Laboratory Beta | Late Afternoon
that has such people in't!”
— William Shakespeare
The Tempest
"The time isn't right, Harper. It's simply not—"
"—you should be in Vienda, anyway, after Dorhaven—"
"—I'm not talking about that again. This has nothing to do with that act of terrorism wrapped in lies. I know what my responsibilities are and I must—"
"—what? Run away from them? That's all I see anymore and I surely do hope that I'm mistaken, friend." Harper came into the study, slowly uncurling fingers from his dark locks while tossing down a pile of notes with all the vehemence of a petulant child. He had considered tossing them at his older peer, but he actually needed them and just couldn't bear to make the mess that he knew he'd get too distracted to properly clean up, "I can't make any more excuses for you."
"I've never asked you to, damn it all." Growled Castor, slamming shut the small suitcase he'd shoved two grimoires from the shelf into and glaring at the other man. A thumb ran listlessly over the dent in his finger where his wedding band had once been and dark eyes narrowed, the powerful Perceptive sorcerer's field weighed down by so much unspoken hurt and anger that it was enough to nearly make Harper nauseated, "I can't share this, either. It's too dangerous this time—it's always been too dangerous."
"What do you even mean? You're a Magister, sure, and Anaxas is just about ready to explode, but every time you tell me politics is dragging you away from classes, Ophelia tells me you've used some completely different excuse. Are you cheating? Do you have some woman on the side in the Harbor of all places? Gods, Castor, it's not like I care what you—"
He was laughing, shaking his head, but the sound was harsh and devoid of humor,
"No. Just like your nexus and your rift, Harper, this is bigger than just pleasing myself. This is bigger than my academic career. This is bigger than all of us. And I simply cannot abide by the same calendar right now."
"You'll lose your position eventually. And your tenure. Ophelia is—"
"—very pissed off at me, I'm aware. Now, Harper, really. Please. I must go and I don't know when I'll be back. Please give Miss Lux all of my lesson plans. Please forgive me for leaving you to this research. I just—"
"—I don't even know how to feel anymore. About all we've worked for. You're the only one who's stood up for me in the Parliament. To the King and Queen. To Headmistress Servalis. How can you not know when you'll even be back? What kind of trouble are you in?"
"I promise you'll know when I can tell you, and I swear if you just spoke up for yourself, everyone would listen. Or they will. One day. I just don't want it to be a day too late for this Kingdom."
Professor Moore simply stared at the man he thought was his friend, the older galdor's words so cryptic and stressful that he found himself weak-kneed and angry. Castor clasped his shoulder, gave the man a squeeze, and then began to bustle his way out the laboratory door. He'd made it but a handful of steps into the hall when he heard yet another voice calling his name with loud irritation,
"Castor Devlin! Don't you dare walk away from me, sir!" Headmistress Servalis herself pointed at the man, her heels drown out by the sheer volume of her anger. Behind her were two collies and the sight of them caused the older galdor visible distress, dark eyes widening. What was happening? Why did she feel the need to bring the Seventen to Laboratory Beta ... for him!
The Magister met her gaze with a level, dark-eyed stare, lips drawn into a thin line and knuckles white on the handle of his modest suit case. With a slow exhale through his teeth, he turned around and began to walk away as quickly as possible.
"What are you doing! I just received word of how you stormed out of the Assembly two nights ago. You can't just—wait. Magister! I'll have your credentials!"
He was not in the best shape, but his legs were far longer than the Headmistress and his motivations were questionable at best. The older galdor ducked down a side hall, hoping to make his way to one of the many lesser known passages downward into the tunnels beneath the school, hoping he could perhaps make as quick an exit as possible. He was not expecting any company in his escape, but he certainly wasn't trying to be inconspicuous, either.
It wasn't every day one saw a Magister rushing through the halls while Ophelia's voice reverberated against every window pane just out of sight behind him.