[center][h3][color=f26522]Alexander Breckenridge[/color][/h3] Interacting with: [@Azereiah] [@FlitterFaux][/center][hr]
	Alexander [i]felt [/i]him before any of his senses picked up on the impossibly old professor's approach, the aura cast forth by Mr. Brovak was just as encapsulated in legend as his own family name. Should one have heard any of the numerous tales surrounding Brovak prior to meeting him, they would likely be able to recognize who the aura belonged to long before actually seeing the man. Not even a moment after Alexander became aware of Brovak's presence, he heard the distant, warped voice of the Professor as well as the cold, skeletal fingers of the man on his shoulder. 

	As Brovak's fingers fell on his shoulder, Alexander was forced to resist instinctive retaliation in the form of nerve manipulation. In situations that caused as much stress as Brovak's mere presence, Alexander had often used his magic, and it took an active amount of concentration not to do so here. After all, this [i]predicament[/i] had been caused by Alex's instinctive use of magic, and it was doubtful that it'd help anything or anyone at this point. 

	After he was certain he wouldn't accidentally numb out one of the Proffesor's limbs, he turned slowly to face the man speaking to both himself, and the girl next to him, whose name was apparently Yrhen Oharra. Alexander listened silently, his expression changing once again from the kind and gentle boy his mother had fostered to the cold and harsh man his father had carved. His eyes made unyielding contact with the professor's as he spoke, and despite the growing sense of Nausea in his gut, Alexander stood straight. 

	Alexander listened closely as the bandaged being before him spoke, and the tightened grip Brovak gave him was met by a steely gaze as the Professor explained that Yrhen would have been within her rights to attack in a lethal retaliation, and Alexander nearly chuckled at this. He was well aware of the repercussions his actions could have incited, but he was also aware that no such repercussion would stop him from doing what he knew needed to be done, even if it could result in his death. One of his father's favorite lessons was instilling an apathy towards death in his son, and he had done a damn good job at that.

	After Brovak seemed to have finished talking, Alexander took the card and placed it into the pocket of his jacket. He then turned and followed Yrhen out of the cafeteria, but he stood still just outside the door as Yrhen continued to walk away. Reaching into the "Gun-Pocket" of his jacket, he produced a soft-pack of unfiltered cigarettes, and brought one to his mouth. Returning the pack to his pocket, he retrieved an old Zippo-Style lighter from the same pocket, one that was engraved with his family crest and last name. With a gentle sigh, he lit the cigarette and began smoking the aromatic tobacco it held.