Magical Science

If you believe in myth, magic, dragons, and climate change, then lend an ear. Many believe the core, human aspects to a tale such as King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table to hold truth.

What if someone told you that Merlin himself was real? That magic, was real? Avery Daniel Addair has always believed in such things, but who would ever believe him? Could his mentor and professor prove useful in such inquiries?

(Avery) “ I’ll have you know Professor Danes is a very busy man, the school is not his only priority."

(Anna) “ I hear he’s looking for something Arthurian, I hear he’s putting a team together for the spring elective. Please, I need this if I’m going to prove anything in this field. Especially as a woman”

(Avery) “ Look, i’m all for equality and there’s plenty of good women doing what you aspire to do, but it’s not up to me. His methods of choosing his candidates are his own and it matters not what I say. “

*Anna stays her ground, and scrunches her face about to escalate the conversation*

(Avery) “*sigh* If you’re that desperate, try going around him and talk to one of the scientists he’s hired to be on the ‘team’. Marks or Hanlen might hear you out”

(Anna) “ While I’d prefer the head, I guess i’ll take one of the legs….that came out weird..I-”

(Avery) “Good evening Miss Collins”

Closing the red oak door to his small yet efficient office, Avery runs his fingers along the inside, covered in scratch marks and other multitudes of 200 year old wear and tear, poorly covered up with wood filler and stain. He saunters over and slumps down into his old leather chair. The one his father gave to him as a congratulatory present after hearing of his new position at the University. Old but comfortable, it’s cracks telling stories on the ridges of the bottom, nearly visible. But it’s tough tan exterior proved worthy of those long nights at the typewriter. Probably just as old as too. Professor Danes insisted that everything be typed out that way; never trusting technology when it came to his soon-to-be published works.

Avery was always the type of TA that could look the part one minute, and come across as a college/university student the next. Wavy auburn hair never out of place as if by magic, button nose and eyes as green as the grassy meadows of his homeland.

He was a short in stature burly farm boy, plus the charm. Complete with tattoos, hipster beard and deep blue horned rim glasses. Hidden away in layers under Cardigans and denim shirts.

********

(Danes) “ As you know I’ve been searching for candidates to assist my team of Scientists, Historians, and Archaeologists..n’ so forth. I would like each of you to tell me in a 600 word essay, as to what it is about Arthurian lore that intrigues you the most”

Mr.Avery and I here, will grade, evaluate and discuss, and determine 3 lucky chosen individuals to accompany us on our journey as assistants in archival and analysis, par example. We aim - we hope, that there shall be evidence suggesting King Arthur and his knights, were in fact real people. I wouldn’t dream of going as far as to suggest that the magical aspect of it all is real, but there’s always people.

There’s always science, and to some that science could be viewed as a form of magic.

My - our goal is to unearth such mysteries.

*Danes looks at the time nervously*

Well, alright, that’s it for today. Hop to it!”

Danes respected Avery on equal terms perhaps, 85% of the time, if he’s lucky. If only people knew that half of the professor's dissertations were written by Avery. And whenever a curvaceous prospect crossed Danes’ radar, Avery caught their attention instead. Could it be that Danes is too old for this generation of students? Or is it that he’s just not as attractive as he thinks he is.?

Greying hair, Danes’ makes a point to keep it short, but long enough to fluff on special occasions. Brown eyes with glints of honey amber dancing around the pupils and partially deaf in his right ear. Otherwise tall, fairly toned, and had a story for every scar he gained in his adventures. Early inspirations include Milo from Disneys' Atlantis, and Indiana Jones. It never fails to amaze anyone either, at the amount of tweed this man owns to don every day for work.

* * * * * * * * *

(Unknown Elf) "D’ah’lell “ Ní mór an Fhoireann a aimsiú riamh. Coinnigh slán é, coinnigh i bhfolach é, agus ná nocht tú féin ach nuair a fuair tú é. "

(Translation) "The Staff must never be found. Keep it safe, keep it hidden, and only reveal yourself when you've found them."

As a swinging ax nearly takes his head off, Avery runs towards the bridge, not knowing who this elf was but unaware of what was happening wasn’t real. Out of breath, and terrified, Avery makes way for an old bridge in view. It's moss covered stone bricks barely strong enough to carry the weight of man at a glance. But with no choice his feet, rendering him light as a feather, hurtled him towards escape.

A flash of orange light blinds him and soon as his eyesight returns, it appears he has landed in another unrecognizable part of the forest. Howls of wolves start to become louder and closer every second he stood still with the dying trees. Looking at his hands, covered in rings of gold, ruby, emerald, and sapphire, they were not his own.

Another flash of orange light and the screaming of a name, Avery whips his head to view a mystery woman cloaked in shadow and red velvet. Running towards her he trips on an elevated root, a searing pain emits from his leg. His eyes locked with that of a wolf of enormous size. It's teeth covered in blood and drool with a crazed glint in it's gaze, a snap of it's jaw and a lunge towards him, death was assured. The Last flash of familiar light is at it's brightest.

Avery springs from his drenched pillows and sheets feeling as if he'd lost a year off his life. Looking around in a panic, as if documenting each dark form from his desk, to his reading nook. The sites and smells were both foreign and comforting to him. It felt like he was living in two different worlds one moment, then back in his bedroom the next.

Coaxing his legs to move, Avery makes it to his desk, rummaging for a pen and paper before a name was gone from memory. Seis.

(Avery) “Seis? That means Melody in irish Gaelic. Why the hell would I dream up something like that?”

A cold and numbing feeling flushes over his face as if he’s about to expel every ounce of bile from the current day, only to find it hard enough to walk to the bathroom in time. His body convulsed at an alarming rate, falling to the ground, flashes of other unknown images flood his thoughts. Nothing comes out. Neither the sickly feeling nor mixed up narrative whirring in his nightmares left him.

Pins and needles slowly faded from his extremities, yet an itch on his left ankle remained, becoming too unbearable not to sate. He starts to scratch and a confounded pain shoots through his left leg. Pulling away as fast as he had reached, the tips of his fingers appeared to be covered in blood. The wound continues to bleed down past his foot. The wound that was in the same spot as was in his dream.