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Harper Kincaid

"Look, I don't. Give. A. Damn about the crap spewing from your mouth."

0 · 311 views · located in New Cairo

a character in “Red Apotheosis”, originally authored by Talisman, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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"The hell you looking at?"
|| City | Hollywood Undead ||
|| Rather Be (Violin Cover) | DSharp ||




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| Name |
Harper Kincaid

| Age |
18

| Race |
American

| Height |
5' 9"

| Build |
Skinny. A stiff breeze constantly threatens to pick Harp up and fling him a few hundred yards in that direction.


| Appearance |

ImageHarper, Harper, Harper... Harper has a tendency to stand out in a crowd, despite both his average in height and his lack in body weight. He's still a kid, boyish features like a rounded face and puffy cheeks still stubbornly sticking around. He's yet to experience the joys of shaving, his face bereft of the whiskers that begin to plague young men of his age. The boy is nothing but skin and bones and what little muscle that ties it all together by the look of it. Bulky muscle is a rare sight on his body as is pure body fat, so much so that it's tempting to just give the man a sandwich. He does possess a spryness about him though and the lack of weight makes him a springy sort. He's more liable to bend rather than break.

A mop of ash blonde hair sits stubbornly on his crown. It falls somewhere down below his eyes, but luck has given it a feathery texture so that the hair that would cover his eyes instead turn upward and away-- giving him full advantage of his sight. Otherwise, it's a feral mess with little rhyme or reason to it's state of being. Sure, it can be combed, but why would he want to waste time doing something like that? It's given free reign to rule over his scalp as it desires, so long as it stays out of his eyes. Eyes that are an aquamarine in hue and a angular brow that gives his face a certain animation. An animation that is usually set to "go to hell." His features are always turned in a rebellious fashion.

As previously mentioned, Harp's still got the look of a kid to him. His face has yet to earn the hard edges that come with age and experience. Eyes are still wide and watching, though prone to darting around in his skull and narrowing as if to ask "what" in the rudest possible manner. His skin matches his eyes and hair, bearing a alabaster tone, unless he's sunburned which is often enough under the Egyptian sun. It retains a softness to the touch and speaks of a man who had rarely worked an honest day in his life. However there are areas that break the mold he has set. The skin on his palms are rough and calloused and there is a spot in the crook of his neck that his scarred and thickened. Otherwise, there's nothing else of note about it.

Harp is an animated character, always in motion, always moving. He talks with his hands as much as he does with his mouth. He has a tendency to jitter in place, and constantly shift his weight foot to foot. Sometimes he's even moving along to the music that pumps out of his headphones, drumming along with the beat or orchestrating an invisible concert.




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| General Mentality |
ImageHarp's the type of guy that, even if he wasn't a mage, would find some reason to rage against the government. Harper's a man with a big mouth, a sharp tongue, and a foot just big enough to shove in there. Rebellion is his rhyme and social unrest his reason. When it comes down to it, Harp's a massive jerk. Smarmy, snarky, sarcastic, he'd never turn down an opportunity to run his mouth off even if it gets him into even more trouble. Especially if it gets him in more trouble. Don't ever try to tell him what to do or how to run his life because he straight up won't listen. He likes to find peoples buttons and press them, to see if he can possibly get a rise and then push them only so far. Only so far. He's not a big guy, and if someone wants to beat his ass then they very well could.

He's not exactly cowardly but then again he's not the bravest either. He's no fighter by any means if his twig-in-the-wind appearance is anything to go by and would rather use his words as his weapons. Despite what some of the bleeding hearts might say, words don't hurt near as much as a fist to the jaw. Basically, he's your typical rebellious teen, fight the power, fight the man, down with big brother type. The thing that's most frustrating is that he's intelligent. He's smart but just doesn't use his head. If he ever set his mind to something then there's little doubt he could achieve it, but he's stuck being a general pain in the ass instead.

Perhaps unsurprising for an Auramancer, Harp's an emotional fellow. If those emotions are misguided anger and rage against the machine. No, that's unfair. He feels like anyone else, just... More so. When he's happy he's happy, nothing but bright smiles and waving arms. When he's sad, he's sad and it's not unlikely for him to cry tears if his heart hurts enough. He'd panic when caught in the grips of fear, and he's a demon when his rage takes off. Whatever he's feeling at the moment has a tendency to play out easily on his face. From smiles to snarls, tears to wide-eyed fear, it's as simple as glancing at his face to gauge his mindset.

And he has a heart. He's not some delinquent yelling profanities at the government. Well. That's not all he is. He prides himself as, get this, an artist. And to hear him play his violin, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree. That's right, he plays the violin like a damn professional. He can make the strings sing with his bow. It's a kind of outlet for all of the emotions, and actually benefits him as an Auramancer. The violin evokes an emotional response to those who listen, and he basks in these emotions. It's... Odd. He would say that he doesn't care for people, but he likes nothing more than to don a mask and play his violin in the streets for random strangers. He dances along with the music issuing forth and in a stark contrast to his rough demeanor, actually seems at ease when he plays.

Lending further credence to hey, maybe he does have a soul, he's a total momma's boy. Though ready to mouth off at anyone and everyone, his mother is the only person who will never hear a sour word turned toward her. He has nothing but love and respect for the woman, and would do nothing, absolutely nothing to intentionally hurt her. Apart from that bit sickly sweetness, Harp has a fondness for music, though his tastes vary from hard rock, anti-establishment anthems, and, wait for it... Violin concerto. No one accused him of being a stereotypical rebel. He also has shown a proficiency at drawing and art of a literal sense and New Cairo may or may not have received a few new graffiti tags because of him.

In the end, Harper's not your average fight the government rabble-rouser. Sure, he's got a terrible attitude, a mouth that gets him into more trouble than out, and a propensity for petty vandalism, but that's not all he is. Underneath it all, lies an intelligent and burgeoning artist. A violin prodigy who wishes for nothing less than for people to hear him play. He likes his music, entertains the notions of art, and most of all he's a momma's boy. Harp's Harp, and don't you dare try to define him.

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| Aspirations |
While he would tell you that he wants to see the government recognize mages for who they are and get their filthy boots off of their throats, Harper's aspirations are a little more complicated that. He doesn't really have a set goal, being that age where youth is forever and invincible. However, there is the hope that one day someone will recognize his talent and earn his respect that way, not to mention earn enough wheelbarrows of cash so that his mother would never want for anything ever again. But don't tell anyone, yeah?

| Fears |
Losing his ability to play. It's not a very poignant fear, as he doesn't see himself being put in a position where he'd lose a finger or two, but still, it's a fear. Apart from that, Harp has a tendency to not enjoy heights. It's not the fall that'll kill you, but sudden and painful stop at the end. Old man reaper is another, fading into the cold embrace of death. He wants to live his life for as long and as fully as possible.



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Image| Magic Level |
Level 4

| School of Magic |
Auramancy

| Clothing |
In spite of the Egyptian heat, Harp stubbornly wears skinny jeans, high top sneakers, and a jacket over a shirt. Make no mistake, these articles are all loose to allow for maximum breathability and let the breeze shuffle through, but still. He has a penchant for clothing with a muted color palatte: Greys, whites, blacks-- maybe the odd cyan for example. The one constant in his life is his pair of headphones that can be found either A) around his ears or B) around his neck. On some occasions, he dons another piece, a handkerchief which he wraps around his face to "hide his identity" as he insists. It's a white piece of fabric with the words "You Are Free" painted on it.

| Fighting Style |
Fighting? Harp? No, no, you misunderstand, his fight is more metaphorical than anything literal like the throwing of fists. Still, as a mage, he's perhaps better off than the average person. Maybe a lot better off. As an Auramancer, he has access to emotions, both his own and others, and when he need to can form these emotions into something physical to attack or defend. Depending on the need, he can throw up a shield to protect himself or another, send whips of raw emotion forth, and along with a number of other uses, flat out use emotion to go boom! Still, being an individual who rarely fights, effects are a little more unpredictable than he'd like to admit, and he still hasn't gotten the hang of regulating the force of emotion.

| Occupation |
Vagrant, rascal, jerk, various synonyms of such.

| Hobbies |
Art as a blanket term. He enjoys playing his violin, he's been known to create drawings (and graffiti), and listen to a variety of music. Notably, he likes to grab his violin, slip his mask on, find a crowd of people and start playing for them. Also, he likes to dance, and moves his feet to the tune on his violin. Otherwise, his hobbies include being a pain in the ass, an all around jerk, and fighting the powers that be.



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| Place of Birth |
New York, New York

| Personal History |
How does a poor boy from the streets of New York end up in the City of Spells, playing his violin for random people and being a public nuisance? Well, it all began eighteen years ago with his birth. Harper was born to a lower middle class mother in Hell's Kitchen of the Manhattan borough. He was born in the same manner he lives, kicking and screaming in the hands of the man, or in that particular case, the doctor. Neither of his parents were mages-- or at least his mother wasn't. He never knew who his father was, as the man was the kind of asshole who bolts at the word pregnancy. But from what his mother told them, their blood does contain magic, as his grandfather before him was a mage and his great grandmother before him.

ImageHarper has nothing but love and respect for his mother, Jennifer Kincaid. He understands the sacrifices she made for his sake and knows all she really wishes for is his well-being. However, much of his early years were spent in equal care of his mother and his neighbor, an elderly woman who looked after him while Jenn was at work providing for them both. His neighbor was a nice enough old lady, if a bit absent minded. She pretty much let Harp have free reign so he spent most of his time in the streets when he wasn't at school. In school, Harp was your typical slacker type of kid. Smart, but not enough drive to excel. Even despite the lack of interest in school, he finished somewhere in the middle, though he could've easily made the top if, as he mother said, just applied himself.

It was at an early age that Harp displayed an interest in the arts. On his neighbor's lax watch, he slipped into a a nearby theater as the violin section of an orchestra was practicing for a show that night. He was enthralled with how their fingers danced along the strings and the flight of the bow. It was also when his latent Auramancy magic made itself apparent. Sitting there in the theater with only him and the violinists, he could make out the aura surrounding both himself and the musicians. He could feel the emotion in every drag of the bow, see the effects the notes had on their players. He was enraptured with the sounds and sights and he knew, knew what he wanted to do. As soon as his mother got home after work, he immediately asked for a violin of his own.

A few months later on his birthday, he received an oddly wrapped gift from his mother. Beneath the paper awaited his very own violin. It was thrift shop quality, scratched and scuffed and completely out of tune, but to him it was the most beautiful thing in the world, if you don't mind the sickening cliche. He immediately set out how to learn to play the instrument, though his early efforts amounted to a woodchipper strangling a cat. Still, he managed to enroll in a music program at school, and with his own never let die attitude, managed to become somewhat proficient after days of hours of practice. Unfortunately, his magic did not get the same amount of practice, as it's a lot harder to find Auramancy tutelage than violin. It didn't matter much in the end however, as possessing the simple ability to see and feel the emotion his instrument invokes is enough.

That's not to say he never practiced his magic. Bullies have a tendency to converge on the smallest kid, and what with him playing the violin and possessing the not-at-all manly name of Harper, it pretty much put a big "bully me" sign on his back. And it stuck, until rage took over one day and literally smacked a kid in the face with his emotions. Let's just say that it involved one trip to the hospital and one to the principal's office. The bastard learned to never mess with Harp after that.

It was a years and a half ago that led to Harper's transition from Hell's Kitchen to New Cairo, Egypt. The company that his mother worked for offered her a promotion, but she had to move. The company had began another branch that catered to mages, and seeing how the City of Spells had it's share of magic it made all the sense in the world to put it there. Nothing was keeping the Kincaids in Manhattan (though he does miss the old neighbor) so they packed up and headed off to the endless dunes and unforgiving heat of Egypt. Once again, displaying that hidden vein of intelligence, Harper learned how to read and speak Arabic in a year and some months, because dammit, ordering a freaking sandwich shouldn't be such a bastard. It's still heavily accented, of course, but he's getting better with every word and he can put his intentions to words.

Sitting somewhere in the upper middle class now, Harper still enjoys taking to the streets of New Cairo and playing his violin to strangers, and being a general pain in the ass for the local authority.




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So begins...

Harper Kincaid's Story

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Character Portrait: Harper Kincaid
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The Old Market
1:30 PM





Take one lace and make a loop... Take the other and make a bunny ear... Fold one under the other and bam. Done. Pulling the laces tight from either side, Harper propped his foot up on the nearby coffee table and inspected his new pair of shoes. High top sneakers, a dark blue in color with pristine white laces. He'd never been the type of guy to overly care about fashion statements, but he had to admit that the new shoes were pretty damn snazzy. Pulling the sister shoe up beside the other, he wiggled his toes and shook them, pleased with how they clung to his feet. What's more were that they fit! Ever since his mom had gotten the new job in New Cairo, they'd been able to afford nice things like that. Propping his hands up behind his head, he lounged backward into the couch and began to flip through the channels on the TV.

His mother, one Jennifer Kincaid, worked in a company located in the Nexus that designed and sold products that catered to mages-- despite not being a mage herself. But, her father had been, and Harper was as well so she dealt with magic her entire life. She was at work at the moment, leaving him free reign of the house, given only a sole rule before she left. Don't burn it down. He still flipped through the channels, growing more restless the more he saw. After about the third loop, Harper gave up and pitched the remote against the couch and threw his hands up in defeat. "There's nothing worth a damn on!" He proclaimed to the news lady as she talked about some ley lines in Australia. Not that he cared, Australia was far far away. Puffing his cheeks in defiance, Harper stared at the TV screen for a moment before checking his watch. Right. Time to make his own fun.

Switching the TV off, he went into his room and closed the door behind him. Throwing a loose coat over his shoulders, he slid under his bed and retrieved a white bandanna, stuffing it into a pocket. Moving to another corner of the room, Harper grabbed a black case and threw it over his back. Before leaving the house, however, there was one more thing he needed. Going to his dresser, he found the device that held all of his music and pocketed, feeding the headphones through the inside of his jacket. Flicking to the first song in a long list, he left the house-- making sure to lock the door behind him.

He spent the hover-bus ride in relative silence. Relative, as the headphones around his ears were blaring music with him drumming his fingers on the back of the seat in front of him. He wasn't being subtle about it, that was for sure, causing some of the other riders to stare at him. A stare which he met with a jutting jaw and a narrowing of eyes, demanding to know "what?" Eyes were averted, and disappoving shakes of head commenced, but Harper couldn't be assed to give a damn. He could read their emotions, their aura's. He wasn't doing himself any favors, and he was souring a few of their moods. Usually only the elderly, probably dismissing him as a hooligan (not that they would be... wrong.) He could hear them now, "back in my day, blah, blah, blah I'm old." He needn't be a telepath to gather that. It only made him act all that more obnoxious and drum his fingers even louder.

Thankfully for the other riders, they reached his stop, a street that led into the old markets. Shouldering his case he made his way off the bus and got slapped in the face by New Cairo's heat again. Wiping the flash sweat from his brow, he began to stroll down a street, ignoring the wares being hawked, and giving only partial attention to a few of the performances along the strip and the effects they were having on people's auras. He was a man searching for something, and it didn't take long for him to find it. An open spot near the heart of the market. Claiming it for his own, he tossed down the black case, turned off his music, and fished out the bandanna from his pocket. Tying the cloth around his face, it revealed the words painted on it. You are free it said. Unzipping the case in front of him revealed a violin, polished but still scuffed and showing obvious signs of heavy use.

Placing the instrument in the crook of his neck he took the bow and ran it across the strings, letting loose a screech more akin to a cat being hammered than any sort of music. Aura's soured, causing confusion and irritation to rise in equal measure, but the intended effect was immediate as all attention shifted toward the young man. A grin spread across his face, though hidden by the mask, and he pushed the empty case forward. Harper wasn't going to deny anyone's donation if they really wanted to give. He repositioned his bow on the instrument and waited for a moment offering only a few words, before pulling it back across, this time making a more pleasing note. "Ready for the show? Hold on," he said in accented arabic. In time, the auras settled back down, and Harper continued to play the instrument as intended.

It all began slow, soft lilting notes lifting up into the Egyptian air. Each push and each pull of bow enacting another note, stringing together a harmony that was both pleasing to the ear and to the soul-- if their auras were anything to go by. But soon, the pace began to pick up, and Harper no longer stood still. He swayed in tune with the music, animating the sound with every swing of the hips, every drag of the foot, and even every spin. The tempo rose and so did the pace, until Harp spun with the sound and people began to gather to watch. Sweat began to work into his brow, but he fought against it by-- somehow-- stripping off his coat in the middle of his song with only pausing the song for a moment, before he was back.

He was lost in it all, in the sound of the sound of the music, in the aura that surrounded him, and in the aura surrounding his crowd. He no longer cared for the donations in his case, nor even cared that he was being watched. There was only him, his emotions, and his music.

It was a helluva lot better than watching nothing on TV.

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Character Portrait: Harper Kincaid Character Portrait: Marcus Hill
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Old Market

1:35 PM

Marcus took some time for a little sight-seeing in New Cairo, one of the most advanced cities in the world, both in technology and in the acceptance of mages from all walks of life. Along the way, there was a particular area that was strongly concentrated with thoughts and emotions, all emitting the same kind of wavelength. He stood in the crowd for some time, his arms folded over his chest with a slight grin on his face, his eyes and ears open wide as he tuned into the flashy one-man performance. The boy's mind was absorbed wholly in his music, the strength and grace in each movement as he moved with his song. Now, Marcus was only a level three telepath, but just as an ability can gain raw power, an ability can also gain skill - and Marcus has had forty years to practice. He was the kind of man that could draw a wellspring of knowledge from only a small amount of given information. When the young boy laid his emotions bare, it opened up faint, hidden doors in his mind that gave surface to his strongest feelings. He was not the kind of person to tuck his sentiments away - among the sparks that emerged from his thoughts, his strong disapproval of the government was one such sentiment that he was able to vaguely interpret. And judging by the fact that reading the boy's emotions was somewhat more difficult than usual despite being so open about himself, he identified him as a mage and Marcus smiled to himself a little. Well, this is the city of mages, after all.

The man in the black trench coat knelt down and dropped a thousand pounds in the violin case as though it was nothing but pocket change. Standing up straight again, he stepped back a little. "Your violin makes a beautiful sound," he said, maintaining his pleasant smile. He liked to make as many friends as he could - you can do this by talking, of course, but as experience would dictate, sometimes money talks the loudest. He doesn't rely on it, but it tends to give a good impression, especially when there was never any clear ulterior motive that could be drawn from his actions. With a gloved hand, he tipped his visor slightly downward to block out the sun rays. "Do you play often?"

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Character Portrait: Harper Kincaid Character Portrait: Marcus Hill
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The Old Market
1:40 PM





Sweat had begun to bead down Harper's forehead. Even when peeling his coat off, revealing the sleeveless shirt underneath, the heat was still winning. Still, Harper was the kinda guy impossible to dissuade even in the face of common sense, or in this case, the desert heat. He still began to slow, winding down his first performance. The bow gently began to slow it's glide across his strings, his movements, while never stopping completely gradually became loping thing, easy and wide. When it seemed he was about to fade out with one last draw of his bow, his hands shot back and forth once more in an explosive denoument, twirling as he did. He finished the song with a wide stance, his bow thrown over his shoulder like a sword.

The crowd he'd gather had bright auras, stirred by his performance, and he drank it all in. He basked in their emotions. It was an... odd sensation, one extremely difficult to define. It was like being in the middle of a light show of various hues dancing in front of him, each warm in coloration and warm in feel. Nothing else made him feel more alive, even as he sucked in the air into his lungs from under his mask. It was addictive. An auramancer didn't feed on emotion, per se, they weren't vampires, but it was enough to be in the presense of the better ones. Happiness, joy, excitement, wonder, each had their color, and each had a unique... Taste.

That sensation was enough-- until his violin case received a hefty donation. Harper's eyes darted first to the money, where they greedily lingered before snapping back to the man who had donated. Greed morphed into suspicion as his brow narrowed and he stared through the man. Had he been without his mask, a scowl would've been made out on his lips. "I'm not giving you a blowjob for that," He stated. Someone didn't just drop that kind of change for no reason. Chump change, yeah, but a wad of cash? No, something wasn't right.

Marcus only smiled at the boy's comment, clasping his hands together. "Our musician has a sense of humor, I see. Don't worry, I'm not particularly expecting anything in return, just...think of it as a sign of good will, I really did enjoy your performance, truly I did." Suspicious, hm? I suppose everyone's suspicious nowadays. But that was good - the more suspicious a person is of others, the easier it is to turn them on other people. People are so volatile, you could probably submit a lengthy - and false - article about government soldiers attacking civilians and protestors would show up at their doorstep the next day, demanding retribution. It just depends on how good you are at manipulating the flow of information. "I'm a very busy man, you see - I've always got things to do and places to be, so this was a pleasant refresher." He made a brief gesture with his gloved hands. "I would, however, like a moment of your time to talk for a while, if you don't mind. You're free to decline if you wish." Money was something he needed, that much he could determine even with out his telepathy - and hopefully, he wasn't the kind of person to refuse an innocent gesture such as this. He put out his hand for a shake. "My name is Marcus, by the way. Nice to meet you."

Harper eyed the money again, his frown only deepening. It wasn't no small amount and he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't want it. Though doing better than the were back at home in New York, money was money and it made the world go round. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. What could he say, he was a weak man. Harper supposed the man bought at least a few moments of his time. At least. "Fine... Marcus," he said with an odd inflection on his name, "You have a moment." He said, ignoring the man's hand shake, and notably not giving his own name. The man gave his money on his own volition, and Harper wasn't going to feel guilty about being a rude jackass about it. He wasn't exactly the easiest person. "But we do this here, in public. I'm not going down a dark back alley with you."

"No, no, I completely understand," Marcus said, as though he were expecting that kind of response. He withdrew his hand and briefly put his hands up as a sign that he wasn't going to be taking this anywhere shady. "All I'd like to do is ask a few questions, and maybe, just maybe, you could give me some answers, if it should be in your interests. I'd like to make a few things clear right off the bat - I am, you could say, a man with great influence. I am also a man that likes people who are ambitious, people who fight tooth and nail for the things they believe in." He folded his hands together and gestured toward him. "Are you an ambitious man? Do you want things to change? I can give you the power to change things, at no cost but your own sweat and effort. To be fairly honest, I am not fond of the way society has been structured, the way mages are treated, and I have been, so to speak, been accumulating resources in order to give this hierarchy a different shape, one more within our interests."

Harper's first instinct was to laugh. The hand clutching his bow found his hip and he chuckled hard. "So you want me as one of these resources?" He asked, finding himself in the throes of a laughing fit again. Harper didn't know what this man saw when in the music he made, but whatever it was, he needed to back up and remind himself that it was just music. "I don't know if you know this, but this..." Harper said, drawing the bow expertly across the violin twice, producing a pair of notes, "Doesn't tend to, uh, reorder hierarchies, was it?" Harper giggled.

"You're right, it doesn't," Marcus laughed softly with him. "They can be reordered, however, with a large number of small but calculated movements, and some of them can be..." He pointed at Harper's violin. "...more innocuous than others. I suppose what I'm trying to say here is that every mage can make a difference, so long as they have the will for it, and maybe also some connections in the right places. Music has power, even if you may not realize it just yet. It's a voice that takes time to cultivate, certainly enough - what matters is that the right thing is played at the right time. Of course, there are other things you can do, but that's only if you're willing to go the extra mile. If there is something you wish, you will have it - within reason, of course."

Well. The laughter stopped and something more serious replaced the look in his eyes. He was still wary, still suspicious, but what the man talked about... Harper was intrigued, and it played across his face-- even with only a small part remaining visible-- easily. Harper took a look at the violin in his hands and thought about the words spoken. What Marcus said... It made a lot of sense, even he couldn't dispute that. To be a part of a change, to finally do something instead of only bitching about it. It was an alluring thought. Still, he knew nothing of the man aside from his name. It was then he found that it was difficult to read the man's aura. He was a mage, and a powerful one at that. Maybe... Maybe the man wasn't just spouting crap at him.

"Let's say I'm interested. Let's say I'm... Willing. What then?"

"Then I will contact you," Marcus said, handing him a small card with his name and one of his phone numbers. "Or, if you have something that might be interesting to know or if you've developed a plan of sorts, perhaps you can contact me instead. I know people, places, how things work - I've dug my roots in deep, so when there is an opportunity, I will let you know, and I will give you what you need. There might not be anything soon, but it is important to remember that timing is everything. As much as I'd love to rush into things, this must be taken step by step, when a window of action appears. Occasionally I will hold meetings with my...other acquaintances, you may feel free to join these meetings if you wish but you're not obligated to do so. During those meetings we will likely be discussing what information we have gathered and what plans we have developed. Oh, and pardon me, I suppose I've forgotten to ask your name."

Shuffling the bow out of his hand, he took the card from Marcus and turned it over in his hand, giving it a good once over. Harper's face turned thoughtful for a moment, even apparent with the mask he still wore. However, that proved to be an issue for only another moment and he pulled it off. His face could rarely hide went on in his head, and this no different. He was thinking and probably would for time. "I... Need to think about it," he admitted. But the fact that he was thinking about was a victory in of itself. And he hardly just thought about something.

Marcus noticed his hesitation and wore a reassuring expression. "That's good. Thinking is good, think over it carefully. I won't rush you, you can take however long you want to decide. I'll be waiting."

With that, Harper backed away and packed away his violin and bow-- transferring all the cash in the case and Marcus's card to his pockets. He collected his coat and gave the man one last glance before turning to make his way home. He had a lot to mull over... And a bit of change to spend.