Roth Mulciber (rmulciber) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2015-09-25 15:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, 1998 september, roth mulciber, seamus finnigan |
Who: Roth Mulciber and Seamus Finnigan
What: Mulciber goes out for a little fresh air.
When: Friday after breakfast
Where: Meandering around from the greenhouses, along the forest edge, and down to the lake
Rating: TBD
Roth had a lot to think on. He'd noticed that the hour or two after breakfast was always a busy time for students taking classes, and as such, not many came for appointments then. He felt that he had ample time to take a stroll in the fresh air to clear his head.
It was a time of opportunity for Roth. His job, that came his way serendipitously, was more than he ever could have imagined. It was really an ideal situation. And he didn't really think he was doing much harm at all. He got what he wanted, and everyone else got some pale facsimilie of what they thought they needed. Who ever really could claim to have fixed a broken teenager, anyway? Certainly no one had ever come close to fixing him.
And now it seemed that Rodolphus Lestrange fancied himself their new messiah. Well that was all right. Roth wasn't interested in that job, after all. He'd never been much for running things. It seemed to him that he could function perfectly well under just about any system, so he wasn't sure he really needed any kind of new regime. There was also their little fugitive to think about. Roth didn't know him personally, but he knew he had to be a refugee from his former organization. It sounded as if he was camping out somewhere, trapped with them beneath the dome. He wasn't exactly looking for him, but he'd packed a few basic supplies just in case he ran into him. A flash of firewhiskey, some bread and cheese. It wasn't all that pleasant to subsist on animal flesh alone, as Roth well knew.
He walked past the greenhouses. It didn't appear that any classes were going on as he made his way by. It had been years since he'd seen this part of the castle, not since he'd been a student himself. But he had no particular love for growing things. Beyond the lone house plant he kept in his office for a little ambiance, he had something of a black thumb.