Kyriakos the Teacher

Garrett Franklin

It's a day - it's roughly lunch time on a Tuesday, and so Garrett is actually out of his office and lecture hall, heading outside to eat.  It's not as nice as it was yesterday, perhaps, but it's best to take advantage of decency while it's present, he finds, and so there he is - all professor-professional, lacking only in the tweed jacket with leather-patched elbows.  Slacks, then, a button down shirt, a sweater vest over it, a tie (yes, a tie!), and an open jacket, nice and leather.  The spot he claims is deliberate; it's away from where he so often finds himself swamped by students, both his and not, in his department and not, asked for advice and help, for where to find this book or that, for so many things.

It's not that he minds.  He doesn't even (usually, often) look down on the mundane students as so many of his Tradition (and House, for that matter) might.  He's not entirely egalitarian, mind, but he has a strong sense of upon which side his bread is buttered.  Retaining his position is vital to retaining his pay, and that's what keeps his son in clothes and sports and all sorts of things.

Anyway, he's not so far from the general populace as to be hidden, per se, but is enough out of the way that most don't necessarily think to look for him and, since he neither stands out nor fades into his surroundings, it's easy enough for someone glancing his way to see him . . . and know that, while most times he doesn't mind holding forth on any subject he's qualified to teach like some ancient Greek wise man, today he'd like to eat.  Smiles, greetings, bits of small talk?  They're gladly and graciously accepted, as they always are.

Life is hard for the Hermetic charmed one.  So very hard.

Kit

[Da-dum: Awareness ping, ping, ping?]

Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )

Garrett Franklin

[Awareness is a good thing, yes!]

Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 3, 5, 5, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )

Garrett Franklin

[And it's even better when I roll it right.  -3 cos Arcane.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Kit

[I would like to just point out: I CALLED THAT.]

Kit

[On the record.]

Garrett Franklin

Resonance is a thing, yes?  There are rumors of people who can mask it, of Technocratic rotes that hide almost everything, of . . . well, there are rumors of anything and everything under the sun.  There are even rumors about the man who sits, eating his container of leftover whatever, just to the side over there, the man whose very bearing (and let's not forget that resonance) rings out of dad and home and regeneration or restoration and so much learning, both already done and in progress.  And for all that it sings out from him?  He's so very unassuming, so unlikely to grab any more attention than is warranted.

In review?  That fellow over there, too old to be a TA but on the young to maybe middling side for a professor (as far as distant perceptions say, anyway - closer, there are wrinkles, and hints of gray, and a tiredness in vital blue eyes that can only be brought by age) sings of scholarly renewal, of subtle stability, of all the combinations of those adjectives.  He is them, and they are he.

Kit

It's day and it's also very cold and it's also very snowy, or at least a trifle snowy, a touch snowy, a wintry winter's day to counteract the lovely weather Denver'd been having, the sky sharp behind soft clouds, limned in brilliance, and it's day, and Adam's making a special delivery, a courtesy delivery, to a local who bought an obscure book on the hieratic texts left-over from Dynasty 0 and a priceless (but they managed) 16th century book of hours from the principality of somewhere that would be swept-up in the Protestant Reformation and lose its identity in the religious wars that were to follow and, because of the price, because of the rarity, because of the convenience, and so:

A young (?) man (?) who most don't look at twice. He isn't invisible he's just not notable. His hair's dark. He's latino. He's white. He's - short? Fat? Tall? Skinny? Lanky no he was definitely sort've - it doesn't matter. He doesn't really matter. He's just a thing on the outskirts. Not a shadow. An extra in somebody else's life.

Of course, there're some who are more perceptive (Aware) than others. They can feel a certain unrelenting valiancy, the subtle insinuation of forward-pressing dauntlessness. A flash of armor, of a sword, against some implaccable dark -- unceasing, this valiant-thing.

And Adam is one of the more perceptive (Aware), and on his way into this hall or that hall, some building, his intuition sings to him of a resonance that is familiar. He pauses at the door; turns his cool eyes outward. His coat is warm and woollen and charcoal gray, a dark coat for a dark-haired man, and he holds the door to the hall open for a girl who would never be able to describe him although she says thank you because she forgets him the next moment. 

There: He follows Garrett's resonance over that-a-way, until he finds the man.

Garrett Franklin

Garrett is also one of the more perceptive (Aware).  There's a familiar resonance, yes, and his eyes track to where he thinks said resonance is, finding no one of note at first . . . so there's refocusing on that young (?) man (?), and a remembrance of the effort it took once upon a time, too.  While one's resonance isn't as unique as, say, a fingerprint, when paired with other traits it becomes more so.  The part where he can hear a familiar song but has difficulty honing in on the man?  Well, he's only met one or two people with that particular combination of features.  When he notes that the fellow most likely to be holding it, he gives a polite nod and a friendly smile - or maybe a friendly nod and a polite smile, who knows?  Regardless, the sum total is polite and friendly, welcoming even.

And when the other man enters hailing distance?  There's even greeting, all warm and sunshine-golden, as the man himself is.  "Hello.  Have we met?  I think we must have, some time ago now, though."

At a trial, if he recalls, though there have been no few of them in his tenure.  Which one, though - well, that's the trouble of being unremarkable, isn't it?  It's difficult to put a finger on such things.

Kit

He'd probably been one less rank in the Order of Hermes when Garrett met him last - younger, too, obviously, but still valiant. Defensive. They're almost always defensive if they're not too-smooth. Defensive, and having difficulty restraining his temper: at least initially. Yet another Quaesitor asking questions. He was tired of it and done with it and so.

"We have," he replies, once he has closed the distance between himself and Garrett. "Kyriakos, wasn't it? You spent much more time with my mater. This is where you work now?"

Garrett Franklin

Yet another Quaesitor asking questions, but this one had been different than most - the good cop to the others' bad, perhaps, or at least coldly, sometimes cruelly indifferent.  Kyriakos - Garrett, as the mundane world knows him - was sympathetic, empathetic.  He was warm and comforting and fatherly, and had done what he could to make a bad situation better.  It hadn't been enough, perhaps --

is it ever?

-- but it had been an attempt, and was, perhaps, notable as such.  There had been rumors then, too, as there are now - tales of his involvement in the War, of what happened to his wife, of his missing-in-action cabal.  For a charmed one (perhaps 'adored', or 'esteemed' is a better descriptor), the man's had some bad luck.

"One and the same," is his answer to the first, and his cheeks dimple when he smile that hospitable smile.  "And yes, this is where I work now.  Tenured and everything!  Not a bad gig, at all."  Ever the teacher, ever the student he.

Kit

Is it ever? Adam doesn't enjoy losing control of himself. Black-tempered boy, hot-hearted: back then. Garrett had been different and they'd probably gotten on as best as could be expected after the initial shake-up: maybe a wall punched, or a table tipped -- how's that for a greeting? And then, the descent of calm, of wry sardonicism, not quite won, not exactly lost. If Garrett ever remembers: He probably remembers the boy's anxiety for his mentor, his utter contempt at 'the politics' that lead her to such a pass. Is it ever, is it ever, is it ever enough?

He wasn't a bad kid. Just passionate, underneath that self-contained calm: beneath that Mysterious Look Away, knight in his forest of books even then. Then: probably over-seas, or on a chantry on the east coast, or perhaps even up in Quebec. He doesn't know french but shouldn't he know french? He should know French.

But it's now, not then. Now, and Kyriakos has another name too, is smiling a dimpling smile which dredges up a faint smile by way of return from Adam. "Did the ice get into your blood, man? How can you stand to eat outside?" The 'man' is said like: strong-word. Not with the casual nonchalance of the Californian.

Adam offers his hand to shake, and says, "It's Gallowglass. Dominic Adam Julian Gallowglass, bani Bonisagus, Initiate Exemptus. You also go by Garrett, right? Or Gary?"

Garrett Franklin

"Garrett, yes.  Or, if pressed, Dr. Franklin."  But that level of distance and formality suits him ill - he's happy enough with Garrett or Kyriakos, either of which he'll answer to with equal ease (though he hears 'Garrett' far more often, these days).  "Here, shall I?  We're private enough.  Doctor  Garrett Franklin, known to the order more often as Kyriakos Socrates Magnan, bani Quaesitor, Adeptus."  There's humor there, and good nature, and he doesn't know French either, truth to be told.  Or German, or Latin, or Russian, or . . . but he does know Greek.  Greek and Enochian.

Irrelevant to the moment, naturally.

"I hope you've been well - have you?  You appear to be now, anyway."  It's a light, amusing sort of delivery, the kind that probably makes his lectures all sorts of fun and would ring as false if he weren't so clearly the opposite.  "And the cold . . . well.  For the moment, anyway, it's preferable to being cooped up inside for another minute.  Soon, so soon, it will be time for pick-up games in the quad and people to be playing their instruments in corners and all that kind of thing, and everyone will be so much happier.  Life will seem easier, you know?"

Kit

"You've been spoken of," the dark-haired young man says. He is quite intent on Kyriakos, dimpled and Dadly, scholarly and stable, because Adam is quite an intent thing. Quiet, yes - contained, true - but intent. "Proclus. Kalen. Grace."

"And I am well. I run a bookshop down on [address] and [address], Night Owl. You're welcome to drop by." 

He pushes his collar up, though he is be-scarfed today. The scarf is shades of gray, too, dark grays and light grays, maybe a stripe of blue. He glances at the building, something assessing, thoughtful - or maybe just absent-minded, dreaming. How often does Adam start thinking about something other than what's right in front of him, and then he needs must surface out've that reverie - wielding a scimitar in his glance, sharp as a thresher? 

"What's your subject? Or, rather, why Denver?"

Garrett Franklin

"Here and now, I have sociology and social anthropology, though I've been known to run the social sciences gamut."  Somewhere in its hodge podge of books, Night Owl may even have a title or two of his - about psychology, about sociology, about communications, about all sorts of things pertaining to the ever evolving psyche of civilization.  "And Denver because they gave me  the best offer when I was looking for a change for my son and myself.  Of those three, I'd expect two to speak significantly more highly of me than the third, but  that's always how it goes, isn't it?  Chemistry.  Reactions, interactions.  A dance, a balance, a song."

The mention of Night Owl, though, that gets a broad, wide smile.  Garrett's teeth are white and straight, the product of at least upper middle class access to insurance and dentistry somewhere in the US - and though he's travelled here there and everywhere, he sounds like the Great Lakes region from which he hails.  "I've been there, to the book shop that's two.  Sara's enjoying her honeymoon, I hope?  I'll be sure to stop by again sometime soon."

Kit

[Dum-dee-dum, memory?]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (5, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )

Kit

[I be smooth.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 3, 4, 5, 6) ( success x 1 )

Kit

[Damn it, Adam.]

Garrett Franklin

[Per + Aware-pathy, -3 dice, rerolling 10s for specialty.]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 2, 8) ( success x 1 )

Kit

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 3 )

Garrett Franklin

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) Re-rolls: 2

Kit

The man in the dark coat is not an open book. Never. But there're those who are familiar with subtext. Garrett is a good reader and he sees - although Gallowglass makes an effort to conceal - a certain 'plash of surprise, realization, then pity or something like it at mention of a son. He doesn't say anything about why such a reaction was engendered. The Quaesitor has probably seen it all before.

He chuckles - hehs - at Garrett's of those two. His eyes crinkle up if not exactly illuminated with laughter at least make a gesture toward humor. A self-possessed gesture, a gleam of a thing. "Which two?" If clarification is needed: would you expect to speak more highly of you.

"And my aunt," there-by defining familial relations, perhaps, "is... Yes, enjoying herself and her new husband. Fortunately, she spares me too many details. Did get a postcard from the Amazon yesterday which was rather nice. Some illegible scribble on the back about a snake dropping from a tree on another tourist's neck, apparently thrilling."

He is not unfriendly.

Garrett Franklin

"Ah, your aunt.  Nice of you to watch the shop for her."  And yes, Garrett catches that look - knows what it is and, perhaps more importantly, why it is.  It's left unremarked for now, though; nothing asked means there's nothing to answer, doesn't it?  There are other, more present things to speak of, and on.  "It's great to hear things are going well - and also that she's sparing you the details.  No one wants to hear about the extracurriculars of their parents' generation, do they?"  It's amused, of course, and that smiling good nature that fits him like he was born with it - and maybe he was - permeates the air.

"As to those who have spoken of me, I suspect Kalen and Proclus had kinder words to share.  Kalen was a sort of protege, once, and Proclus and I enjoyed each others' company well enough when we met.  Grace, however, didn't take to me as well either time we crossed each other's path.  Am I right?"

Kit

[I'll never tell! Tee Hee! Subt again.]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )

Garrett Franklin

[Awarepathy, DO IT RIGHT GARRETT]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (2, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 3 )

Kit

[Oh, chat. Why do you break my heart?]

Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (4, 4, 5, 6, 7) ( success x 2 )

Garrett Franklin

[DO YOU REALLY WANT TO MAKE ME CRY]

Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (6, 7, 7, 9) ( success x 4 )

Kit

Gallowglass does a decent job at maintaining a poker face right now: look how good that poker face is. The indeterminate dark green-or-blue of his eyes. The even and serious set of his eyebrows. The even and steady head-shake at any conjuration of 'parents generation,' the polite and quiet dismissal that sentiment with a faux-wince and a hand-wave. But Garrett sees the gleam in Adam's eyes, not mischief but gleeful knowing, a certain devil's nod, that says in spite of Adam's steadiness, oh yes, steady solemnity, that Garrett did guess right.

"Perhaps. I shouldn't admit anything, whether you are or not," and see - a faint smile to match the steadiness; the prescience of another eye-crinkle. "Grace wasn't a student, was she?"

And there: another thought, occuring, dragging him suddenly out of himself, so he follows that question up with a quick frown and he reaches across himself to touch a heavy ring banding the ring-finger of his left hand.

Kit

Addendum: "Erm. A university student, obviously." 

Garrett Franklin

"I believe she was at one point, but isn't now.  We didn't talk much - I press on some nerve of hers, I suppose.  I tried to help her awhile back, at our mutual friend's request, but our personalities and Praxises don't mesh well."  He shrugs, unbothered by this - it's an unusual thing, but not unheard of for him to not get along with someone.  No one gets along with everyone else, after all.

"And admitted or not, I can gather that I've guessed right.  That poor girl."  There's amusement, but yes, also sympathy and even empathy.  He's had hard times too, as one might imagine.  In fact, given the rumors (and yes, even the facts - there are historians left, particularly amongst the Order, keeping  their records) that fly, one might know, beyond the shadow of a doubt.  "She needs friends.  It's good that she's found them."

Kit

"Do you enjoy teaching?"

- asks Adam. A simple question.

Garrett Franklin

"I do, very much so.  There's a certain pull to it . . . well, no, not just to teaching.  To academia in general - to the gathering of new knowledge and honing of the things I've already learned and sharing what I can with others.  A drive, one might say, but a pleasant one.  It suits me more than an office and fifty minute hours did, even though that paid more."

It's a reference to a former job, that - and there's little about Garrett that isn't fairly well known, almost common knowledge, at least among the Order.  If he has any enemies there, they're quiet; he has far more friends, almost fans.

"What do you do, when you're not minding your aunt's bookshop?"

Kit

"Then I have a -- ah, hm?" He blinks, once. He has very dark eyelashes. F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote his sister and said that she should tell a guy he has long dark eyelashes because he'll be embarassed but he'll also like it. Adam probably would be baffled and not like it very much. Fortunately. Garrett Franklin does not look like a teenage girl who is also a devotee of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Dark circles under the eyes. He should sleep. The sleeplessness adds a certain sharpness to his startled pause: as if he were going forward, and then a crook came up and pushed his gaze that-a-way, and now he is seeing something entirely different. Hm? indeed.

"Hmm. What do I do? I," and he smiles, "adventure. I look for the labyrinths of lost time and I play with ideas. I study and I try to change the world: my world, my little world. You know, I experiment, and I sally forth. Occasionally go out for a bite to eat too. Hard to remember."

"Ars Materiae. You don't happen to be knowledgable, do you? Or know anyone in these parts who is?"

Fervent is Adam, on the quest.

Garrett Franklin

A patois, a give-and-take, a parlay - that's how Garrett's been treating this encounter, and it's a pleasant, good feeling.  These are the best sort of conversation, he feels, the ones where knowledge is exchanged, expanded.  And so, Adam's reaction to being asked what he does amuses the elder Hermetic greatly, though he doesn't do anything so unkind as laugh.  Instead, he watches and listens, and looks chagrined when the question is asked and the answer is negative.

"I'm sorry, no.  Ars Mentis is my thing, followed by Ars Conjunctionis and Ars Essentiae.  Perhaps Kalen, or Proclus?  The only other magus in this city I'm on solid enough footing to offer up a recommendation is Father Echeverria, a Chorister.  And I'm afraid I have no idea what he practices beyond the obvious.  I can keep an ear out, however, and pass information your way if you'd like."

It's no more or less than he'd offer anyone - if he can't teach a thing, he'll gladly facilitate its learning to the best of his ability.

Kit

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8) ( success x 2 )

Kit

He doesn't quite look crestfallen. His crest wasn't up - or rather, it is, but that's because combs have no power here, so his hair's a mess, crest-licked up like a cockateel. But he does sigh, when the answer is negatory. He sighs, and then it's a hand over his hair, resting at the back of his skull at the end. And it's,

"Certainly will ask them both. As for other Willworkers," and he pauses. He is not apologetic. He is not hesitant. He just pauses to marshall his words. "I'd rather find someone who knows how to use the Art properly, if I don't just teach myself. Not," and he makes a gesture, with his hands, something expressive, "that should you come across someone who does have knowledge I'd not be interested in what they have to say. So do let me know, provided it's not a damned Son of Ether or Virtual Adept."

Garrett Franklin

Garrett - Kyriakos - does not look shocked at this stance, nor does he look as if he necessarily thinks differently.  They are Hermetics, after all.  "If I find someone, I'll be sure to let you know.  How are you on Ars Fortunae?"  It's curious, really.  And a thing he's learned nothing about; for all of his early Awakened life, his more mystical, magical study was very much based on what he needed to know for war, for judgment.  For Spiritus, which he was never as good at as some others (though also never as bad as Vitae), he could easily find some other member of his own House somewhere though he's clearly not as interested in it right this moment.

"I do find discussion of the Arts to be the best sort of stimulation."

Kit

"Agreed. And thus was it decided that that is what we'll discuss when you come by," Adam says, making his voice deeper in order to lend the words a sense of 'pronouncement.' He follows it up with a smile. The smile animates him somewhat. Isn't the kind've smile that is a blaze or a radiance or a burn or a light. It's a faint smile that nonetheless sets-up a sense of spirit. That is perhaps the best way to put it: his quiet expression moves through shades of quietude and sometimes there is more poetry in that. Ease.

In his normal tone of voice: "There should be more discussion. As for Ars Fortunae, I can get you started, if you're looking to learn. Supplementary reading a likelihood."

Garrett Franklin

"And I'll enjoy every moment.  I would appreciate it greatly, if you wouldn't mind."  Garrett's smile is closer to that blaze [of glory] that Adam's so clearly isn't, a bright, charming thing; were the man to put effort into it, one imagines he could make just about anyone weak at the knees.  Thankfully for everyone, the bulk of the man's effort goes into teaching, learning, and being a good - or at least decent - father instead of such frippery and frivolity, at least now.

"I tend to be fairly Socratic in style, fair warning.  And there should, most definitely, be more discussion."  Now, though, the professor looks at his watch, and gathers his container and fork.  "It's almost time for class.  Is there a certain time that's best to come visit the shop?"

Kit

"No. We're open into the am some nights. Just try to come by at an opportune moment." His hands go into the pockets of his coat, shoulders lifting to conserve warmth. Breath: sketching, briefly, a memory of warmth in the air -- and out've that the words of angels. But later. "That can be your first assignment," and the smile's all in his eyes, isn't it. Because to be in the Order is to study, and to study, and to study, and to be given impossible assignments, and to search for obscure scraps, and: opportune time.

"Call it 'summer reading,' and groan. Was good to meet you again, Kyriakos." He withdraws from his pocket a business card, after digging around for a moment. Hands that off.

Garrett Franklin

"Summer reading, ugh,"  Garrett says obligingly but unconvincingly, and trades his own card for the one he's offered - there's no personal information beyond his name and the alphabet soup of degree acknowledgements that follows it, but it does have his office phone and location and hours, all the things that would be necessary to reach him most of the time . . . that is, that's all it has until the man wrote out his cell phone number on the back before handing it over.

"Good to meet you again as well.  We'll have to not let it be so long between meetings this time, Dominic," is added with a grin, and of course it won't be, because:

Opportune time.

But now, alas, is time for a certain beloved doctor-professor (professor-doctor?) to head to his waiting class and so, after a handshake, he does.