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[halfblaked]

ᚫ Hello, you've reached Professor Blake. I'm likely in lecture right now, but you may leave a message. ᚫ

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[queenofseers]

[ Agh, fuck. Once the cocaine falls into her hands she makes a noise of disgust and flicks it onto the desk, knowing she'll have to pick it up for evidence and simultaneously hating that she'll have to do so. As if she needed more proof. She sets the fidget cube down, too, taking a moment to simply put her head in her hands, taking deep breaths, refusing to acknowledge how making herself adhere to that pattern just makes her more stressed.

He knows all her research. He did it with her. He knows so much about her, worked with her, she trusted him and fucking he does this and he was always doing this, and she needs to ball her hands into fists and rub her eyes to get herself thinking, doing anything else.

And then she picks up the cube, smacking it as much as she is pressing buttons. When the bifrost opens she hesitates, nearly expecting him to come out.

And after a moment of sitting there, thinking he's about to step in, she- hesitantly, ready to strike- moves just enough of her body in to see where it leads. ]

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[halfblaked]

[ It's a shame David isn't here, to watch Cassandra's freakout, because it's precisely what David always wanted out of this. The capability to be that present, that mysterious, to have that much of an impact. Perhaps it's the fact that he's never been considered interesting by anyone, least of all someone like Cassandra.

But David -- Woden -- isn't here. He doesn't step through the portal, or more accurately, flies through the portal, followed by his assailants. Nothing happens, and while Cassandra ponders it, time ticks by, the analogue clock in David's office softly ticking away, while she can stare out, waiting like a ticking time bomb, until --

When she peeked through -- it's to nowhere. Not really nowhere, but it's nothing exciting. It's outside the university. There's trick to the bifröst, after all. One must have intent to use it. But it works, and it doesn't vanish with Cass halfway through it, which all things considered, is pretty good when it comes to anything having to with David "actually Woden" Blake. ]

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[queenofseers]

[ The fact that the bifröst doesn't lead her directly to somewhere more relevatory surprises her- but hell, what can she expect? Her anxiety has been at such a height that it's almost a relief. After a moment, she sighs, exhausted, and pulls herself back into the office, pressing the cube again in hopes of turning the portal off.

Once she's attempted that, the sudden moment of calm reminds her of something; she reaches into the dark of her cloak, into the magical storage space she's somehow gained access to, and pulls out a spare flash drive. Nothing could kill the journalist in her, she supposes. How does she know Blake won't walk right in here, after all? She already may have tipped him off sending that message. She shoves the flash drive in, and starts dragging folders into it.

And once that's done, she sits back, her heart beating quick. Fuck. Fuck. ]

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[halfblaked]

[ With all of that, even with all of that, David -- Woden never shows. The clock still ticks away, the computer continues to hum softly, and the bifröst sat on his desk, as if it wasn'tWasn't a dead give-away of the fact that the supposed god wasn't who he said he was.

Did that mean he wasn't a god at all?

Nothing happened, in his office. No goading, no messages for Cassandra, the computer didn't even start to auto-delete, and wouldn't for a bit more -- not until David's presence left the plane.

Smart, then, that Cassandra was able to copy the files. The only other possible source was the bookshelf. ]

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[queenofseers]

[ Lucky for Cassandra, the anger's coming in waves. As she comprehends more and more a new flash of rage hits her, and as the folders load in she starts tearing around the room. When this is over? He's going to know that she knows who he is. Maybe not at this moment, but soon. Who cares if he tries to slink back in here and finds it trashed? He deserves it. He deserves so much worse.

She starts with the desk, pulling papers out, and when she's done with that she goes toward the bookshelf. Fuck these books. Fuck how fucking obvious his choices are, now, fuck how he hid it in plain sight like he was bragging.

When she starts pulling books out, it's as much looking for another sign as it is an excuse to ruin something. Anything. ]

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[halfblaked]

[ The thing is: he was bragging. Every moment that David tapped his false finger against a surface, every small, gesture and comment was a subtle dig at her. If she remembers back far enough, she can start to realize that David has been pretending, and rubbing it in all at once, every time they talked. He loved it, but it was also deeply personal, the things that he told her.

In his books, when they fell open, were notes, annotations, rogue pages filled with more diagrams, notes -- rough sketches of designs for the new pantheon, some notated and marked, notes on the sides.

The Prose Edda -- marked up -- page after page, heavy black lines over parts -- the Gylfaginning open, black lines, over an entire chapter. What could he have felt was so important to remove from a very expensive, very old translation of an obscure myth? ]

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[queenofseers]

[ It's been a long time since she'd read Prose Edda- it's the kind of thing that's buried in memories of grad school all-nighters. But she has a faint memory of what this part was about. An origin story. The basic set-up of the world.

He can buy his own version if he wants to take shitty notes so bad. She opens the window to her godly storage space and throws it in, and then adds his more specific notes on these new "gods"; she suspects she's going to have a hell of a time figuring this out, later. She's starting to get tense in this room, both wanting to move around and wanting to do something grander than this. She takes out her flash drive once all the information is done loading, throwing it in with the rest.

Part of her wonders if any of his colleagues are going to notice her leave, then come in and see the mess she's made. Yet another way this day could get shittier. But they wouldn't understand this. They wouldn't understand anything. So few people do. Maybe no one.

Fuck him. Fuck.

Glancing around, not even bothering to cover her tracks, she turns to leave. She wants him to know she's caught him. ]