You know my name

Like most previous Parents' Weekends, Bond was in his office, and through some stroke of fortune, his heater was actually working properly, so he was actually wearing a shirt this time.

The door was open and he had few extra chairs out.

[Open.]

Damn it all, after months, years even, of working fine, the blasted air-conditioner in Bond's office had broken down once again. And so, once again, he was holding office hours sans shirt.

At least this time around, it wasn't Parent's Weekend again.

[Open office, shirtless teacher.]

Given how organised he kept his files, it had been the work of minutes for Bond to get his notes on his students ready. While none of them were laid out where prying eyes could see them, they were all close at hand for if and when they were needed.

Satisfied with his arrangements, he opened his office door and propped it open.

Of course Bond's heating had to malfunction again today. It was almost as if some capricious higher power had it in for him.

Nevertheless, the door was open and he was in for any parents who wished to speak with him. Even if he was slightly less clothed than the previous two days.

The first thing Bond had done when he'd arrived at his office was to do a thorough search with gloves and a softball bat, before breaking into the emergency vodka to brace himself in case any parents wanted to talk with him.

The door was open for any visitors. Though it would be unwise to bring up last Monday's class with him.

His class notes on his desk, Bond was spending his time before class trying to at least find out what the problem was with his damned heater.

He was in the middle of examining the air vent when his hand brushed against something small, green and with far too many teeth that were quite quickly latched onto his wrist.

Swearing, he jerked his hand back, shaking off the gremlin. He eyed the row of teeth-marks with a frown, then started looking at his outfit with distaste. "I say," he said, his voice suddenly a lot more booming. "This will never do. I shall have to fix this immediately."

With that he rushed off.

[Establishy.]

There was a problem with the heating in Bond's office today. Somehow or the other, the thermostat had gotten stuck at too high a setting, and to further complicate matters, his window was jammed shut.

So after propping the door open, Bond now sat at his desk trying to look as professional as he possibly could while working without a shirt.

[Open! Not so much now as he's sliding towards NWS-ness with his visitor.]

Bond sat at his desk, working on next week's workshop.

There was absolutely no reason for him to look exceedingly pleased with himself, so therefore he clearly wasn't.

At all.

Really.

Bond had spent most of his week pretending that the previous weekend hadn't happened. Part of that had involved not doing anything the least bit connected with it. Including checking his email.

Which was why he was only now seeing the receipt for a sent but now deleted email, one he didn't remember sending. Oh, well, it had probably just going into the ether, never to return, like all the others he'd sent to that address over the last few months. No need to worry, right?

Bond's liver was taking a bit less punishment than this time last week, mostly due to the fact that after going through his entire stash of alcohol, he was going to have to stretch things out until he built up a stockpile again.

In any case, he looked slightly less likely to shoot the nearest person if they looked at him sideways. The door was still closed though.

[post is open though]