of books filled the far side of the room. The teachers desk held a rather agreeable amount of them too. Not that she could read the titles from her vantage point near the door, but the sheer size of the stack was most agreeable indeed.

Another thing was not. She heard rather than saw the whispers – they must be rather loud for her to hear them this clearly – of love. Or of love in the making. The happy sighing. The rattling of a chair in the back of the room. Granny blinked twice. This was not happening right here and right now. A table – it had been most precariously balancing on an edge before – was overturned by the out-of-sight action. The arthritic knuckles of her hands closed about the head of her walking stick with white-pressed ferocity. They even made old creaking noises.

Yes, Granny went into the room. Yes, she was quite silent against the onslaught of young love. Yes, she made it to the last row of tables. And why, yes, she did find out what was happening there.

A familiar green glow wrapped around the man in question. Wrapped around him and positively yanked him from what he was doing. In fact, she might have been a little too enthusiastic in the yanking. His face might have met the ceiling. Might. With a crash. And old buildings tended to have high ones at that. Ceilings. “Out.” She snapped at the rather most bewildered girl. “Out now.” Her voice was old, creaking ice. Her rheumy eyes were blazing with fire. They did not leave the girl before the door was firmly closed behind her very, very red face.

Only then it was that she removed the dangling man from the ceiling. To a certain extent. His head was facing hers now. Upside down. “Mr. Johnson. A pleasure. We need to talk.” Her grip around the walking stick never left the white-knuckled-rage state. The icy tone never left her voice.

Her walk was swaying, sensual, dangerous. She was. Coming close to him, being so close. And her eyes, so close from his. Something was wrong in them, slightly, for the situation. There was amusement. Certainly there was. Rare, to be truthful, were the times when there was not. But there was also this: A hinting of assessment. Only a small measure across from him. On the other side. “What is she?” Her lips were near his ear. Whispering. Intimate things, exchange of thoughts. Speaking. Was this not? (Not the same: Indifference, Roles, Standard((s))) “You're asking yourself that right now. “And the answer even is” Breathing through the mouth. Tasting him, his eau de toilette. His hair maybe, tingling across her the sensations. I am close//d//not// to you. Consider possibilities. Tasting salt. Sweating, slightly. An open book are women, are they not? Do you want me to be one? “I don't know.” Yes: Unknowingly stumbling. Blunder. In worlds of hurting. Because youth does not care about pain. She did not know who she was.

This was truth. The knife was there. Almost forgotten. So she made it seem.

Granny Stephens had seen many things in her own time. Not that her time was finished, mind you, but she had already been on this earth a good while, so she had seen a few things. (These few things included, in case you were wondering, the marvels of things called 'hips' of both genders.) A battle-hardened Police Officer who stood before her dumbfounded and thoroughly embarrassed was a prime though. Not that she minded primes at all. Wonderful numbers those. Indivisible by anything but themselves and one.
Mathematicians got wet-mouthed whenever they were concerned. Only that she was not a Mathematician. Her primes were new experiences. Experiences that sometimes translated into very verbose answers to unasked questions. Verbose answers like:

>> “Huh?”

Brilliant. New experience. Brilliant laugh. Note: Granny was not laughing about our good Officer Cervantes. She was laughing with him. Or rather she would be once the stupor of her charms had worn off him. Or colored him.

>>“Uh…yeah,”

Things got much better even. Meekness from a Cop. They were mostly everything but meek. In almost every situation. This was just delicious. It need not be said that one Granny Stephens was very, very proud of herself this particular instant. Proud and slightly ashamed (What?? Why?). Ashamed because she had rolled over the good man like an avalanche. She usually did. And he could do nothing against her. So far so usual. But also she was feeling slightly for the woman who would undoubtedly soon hear of this very exploit of her older colleague. Or she would not. Depending on how ashamed the good man would be. Nasty moment of thought. She probably could drive the good Officer to the point of tears. But that would not be very grandmotherly indeed. So she settled on a different course of action.

“Good for you.” Granny said, reached up and deigned to pinch out good Officers cheek. Because good boys needed their Granny touches. The smile on her lips was a bit cocky now. “I am sure your children will be wonderful. There will be children, of course?” And marriage, her voice implied. Very much implied. Also: Please do not be ashamed, good officer. Grannies have a right to these things. Its part of our very existence. Thank you. Now, where was that teapot she had seen? Things clattered around her glowing greenly as her mind settled on doing something ordinary. Like fixing the be-headached man a good cup of tea. A good infusion. For health.

She smiled a bit at this question, remembering. How young had she been when she had last asked such a question this bluntly? Probably sixty. Good times those had been. “I am probably as old as you are young.” She managed. Maybe to snuff her slight incredulity. She caught her balance, proverbial balance that was, quickly. She ordered ice cream, letting the young one ponder her words for a bit. “But that is not an answer to your question, is it?” Her head lowered itself somewhat. As much as she could with her hurting back. And then from her lips came a conspiratorial whisper. “Seventy-two. I am seventy-two this year.” And that was that. She still held her head and voice the same way though. Conspiring. Bestowing secrets. “People usually think I am too old to think properly. Like the man earlier. They also think people like us the young and the old are weak. They need to be disabused of such silly notions.” She was completely earnest at this. And probably the child might listen. Maybe the mother – that Lori woman – too. Children were never too young to have seeds planted. Especially if they were truth. As Granny saw it. Also:

Two balls of delicious pistachio ice cream sitting in two plastic cups. Granny exchanged green for green. And then set down on one of those pillow-things with a sigh. “Now lets see what this tastes like, shall we?” She looked like an old cat right now. A very comfortable old cat.

=Thread closed=

No disappointment in her face at his taking her attempt in stride. Not much at least. There was a raised eyebrow though. For a second or two. She then nodded to him. Because not everyone took her in stride. “Thank you, young man. You have good reflexes.” Yes. Another compliment. Which made two in a row. Which, in turn, made decidedly too much compliments for Granny. The other part of the talk was more to her liking.

“Tell her she has great hips. She'll forget about the head then.” There was no need to talk about which she she meant. There was supposedly only one She in this mans life. A She with capital. For sport she said this. As much as for her own good. There cannot be enough revenge. And there cannot be enough men blushing in her presence.

“You have seen them, I trust?” Now Officer: Catch this attack. Note: Had she been younger, she would have added a wiggle of her own mid for emphasis. Now she was seventy-two which came with a certain amount of dignity.