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[hr][right][code]13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right]

Rowan chuckled at Bea's remark about old elves before she watched her friend join Matt. She didn't move to join her, it wasn't that she was too bothered by second-hand smoke, more that the cat-man almost certainly implied murder. Though it slipped her mind to stop Bea from joining him.

Now that she wasn't standing next to anyone in the hall, Rowan hoped she didn't stick out like a sore thumb. Subconsciously, she held her elbows while she started to assess the Archivist.

Academic hubris was the worst kind of pride. Unlike sport or art, it is often far too late before humility is brought to the scholar; by then they have convinced others of their false knowledge and brought their own downfall. Her time in higher education had made her all too familiar with those kinds of people, more often they were men but not exclusively by any means. However, some would turn up with little more than C grades when results were brought forth while others would only see A+ on their papers. The harsh truth was that sometimes that braggadocio was legitimate and their behaviour would never be checked. 

This was an old man, an old elf, who spoke like he had never seen failure before. For all her disagreements with the man's tone, it was difficult for Rowan not to acknowledge the sense of merit that swelled around him. Perhaps that is why her demeanour didn't shift so negatively as the others had. The Archivist had used magic to track them all down and already knew the nature of their powers. He had shown control over the house, for a rather silly application, but control nonetheless. No one could have learnt this all in a week; the old man was already familiar with magic and therefore was likely alive 500 years ago when it vanished. 

And what did they arrive with? Rowan could shift a sunflower a little, Bea's magic was constantly whispering in her ear, Mason had just vented about having zero control over his gift. Before the Archivist started talking, the only person who showed true proficiency was Azure.

Rowan hated the Archivist's attitude. But she feared that putting up a resistance to him in the state they were in now would only prove his ego further. He had a reason to be like he was and there was no point in burning the bridge too quickly. She could learn about the new world they had all been plunged into first and, if need be, she could bring him humility when she becomes able to dish it out.

[color=475ca0]”What the fuck do you want from us?”[/color]

Rowan furrowed her brow at that question. It didn't seem quite right. From his behaviour, his language, his demeanour, he didn't want them there. He was a practised mage who spent no time expressing his disappointment at the group's perceived lack of talent. And yet, he had spent time and energy tracking them all down, knowing what their powers were, and had them all gathered here. It [i]was[/i] something, but 'want' wasn't the right word.

[color=00a651]“No, you [i]need[/i] something from us, don't you?”[/color] Rowan added, her tone was curious and lacking the derision that might have signalled quick camaraderie with the others.