CHPT 18: The Outlier and The Old….

Small spaces.

Marco was never a fan of them— especially when he had to share them with outsiders….everyone on earth was an outsider— or maybe he was the only one among a network of groups and connections forged through time and effort.

Loneliness never felt so solid— so unavoidably clear as he sat in the Principles office.

The room— a box of white lifelessness studded and adorned by pictures, plaques and furniture felt about as fake as a dead animal taxidermied to life.

He hated it. Every educational award for seminars and student enrichment. Every family photo full of well kept and militaristic family members. Even the color coded pens made him want to run through the office like a twisting typhoon of dreads and feline claws.

All because of who everything belonged too.

Gerard Argent.

That name. It meant something— something serious to all Shifters.

The Argents. A family of Hunters hailing from France. Slayers of the beast of Gevaudan. A family rich with history and fame— a family with a code. Something that wasn't common around the world. Apparently something that was growing less common here based on what he'd heard of their increased activity.

He felt his claws suddenly lengthen and extend, sinking into the foul smelling fabric of his chair.

Gerard turned around to face him, a warm cup of coffee in his hand and a forced smile on his face.

"Would you like some coffee, Marco? You look tired." The old man asked, his wrinkled facial skin moving a second slower than the words escaping his thin dried lips as if it were a poorly fit mask.

The claws disappeared from Marco's fingers as quickly as they came, "I don't do caffeine."

As he replied, he studied the set up between them. Feeling that he was level with Gerard was wrong. It was made so. The floor was slightly angled— an attempt on Gerard's end to make himself seem larger than life in the room as he towered over the students he spoke to like some geriatric king of kings.

He failed. He failed to account for people of Marco's stock. Something the old man was realizing as he swirled his coffee with a pure silver spoon.

"….are there any supplements you do take, Marco?" A small laugh finishing his words.

Before Marco could dryly entertain the old joke, Gerard waved him off, "I'm only joking, young man. Something tells me, you're not itching to play sports here….." he said while eyeing Marco's guitar case.

Marco reflexively rested his hand over the case, "Yes. Group activities aren't really my thing."

Gerard nodded along, "That's what I'm interested in— you see, here at Beacon Hills I want to know the ins and outs of all my students. So tell me, Marco, what is there to know about you. What catches your interest?"

"History. History and how it can dictate the future— and how that future can be changed by an unexpected party. By an outlier. That's my interest— the only one that matters." Marco replied flatly.

Gerard held his gaze for a solid ten seconds— even longer than Scott, before he began stirring his coffee that he still hadn't drank from.

"Outliers and their effects on stable environments, you say?"

"Who said the environment was stable?" Marco replied.

Gerard's jaw flexed from beneath his wrinkly pale flesh, "What makes it unstable?"

"Inhabitants— extremists…..pollution. A history of misfortune and mistakes. Injustice. Poison." Marco replied, bringing the conversation into dangerous territory. Anyone who entered the room wouldn't have understood. But the two were all who needed to know what they were doing. Not even the two, just Marco— who wanted to know how much Gerard knew. There was no way he was simply looking to meet his "newest student". He had suspicions— Marco needed to know them.

So he tip toed. They tip toed. Sizing eachother up. And Gerard was egging him on. Smiling as if he wasn't to blame for raising an entire generation of kill-hungry trained hunters. Crazy old bastard.

Too bad Marco had control. Enough control to fill an ocean and then some. Maybe that was overstatement. Either way.

"So— you don't want to play lacrosse?" Gerard asked, suddenly looking like the innocent fake old man once more as he chuckled.

"No." Marco replied before adding, "May I get back to class now? I'm late."

Gerard feigned a look of surprise before checking his watch, "Oh— dear, yes of course. My apologies, I got lost in our conversation. It was quite engaging and makes me feel that I know you a bit better— but I will say, I'm a bit confused."

Marco continued to listen as he rose from his seat, nearly stumbling as all the heat left the room like it was snuffed out of existence as Gerard continued, "You see, I don't get how you hang with Scott and Stiles. You don't seem much like them? How did you three meet?"

It felt like Marco's skin was being covered in millions of tiny icy snakes, sucking the heat from him and freezing his core.

He turned back around to face the assumed threat, "They saw me walking down the main road to get here and offered a ride. I said no…..they were persistent."

Gerard suddenly gained a far off gaze as if remembering something, "They can be that way— persistent little buggers…"

Marco was no longer listening to his words as he watched the mana cup of coffee.

Wisping spirals of steam swirled in thick clear quantities as if it suddenly reached boiling temperatures. Except it didn't. Because steam also expelled from his partially parted lips.

The room had to be below fifty degrees…..

Marco suddenly had an urge to leave.

"If that's all, I'll be heading to class now, Mr. Argent."

Gerard nodded, regaining his upbeat old man demeanor, "Of course. Thank you for this very insightful talk. Have a good day."

Marco said nothing as he turned and left, pushing through the door in a rush only to realize his hands were free.

"Shit!" He growled before turning on his heels to re-enter the principles office, getting a shriek out of passing students as he stormed past them.

The door remained unnaturally cold. And when he opened it to step inside that same cold breeze hit his dark skinned face, ruffling his dreaded locks with a gentle breeze that smelled of decay.

Inside, Gerard stood over where Marco once sat. He held Marco's guitar case with one hand, studying it as if it were something of great importance.

"Put it down. Now." Marco said calmly.

"Oh I was just about to call you back in. You've gotta keep better account of your items, young man. This case looks expensive— I can only imagine the value of what's inside. Here you go." Gerard replied, walking over to hand him the case.

Marco took it and slowly exited the room once more. Now fully out of his depth. For one reason.

A reason he had to confirm out of disbelief as he snuck into the males locker room and placed his guitar case on their scale.

The scale screeched under the weight as numbers spun to life on the screen, only stopping once they hit two hundred and fifty pounds.

Marco suddenly felt his stomach sink. No hunter at Gerard's age should be able to lift that much with one hand....

Something was wrong. He needed to get home.