Magister: Pre-Cubnap

[hazlogs]

It is currently 22:52 Pacific Time on Mon Sep 14 1998.
Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (43% full).
Currently on this gusty and cool summer  in the general St. Claire area, it is 
  55 degrees Fahrenheit (12.8 degrees Celsius). The wind is coming from the 
  south-southwest at 14.6 mph. The ground is dry. Skies are clear with a 
  definite chance of precipitation.

Magister(#3859Pce)
          Too thin, too intense, and far too damned quiet -- at seventeen 
  years old, Magister already has the look of disturbed genius, though most 
  people think he's just disturbed. He's about five and three-quarters feet 
  tall, at most, and perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, a 
  narrow-featured, skinny youth. Narrow, wire-framed glasses over deep-set 
  brown eyes add to the "starved intellectual" image, and his long-fingered 
  hands sport fingernails that have been bitten to the quick.
          Hair so dark that it's nearly black is shaved close along the sides 
  and back of his head, with the top left much longer, though still far too 
  short to put into a ponytail. On the whole, he's somewhat attractive, but 
  only to those who happen to like the "thin weird guy with glasses" type.
          The kid wears a lot of black, which generally suits him. Black 
  jeans, dark gray t-shirt, black eighteen-hole Doc Marten type boots. A 
  "Happy Noodle Boy" pin is fixed to the left lapel of his black trenchcoat. 
  The back of the coat bears the brooding image of Johnny the Homocidal 
  Maniac, his eyes hidden in shadow, torso wrapped in mummy gauze, and arms 
  crossed like a Pharoah's over his chest, the blades of wielded knives 
  pointing downwards. 

Harbor Park Fountain
The area where the fountain was, and presumably the new fountain will be, is 
  now totally enclosed by high plywood walls. There is a door in one of the 
  walls, firmly locked with a padlock. The walls enclose much of the flagstone 
  area, now, only leaving a little around the edges of the old courtyard. To 
  one side, some ground is being leveled for further improvements. Healthy 
  green hedges line one side of the courtyard, just behind some mostly 
  graffiti-free benches. The park is almost constantly devoid of people as its 
  reputation of being one of the most violent places in the city spreads.
The murky waters of the Columbia River flow swiftly along the east side of the 
  park. Bracketing the park to the west is First Street. The park extends to 
  the south.
Contents:
Merria
Flowers
Obvious exits:
ManHole  River  STreet  South  

Magister leans against the plywood surrounding the fountain, leaning forward 
  with a notebook propped on one thigh, hand moving with sharp, jerking 
  motions as he writes, furiously.
Up from the meadow Sally comes, running like she's trying to lose perusers. 
  Left and right she dodges, laughing, her blonde hair bouncing with every 
  step. Finally she tumbles to the ground, rolling once in the grass before 
  coming to a giggling stop on her back, looking up at the sky.
Magister glances up at the sound of the blonde's laughter, and for a moment, 
  he peers at her, his eyes hidden by the reflection of a street light off his 
  glasses.
Sally does not see the other person here. The park is usually empty, it is 
  usually hers. Humans don't come here anymore, just Sally and the Garou. The 
  young woman raises her arms, fingers stretched towards ths sky, then lets 
  them both flop back over her head, one hand in the other.
Merria clambers up the outside of the fince and perches there, wobbling only a 
  little, looking down at the little tableau.
Magister's forehead wrinkles slightly. He pulls back a sleeve and glances at 
  his watch, and then looks back at Sally, his body still half-hunched over 
  with the notebook against his thigh.
The kinswoman lays there for a few moments, her laughter settling and her 
  breath returning to normal. Then Sally sits up, knees bent and an arm 
  resting on each. Grinning, she looks down at the meadow she just crossed, 
  her back to the fountain area.

[Sally]
A spill of golden blonde hair down the back of her tee-shirt, blue eyes no 
  less bright than her sunny locks. A glint of silver and a metal-on-metal 
  whisper from the handcuffs hooked to the belt loops at the waist of her 
  cutoffs, and a white rabbit's foot charm dangling from a loop opposite the 
  cuffs. A silver necklace glints around Sally's neck before vanishing into 
  her shirt, a tiny lump indicating more than one small something hanging from 
  the chain, hidden within her shirt. Each little detail works together to 
  present the total picture that is Sally MacKay: Flirt, party girl, bubbly 
  blonde.

Merria is a small, solid, knotty young woman who, despite being 19, will be 
  called a kid for years to come, with big round eyes, a small sharp nose, and 
  an expression of perpetual innocent and amazed curiosity. She has a cloud of 
  frizzy, unmanageable dark hair, dark eyes, and skin which would probably 
  still be fairly dark even if she had just washed, which she hasn't. She 
  wears battered sneakers, jeans with holes worn through in the knees, a black 
  t-shirt, and an ancient army jacket with as many holes as pockets. On her 
  shoulder is a lumpy, well-aged book bag that appears to hold nothing so 
  geometric as books. Her engaging smile, however, is fresh and nearly 
  ever-present; she regards the world around her with an almost proprietary 
  pleasure, as though she had just invented it and is still marveling at her 
  cleverness. Her step is light and has an extra bounce to it. Clearly the 
  only way she has found of using all her excess energy is to make each step 
  work double.

Magister shakes his head a bit and sits down, his back still against the 
  plywood, legs folded tailor-style, crosslegged. He gives his glasses a push 
  up the bridge of his nose and goes back to writing in the dim light.
Merria's eyes gleam, and she balances precariously with only one hand on the 
  fence, as she digs into her jeans pocket with the other. The pulls out a 
  small handful of acorns, takes one into her right hand, trading her balance 
  back and forth rather breathlessly, and gently lobs the acorn forward in a 
  lazy arc, aiming for Magister's notebook.
Sally bounces to her feet, all smiles as she turns back towards the north and 
  the benches there. Missing the stranger in the deepening shadows of evening, 
  she strolls towards the benches, one hand combing through her hair to catch 
  blades of grass and such.
The acorn hits the notebook with a muted *tok*. Startled, the skinny teenager 
  looks up and around.
Merria is currently in the process of aiming another acorn, this time sighting 
  for Magister's nose.
Sally doesn't miss the movement and pauses as she reaches the benches. 
  "Hey..." she says more to herself than him.
Magister grimaces slightly, then picks up the acorn from where it's fallen 
  nearby and chucks it toward Merria, before letting his gaze flick back 
  toward Sally.
Merria grins, and tosses the second acorn at Sally, instead, apparently 
  approving of Magister, at least for now.
Sally sets back into motion as he looks her way. "What're you doing here?" she 
  asks as she steps up onto the bench, then sits down on its back. "It's not 
  safe to hang out here, you know." she advises the younger guy with a grin. 
  "Hey," she looks down at the acorn, then in the general direction it came 
  from; it takes her a moment to spot the Gnawer. She checks the girl out, but 
  it takes even longer for her to recognize herr.
Magister's shoulders move in a faint shrug in reply to Sally's queries and 
  advice; he seems less than talkative. His pen hovers over the half-filled 
  notebook page, hand hanging as though eager to go back to writing, while his 
  attention remains on the two women.
"S'right," says Merria cheerfully. "It's not safe. You should both run away 
  before I come an' getcha." It is hard to imagine anyone less threatening, 
  either in appearance or demeanor.
Sally rolls her eyes, then speaks to the guy again. "People get killed here 
  all the time. Vanish, too." Her grin never fades and she's using that 
  older-sibling-trying-to-scare-younger-one tone.
"Aw," says Merria. "You're just gettin' his hopes up, Sally."
Magister almost smiles at Merria's remark. Almost. The expression dies a 
  cradle death when Sally speaks again. "Why don't you just fuck off, okay?" 
  Despite the content of his words, Magister's tone is mild, almost tiredly 
  polite and terribly world-weary.
The kinswoman laughs at the cub's words. "Why dontcha make me," Sally teases 
  with a smile, then tosses her hair back. "I'm just tryin' to help," she says 
  in a tone that makes it clear she wasn't.
"No," says Magister to Sally, in that same tired 
  been-here-done-this-lost-the-t-shirt tone of voice. "You weren't."
Merria pockets her remaining missiles and swings over the top of the fence and 
  begins climbing down the in-ward side. "The /real/ problem," she says as she 
  climbs down, presumably to Magister, "with hangin' out here is that no 
  one'll leave you alone, whether it's folks like Sally just tryin' to annoy 
  you, or the more usual people who want to take your face home for a 
  souvenir. Either way, it's awful hard to get any work done." By this time, 
  she has reached the ground and begun moving toward the other two.
Sally's eyes all but alight with mischief. "Yeah, I was. Really." She's having 
  a hard time holding her laughter back. "So whatcha writing there?" She nods 
  to his book. Merria gets a faked pissed look. "Aw screw you." She then 
  sticks her tongue out at the Gnawer and hops off the bench, also headed for 
  the cub.
Magister's eyes shift toward Merria as the small, knotting young woman speaks, 
  and again his expression almost lightens, as though the kid has a very 
  keenly (or overdeveloped) sense of asshole-detection -- and while Sally 
  clearly pings off the meter to him, Merria registers as 'mostly harmless'.
Magister snaps the notebook closed with a swift, automatic gesture as Sally 
  shows interest and gets to his feet, shoving the notebook into a nearby 
  backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, all in one unthinking reflex of 
  bully-defense.
Merria stops a mere three feet away from Magister, giving him the rare 
  opportunity to confront someone shorter than he is. She grins at him and 
  sticks out a grimey hand. "Merria Parker."
Like the schoolyard bully, Sally picks up on his defense of the book. "What're 
  you writing?" She teases, "C'mon, you can tell us." She draws closer, a 
  smirk on her lips, her head to one side as if able to peek around him to see 
  what it is. A harsh breed of amusement on her face, she draws to a stop just 
  outside his personal space. Pausing after the Gnawer introduces herself, she 
  then adds her own intro... of sorts. For just the space of the next five 
  words, a smile pushes her smirk away. "You can call me Mustang."
"Nothing you'd find interesting," says the teenager, shifting the backpack 
  higher up onto his shoulder. A beat, and then he gives his own name. 
  "Magister." He takes a step toward Merria and takes her hand briefly to 
  shake it.
You paged Merria with 'Soft palms, no callouses. Except for the writer's 
  callous on the side of that one finger, I think you know the kind of thing 
  I'm talking about. :)'.
Merria's round eyes widen further. "Magister?" she repeats incredulously. "Bet 
  your mom doesn't call you that." There's no malice in the observation, just 
  laughter.
Sally does not look like she's be discouraged that easily. "Yeah?" While he's 
  shaking Maria's hand, the blonde takes the time to check him out again; what 
  she finds does nothing to change her gameplan. "Really?" She asks the 
  question as she moves, allowing her voice (if nothing else) to tell him 
  she's slipping around behind him. Her smile returns again, but it retains 
  that hard edge of teasing.
Magister is caught off-guard for a moment. "Um, well, no, she didn't," he 
  says, answering Merria. Anything else he might add to that is cut off by 
  Sally's maneuver, and the kid is quick to let go of Merria's hand and turn 
  around. "Yeah," he says, echoing the blonde, with a light hint of sharp 
  sarcasm. "Really."
Merria wrinkles her nose at Sally's antics. "C'mon, Sally," she says easily. 
  "Lay off him." It's true, though, that her eyes do rest momentarily on the 
  notebook as well, as though, all things being equal, she wouldn't mind a 
  look inside, herself.
Magister's notebook is, thankfully, safely in his black backpack, which is 
  slung by one strap now over his right shoulder. His arm lies across it, 
  protectively.
Sally rolls her eyes at the Garou's correction, but she does stand down. Sort 
  of. "Yeah, yeah," she says to Merria as she takes a single step back, but 
  her eyes don't leave Magister. Folding her arms across her chest, she all 
  but stares challenge at him, just daring him to turn his back to her again, 
  her smile firmly in place all the while.
Magister doesn't return the blonde's stare, though neither does he allow her 
  out of his attention. Thin fingers tighten around the strap of his backpack, 
  jaw tightening with throttled-back anger.
Merria finds herself near a bench and hitches herself up onto the back of it. 
  "So, whatcha doin' here, Madge? You like the bad vibes, or you just dint 
  notice them? I figure maybe they kinda suited your mood or somethin', but 
  what do I know."
"It's quiet," says Magister. He shoots a look toward Sally. "It *was* quiet."
Like a little girl with her mother hovering just out of sight, Sally 
  reluctantly stays out of trouble. "Bet you weren't even writing anything," 
  she tries another attempt. Tossing back her hair, she lets her eyes wander 
  away from him as if he was just the most boring thing in the park.
"You wouldn't care if I was, and you wouldn't really care if I wasn't," 
  Magister replies. He tips his chin slightly downwards, and the streetlight 
  reflects off his glasses, hiding his eyes from view. "All you care about is 
  taking the piss."
"I told you I cared," now Sally's voice takes on a pout as she slips into her 
  next act with ease. Retreating further, she hops up onto a different bench 
  and looks at the cub, her head tilted down, allowing her to peek up at him 
  through blonde bangs with big, blue eyes. "I'm sorry." Her apology doesn't 
  quite come off as being 100% genuine, not quite.
Magister doesn't seem to be easily won over by big blue blue of bubbly 
  blondes. Quite the opposite, in fact. He just looks at her, saying nothing.
His lack of reply only makes Sally play it up more. Is her lower lip 
  quivering? "C'mon, please? Tell us! I'll be your best friend," just a hint 
  of that hardness returns to her tone, just the slightest tinge to her voice 
  at that last line.
"Oh, fuck this." Magister turns on his heel and starts heading back for the 
  meadow, moving with quick, stalking strides.
Merria digs an acorn out of her pocket and throws it at Sally. "That was 
  dumb," she says, sliding off the bench.
Sally's laugh follows the cub, even if the kinswoman 
  herself doesn't. "Hey," she says, bring up her hand to block it late, then 
  shrugging off the Gnawer's words. "I was just playing with him," her smirk 
  can be heard in her voice.

[Later.  Scene change.]

SCCU: Library(#3990RIJ$)
Although it's a time-honored tradition for students to despair at the 
  university library's lack of material, the facility does see a lot of use. 
  Much of the second floor is taken up with comfortable chairs and smaller 
  study rooms, and presents a quieter environment then the first, which houses 
  the antique microfilm reserves and dozens of scattered terminals to access 
  the buggy catalog.
A bulletin board on one wall offers a confused jumble of student organization 
  ads, most of them hastily xeroxed, although a more carefully printed 'flyer' 
  or two can be found.
Contents:
Nicodemus
Brigid
Obvious exits:
Melloy Hall  Student Union  Dormitory  Campustown  
Nicodemus shows off one of the ancient books. "Got one on alchemy and another 
  on early chemistry. We have to do a report for a chemistry class, so I 
  figured I'd dig around in the past for some interesting stuff instead of 
  blathering on about the latest plastics molecules or the new carbon 
  molecules they found in the last five or so years."
Brigid leans over a bit to peer at the book and smiles. "Sounds like a 
  fascinating set of classes, indeed! Good choice of research materials."
Magister's black-clad form enters the campus library, a black backpack slung 
  over his right shoulder. Head head moves slightly from side to side, his 
  gaze taking in details as he enters. The kid (got to be a freshman; can't be 
  any older than that, surely) pauses to examine one of the convenient little 
  maps posted near the door.
"I hope so," Nicodemus says from the seat next to Brigid. "The math and 
  computer stuff got to be really boring after a while. This stuff looks a bit 
  more promising on the surface. You've got to scratch off the candy-coated 
  shell to see what's underneath, though."
Brigid nods and glances up from the books, gesturing and looking at the 
  library around them. "A lot of the books here I like that, I've found." On 
  one of her roving glances, her eyes catch for a moment on the darkly-dressed 
  kid by the door, prompting a briefly raised eyebrow from her.

[Nick]
This under-twenty teen has a gaunt build and anemic-white flesh. A war between 
  light and dark takes place about him--and the darkness is winning. His hair 
  is no longer black; it's blackish-purple and hangs to shoulder length in a 
  stylishly unkempt manner. His eyes resemble cat pupils.
The Darkling's nails are tipped with metallic-gray polish. Around his neck 
  hangs a silver skull necklace with a red crystal inside. A second necklace, 
  easily overlooked, bears a simple silver crucifix.
Today's fashion theme is "traditional gothic". A black leather jacket covers 
  his torso. On its back, there's a skull mosaic composed from hundreds of 
  mirror shards. Beneath the jacket is a black mesh shirt over a charcoal 
  T-shirt. His pants are a fussion of black PVC, ripped open, and 
  reconstructed with black pothole mesh in a Frankensteinesque manner. A 
  length of chromed chain about his waist serves as a completely unneeded 
  belt. Finishing the outfit is a black pair of rugged 18-hole boots.

[Brigid]
Long, straight hair, dark as unblemished molten ebony, spills about Brigid's 
  shoulders in an unbroken wave. The inky blackness is broken by a pair of 
  snow-white streaks, falling from the crown of her head. When loose, the ends 
  curl softly, brushing her delicate chin with their pale tips. Her round, 
  heart-shaped face with its high, graceful cheekbones and sweeping eyes of a 
  pale ice-blue, holds an icy touch and only the faintest of smiles. Her tall 
  form is muscular, yet well-proportioned, and she carries herself with 
  perfectly erect posture, exuding a tangible aura of grace, power, and 
  confidence.
The usually left-down hair is coiled up into a tight bun atop her head, the 
  white streaks left to spiral in carefully made curls on either side of her 
  face. Sticking out of the bun at exact angles are a pair of obsidian hair 
  sticks, the tips capped in silver and dangling small blue crystals. A 
  long-sleeved dress of black velvet covers her body snugly, the hem brushing 
  the tops of her knees. Beneath the dress, she wears a pair of black 
  stockings with a pattern of roses in smoky grey thread. On her slender feet 
  and ankles are a pair of mid-calf boots, their tops folded over slightly to 
  form a downward-pointing cuff. Small, delicate silver chains are looped 
  about each ankle, and a separate one encircles her neck.

Nicodemus lifts a shoulder. "Usually they've only got two or four important 
  things to say in them. The other pages are... fluff, mainly. But I guess no 
  one would take your two or four points very seriously if you printed them 
  out on just half a dozen pages instead of a fat textbook you get overcharged 
  for at the bookstore." His eyes follow Brigid's towards the new kid.
Magister glances toward the sound of voice, though at that distance it's 
  difficult to tell if he meets Brigid's eyes or not, and when her companion 
  looks up as well, he turns away. After another brief scan of the library 
  map, the kid starts walking toward one of the unoccupied "study" chairs.
Brigid's other eyebrow raises a bit and she turns back to Nicodemus with an 
  inquisitive expression. "Interesting freshmen the Univeristy's pulling in 
  these days...." Her eyes occasionally glance to see where the new kid is, 
  out of sheer curiousity. "Haven't seen that one before."
Magister keeps his head lowered and his shoulders slightly raised, very 
  definitely not looking at the couple which might or might not have their 
  attention on him. He drops into one of the oh-so-loosely-termed "couches" 
  and unslings his backpack.
"Probably just visiting from a local high school, you know. Book reports and 
  that sort of thing." Nicodemus' reply is murmured back to Brigid in an 
  equally quiet tone. "Besides, I'd look weirder than him on a first glance. 
  You're just getting used to my style."
Brigid smirks and nods, "Most likely, yes. It's also true that even on this 
  campus, I bet more than half the people never see each other once."
Book reports. Sure. Magister has a spiral notebook, a pen... he rummages 
  around a bit before pulling out a book, an average-sized paperback with the 
  white cover and black spine of those inexpensive "Signet Classics" 
  Shakespeare editions.
Brigid pats the over-large textbook in her lap, then reaches up a hand to 
  smooth her hair back. "Well, outside of finding the books you mentioned, how 
  has your report gone otherwise?" She returns her voice to a normal speaking 
  level at this point.
Nicodemus coughs into a hand and, smiling, returns, "Tell you after I turn it 
  in tomorrow."
Brigid chuckles softly and nods. "All right, I think I can wait that long. 
  Goodness knows I still have this bear of a book to study."
Magister tucks his legs up, propping his heels on the edge of the chair and 
  settling into a hunched, awkward-looking posture. He opens the notebook to a 
  page already half-full of close, narrow writing and uses it to prop the 
  Shakespear open against his knees. And then he begins to write, slowly at 
  first, but then picking up speed. Anyone observing him carefully might note 
  that he isn't looking at the Shakespeare at all.
Nicodemus 'ohs' softly. "You're trying to do work or something? Want me to 
  split so you can make some progress?"
Brigid shakes her head and smooths her hair back again. "Nah, you don't have 
  to go or anything. I was down here because it was quieter studying up here 
  than with the cheerleader next door entertaining."
Nicodemus snerks amusedly. "Shit. You'll have to come by and meet my roommate 
  some day--if he's sober. Frat boy. Guess he's going to be an engineer. He's 
  damn good at stacking up big-ass pyramids of empy beer cans."
Brigid snickers softly at that and shakes her head in disbelief. "Bad enough 
  to live next to a party animal, but to live with one? That'd drive me even 
  more insane. Amber's entertaining gets....vocal."
Magister, apparantly forgotten, continues writing in his notebook, head bent 
  close to the page.
Nicodemus runs a hand through his hair, amused. "Now, now. Just because she's 
  noisy doesn't mean you ought to make fun of her." A slight pause. "But if 
  you could slip a ball gag into her mailbox...."
Brigid bends over her book to stifle a giggle fit at that. After a minute or 
  two to regain her composure, she looks back up with a stifled grin. "I 
  think...she might enjoy that a bit too much."
Nicodemus spreads his hands open. "Hey. Nothing wrong with that. And it'll 
  keep things quieter for you. It's a win-win situation all around for 
  everyone, then."
There's a rustle of paper as the kid turns a page of his notebook.
Brigid snorts softly and lets the grin slip into her expression. "True enough. 
  Some quiet would be quite welcome indeed."
Nicodemus stretches out an arm, rotating it one way to the extreme then back 
  the other way. "If you're up to sneaking it into her box, I know several 
  places where I could pick one up. We'll just count it as a good deed for 
  you, her, and her other neighbors."
Brigid's expression takes on a cunning cast and she smiles slightly. "I think 
  I could do that."
"More homework," Nicodemus mock complains as he gathers up his two books and 
  draws his feet closer to the chair, as if making to leave soon.
Magister's writing has slowed its pace; he pauses now to chew on his pen and 
  read over what he's written. The pen strays out of his mouth and doodles on 
  the page, absently.
Brigid wrinkles her nose and moves to get up as well. "I think Amber's 
  'entertaining' should be down to a liveable level by now."