Six months previously...

Godwin Rifter had only just moved in to residence in dorm C (the unfashionable dorm, he was later informed) and it turned out he would not have a roomate until a little further in the year. He was now standing, arms crossed over his chest, in the middle of his room. His boxes were still unpacked, but they had been pushed to the sides of the room, allowing for more room in the middle.

If one were to walk in to his room at this precise moment, one would probably wonder why Rifter was staring down at an intricate chalk drawing on his floor, and why, upon closer inspection, he had a stripe of ground herbs and oxblood on his forehead. The drawing itself looked like all the zodiac signs had exploded in to one another, lending itself to strange creatures hardly even known in mythology, filling in the empty spaces around a disproportional star. A small smile had started to spread over Rifter's lips, his green eyes widdening slightly in satisfaction as he took in the whole ritual before him.

All should follow accordingly. He took a deep breath before kneeling infront of the strange image on his floor. Then he looked over his shoulder and then reached out and switched on the one thing he had unpacked, his lamp. The light from the lamp sent his shadow sprawling over the image. "Right," he said, before touching the herbs on his forehead and then touching the center of the image.

What followed was a series of language-less words that had to be repeated and then said backwards. He was on his final saying (the eigth) when he began concentrating all of his powers on his shadow, on the image, and on the magic that he could feel was reverberating around the room. He concentrated as hard as he could, putting all of his magic power (which was considerable) behind his spell. He wanted this to work.

He needed this to work.

(( Reserved for Jack ))

Inside the design, the shadow cast on the floor shudders, shivers, twitches.

The lines of chalk drawn into the floor burst into light and, in seconds, turn black. Like smoke, the shadow creeps upwards, claiming the air, a three-dimensional shade-- dark but not solid nor opaque. It forms into a vaguely humanoid shape, trailing off under Rifter's feet where it's still attached.

Two slits open at eyelevel, faintly glowing.

The shadow-servant, called.

It blinks, uncertainly.

"HAHA!" Yelled a triumphant Rifter, standing slowly and beholding the shadow-figure before him. A servant...A servant formed by his own shadow, so it is always close at hand. He watch it blink and a large smile had now produced itself on Rifter's pleasant face. He looked up at the dark smoke-like face of his shadow servant.

"Perfect..." He breathed quietly, extending his hand he tried to touch the figure's arm. "You are Fenrir," he said, naming the shadow servant. It was an old name he had read in an old spell book. He didn't even know who it had previously belonged to, but it had a nice ring to it. Besides, it was part of the spell to name the servant.

The shadow-servant blinks again, looking its master over.

And then thet smoky figure coalesces into more or less an exact duplicate of Rifter himself, though the clothing Rifter wears is black on Fenrir and the eyes of the shadow servant are black from corner to corner, not green. His figure is solid but he casts no shadow.

He pulls the semblance of his master's lips into a smile.

"Hello."

Which is rather more conversational initiative than a shadow servant ought to have.

Now Rifter wasn't exactly an expert on shadow-servants. This was, infact, his very first encounter. He had simply found the spell and taken the situation in his own hands, figuring a silent helping hand could be useful through his first year at Keaton. The hand that he had extended in curiosity now leapt back as if the shadow-servant (now known as Fenrir) were made of hot coal. He was no longer looking at a smokey figure, but at his own...It was even wearing the same jeans, t-shirt, and open sweatshirt, though on the servant they were all dark.

"Erm....Hi?" He answered hesitantly, deeply disturbed that he was, more or less, talking to himself. Was his hair really getting that long? He furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest again. "Um...I guess you can unpack for me," he said quietly, taking a glance at the boxes surrounding him. He didn't want to look at Fenrir anymore...It was deeply disturbing.

Fenrir blinks.

"You guess? What, you aren't certain?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a mirror-- or a shadow-- of Godwin's.

This is a lot more individuality than a shadow servant should be showing.

Rifter blinked. What did it just say?

He knelt down and picked up the spell, which was between him and the lamp. He turned back to Fenrir, standing squarely infront of him. His eyes flickered between reading the words of the page and the shadow-servant. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It said that the servant was supposed to be minimally intelligent, enough so it didnt bang into walls and the like, but not enough for it to question. Well, that wasn't the direct translation of the runes, but pretty damn close.

"Wait...What..." Were the only words coming out between Rifter's lips as he let the spell drop uselessly to the floor. He placed his hands in his pockets and then leaned forward and peered intently at Fenrir. "What is your opinion about my new place?" He asked carefully.

The duplicate-Godwin frowns and looks around with its all-black eyes.

"Well, to be honest, it's kind of a dump."

It shrugs, lifting an eyebrow at Rifter.

Rifter's jaw dropped. He wasn't at all offended by what Fenrir had said...He was just shocked he had said it. "Oh...god...." He said, becoming deathly pale as he slowly sat down on the floor, leaning his back against his single bed, still facing Fenrir. "What have I done?..." He asked himself rhetorically, running his hands through his hair and then rubbing his eyes.

The spell had gone wrong, so horribly wrong.

"You aren't supposed to have an opinion..." He stated politely, looking up at his duplicate. He sighed softly and then wondered what could have gone wrong? His mind completely lapsed off the subject and he wondered if there something wrong with his powers.

"Gee, that's awfully nice of you," Fenrir starts, then pauses.

A curious expression crosses his borrowed features.

"Actually... you're right. That's odd."

It's odd, indeed, to find that not only do you suddenly exist... but you're not supposed to.

"Exactly," He repeated quietly, feeling suddenly like he was going to be sick. There isn't a return spell on a shadow-servant. It stays and it stays for good, unless somehow someone else stole it. He couldn't see that happening, not with Fenrir. The point of a shadow servant is that it does your bidding and remains quiet.

"What the hell happened??" He asked in frustration, slowly standing up and brushing himself off. He then thought for a moment, hand to his lips. He then snapped his fingers and pointed at fenrir. "Ok, you, you go back the way you came."

"Hey," Fen says, holding up his hands defensively.

"I can't, okay? I don't know how." He crosses his arms over his chest.

The features of the face might be Rifter's, but the way Fen uses them is his own.

"Don't tell me that!!" Rifter said, all but stamping his foot in frustration. He rubbed his forehead in the manner of someone with a migraine would, which he was well on his way of having. "God, don't tell me that!!!" He began pacing backwards and forward, his oncoming headache coming right on time.

"Ok, ok... Where were you before here?" He asked, hoping he could just shove the shadow on a metro and be done with it.

Fen gestures, and a shadowy imitation of a chair appears under his hand. He pulls it up, sits down, and frowns thoughtfully.

"I don't know. I don't think I was anywhere. I wasn't... and now I am."

And really, a shadow-servant shouldn't even be able to use the term 'I' in referrence to itself.

Rifter let out a strangled knot of curses of several languages before sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He had done everything the spell had told him to do...He knew the spell was the right one...Then his memory flashed back. He had concentarted quite fiercely near the end of the spell....Could that have done it? He had no idea.

"Ok...I think I...." He sighed softly and layed back on the bed, "I think....I'm screwed."

"I think you're screwed, too."

Fen inspects his nails, an instinctive copy of his masters.

"So, you wanted me to do something?"

"Wait" He sat back up, his curly dark brown hair looking the messier for it, "You'll still do things for me?" Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of his time and power. Then again, judging by the fact that Fenrir was now dutifully inspecting his nails, he didn't seem like the strong silent type. Rifter suddenly had the aching feeling in his stomach that this meant lots of trouble in the future. He looked pale and his usually intelligent green eyes looked dull and tired.

"Well... yes," Fenrir says.

He feels rather obliged to, and, in fact, suspects that he still has to do what Rifter says... he's just not about to let on.

"Why not."

Rifter's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Fenrir looked so utterly casual that he really couldn't decipher exactly what was supposed to be read between the lines. He sighed and looked around the small room. He hoped his future room mate didn't mind having shadow servants hang around.

"First of all...Get out of my form," He said, a shivers running over his skin making him shudder involuntarilly. "Then, I guess....I could use some help on my boxes..." He shrugged lightly.

Standing, Fen nods, then... pauses, as the shadow-made chair disappears.

"But... what am I supposed to look like?"

He supposes he could create a form from thin air, but he really doesn't have the creativity to do so-- no ideas.

Rifter stands as well, prepared for a few hours of heavy lifting and organized packing. Well, organized for now. He shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Make something up..." Rifter sighed as he realized he wasn't really being helpful at all, and the sooner Fen was out of his form, the better. "Well, what do you think you look like?" He asked, quircking an eyebrow slightly.

"I dunno," Fen mutters, crossing his arms again.

"I rather thought I'd look like you. I'm your shadow, after all."

Make something up... it's not that easy, is it.

Rifter thought for a moment for some way to inspire his newly acquired persona-filled friend. Then something mildly understandable came to mind.

"Ok, so look like me...But change it. Y'know...to kind of make it your own. Whatever you don't like about the way I look you can change," It was rather self-deprecating, but he hoped Fen would change enough so if anyone saw them they looked different enough. Then again, Fen would probably change forms a lot.

"Hmmn." Fenrir blinks throughtfully.

"I could try..." Indeed he could.

The first thing to change is height-- he grows taller, rising to a 'medium' height... taller than Rifter but not really tall.

He runs his hands through his hair, and the chestnut curls turn black in their wake. Fluffing around the edges, he makes the bottom shorter, leaving the top long. He rubs his chin, pulling Rifter' borrowed face longer and more thin.

Thicker eyebrows.

More classical nose.

Different ear-shape.

Finished, he poses for Rifter's approval.

"How's this?"

Different, yes, but still similar to his creator. Like a cousin, maybe.

Rifter had been told before that he was 'cute' or 'adorable' or just 'delightful'. Ok the last one was from aunt Maggie, but it still counted. The figure that stood before him was handsome, yes, and enough not like him that Rifter automatically nodded in approval. He did have to take a moment, though, to get the image of himself pulling his own face longer out of his head.

"All right, help me with the unpacking now?" He asked politely, walking over to the enarest cardboard box and taking out some of his books. He then stood up, books in his arms and looked over at Fenrir with curiosity and almost shyness in his eyes.

"You didn't like my hair cut?"

The not-quite shadow-servant rubs the shorter dark hair at the base of his neck.

"I like it like this," he says. "And it's different from yours, which is kind of the point."

In a few strides, Fen is at the cardboard box and lifting out books. When his arms are full, he lifts out the remaining books in a manner that is, for want of a better word, telekinetic.

They float up in stacks around him and hover, while he waits for further instructions.

Rifter could make things hover. But in order to do so, he would have to chant an incantation that he always had trouble remembering, and then he would have to concentrate hard to keep whatever it was floating, and thus forgetting where he wanted it to go in the first place. His jaw dropped for the second time that day, and then there was no doubt in his mind that he had to have accidentaly given his shadow servant too much magical powers. Jealousy rolled through him. That was his power. He mentally sighed as he closed his mouth and gestured to the empty bookcase on the other side of the room. There was really no way he was getting that power back.

Fenrir nods and moves the various books into the space provided with apparent ease, ot noticing his master's jealousy.