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[nearamir]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, DECENT_JEWEL. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 3019.03.15.03 *** DECENT_JEWEL has joined 3019.03.15.03 <DECENT_JEWEL> This is the address of Faramir son of Denethor, late Captain of Gondor. <DECENT_JEWEL> If you would speak with me, then seek me out; I am readily available for the most part. Yet if that does not suit your needs, then leave a message here, and I shall reply when I am able.

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[nearamir]

Faramir is prompt, though not early: it is a long walk from the lake. He still dislikes the city, if he is honest: the streets are too loud, and the lights buzz oddly, and even compared to Minas Tirith at its busiest, the place seems to bustle with impossible activity. His pointed ears flick a little at the sound of each passing car and blaring horn or siren. He is grateful to arrive at the Academy, then, where he at least hopes it will be a little less loudly modern.

He rings the doorbell after only a moment's hesitation, and steps back, knuckles grazing the stone of the steps.

[youngtimer]

The Academy comprises an entire city block, and the center courtyard, though open to the elements, is quiet. But so is the inside: only a hint of the classical music from the living room drifting into the foyer as Horatio opens the door.

"Hey, Faramir. Glad you could make it. Come on in, take a load off. ... You did the whole walk on foot, I'm guessing? How long did that take you?

[nearamir]

Faramir edges through the door, cautious of his bulk, and into the foyer beyond. It is, he notes as though from a distance, a very fine place, and one he takes a liking to at once.

"I set out as soon as the sun allowed." So, at sunset. It still hurts, to be made a creature of the night, to be driven into shadowed and darkened places like the beasts he has so long fought. It is a stinging reminder, every day, of what has been done to him. "It is not so far, but I am afraid a little further than I had accounted for. Still, I have made it." This with a small smile. "Where shall I leave my cloak?"

[youngtimer]

"I'm sorry," Horatio said, reaching out to take his cloak from him. "It completely slipped my mind that trolls are nocturnal. I only know one, and we mostly talk over the network, so ..."

He shrugged, moving across the lobby toward a coat rack in the corner. "Come on in, though, have a seat. You want something to drink? Coffee, tea, maybe something stronger?"

[nearamir]

Faramir smiles gently, a little wryly, as though to say It is what it is. "I do not know enough about every manner of monster," he remarks, passing over his cloak with a little nod, "to ever expect that another would remember all the matters of my own. Though if I had been more thoughtful, I might have told you I would be late."

His toeless, hoof-like feet tap softly against the floor as he heads deeper into the building, taking a seat as invited. "I would take wine, if you have it. If not, then tea will more than serve. Thank you."