New Venture The folder was stacked so full with papers that Corbett almost dropped it several times as he marched down the hallway. It took both hands to keep the papers in their place, a combination of syllabi, handouts and other leaflets of information he was hoping to use today.
It was perhaps a bit much, but the Watcher wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything on the first day.
Though he enjoyed serving as the Council’s liaison to the London police department, Corbett had to admit this new opportunity left him excited almost beyond words. That excitement also came with a bundle of nerves, nerves that were currently frayed and screaming louder as Corbett drew closer to the lecture hall.
Bumping shoulders in the busy halls with people he’d never before seen, Corbett offered apologies in passing. The first day of his new role with the Council, and already he was running behind. He spent too much time preparing for this day, but even as he ascended the stairwell leading to the main auditorium, Corbett couldn’t help but think he didn’t do enough to prepare.
“Congratulations, Corbett,” his former classmate, Nigel Butterworth, said as Corbett squeezed through a pair of students discussing an assignment on werewolves. He smiled in response, in too much of a hurry.
Even in his haste, Corbett took a moment to soak in his surroundings. The Academy hadn’t changed much over the years since he’d graduated; the walls still seemingly reached for the heavens, dim because the lights hanging from the ceiling were so high up. The halls were almost religious in their size and scope; lecture halls sometimes felt like sermon altars, professors’ voices booming and echoing through the dim.
Paintings of former Council representatives gave the halls an air of dignity. Former Heads of Council, some of history’s most celebrated Watchers, a massive painting of the Shadow Men, those responsible for the First Slayer, greeting students and instructors once they climbed the stairs.
Seeing that painting gave Corbett a chill, one he shook before ducking off into the auditorium to his left. Climbing the steps onto the stage overlooking the roughly 250 seats, Corbett noted how the lighting was brighter than that in the main hall, but only marginally so.
The Watcher dropped the massive folder onto the podium before him, a few loose slips of paper sliding out. Corbett adjusted the microphone, clearing his throat and squinting out into the seats. By his visual estimate, there were about 70 students – leaving him to wonder why they were in this massive room.
One of the smaller lecture halls downstairs would’ve sufficed.
Clearing his throat again, Corbett waited a few moments to speak. He soaked in the moment, a small grin playing on his wrinkled features. He’d been an active Watcher off and on for decades, and in spite of his failures, Corbett felt good about those years. Being the police liaison also had its advantages, but this latest step, this most recent professional reinvention within the Council, was particularly satisfying.
“Good afternoon,” he finally spoke, cringing when he heard his voice echo for the first time. “I’m Professor Renfroe, and this is Introduction to Runic Translations.”