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Mrs. Carson looks deeply confused!

Louis also looks confused! Then he starts laughing somewhat helplessly.

"Good God. Ah, sorry, Mark, and also, congratulations on having an excessively fascinating brain. In addition to your apparently fully-functioning copy of your brother, are you aware that you have cleavage points? You could very well be even more people than you already are."

Mrs. Carson looks no less confused!
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"Really?" he says, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

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"Allow me to demonstrate," he says. Suddenly, Mark is, to all appearances, on fire.

Mrs. Carson looks highly alarmed! "Louis, what on earth-"

"Elizabeth, please. I am a licensed psychologist." Very severe glasses appear on Louis' face. As an afterthought, two of the eyes of the beast in the tank are also covered by very severe glasses. "Allow me to work."
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Mark's first reaction is alarm, because he is suddenly on fire and that is usually a bad thing.

He doesn't entirely mind being on fire, though. Just - partially. Part of him flinches away from the pain, part of him revels in it. And when he catches up to himself after a second and notices that he is not actually on fire and merely feeling that way, the part that notices is the same part that's having trouble with the pain; the other half of his mixed reaction is too immersed in sensory appreciation to care.

Oh. Well. That's obvious, then.

He starts giggling again. What an excellent demonstration. Efficient, informative, and entertaining.
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"Ah, und ve haff ze epiphany." Louis snaps his fingers, appearifying a large bucket of illusory water over Mark's head to "put him out".

Mrs. Carson beholds this. "I suppose I'll leave you gentlemen to it, then."

She briefly makes eye contact with the beast, then retreats up the stairs.
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Mark continues to giggle. Once the bucket of water has put him out and he is no longer in illusory pain, there's nothing to distinguish one half of his internal experience from the other anymore, but he remembers what it was like to notice he was having two different reactions to the same situation.

"That was hilarious."

Although he really hopes that Louis checked his likely reaction before trying it, because he can imagine most people would not have been amused.
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The beast snorts, sending bubbles from one of its mouths. Several of its eyes roll.

"No, I just set everyone on fire the first time I meet them. Lizzie up there thought it was a laugh riot, let me tell you."

"Don't you bring me into this," the headmistress in question calls from upstairs.
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"I deny your assertion," says Mark. It is pretty clear to him that Mrs. Carson did not approve, even though he was busy being on imaginary fire for most of her reaction.

(In the back of his mind he's also wondering how the threat assessment part of this interview is going to go. It would be sort of laughable to declare him not a threat at all even in a world with this much powerful magic; on the other hand they've got a bloody psychic who can verify pretty easily that he is really not interested in threatening people; on the other other hand he's well aware of how easily his intentions can be altered by circumstances. He definitely couldn't promise not to slaughter another vampire cult.)
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"The threat assessment is not even slightly about the slaughter of vampire cults," Louis says. "Slaughter as many evil cultists as you like, so long as you take care with the bodies. We're concerned about the safety of the students, here. For instance, if a gentleman by the charming moniker of 'Powerhouse' decides that you 'look like a fag' and need correction for it, and tries to rearrange your delightful face, will he find himself crying for his mommy with a dislocated pelvis, or will he be found with a broken neck? Bearing in mind that many of the threatened parties attack with such speed that to retaliate you would most likely be acting on instinct, and bearing in mind that your instincts are those of an assassin."

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...Mark would not give good odds for the survival of 'Powerhouse' in that situation. But now that he's been warned that that sort of thing might happen here, he at least thinks it's possible he might not kill them. And if he pays attention, anyone who's fast enough to attack him without warning is probably also fast enough to survive a reflexive counterattack.

All told, though, he'd really rather not test that theory.
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"You don't give yourself enough credit," Louis notes. "But the amount of credit you should be giving yourself still isn't quite enough to let you roam around unsupervised. So, should you wish to wander the campus, you're going to need a guide-cum-bodyguard-cum-murdernanny. But the options are all fun and delightful people, so you shouldn't feel bad about it."

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"Murder nanny," he snorts. "All right. What are the options?"

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"Well, actually, there's only two available at the moment. First, Morbid, known to friends as Peter Hooke." An illusion of Peter appears. It is readily apparent why he codenamed himself "Morbid"; he has four arms, enormous bony spikes coming out of his joints and spine, chalk-pale skin, and a mouth constantly dripping red fluid that mimes hissing as it hits the ground. Despite all this, he manages to look blasé. "Completely unfazeable. A good friend; he's one of a very rare class of people whose minds I can't read, so I can actually play chess against him. I still win, though."

"There's also Ariel Kaltmann, or Stormhammer." Ariel pops up, bouncing smilily. "Very powerful. Very cheerful. Very good at taking things in her stride. Might wind up flirting with you, but mostly through violence, and she can take a hint."

The illusory pair high-fives, resulting in a shower of sparkles. Then they turn to Mark with vaguely shelter-puppy expressions. (Well, Ariel has a shelter-puppy expression. Peter's face is slightly ill-equipped for it, but he makes a valiant effort.)
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...Mark kind of thinks they're both adorable!

But also: there is something intensely fucking familiar about Ariel. The hair, the face, the mannerisms, the name—? What the hell?
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...Louis and the illusory Ariel peer at Mark.

"That, my friend, is weird above my paygrade."
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"Yeah. I don't have an explanation either."

And he's torn between wanting to meet her and wanting to stay far the fuck away. On the one hand, maybe he could figure out what the hell (and maybe she will react to him the same way Ari did); on the other hand, the thought of someone reacting to him the same way Ari did is mildly terrifying, and he hasn't got the first clue of how to approach her or whether he even should, and emotions are confusing and make him want to find a depressing crypt to hide in.

The attractive four-armed monstrosity is probably the less complicated option. He didn't come with a flirtation warning.
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"Do you mind my letting her know there's a half-demon male version of her in an alternate universe who beats the shit out of vampires? She'll definitely want to know. And probably have sex with him."

Ariel's puppy-dog eyes intensify.
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"...you can tell her," sighs Mark. And if she wants to know how Louis knows that, Louis can provide as much of the surrounding context as she asks for, and Mark will just deal with whatever may result.

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"I'll get right on that, then," says Louis. "But for the time being, I think Peter might work best. He's just upstairs; would you like me to call him down?"

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"Sure."

And all things considered, Mark would really prefer that Peter did not find out that Mark thinks he is cute.
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"Aw. No matchmaking? Must you deny an old horrormonster his lone pastime?"

A single tear trickles from each of the tankbeast's eyes. It's unclear how, given he's submerged in purified water, but tears do appear to trickle. Also, a tragic violin begins to play.
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Well that's just fucking adorable.

"You said you can't read his mind," says Mark, "so I'm not going to assume you would be infallible at predicting his likely reaction."
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"No, but I've known the man for almost thirty years. I'd like to think that gives me some insight."

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"I mean, he wouldn't take one look at you and immediately start tossing you into bottomless emotional pits, but he'll like you just fine, and he's not averse to casual stuff. And given the givens, which I can assure you you won't mind, he's apparently quite good in bed. As long as the bed is sturdy enough not to get ripped apart, which is occasionally a concern. His current one's made of Kevlar, but frankly I'd recommend just standing to avoid the topic entirely."

Louis relates all this with his illusory puppet bearing a look of pious disinterest and a grin on every horrible fanged mouth. This really is his favorite hobby.
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