Xaviers!

Several hours after Natalie dropped him off, Will staggered back into the manor, rubbing his temples. It was not a several-hour walk to the manor from the road, but it takes a lot longer when you stop along the way two dozen times to protest the world spinning.

The walk, the cold air, the after-effects of the punch-up and the quite significant tonnage of alcohol in his system had given him the proper inspiration -- that was the word he would use, yes -- to take actions into his own hands. Failure required consequences. If no one cares enough to implement consequences from without, it is imperative on those seeking to improve themselves to impose those consequences from within.

...It made a certain amount of logical sense at the time, at least.

That is why his first stop was to the library's computer lab, where he fired off a quick, surprisingly comprehensible e-mail to ASHLIE.

Code: Select all

I will no longer be requiring a room assignment; please remove my name from the registers and re-assign the space as required.

Satisfied, he staggered back out of the library towards the general direction of the dorms. Rather than returning to his room, however, he instead jimmied open the door to the janitorial closet, stepped over the various mops, vacuums, and other detritus, and closed the door behind him.

((open))

Will can hear muttered curses in what sounds like German interspersed with growls approaching the janitor's closet.

Will stood, back flush against the back of the closet, arms at his sides, at attention, neither drawing attention to himself nor attempting to hide.

"Where's the verdammt mop?" She grumbles as she throws the closet door open.

Then her nostrils flare for a moment before she looks directly at Will, blinking in surprise.

"...is this some sort of joke?"

"Not one I am party too, at any rate," Will said, looking straight forward, slightly through Isolde.

"You were searching for a mop?"

"Why are you in the closet? Hide and seek is for small children."

"As property of the university, this is one of the most ideal places for me to be stored -- accessible to all who need it, yet out of the way to prevent accidents."

"...you're not a robot. You'd smell different if you were."

"No, I'm not. I'm a shapeshifter. A piece of semi-sentient clay, in my default form. Salt of the Earth and all that."

"A shapeshifter that drank half a brew pub, by the smell."

"Get out of there."

"Not quite half the brewpub," Will protested, obediently clambering over the various janitorial equipment to stand in front of Isolde.

"So what, a wild night out and you decided you were janitorial equipment?" She asks, withdrawing a mop from the closet.

"'Decided' nothing. I was purchased, by the university, as military surplus, where I had been serving my country as a variety of useful implements for the past 50-odd years. It is...It is my duty to continue to provide what the students and faculty need here, at my new home."

"I've seen you going to classes. You were there when the mad child was fighting us, too."

"Yes. I...

...Defense of the campus is definitely something I strive to contribute to. Keeping everyone safe and happy are two of my most treasured values.

You may or may not have seen me in class; I've been...a lot of different places, as needs warrant."

Not -technically- a lie.

"You're a student. You stay in the dorms. Stop winding me up," she says, stalking down the hallway with the mop.

"I...

...as you wish," he said, slumping his shoulders slightly, and retreating into the closet.

She stops as she hears Will getting back into the closet.

Spinning on a heel, she walks back towards the closet.

"What is wrong with you?"

"You know, I've been asked that question a great many times, and had people answer it for me a great many times. I could provide a list, if you'd like."

"Can you sum it up in a sentence?"

"A run-on sentence, perhaps.

Rather than a feral or mythological shapeshifter; I focus on inanimate and inorganic forms, with all the psychological side-effects one might expect, thanks to a severe trauma and a robust sense of self-preservation."

"So you like being things. Do you like sitting in the closet for no damn reason?"

"No, but I like sitting in the closet for very important reasons."

"So what important thing am I pulling you away from?"

"At the moment? Nothing. You found your mop, so I'm not necessary. But I'll be there for when someone does need assistance."

"Is that why you made a noise like a kicked puppy when I told you to stop winding me up?"

"I don't believe I sounded like a kicked puppy..." Will argued, lamely, in his defense.

"I have some experience in that."

"Kicking, or being kicked?"

"Use your imagination."

He looked her over, carefully.

"You look like the kind who would kick someone while they were down, so I'm going to assume the former."

"What about you, do you think you deserve a kicking?"

"That's not up for me to decide, ma'am. I strive not to, but am not always successful."

"So why are you hiding in the closet and not running back to that redhead?"

Will visibly stiffened up at that.

"The, uh, 'redhead' is fine. She has her champion, she has her friends. There is surely someone out there that needs me more."

"So you expect me to believe you're not one of the Morrigan's creatures?"

"I'm not. I'm really, really not," he said, emphatically.

"Not here, anyway. Not this Morrigan.

I am property of Xaviers University, and ASHLIE Minamida specifically. Take it, or leave it, it is the truth."

"I think I've figured out what you are, and it's none of that."

"What you are is sulking."

Will glared at her.

"You have your mop. Was there anything else you needed today? I live to serve."

"No, I think I'll leave you to your misery," she says, heading back down the hallway.