1536/In the halls of St. Nicholas

In the halls of St. Nicholas
Date of Scene:	05 May 2020
Location:	St. Nicholas Shelter and Educational Center
Synopsis:	Caliburn seeks a wielder. He gets a reference instead.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Hannigan, Caliburn

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Michael Hannigan has posed:
Although not seeming much with the dreary brick exterior with only the slightest of markings indicating it to be. The St. Nicholas Shelter and Educational center is a bastion of hope for those who need to pass through the steel double doors.

Inside the building, dreary is cast aside for a blessing of much brighter colors.

To the left, two sets of dorm areas are situated allowing for families to stay together in the same building. The men's dorm sports an off white color while the women's dorm sports a robin's egg blue.

To the right, the combination social room and eating hall is located with a kitchen to the back and a stand up piano situated up front. Their walls sporting a daffodil yellow. Straight forward, the educational, job search, and placement assistance services. The rooms over there, sporting a calming mint green on the walls.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
It is evening and most persons who are using the shelter for the night have made their way in. Dinner was served. Nothing spectactular but filling and with nutrition in mind when the menu was planned. Despite this, there was the small treat at the end involving fresh baked cookies and glasses of milk.

As the volunteers and some of the adult residents help with the cleanup. While most of the younger children have relocated to the dorms with their parents, some of he older ones are are still seated near the front with their respective and homework, the soft sounds of piano playing up front tries to coax them to a more relaxed state. It is nearing bedtime for most and its crunch time for those with classes the next day.

And where is Mike in this? Well, the knitcapped musician is living up to his nature by being responsible for the music. It may not be his usual repetoire, but it seems appropriate now.

Caliburn has posed:
Caliburn only half fits into the homeless population. His clothes are brand new and fashionable, a light-weight jacket over a button down shirt, some comfortable jeans, and good boots. He is, however, bearded with long hair that could perhaps use a fresh brushing. Indeed, the grooming standards of present day make some past courts from the far past look absolutely filthy. Fortunately, Caliburn does not come with all the hallmarks of being human. He smells of steel then sweat and dirt. He carries himself with a noble bearing, back straight, and his stride purposeful. He also seems completely immune to the various states of poverty or coherence that surround him. Immune in that he's more then willing to carry a conversation with anyone. Though, he possesses a very strange accent, and he seems to be struggling over some of the modern English dialect of America.

Sitting beside a man in his twenties who has the hallmarks of past drug abuse, he raises an eyebrow at the question of 'What's Up?'. Caliburn tilts his head back and squints at the sky. "Beyon ceiling and the night welken. Nought that I am aknown of mine friend, beyond the majesty of the stars." In response he gets a "What's welken?" Caliburn squints and considers. "It's another word for Sky." The obvious reply being, "Then why didn't ya say sky in the first place man?" To which Caliburn offers a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I am still learning, friend. May I know your name." The individual in a dirty white baseball cap, blue wind-breaker and jeans points to himself. "Yo, I'm Franklin. Uhh, you gonna eat man?" Caliburn shakes his head. "I do not need to.. I would not wish to take from those who do."

With a furrowed brow, Caliburn scans his surroundings as he takes in a sight that hopeful. The homeless were not so well provisioned in his time. The situation was not perfect. It would have been wonderful if poverty had been eradicated in the last one thousand years but at least the daffodil yellow of the walls indicated that some in this society cared for the less fortunate. Noticing the cleanup taking place, he rises and takes Franklin's plate for him doing his best to mimic the actions of others. He waves off the cookies and glasses of milk which gain a couple of stares, maybe even glares. He does his best to disarm them with a smile.

The next stop was Mike at the piano. "It is a fine performer who offers entertainment to the wary, friend." He gazes toward the piano with some interest. It and its predecessor the Harpsichord were created well after his time. "May I.. ask.. what is the name of this instrument?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As Caliburn explores the rest of the dining area and tries to take part in helping out, Mike's fingers continues their dance across the keys. As the song nears its end and the final note dies away on its own, the musician looks to Caliburn, the attire making him wonder if he might be newly homeless.

He glances to the instrument at Caliburn's question. A head cocking curiously at the odd question. "Well, it's an upright piano." He looks to Caliburn's outfit, and then up to the face, pale eyes looking into the living weapon's, "Not exactly what you'd see in concerts but very good for small spaces."

He gives the man a smile, giving him the benefit of the doubt, "New volunteer?"

Caliburn has posed:
Caliburn listens intently and repeats the word 'Piano' curiously. He inspects the instrument, even puts his ear against the side of it. "What a marvel. Such rich complex sounds.. from.. a stroke of the finger." Caliburn brow furrows at the comment about concerts and small spaces. He allows his confusion to the past though. At the question, he offers a brief shrug. "Yes, and no. I am. volunteering mine aid where I, yet I also hast no place to bid mine own. Hence, I am making use of these lodgings for the time being." He winces and offers a smile though embarrassment is clear on his expression. "Please be.. patient with my words. The English here.. is very different then what I am use to." He points to Mike, "You.. volunteer yes? Or are you also taking lodgings and just happen to be playing the.. piANo?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike's smile remains, "Well, you should do well here then. Not only is this place to help provide Shelter and food but it also offers services to help with getting you back to where you can support yourself. Everybody needs help sometime." He turns slightly on the bench, making it easier to look to Caliburn.

"I live elsewhere. I do volunteer here at times. Schedule permitting. There are other places I work at."

Caliburn has posed:
"Ah, yes.." He nods, "I'm looking forward to the English classes. I can.. understand most, but I struggle with the.. slang." He repeats how one of the service workers described his condition. In truth, he would be struggling to understand if not for a trick of telepathy to help clear up everyone's intentions. "Ah, so you are truly noble then. Only the satisfaction of service as a reward. Most noble and kind of you, sir. You are a.. musician.. by trade then?" He gestures toward the piano. "This would seem difficult to transport between concerts. Do you have many of them?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Well, take heart. You do have an advantage in that you already speak English so it won't be as hard for you as it will be for those who never spoke it before." Mike replies, offering a bit of encouragement, "In a way it's like learning new instruments. I started off with drums. So, it was easier for me to pick up instruments similar to that. Once I learned guitar, the other string instruments got easier to figure out."

Mike gives another curious look at the mention of being noble but shrugs it off. He glances to the piano, "That piano belongs to the shelter. It stays here for anyone who wishes to play it."

He grows quiet considering Caliburn for a moment. "Pardon my asking but, where do you come from, exactly? I'm having a heck of a time trying to place what area still speaks that way. It kind of has a Shakespearian flair to it. But I don't recall anyone speaking like that now."

Caliburn has posed:
More enthusiastic nods follow as he listens to Mike. "Ah, yes. Grammercy. It is.. much more clear. Of course, it remains here." The stoutly built man offer a nervous grin. "Ah.. that.. is complicated, and something not well received or easily believed. But alas, deceit is not within me. It is a question of.. when, and not where. Both mine mind and tongue are dated. Dated.. as explained by Clea.. assuming her account of the year was correct.. nine hundred years hast past." He frowns for a moment, "But when I thus explained this.. I was offered.. medicines for my ailment. I assure you.. I am not mad, but then.. what else would a madman profess?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike glances around, taking note of a couple of the older kids starting to glance towards Caliburn instead of the notebook they have open.

He gives a nod, getting up from the piano bench to step over it, making it to where it's physically possible to walk away from it. "You might be surprised. How about we find a classroom and you give a shot at explaining it?" He glances to the kids, "They need to focus on their studies."

Caliburn has posed:
Caliburn eyes him for a moment and then offers a shrug before gesturing in a direction. He is familiar with the classrooms, so the request is an easy one to grant. He walks away from the kitchen area and opens a door leading to one of the mint coloured classrooms. He will wait for Mike to join him before closing the door behind them. He walks to one of the student desks and slips into it, hands folding on the desk surface.

He stares at Mike for a moment then asks a simple question, "Doth thou believe in magick, kind sir?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Invitation taken, Mike follows Caliburn to the classroom the other man picks out. After glancing to make sure none of the kids who were staring didn't follow, the musician closes the door.

He walks over, turning a desk next to face Caliburn before sitting at his level.

Mirroring Caliburn, he too folds his hands, setting them upon the still smooth surface. The curious expression remains, waiting patiently until Caliburn poses his question. The performer is quiet for a moment before his smile strengthens. "Ah." He gives a slow nod, "So, that's the source of the 900 year gap then? Bit of a Rip Van Winkle moment?"

He pauses, smile fading as he realizes something "Ok that was a bad example. That's not old enough..."

Caliburn has posed:
"I do not know a.. Rip Van Winkle, but I've seen you hath a kind heart, and thus I shall bequeath my story, in hopes it finds worthy ears." After a moment of concentration, Caliburn's speech becomes easier to follow. His lips move and still produce noise. It is a subtle thing, but if one is keenly aware, they may notice the words appear too crisply in the mind as if placed there.

"You may call me Caliburn. Though in the past, I was known as Tizona, Dainsleif, Caledfwich, Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi.. I have had many names. By last account, I was Fotbitr.. or Legbiter and friend of Magnus Olafsson, King of Norway. Long have the winds of fate carried me.. and centuries ago, my time ended with Magnus Barefoot. I ascended to the sky.. and from thus returned.. to find myself in an alley of Little Italy, New York city with a man.. a dishwasher.. none too happy at my abrupt arrival." He takes a deep breath and sighs, "And now.. the cycle continues. I seek champions of worth and need.. to weld my powers against what evils threaten the present day." His eyes grow distant. "And I have learned that.. many evils dwell these lands. Born of man and distant forces. Thus, my quest becomes even more dire. I am a weapon against evil.. but all weapons need a wielder."

There is desperation in the stream of consciousness, for it is a story few have volunteered to listen to with any sort of patience. He has been written off as mad by all except one since his arrival.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike listens quietly. Leaning in a bit closer curiously but starting to tilt his head a little uncomfortably at the odd feeling. But he listens.

At the end of the story he hrmms a bit. Considering it.

"I appreciate the explanation." He starts, "There are those who would not give that. And I'm sure once you find your weilder whoever they may be, they'll appreciate the upfront information." A finger drums along the desk top. "You said someone offered you medicine earlier when you gave an explanation? Was that their exact words or were they suggesting they take you to see the doctor? Considering the topic, those statements have different meanings."

Caliburn has posed:
"Guile.. is something that is beyond me. A fact that has brought me countless troubles." He pauses, "And I have done this many times before. I've learned it is best to cast a wide net and abandon pre-tense. I am fortunately.. quite durable, and times my story has been met with.. less then favorable reception. I have survived." He chuckles nervously and blinks at the questions, "Ah.. I believe they asked if I would like to see a doctor. I politely declined. I am above physical ailments. I would only waste a physicians time."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike sighs, glancing down. "If the topic had broached on magic, there's a possibility they weren't talking about just any old Doctor but one more attuned to magic"

He pauses, "Or I could be looking too deeply into this and it is straightforward what you thought."

He leans back, folding his arms as he considers Caliburn. "I believe that if you need to see him, your feet will eventually lead you to him."

Caliburn has posed:
"I did meet a powerful Sorceress, or I believed she was powerful. She mentioned if I came under duress, that I should call to the Sorcerer Supreme. This is a title I am familiar with, though I would be surprised if Makeen still held the moniker." He waves his hand dismissively, "But whoever the Sorcerer Supreme is.. He would clearly be superior then some mere physician even if they are attuned to magic." He pauses, "But.. it is a kind offer and perhaps I display hubris. If you could direct me to this Doctor of yours, perhaps I could discuss my situation further."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Doctor Strange IS the Sorcerer Supreme." Mike replies, putting emphasis on the present tense to his statement in defense of the good doctor.

There is a stern silence that follows before the musician breaks his gaze, starting to get up. "I'm sorry. It is getting late and you should rest."

He glances down, giving a small smile again, " I do know from experience that, sometimes your feet will just lead you to where you need to be when your thoughts drift to what concerns you the most. Perhaps, you can try that tomorrow. And should I run into him before you, I'll let him know that you're staying here."

Caliburn has posed:
Caliburn nods and watches Mike depart. He leans back in the desk and gazes toward the ceiling. "Doctor Strange is the Sorcerer Supreme.. Maybe he will know of a worthy champion."