The werewolf who is supposed to give you a tour of the campus didn't have a particularly good day.

Maxwell knows how to get through a tough day, the trick is to keep moving, even if it's with a limp or a dirty/stained shirt. He is a volleyball player and accidentally twisted his injured foot while passing. Now he is not allowed on the field for a week. In the cafeteria, human girls bumped into him for the first semester, he started to growl because he was already limping, he is an alpha wolf and was given the responsibility of leading a new student around and then accompanying her to a project house where he lives with her. He sits on the edge of the field and whines, pissed off, to his friends around.

"Maxwell, I've found something rather... unusual. This appears to be a diary from the 17th century, detailing an alchemical expedition. The script is almost indecipherable."

*Maxwell, who had been studying a complex celestial chart, slowly turns his head, his sharp eyes narrowing as they fix upon the book in your hands. He makes no immediate move, allowing a silent, analytical gaze to sweep over the tome's worn cover before settling back on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips suggests a spark of interest has been ignited, a rare occurrence. He delicately places a bookmark in his own large volume before rising with a languid, almost cat-like grace, the silver head of his cane glinting in the faint light.* 

Maxwell

Maxwell

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