Who: Arcturus Black and Anders What: Arcturus wonders about the housemate he hasn't met Where: The Hawke Estate When: Not long after they move in
If someone had told Arcturus two years ago that not only would he be seeking out his own tutors, he'd be the most attentive and diligent student they could wish for, he never would have believed it. At Hogwarts, things had been simpler. It was the professors' job to try to get him to learn, and his job to get away with making as little effort as possible. Cheating was practically encouraged; it was getting caught that was the mistake. Then he had been pulled into another realm, and things were different. The Institute of Magecraft in Irikanna had been exacting, and Arcturus knew that if he didn't keep up, or complained too much about the requirements to do odd things like write essays about novels, he'd lose his place there – and the alternatives were far worse. The law of that realm required that a boy Arcturus' age attend school. The Institute, for all its demands, had been a magical school, in a magical enclave. Comfortable. Night Vale was different again, it was a land without a magical school, but Arcturus was a little older now, and so had taken matters into his own hands. Those he lived with would soon get used to the regular visits of his various tutors, and in-between times, Arcturus set to his studies with all the focus of a Ravenclaw. There was no adult standing over him to force him to learn; he chose the subjects, and he treated his tutors as allies, not adversaries to be tricked and fooled. Some of them, he even counted as friends.
Anders was one of these. It helped, of course, that Arcturus had always liked duelling, and Irikanna had shown him how to learn from someone whose magical culture and systems weren't the same as his own. He found himself looking forward to their practice sessions. Today they had done some finer work on technique, repetitive but necessary, and looked at ways to use the environment to your advantage, which left Arcturus wondering aloud whether or not it was sporting to freeze water into ice beneath your opponent's feet so that he'd trip and fall. As usual, they ended with a few practice bouts. Arcturus couldn't beat Anders, not yet, but there wouldn't be much point in studying with him if he could. He was improving. It was enough.
After they had finished, he took a few moments to rest, leaning by the wall. He was dressed as they had at the Institute for such activities – loose shirt and trousers, covered by a closed-front robe, belted at the waist, which reached to just below his knees. It would have been an outlandish costume at home, but Arcturus found it far more practical than his everyday clothes, and any worries he had about it being too casual were assuaged by the fact that it was expensively tailored, with added protective spells in bright, ornate silver embroidery.
As he took his rest, a thought occurred to him, and he turned towards Anders. 'I say,' he remarked. 'do you remember that friend of yours that you mentioned? The other fellow that lives here? I haven't met him yet.' There was curiosity in his voice, but also a hint of uncertainty. 'Is it that he doesn't much like young people? If it is that, you can tell me and I shan't be offended. I don't mind staying quiet and out of his way.' There were plenty of wizards like that back home, and Arcturus, raised with ideals of respect and obedience towards his elders, wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. It would explain why he had yet to encounter the man, at least.