Downing is among the top Science colleges in the world and yet it rarely appears in the top fifty in the official tables.  It's supposedly an all male college but in truth, that has been nothing but a polite fiction since Lisl Frankenstein earned her doctorate there in 1842 under the name Robert.  Currently there is some interesting research going on in the medical field.

Sitting on the small strip of lawn outside the Maitland Robinson Library was a curious looking student. He was tall, lanky, and these facts were only enhanced by the pattern of his loud tweed suit. Combined with his bespectacled visage, and always proper posture, the man is painfully English. However, instead of sitting inside the building as one would assume from looking at him, the man had spread out papers and reading material on a blanket as though he was at a lovely afternoon picnic.

But at the moment, he was feeding his mind, rather than his stomach.

He held a pencil between his teeth, as he intensely studied the page held in his hand. It was but one of a pile of such papers that he had to go through. His third year in studying Medical and Veterinary Sciences was much more demanding than his previous years. For beneath his papers, he also carried a number of recognizable medical textbooks, if only for reference. Such as Schwartz's Principles of Surgery, Bailey & Love's Short Practice of Surgery, The Textbook of Medical Physiology, and of course, the ever faithful Gray's Anatomy. But this man was not simply a student of the medical sciences, if his pile of books was anything to go by. For atop the pile, keeping the papers from blowing away in the breeze, was a battered and well-loved copy of Red Shadows, indicating a much more...fantastical nature beneath the mind of science.

All in all, this young gentleman scream NERD, simply from his presence and being. And not a bit of him indicated any distress at this idea. Indeed, he seemed very comfortable in his skin. Even as he worked over his latest page, soft words escaped from the side of the pencil, as he recited part of a poem from the novel near him as he worked.

“And I have known a deathless queen
     in a city old as Death,
“Where towering pyramids of skulls
     her glory witnesseth.
“Her kiss was like an adder’s fang,
     with the sweetness Lilith had,
“And her red-eyed vassals howled for blood
     in that City of the Mad.

“And I have slain a vampire shape
     that sucked a black king white,
“And I have roamed through grisly hills
     where dead men walked at night.
“And I have seen heads fall like fruit
     in the slaver’s barracoon,
“And I have seen winged demons fly
     all naked in the moon.

“My feet are weary of wandering
     and age comes on apace;
“I fain would dwell in Devon now,
     forever in my place.”

A group of First Years wander past on their way to their introductory lectures.  They still had the keen eyes of teenagers, eager to learn all they could about the world as if they could devour life whole and dance upon their own remains. Ahh youth.

None take any notice of the young gentleman dressed in tweeds to loud to be formal and too old-fashioned to be cool until at last one young man comes to a halt and looks in Percival's direction.  He is a small man dressed in Denim on denim with patches in countless languages, some of which Percival recognises but they include Cuneiform, Egyptian pictograms and heaven help us, Quenya.

"Howard?" He says in a vaguely Celtic accent, "Please tell me there's a course where Red Shadows is a set book because if there is, I'd love to sign up.  Of course, I prefer Worms of the Earth myself". 

It took Percival a second to realize that he was being spoken to. He was very engrossed in his studies after all. And then it took him another moment to realize exactly why the young man had noticed him at all.

"Oh! Was I reciting Solomon Kane's Homecoming? Forgive me, sometimes I sing or recite poetry if my mind is occupied," Percival replied, jumping to his feet and having just a hint of embarrassment show up on his cheeks.

"Alas, no such course exists. I do like a bit of Sword an Sorcery and Pulp adventure to break the monotony of the day. While I enjoy Bran Mak Morn, I admit that out of all Howard's colorful characters, I am rather boring and find Conan of Cimmeria to be my favorite. But the dour English Puritan is a close second favorite. There are several English courses that touch on the subject of fantasy, though none so directly as to be solely about Bran Mak Morn I'm afraid," he chuckled, brushing imaginary grass from his immaculate suit.

"Ah, well, á na márië. It is my good fortune to make your acquaintance young man. My name is Percival Galois," the older student said, holding out a hand,

The boy stretched out a hand.  "Brendan, Brendan Monaghan.  I'm a first year geology student and I'm seven minutes late for my next class.  It has been a pleasure to meet you Percival Galois."

The lad set off once more but now with a smile on his face as if meeting Percival was a genuine pleasure to him and not simply an occasion for politeness.

"If you ever find yourself in want of a nice distracting fantasy novel, do not hesitate to ask! I have a rather extensive library!" Percival called after the young Brendan.

"What a nice young man..." he went on, to himself.

Settling himself back down to his study-picnic, Percival picked up the sheet that he had been examining, and got back to it. Perhaps because of one of the patches that the young man had been wearing, a song came unbidden to his mind as he read.

"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the sea.

O Stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see you silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

It is one o'Clock in the morning and one by one the stars go out, soon enough the streetlights follow as fog arises from the ground and thickens around you.  Those who are awake feel a sudden cold, not a September cold but a December cold.  For those who remember, it's a December 1963 cold, an 1816 cold, a cold that sinks down through the bones and kisses the marrow.

Those who are sleeping dream, touched by malicious spirits, they find themselves struggling against a bitter wind that sings knives of a cold not seen before.  Behind them they hear the howling of wolves, ahead the raucous calls of hunters.  Neither seems a safe bet.

As soon as the street lights go out, and his illumination is no longer sufficient for reading, Percival lets out a long-suffering sigh. Then with, practiced, efficient movements, he gathers and organizes his papers and textbooks. Placing them all in his bag, he then folds his blanket into a tight, crisp triangle. Setting his bag and blanket aside, he takes up his cane to help him stand.

It was a short walk to the base of the stairs of the Maitland Robinson Library, but that was where he chose to stop. It was just as well. The fog made long distance travel a dodgy prospect at best. Straightening his suit, he brushed off any potential dirt or grass, and stood up straight, his cane tight to his left side. Whatever happened, it would not due to greet a...guest, looking slovenly.

"Must you always be so dramatic in your entrances?" Percival called into the rolling fog, only holding back rolling his eyes with a great force of will.

It is much, much later when there comes a knock on your door or the door of the room where you chose to sleep, doesn't matter much.  It's a polite knock but somehow insistent.

OOC: Oh, I'm sorry, I misunderstood your last post it seems. I didn't realize that you would have wanted me to move on from my study session. I can change the last post if you want.

OOC you can if you wish but there's no need.  Consider my last post a fade down/fade up to the next scene when there's a knock on the door.

Percival's eyes opened the instant the knocking came. He had been dreaming that he had still been studying his textbooks on the lawn he had occupied this afternoon. What a banal dream. Well, at least until the fog rolled in and wolves began echoing in the distance. That had spiced things up a bit. But there were more pressing matters at the moment that dwelling on a strange dream.

Sliding from his bed, the young man placed his feet into his fluffy slippers so that the cold of the floor wouldn't find him. Standing up, he reached for a rich red robe to cover up his magnificently white briefs. He hurried over to the door to see who was disturbing his sleep at this late hour. The numerous archaic weapons that adorned his wall in display cases gave him comfort, should this be a nocturnal visitor with less than pleasant plans for him.

"One moment!" he called, tying his robe's belt and placing his glasses on his nose.

Stepping up to the door, he opened it quickly, and looked out to see who was there.

"Good evening?"

At the door is a boy in a uniform that you have not seen for a very long time.  He is dressed in royal blue trousers with a red stripe along the seam and a matching jacket all topped off with a black kepi.

He holds out a metallic looking tray on which is placed a white envelope with Percival's Name written on it in a rather feminine looking copperplate hand.  "She requires your presence." says the boy, "That's all I know."

Picking up the envelope, you will of course recognise the wax seal that closes it.

"Thank you young man. Wait one moment please," Percival said absentmindedly, not commenting about the archaic uniform of the youth.

With practiced ease, he snapped the wax seal and pulled the letter contained within. He unfolded the fine paper and made sure to keep the contents of the letter hidden from the courier, just in case the letter contained anything sensitive. Adjusting his glasses, he looked closer in the week light to read Her flowing handwriting.

Whatever he had expected, it certainly wasn't that. He had expected threats, temptations, or simply commiserating with someone who understood. But a call for a peaceful meeting to discuss a matter that concerned both their interests? That was concerning. More than any veiled threat she had sent him in the past. Those were almost banal at this point.

Rushing over to his writing desk, he quickly scribbled a reply on the back of the letter and returned it to the envelope. A simple confirmation that he would be there. Going back to the door to his room, he deposited the letter onto the tray of the uniformed youth.

"Please inform you mistress that I will attend this meeting at the appointed time and place," Percival told the boy tersely.

With a flick of his thumb, he sent a coin onto the tray to tip the boy. He doubted the child would actually spend it, but the old customs had to be recognized. When the coin stopped its spinning and came to rest, an ancient Anglo-Saxon silver penny was revealed. If Percival was concerned at all about giving away a priceless antique, he certainly didn't show it. His mind was already racing along several lines, and he closed the door on the messenger without another word.

With quick motions, he cast off his robe and went over to his closet. This evening would require a different kind of attire...

[To Parker's Piece]