02-03-2016, 10:04 PM
220 Bannock Street: it has some of the echoes of the place they recently left. The scaled siding on the house, the single window in the center of the front peak peering out like a third eye, is reminiscent of New England in a manner that surprises Nick as he and Pen pull up in front of the house. His car is a small sedan, appropriately black (this makes it much much easier to clean and less likely to show salt stains in winter, but they don't have to know that), and he leaves it parked on the street a stride or two away from where the fence begins.
Perhaps he will meet the apprentices' expectations of a Chakravanti, based on what they have so recently heard. He is a tall, slender figure sketched dark against the grey backdrop of winter, in spite of his best efforts at color (a light grey tie and pale pink shirt, the top button left undone beneath the knot.) Nick's hair would be a lost cause even were he inclined toward neatness in any way; dark and thick, it spirals out of control and lends him a sort of ethereal, fey quality.
He has his jacket folded over his arm (the door isn't too far, one just never knows if the car might break down) and a bottle of Scotch in the other hand. It's good Scotch; this is polite.
There is a moment in which he fiddles with the gate, opens it, strides through after Pen, and walks up to the door to knock. This is a bizarre converging of his worlds, meeting a magus he met at work outside of work, for a Responsible Adult Dinner at his house (with his apprentices!) and Pen. He, while not normally a man given to anxiety, in fact spent some time waffling over whether or not a tie was appropriate, and this may be in fact part of the reason they are late. No one in the house knows that.
He knocks, and when invited, he enters.
Perhaps he will meet the apprentices' expectations of a Chakravanti, based on what they have so recently heard. He is a tall, slender figure sketched dark against the grey backdrop of winter, in spite of his best efforts at color (a light grey tie and pale pink shirt, the top button left undone beneath the knot.) Nick's hair would be a lost cause even were he inclined toward neatness in any way; dark and thick, it spirals out of control and lends him a sort of ethereal, fey quality.
He has his jacket folded over his arm (the door isn't too far, one just never knows if the car might break down) and a bottle of Scotch in the other hand. It's good Scotch; this is polite.
There is a moment in which he fiddles with the gate, opens it, strides through after Pen, and walks up to the door to knock. This is a bizarre converging of his worlds, meeting a magus he met at work outside of work, for a Responsible Adult Dinner at his house (with his apprentices!) and Pen. He, while not normally a man given to anxiety, in fact spent some time waffling over whether or not a tie was appropriate, and this may be in fact part of the reason they are late. No one in the house knows that.
He knocks, and when invited, he enters.