Arynne
Salmon of Doubt
Name: Libby Lawrence
Divine Parent: Athena
Parent's Pantheon: The Dodekatheon
Calling: History Teacher
Nature: Pedagogue
Favored Epic Attributes: Charisma, Intelligence and Wits
Favored Abilities: Academics, Command, Craft, Investigation, Melee, Science
Favored Purviews: Animal, Arete, Justice, Prophecy
Description: Libby looks strikingly like her adoptive mother -- tall, with hair like dark honey and a curvaceous figure (which causes her some chagrin). She always has glasses perched on her nose; in moments of excitement they tend to slip downwards, threatening to come off. Since becoming a teacher, Libby has been careful to dress in the standard "teachers' uniform" of a blouse and dress slacks or a not-too-short skirt, even when not on the job. Likewise, her manner is often formal to the point of being old-fashioned. She tolerates no nonsense from amorous male Scions. Since a friend of hers got dismissed from the program after being seen having a drink at a bar, she has realized that she will always be under scrutiny.
Background: As a bright-eyed senior at Columbia University, Libby Lawrence signed up for a prestigious teaching program that recruits high-achieving college students, trains them over the summer, and sends them into America’s lowest-performing schools to make things right. The message given to each fledgling teacher is unmistakable: Only you can fix what others have screwed up.
Yet, less than six weeks of training do not a teacher make, and Libby was hopelessly unprepared for the challenge. She had no idea what to do or say when one of her students confided, with wide and trusting eyes, that his stepfather enjoyed getting drunk, abusing the family, and sometimes shooting at the kids for fun. Or when another student explained his habit of doing nothing during class stemmed from his (admittedly sound) logic that “I did the same thing last year and I passed.” Preteen boys decided recess would be the perfect opportunity to beat each other bloody, and parents accused her of being racist during meetings.
By December, Libby was a broken mess. Bitterly, she had to acknowledge that America’s schools could not be saved through youthful enthusiasm alone. But she could not bring herself to send the e-mail telling her supervisor that she was just…giving up.
Returning to New York for winter break, she found herself back on the campus of her beloved alma mater, more than half-wishing she were still a student. Her years at Columbia had been the happiest of her life.
Yet as she wandered, aimlessly she thought, from building to building, a sense of shame filled her. She had been born in the greatest country on Earth, to a well-off family, raised in privilege, enabled to attend one of the best colleges. From the day she was born her parents had given her the best of everything: music lessons, ballet lessons, art lessons. She had seen her first Shakespeare play before she was old enough to write. It was that awareness of her own good fortune that had made her want to be a teacher in the first place, to share her knowledge with others. Who was she to feel put-upon, a poor little rich girl, when others had so much heavier burdens?
Standing in the shadow of the statue of Athena, Libby heard herself say aloud, “I’m supposed to be the best this country has to offer. Well, then I need to give my best, and not complain.”
And then the statue looked down at her.
And smiled.
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