IN THE SHADOW OF WYTHORNE - MULTIMUSE

        "Huh..." Violet blinks, holding the broken object awkwardly in her hands. She wasn't exactly expecting to be accosted to fix something this early, let alone during orientation. "Yes, um, I can probably fix this up for you. Just a question... how exactly did this happen?"

"Um, I'm so sorry to bother you, it's just... my camera." He speaks with the kind of barely contained anxiety common among first year students, practically trembling as he watches her turn the device over in her hands. He didn't intend for the orientation to become a spectacle, but it seemed like, as always, the universe had other plans for him. "I, um. Well, I was just walking up the stairs, and when I got to the top, I tripped over nothing." He accentuates the final word, blue-gray eyes intently watching the cogs whirring to life behind hers as she inspects the shattered lens and the snapped shoulder strap. "Like, there was something there, but also nothing... not that it matters..." Quentin frowns, his naivety when it comes to magic always his undoing. He's rubbing his left elbow with his right hand, easing the bruise he'd gained in the tumble. "If you can manage to fix that lens, I'll owe you one. Or maybe I'll owe you several." He smiles nervously.

The scents of tobacco and lavender perfume the air of the now-empty Thanatology classroom. It's the usual culprit, finally comfortable enough in his isolation to peel the soft suede gloves from his hands and remove the cigarette from between his lips. Irus discards them on the table-top, spreading out his grimoire as he exhales a lungful of herbal smoke. His shadow looks on with disappointment, flickering as it winds itself upwards to peer over his shoulder. "Where is it...?" He questions, muttering under his breath as he guides a blackened fingertip across its pages. The cigarette is placed back into his mouth as he turns the page, narrowing his eyes. His hands abandon the page to push hair back from his eyes, then return to tracing the text. "I swore that incantation was--" Startled from his focus, Irus turns to face the intruder. Steely eyes gauge the threat, picking over the newcomer with a mild look of annoyance. He exhales sharply through his nose, producing two more puffs of smoke. "What are you doing here?"

Alice could feel his frustration across the campus and couldn't stand it anymore, so she mozied herself into the classroom, which was a mess, and before he even addressed her, she started organising and categorizing papers. She finds the one he knows he's looking for and places it on his desk before continuing her organisation. "If you kept things in order ... you wouldn't lose them every day." She then walked behind the desk and looked over his notes, and the sheer panic she felt. " For fuck sake," she curses, and Alice does not curse -- "How do you ever intend to break this curse of yours if your note-taking system is no better than a child's?"

His shadow reacts first, its startled inky blackness shrinking back and clinging desperately to his heels. Icarus notices her a moment later, narrowed eyes catching hers. "Really?" Irus smirks at her, amused. He raises an eyebrow, exhaling the cloud resting on the back of his tongue. He reaches forward--wearing one glove-- and snatches back the papers she's holding. "That's probably because it's written in Japanese." His naked hand is gnarled and blackened, like a branch of a petrified tree exposed to flame. The nails are long and pointed, like talons. He quickly puts his other glove back on, now that he's gained control of his parchments. A bit of ash from his cigarette drops onto the grimoire's open pages, and Icarus wipes it briskly away. "My writing isn't all that bad, anyway. At least I can read it." He's less annoyed now and more simply amused.