He's Magic and Myth (OTA, Tag Merlin pups/angels/spies/other magic users)
Kit was adjusting all right to the village, all things considered. It was a bit annoying to not be able to leave, admittedly, but, then, he hadn't been able to leave Hell the last few decades (well, he could have, but he hadn't really pushed to), so confinement wasn't exactly a new thing. And there were interesting people to watch and stories to hear, and his bard's heart was always interested in people and stories.
Today, though, he was more deliberately exploring. He needed a job, and there was the theater and Opera House, of course, but he had learned through the years that modern theaters did not often have their own companies anymore, let alone their own resident playwrights, so he wasn't quite sure they would hire him as such. Still, he didn't suppose it would hurt to stop by and see. He could direct and act, as well, after all. He was Christopher Marlowe. Or, well, he'd used to be, before he'd sold away his name to the devil. But if the register had gone and listed him as that, no harm in offering it up that he could see. Lucifer wouldn't mind.
There was the magic school to try, as well, or in addition, if the dramatics proved to be only part time, anyway. He'd both magecraft and witchraft at his disposal and surely that was something the students here could benefit from? He supposed he could teach them something of will magic, too, though it wasn't his strong suit. And he wasn't going to honestly suggest any of them go find Lucifer and offer up themselves to become witches, so, on second thought, mayhap he'd best stick to the magecraft offerings. Anyone with a minimum of aptitude could be taught that, after all.
He stopped at the cafe and grabbed an iced tea, then hit the streets, whistling a little under his breath, a young man who never had blended in and did so less now with his patchwork bard's cloak and jeans, tousled hair and mismatched eyes, too pretty for his own good. But after centuries among faeries, angels and demons, he was at least used to not being the strangest thing around.
[ooc: Catch him on the streets, at the theater or at the magic school!]
Today, though, he was more deliberately exploring. He needed a job, and there was the theater and Opera House, of course, but he had learned through the years that modern theaters did not often have their own companies anymore, let alone their own resident playwrights, so he wasn't quite sure they would hire him as such. Still, he didn't suppose it would hurt to stop by and see. He could direct and act, as well, after all. He was Christopher Marlowe. Or, well, he'd used to be, before he'd sold away his name to the devil. But if the register had gone and listed him as that, no harm in offering it up that he could see. Lucifer wouldn't mind.
There was the magic school to try, as well, or in addition, if the dramatics proved to be only part time, anyway. He'd both magecraft and witchraft at his disposal and surely that was something the students here could benefit from? He supposed he could teach them something of will magic, too, though it wasn't his strong suit. And he wasn't going to honestly suggest any of them go find Lucifer and offer up themselves to become witches, so, on second thought, mayhap he'd best stick to the magecraft offerings. Anyone with a minimum of aptitude could be taught that, after all.
He stopped at the cafe and grabbed an iced tea, then hit the streets, whistling a little under his breath, a young man who never had blended in and did so less now with his patchwork bard's cloak and jeans, tousled hair and mismatched eyes, too pretty for his own good. But after centuries among faeries, angels and demons, he was at least used to not being the strangest thing around.
[ooc: Catch him on the streets, at the theater or at the magic school!]