Despite arriving at an early hour she considered ungodly, the girl often tripped over her feet attempting to reach her first class.  Her own fault, really.  Her father offered her the option to bus so she could sleep in more but she adamantly refused, opting to arrive the same time as he did -- an extra book or two (or three) in hand to stave her through the wait.

Despite arriving at exactly the same time of her first class' teacher, Aine always stepped in barely before the bell.  She kept bringing her books to her locker, only to sit down and start reading without regard to the time.  An inevitable course of events that always led to her, head down, hiding a sheepish smile as she found her seat, avoiding the bemused eyes of her father.

Today, she was attempting her typical walk-through-the-crowded-hallway-with-her-nose-buried-a-book routine.  Her backpack, which matched Hufflepuff Quidditch captain jacket, bounced heavily.  No doubt carrying more books than actual class-required supplies.  The book currently captivating her attention was none other than The Golden Compass, which everyone knew she had read plenty of times before.

While Aine walked with decent speed despite her shorter legs, and even with her head down, she lost track of exactly where people went sometimes.  Consequently, her service dog, Libellule had to stop her before she ran directly into Theodore, preventing a complete collision.

"So-sor- Oh. Theo, what did you do to your arm?" Well.  Actually.  Aine felt pretty certain she knew what probably happened to his arm.  She just didn't want to assume.

Following the early drive to the high school and preparing for the lectures and activities of the day, the man had taken to standing outside the door of his Art History class -- greeting his students as they walked in and shaking his head in mild exasperation every time he spotted Aine lagging behind due to cramming her nose in a book. 

Not that he disapproved of her reading habits; she inherited them from him after all.

However, he still failed to understand her insistence on heading to her locker only to begin reading so intently she loses track of time.  While he dotted on her, he could hardly exhibit favoritism by ignoring any potential tardies -- her luck with racing in just in time wouldn't last forever.

Time was ticking, but at last she was headed over, book in tow as always.  He sighed, shaking his head once again and found himself blinking when Libellule saved the day from a potential collision.  Jesus.  "Aine," he chided lightheartedly, "you really shouldn't walk-and-read, a leanbh."

Swiftly, his hazel eyes moved, brows raising in mild curiosity over Theodore's cast.  Skateboard, probably.  "Your arm healing well, Theodore?"