III. Ring of Fire [Friday]

[Maddox] Professor Maddox was returning from a sabbatical, one lengthy enough to have required a semi-permanent replacement for his classes. Intruding midway through the year, he was faced with the lack-lustre task of delving into the minds of the youths, finding where their former teacher had left off, and somehow coming to know them before years end. One hand tousled his shock of dark hair, a frown already painting itself about his masculine visage. Only just returned, and already Eamon was wishing to escape. The walls of Hecate were stifling. With no intention of heading to the hall and taking his meal of the dais with the other members of staff and faculty, he had instead turned his stride for the kitchens below ground, where the cooks on hand were well acquainted with the werewolf. This was his seventh year at Hecate, after all, and he had always been the typical lone wolf. “Aye, I'm a greedy bastarde,” this, said, to Elisa the middle aged woman who, despite tempers and false irritation had a fond spot for the overground beast that was Eamon. Filling his grasp with a sandwich big enough for a wolf, he made his way quickly for the grounds. Once outside, he sat 'imself on the pier reaching into the glass loch, and began to chew his way through a meal for ten men. His dark eyes were stony as they stared out into the distance. Deep thoughts plagued his mind.

[Beau] Bewitchment was going to be the death of him; or at the very least, the death of his minimal social life and more importantly, his pride. What little he had left after today that was. The length of the lesson had been spent partnering up, time and time again in order to dance. The focus, glamour and sight primarily, the rest of the activity being left up to improvisation. Ultimately, fool your partner before they could fool you, or before the two minute melody had come to a crescendo or a conclusion. Simple, no? No. Already, he was at a distinct disadvantage, for several reasons. One of those was that he was a young man of stunted social skill amongst a sea of attractive women hell bent on using their supernatural wiles against him in order to earn themselves a shiny gold sticker. Sure, this doesn’t necessarily sound like a problem to most boys post puberty, but in all sincerity most of them didn’t need to utilize their glamour to garner the same flustered effect they were after anyway. It wasn’t that he couldn’t ‘activate’ his glamour in equal measure, but rather despite all of his efforts, it was highly susceptible to his emotions. Thusly, he severely lacked control and composure, and half way through the activity he was letting loose a tidal wave of sense altering pheromones that were mucking up more than just he and his partner. With that tell tale heat working its way up to his ears, he tried his damndest to not step on this girls toes, unaware of his untamed talents. The song ended, and Beau instantly recoiled, a look of pure and visible relief washing over his features, muddled by the rosy red that still tainted his cheeks. A firm hand found his shoulder, and he was spun about, met with a set of disappointed eyes courtesy of the professor. “You’re graduating next year, Mr. Mercier. Your lack of control is very worrisome.” Frowned the older woman, whilst the young mer shrugged, very noncommittal. A sigh, and a pat on the back before she was addressing the class as a whole. “We’ll be focusing on touch next lesson, please read the assigned chapter and come prepared. Class dismissed.” Was it lunch time already? Thank fuck. Shuffling with a rushed and busied intent, Beau scooped up his bag, threw it over his shoulder and hurried for the door in an attempt to avoid any more heart to hearts with his professor. She didn’t need to tell him what he already knew, it wasn’t like he was oblivious to his inability. At the moment, he was just grateful to be out of that class for the day, and as the heat finally began retreating from his face, he b-lined to the Great Hall to grab a bite before hitting the pool. Needless to say he felt more much more at home in the water, then on the dance floor. ||

[Lara] Bewitchment would be the making of her; or at the very least, the rebirth of her already extensive social life, and more importantly, her overly fed pride. Clever and cunning, beauty truly met devilry in the wicked, compact form, that was Lara Lisette Locke. The first year in which her graceful step had dared to grace the cesspool of Hecate, and the English slums, and already she was Queen – with followers by the handful, invitations for the most coveted luncheons with the B.F.F's on the Arcadian table, back corner, and with more students and staff alike, wrapped around her dainty little finger, more, than she could possibly have room for. It was any wonder this sweet fruit hadn't found herself overripe and quick to rot. Indeed, she remained sweet. This was perhaps, what put her as the greatest rival for Brigitte Fox – the nemesis, who wished to keep her enemies close. Their peers preferred the Siren, for she was, for lack of a better word, lovable. Coy, sweet and quick to lavish her attention and interest on the lowliest of low. Why, Disney, I think we've found your newest Princess! Make haste, and fetch the tiara, oui? Quite like Belle, this lass buried her nose in a book – or rather, her studies, preferring such to revelling in the freedom of a spare class block and the socialising usually indulged in, when one was allowed one of these precious moments. Turning her nose at the offer of roaming the grounds, and, dare we admit it? The boundaries, Lara afforded herself a second class of Bewitchment. While other Sixth years ran for the hills by the forest, she lingered after having sequestered the allowance of her Professor. So she would remain. The next class was Fifth years, but, what were Fifth year studies other than revision for elements and theorems already learned? Intelligent with a thirst for knowledge as insatiable as her lust for perfection, the Siren had eagerly awaited the practical assignment to come. Dance was not only a skill in which she excelled, but a true passion. One, that couldn't be dimmed even by the most clumsy of partners! Into the arms of Beauregard, the petite belle went. Her glamour, already in effect. Her touch on his was like feather-light velvet, her movements fluid and graceful despite his penchant for errors. The laughter, carefree and amused rather than cutting and rude was melodic in sound, while the very scent of her would play upon the senses of those close enough – something sugary, a fruit rare and sweet. However talented she may be, Lara could not withstand the entire barrage of his meltdown. A flush colored her cheeks, in a natural and unintended moment of beauty, while the acoustics of her allure dropped to a null. Her dainty hand released his with a reassuring squeeze, Beau turned to their Professor, amongst the curious and otherwise amused eyes of his peers – all unknown to the fairly new Sixth year. And with that, their class was drawing to a close. The hollow tug of her empty stomach reminded her that luncheon, long awaited, had since come. Before she could quite halt the blushing, bumbling Beau. Still, she hastened her swaying step. With her brunette locks cascading as messily as they ever possibly had – and very little, at that, the out of breath French belle begged of him, in a voice pitched high and laced with tales of her homeland, “Wait! Mercier, was it?” It most certainly sounded French. Had he spoken a word, she may very well have detected an accent, if there was one to be found. Coming to his side, Lara entered the Hall with an escort of sorts. “I am Lara.”

Faeble was returning from the green houses along the school grounds, a basket of several fragrant herbs and poultices pounded into powders or mixed into ointments in a dozen glass jars draped lightly over her right forearm. By now, it would be about time for mid-day meal, but she had chosen not to be among the inhabitants. Instead of enduring the polite smiles and curious inquiries of her occupation, family and her reasons for being there, she took it upon herself to restock the shelves in the infirmary. There wasn’t a sore need for it, but it gave her something to do and she was sure it would be appreciated. The light breeze whipped through dark chocolate curls, tossing them over her slender shoulders and over pale ivory facial features, hazel hues lifting to inspect the beauty of acreage. It was in that moment, she noticed the man sitting alone on the pier, eating food enough for a man half starved. Raising a slender dark brow at this, she paused in mid-stride, debating whether or not to make her presence known. Phedre was a rather reserved young woman, though many could consider that a shy quality. “I can’t imagine the stomach ache you will end up with after all that.” She finally replied, her tone hinting a reserved amusement among the obvious British accent that littered the words. She wasn’t a very imposing woman. Reaching little more than five and a half feet tall and one-hundred and twenty four pounds, Phedre did not command attention in that way. However, there was something alien about the near-perfect structure of her face, the unnatural amount of color to the eyes.

[Maddox] Struck from his revelry by a feminine voice, the mountain of a man afforded her a look over his broad shoulder. An exacting look, one that pierced from afar. He was undressing her, layer for layer, but not in the way one would expect of his gender. No, he was delving into her mind. With her fairly new and he only just returned, he could but speak honestly, and with the rugged and ill manner of a being more beast than man. “Worse, is the ache I 'ave when I don'.” Into his sandwich he murmured something about dead if he do', dead if he don' but it was unrealistic to believe one so refined, could gain comprehension from the words spoken in his deep, baritone voice, gruff manner and mouthfuls of meaty luncheon. This time, he swallowed before speaking, I do nah' recognise yer face, lass.” Just a lass, for she was a wee thing, especially in his eye. At six feet and four and a half inches in height, he was more than a head taller than her. Even seated, he knew as much. Her warnings finding no fear in him, Eamon took another bite and chewed, eyeing her ever still. The lack of uniform painted her as a fellow adult, a staff member or faculty to boot. In moments he was on his last bite, and rising to a stand on which he turned to face her properly. Tower over her, more like. “Ye replace Sage, then?” This would likely make little sense to her, unless she was aware of the Herbology Master, Hilda Sage. The basket and its contents had earned these suspicions, incorrect as they were. Though he'd not seen her quite yet, he would come eventually to find that the elderly 'Sage was very much in attendance of Hecate, even now. “Herbology? An Earthen Elemental, eh?” Because in this world, a world where magic existed, it was just as common to ask another of their race, as it was to beg their name. Still, no introductions came from Eamon, but his stance and manner, though gruff were neutral and almost friendly.

[Faeble] The stranger’s pause as he inspected her was a little unnerving, even if he wasn’t continuing to chew while doing so. Phedre couldn’t have described the intent in that long glance, but she hoped it was little more than curiosity. Perhaps it was the animalistic appearance of the man that unnerved her, rather than the look itself. When he spoke, the voice was rough and deep, a masculine and almost feral tone in addition to the accent he had himself. His statement about his recognition, although not in question form, seemed to demand an answer of her presence. “I’ve been here for a few weeks.” She answered, her voice sounding so quiet after his own statement said in the louder, harsh tones. “I’m afraid I have never seen you, either.” Phedre’s eyes trailed over him, specifically, the bulk of his frame. “I imagine I would have remembered if I had.” And then he stood up, his body turning to become parallel with her own. If Phedre had thought him a large man seated, she was beginning to realize her naivety on the descriptive word. Clearing her throat several seconds after his question had been asked, she was finally capable of speech. “No, I am a Healer. I was just taking this back to the infirmary since we running low on some things.” She made the answer simple since she wasn’t sure how much he knew of healing herbs and their properties. It seemed better to lack the specifics. Whatever else she was, she didn’t say. She was ready for the questions, ready to be evasive if necessary and, as a stranger, it was not his business. “I’m Phedre MacAuley.” She said, tentatively, holding out a small hand. “And you are..?”

[Beau] Moving at breakneck speed, Beau had made it out the door and a good ways down the hall before the distinctly feminine vocals traveled faster than his footfalls could and reached his ears. Wait? Vaguely he stiffened, slowing his movements and slightly hoisting his shoulders on instinct, debating on whether or not he should pretend he didn’t hear the professor and face the consequences afterwards, or man up and take her ‘scolding’ of sorts in stride. Before he’d quite made that decision, leaning heavily towards the former, the voice chimed in yet again – the voice that he now realized was not the one he had initially thought it was. Pausing a few stretched steps from the doors to the Great Hall, Beau did swivel, naturally curious yet cautious to see whomever was opting to shout his last name from across the hall. Much to his surprise, it was his latest dance partner, a face he didn’t typically recognize as one in his class, but it wasn’t as if he’d spent much time eye to eye with her regardless of the activity. If anything, he’d squared his shoulders, and kept his cerulean optics aimed down at his toes, flickering them up time to time in a timid blink when the femme found his struggles some sort of amusing. Even as the heat had fallen from his ears, it now aboutfaced and lingered at attention somewhere around his collarbone awaiting a reason to assault his features once again. Keeping it at bay, Beau adjusted the bag on his shoulder and shifted about on his feet, raising his brows at the attractive French senior siren as she approached. She was met initially with a nod – to his name, before fingers still attached to his backpack’s strap waggled. “Hey.” The young Mer murmured, busying his free hand by pressing it to the door of the Great Hall, holding it open and sporting a tight, sheepish smile. “Ah, uhm, I’m Beau.” Was there an accent to be found? Maybe, but nothing that made him sound utterly regal or noble. French, he may be but his family definitely wasn’t the type to shuffle about in a fancy château on the countryside. “Sorry for steppin’ on your toes.” He added after a moment, falling in stride with the femme, for the moment blissfully unaware of the curious eyes that fell on them. The well to do senior was after all intermingling with someone likely to be considering below her social status. By this point, Beau’s nostrils were flaring with subtle effort as he slightly canted his head to give the gal a sidelong glance. He clearly didn’t have the slightest clue as to what she could possibly want to talk to him about, but as they neared the tables, he’d stuff his hands in his pockets, fiddling with the contents as he awaited an answer, or something. ||

[Lara] Detecting a slight accent, she found common ground between herself and this unknown Fifth Year. “Beau,” she repeated slowly, tongue toying with the moniker with a smile finding her lips - committing the name to memory, as though this was a great meeting. A passing fancy, finding this boys name. The femme had a way in which she managed to entrap another with those expression emerald eyes, locked with his as she teased, “A beau, but not my Beau, oui?” Expecting a blush, and all the more embarrassment from the young man, the sassy brunette upped the ante with a playful wink. All in jest, and all to goad him with light-hearted teasing. Mirthful voice piping up once more, the Siren carried their conversation to highlight her intent, “Consider my toes the err, Knight, you say, to your falling damsel feet? A favor, actually. You owe me one,” he was informed of such while the femme's petite form neared in their step, a single nudge given to his side by ways of her elbow. Books still in hand and pressed to her bloused breast, she entered the busied havoc that was the Great Hall at meal time. Now, her voice raised, careful to make herself heard over the din of too many youths crowded into an enclosed space with admirable acoustics. “I need a study mate.” He needed to study – and she needed to study, or rather, practice the strength and concentration of her own Aether, while barraged with the tidal-wave of his mixed emotions. They could only help one another. Beau may have considered this an odd request for a Sixth year to give a younger peer, but the expression about her delicately carved visage was earnest and true. There was no malice in her eye and, had there been, she was Siren enough to hide it.

[Thane] Brown hues were all but lost in the trance induced glaze that covered them. Untamed curls fell about those listless optics as paint splattered hands swiped and swished about the once white piece of canvas paper. With an office that’s walls were longer properly visible, Thane had found himself catching up on a pent up visions in order to subdue the raging migraine he’d had for the past two weeks. He hadn’t painted in months, not since the incident at the lake, and it wasn’t until now that his aether finally caught him unawares and let itself loose, manifest in the form of painting after painting after painting. Each their own unique flash of the future that couldn’t quite be put together just yet. At some point however, the man had unfortunately ran out of a key primary color, as well as the secondary colors that could be used to produce the former. Thusly, in order to splash a much needed red to contrast the remaining white patches, Thane had improvised via a keenly sharp letter opener pressed to his palm. In the moments following, the professor found himself blinking open, a visage of disorientation and fatigue. Left steadying himself in the wake of his divination put into practice, dilated brown orbs rolled in annoyance as he spied the color staining his left hand. “Wonderful..” Breathed the Seer as he rolled up his white sleeve, shouldered open the door to his office and took long, albeit lethargic strides towards the infirmary. He'd idle about for a moment, simply trying not to spill his bodily fluids onto the stony tile. ||

[Faeble] An hour or so after her chance meeting with the enormous stranger on the pier, Phedre was organizing the newly acquired jars of salves and powders into a pantry in the back of the infirmary. The room was quiet and smelled faintly of soap; the scent was familiar to her and reassuring after so many years being within it’s clean shroud. Once the last jar had been stored, Phedre leaned backward, stretching the muscles that had been forced into a leaning position for too long while she labeled all the jars’ contents. Her periwinkle shirt, buttoned all the way to her slender collar bone, had come loose from the high-waisted gray skirt in the process of the movement. Tucking it back in and dragging the knee-length white coat that obviously revealed that she was, indeed, a nurse over her shoulders, Phedre returned to the main room. It was empty of students at the moment and the stillness was as heavy as stone. Even Phedre, one whom typically preferred solitude, was unnerved by the silence of it. The other nurses had not returned from lunch quite yet, though it wouldn’t be long before they appeared, bringing with them the steady thrum of conversation and camaraderie that Phedre had not made herself a part of yet. It took a little longer for her to get comfortable with others and, besides, being quiet and observant were qualities with rewards. She knew most of their names already, their family member’s names, their hobbies, where they lived. If only to defy the quiet of the room, Phedre continued to busy herself until her companions of the infirmary returned, folding linens, stocking cleaning pads, cleaning medical equipment and sweeping the floor. The purposeful noise she created dulled the sound of footsteps in the hall, if anyone, by chance, was heading toward the infirmary.

[Beau] The fifth year would in fact find himself hopelessly caught in the senior’s purposeful gaze, quietly trying to figure out just what she was hiding behind that coy smile. However, in such a situation, his deductive skills were on the back burner when he was diligently trying to fight back the ever present nervous color that threatened to rear its head. If he had convinced himself he’d managed to suppress such a bodily reaction to her devil may care smile, that battle was promptly lost when her words properly registered in his head. The pair of flickering ceruleans would widen visibly then dart back to his sneakers in a clear display of his lack of social skills. Simultaneously she’d probably notice that familiar sensation on a much smaller level, meant to elicit a similar emotion from those around him. Completely unintentional. An awkward laughter found its way into his voice as those shoulders shrugged. “Just Beau.” He agreed as her elbow prodded his side. Another quick and soft sidelong glance was earned as he raised his brows and let out a breathy ‘heh’ in response. “A favor, huh? Alright.” He wasn’t in much of a position to argue was he? He had likely squished her delicates toes or scuffed her pretty little shoes or something. She surprised the sheepish kid further with her next request. Whether or not him owing her one meant he was to be this study mate was what she meant or not, Beau still canted his head at her akin to thoughtful dog. “I ah, I’m not sure I’m the best candidate for that.” He began, fingers finding the stray ends of his hair at the back of his neck as he moved to drop his bag by the nearest empty table they passed. “I just mean, I’m a better Mer than I am I Siren. Don’t want to slow you down.” Thoughtful, he ran his tongue over his bottom teeth, before tugging in his bottom lip. She’d asked for a reason, had she? After a pause, he spoke up again, stuffing his hands in his pockets and meeting her gaze with a temporary bravado. “Don’t get me wrong though I'd be up for it..” A timid shrug and an attempt at a nonchalant smile. ||

[Thane] It was lunch, and there was a lingering moment of deliberation as he slowly shouldered open the door to the infirmary. It wasn’t like he visited regularly, but did they work through lunch, take shifts, how was he to know? He basically came and went as he pleased, cancelled class, or sludged through it as he saw fit. How much other staff could write their own rules, he wasn’t really sure. Still, he found himself quietly cursing under his breath as the pool of warm quickly turning cold liquid ran over the edges of his cupped hand, cascading part way down his forearm and created a bright little puddle of the stuff where he stood. A steady glance was given around and at first spotting no one, he resolved to the thought they the nursing staff were all in fact at lunch. A huff of breath and Professor McMahon would be crossing the room and using his clean hand to rummage about a cart of medical supplies, looking for gauze or something of the sort. This cart however was one of bottles and pills and before he could make more of a mess, Thane would rightly make his way to the nearest sink, turn on the faucet and place his hand underneath, staining the white marble an off shade of pink. Pumping the available soap dispenser, he’d let the sink bubble, before starting to scrub the paint from his around the gash in his palm. Still, the quietly bustling around nurse went unnoticed, as Thane was apparently a Seer that wasn’t seeing all to well at the moment. ||

[Faeble] Phedre had roamed to the back room once more to pile towels and linens, neatly folded, into their places. Once that had been done, she remained out of sight to stock up the bathroom with supplies such as toilet paper, alcohol pads, specimen cups and other such trivialities. So zoned into her tasks was she that Phedre hadn’t noticed the infirmary’s newcomer and all the havoc he was causing throughout. It would be several minutes before she reappeared in the main room and took in the sight of pill bottles disheveled and dropped, their contents having been spilled along the cold stone floor. Among the white, red and blue pills, she spied many small droplets of dark maroon splashed across the dull gray ground; blood. Lifting her hazel hues from the mess on the floor, lips slightly parted in shock and confusion, she finally saw the man standing at the sink, his back to her, water sloshing from the basin in his haste to clean whatever wound she was unable to see from her angle. “Let me see.” She replied softly. Her voice never did get very loud often. The feminine tone may have been barely audible over the faucet on full blast, but, regardless, she came around and carefully grasped his palm, pulling it toward her to inspect it. The movement had been deliberately slow so as not to startle him if had not heard her address him. “It’s not so very deep. Let me rub a salve over that and it will be fine. Here, hold this and press down hard. Yes, good. Keep doing that and I’ll get the salve.” She hadn’t once looked up at his face quite yet and still didn’t do so as she moved away into the back room, the sound of glass tinking softly as she searched the cabinet. Once she had grasped the jar she was looking for, she returned, washing her hands in the sink he had just used before grasping his hand and pulling him gently over to a chair by a desk in the corner. Sitting in the seat opposite of him, claimed the cloth he had been instructed to keep over the wound, twisted open the jar, scooped a large amount of the foul, slightly green paste inside it on her finger and pressed the solution to his wound. Blood still seeped from it, though it had slowed dramatically since she had first saw it. Phedre worked calmly, taking his hand hostage in her smaller ones and working the thumbs against the wound in a massaging motion. It would hurt at first, the pressure of her fingers against the wound, but after a moment of this, the pain would subside and a warmth would tingle subtlety throughout his fingertips. Not only would the poultice numb the wound, but it would slowly shrink as she repetitively worked the paste into it with her thumbs, slowly and deliberately forcing the wound to depart until it had become nothing more than a faint line and, then, nothing. His hand would be slick with the salve, his own drying blood and the continuing warmth of the magic she possessed that had transferred from her own hands into his. Otherwise, it was as good as new. “Better?” She asked, glancing up at him for the first time since had came into the infirmary.

[Thane] As expected, her soft spoken phrase was lost in the roar of the faucet. Shoulders uncharacteristically slouched, the young professor was seemingly unaware of her presence and the relative mess he was leaving in his wake. Be that in his office, or now in the infirmary. It wasn’t until quite literally the woman’s hand came into his peripherals that his head swiveled in her direction, a brow cocked curiously. When had she gotten here? Was lunch over already? Did he have a class? Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, it was clear, at least to him, that his unorthodox method of pent up divination had left him out of whack, with haunted circles lingering under his eyes and just beneath his spectacles. Not to mention his sense of time was all off kilter – he honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d been painting – only that it was roughly lunch time at the moment. Thane didn’t resist as those hands claimed his in a softspoken attempt to help. In fact, he didn’t bother resisting any of it her instructions of ushering about the room, or whatnot. When told to put pressure on it, he did so. When lead to a seat, he sat. When she hovered over his hand like a mother to a child’s scraped knee, the man had no qualms. However, she would be met with a persistent quirk of his brow, as those eyes of her never quite rose to meet his. Driven, focused, perhaps a busy body. Or maybe this unfamiliar face was just generally shy. Still he gave her the critical eye, stifling a flinch or grimace when she busied her hands with stuffing green goo into his. Only when the femme would look up would the professor formally respond, eyeing his hand briefly whilst making a fist once or twice. “Much. Thank you ..Nurse…?” A tilt of the head, and an extension of his opposite, still pain speckled hand by means of introduction. When her name was hopefully given, he’s respond thusly, tell tale southern drawl lacing his words. “Thane McMahon.” A glance would be taken briefly around. “Apologies for the mess." He added almost as an afterthought. ||

[Faeble] She relinquished his hand from her grip, watching as he stretched the muscles and tendons experimentally with a calculative expression upon the smooth, ivory facial features. When he had concurred for himself that the hand was in working condition, as she had done herself in her own watchful evaluation, he met her gaze with his own dark hues to respond. “Oh, uh.. MacAuley.” She had been rubbing the salve from her hand on a clean rag when he held out his hand for hers, still covered with the said salve and spatters of blood. Phedre resisted the urge to smirk, though the ghost of the expression may have lingered on her face or in her eyes. “Here.” She reclaimed his hand again and wiped the mess from his palm, possibly creating tingles along length of it from pressure of the rag against the newly healed skin. Once she had it goop free, she took his hand within her smaller one to finish the introductory process. “Phedre MacAuley.” She glanced in the direction of the brightly colored cylinders still littering the floor and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Professor McMahon, I presume? I’ll get to it.” She stood, then. “Well, professor, I don’t mean to appear rude, but I’m starving. I have not yet had lunch. I’ve never actually been to the kitchens before. Do you think you might show me where it is so I can scavenge a little?” As she spoke, the nurses were returning, one by one, creating the usual noise of chatter and footsteps into the room. The mess didn’t seem to alarm them, but Phedre explained the situation all the same and they waved her away, telling her to eat and they would clean it themselves. Phedre agreed with some degree of reluctance, feeling guilty that she was leaving them with a mess she was responsible for. Still, her stomach was growling and whether Thane had agreed to reveal the kitchen for her or not, she would open the door for him and follow him out in the direction of the Great Hall.

Drake had only recently joined the illustrious and often imfamous staff of the 'Hex' Institute. After applying almost a year ago, and being denied, he had recieved an acceptance letter out of the blue, and he had traveled from Yale University in the Americas, over the deep blue, or rather, under, to the British Isles to take the job. Since arriving, he had almost sequestered himself to the library, re-arranging, catagorizing, familiarizing, all the other -izings he could do. It was now only starting to fit his liking to organization. He pondered how anyone found what they were looking for before he placed things in their rightful order. But though he was often straining under piles of huge books, and spending long nights with eye strain, he loved his job. Everything about books, and knowledge. His favorite was poetry, but that was not a detail oft-shared. Librarian was one step above male-nurse in the non-masculine career field, or so his father would say, and he didn't need to go sharing retort to prove that. He was just finishing his last stack of a long line of almost absurdly sized appendexies when a deep rumble came that most would mistake for a student wolfing out in the rows of books, but was actually his stomach. He placed one hand on his stomach and winced, his eyes wrinkling lightly at the corners beneith his barely-there spectacles. He tok a deep breath, stood, and straightened his sweatervest and tie, looking a bit sideways as a few students chuckled at the hearing, and peeking around the corner at the starving Librarian and his loud stomach. He cleared his throat and decided that to preserve the silence of the library, he must silence his roaring stomach. He made a mental note of where he was in his shelving, and picked up a smaller book on his way out. A small book he would read while eating. He had not gotten to the hall for food yet, having nibbled here ant there in his seemingly endless work, but at the urging of a certain head staff member, he would now make his attempt to socialize and network. Or at least be seen and acknowledged as a staff member. He moved down the long halls, his feet tapping lightly. Legs. He actually didn't truly experience them till he was out of adolecence, his parents, both Merfolk, gave him a more traditional under the sea kind of upbringing. It didn't stick, obviously. Books and deep water don't mix. But as he walked, he pondered the strange things, the split appendages that was once his tail. He was lonst in such thoughts as he wandered the hall, losing his way a bit.

[Thane] McAuley – he nodded, blinking at the woman for a prolonged moment as a smirk ghosted about her features, albeit briefly. It wasn’t until her follow up prompt had his hand stretched out and under her scrutiny again that he realized his foul. Wiggling his fingers slightly as the increasingly maternal figure cleaned his hand properly. His features scrunched slightly as he adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, reaching under them to rub at his eyes. He didn’t feel that tired, yet here he was, making sloppy first impression with the staff. Thankfully, -- hand shake – Phedre, was kind enough to look past his improper transgressions with little more than a shrug of her shoulders. It would go unspoken, but Thane appreciated the patience and understanding. Not many a face at Hex would react in such a manner – then again – she was new, wasn’t she? Appearing thoughtful, the suited up Seer would nod some, a curt gesture before he blinked away wandering notions and cast a faint flicker of a smile in her direction. “Thank you.” He repeated, countering her slight formality with a bit of a delay, vaguely adjusting the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves, then his tie. “The kitchens? – Of course. I’d almost forgotten what time it was.” Swiveling slightly as the doors opened across the room, the entering infirmary staff would be met with a knowing glance and an appreciative upnod before he fell in stride with the white coated woman. “Phedre. Quite the unique name, if you don’t mind me saying so.” It sounded strange, coming off of his tongue – habit wanting to attach some kind of drawl to a word he’d probably never pronounced before but not quite knowing how to do so. Still, the femme would get a lazy sidelong glance as Professor McMahon stuffed his hands, newly stitched and whatnot, into the pockets of his dress slacks. Voicing his thoughts further, his eyes were now cast forward as they turned the corner and proceeded to amble down the hall, his pace slowing to match hers. “Plenty of new faces around here it seems. How long have you been here?” Thane inquired, not typically one to spout or exchange pleasantries but he thought better of coming off ruder than he may already have. “Speaking of such—“ He’d interject, should she be answering said question, brown optics would narrow, and a brow would raise at the wandering man in a sweater vest. Not a student, no – but definitely one of the unfamiliar faces. The noframe spectacles and spiffy gave a hint to the man’s profession, if only slightly, but perhaps one of his latest paintings told him more about the man that he let on. “Dr. Grimm.” He spoke, taking a few longer strides to intercept the man before he could reach the fork in the hallway. “Down that hall – your next right, through the double doors.” The Seer answered with a knowing expression before brushing past the nurse and aiming to head back the way he came. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I left my office in quite a state of disarray.” And off he went~ ||

[Faeble] Phedre was as unused to company as he was, though she didn’t know that they shared that in common. As he fell into stride beside her, those hues, so like a marble of some kind, glanced over to him, noting the color had returned to his face. That and the formal wear adorned over his masculine physique left him looking rather polished and refined. It seemed a little strange to her to find his apparent preference of dress and the southern, slightly lazy slur staining his words taking root in the same person. Contradictory. “Yes. My father was fond of reading and gave me a name from one of his many books. And my mother.. well, she was fond of the unique.” Her tone from one parent to the next abruptly changed from fondness and respect, to a mild disdain. She didn’t emphasize on the topic more. His inquiry of the length of time in which she’d spent in the Hex Institute was also answered in a brusque manner. “A few weeks.” His next words gave her pause as she spied a man coming out of an adjacent hallway, sporting spectacles and dark hair. He appeared to be lost in thought, perhaps not even truly acknowledging where he was. Thane remedied this with his voice carrying easily down the hallway toward him, answering a question he had never asked. Then, as abruptly as this new stranger had appeared, Thane took his leave with a few brisk directions. Clearing her throat, she glanced toward the newcomer, not sure whether to make conversation or not. It would be rather awkward not to, since he was apparently headed in the same direction.

Drake was lost in his thoughts about his legs, and how odd they were when he heard a voice call out his name. It was a man's voice, a professor, accompanied by a woman. This was odd, as he had not made formal introductions. He supposed it might be rumor, or a seer. He turned, his eyes coming back from the far away lands of thought, to look at his addresser. His eyes were dark, deep green that might almost register black from far away. He joined the three, and then, abrutply, was left with the woman. He seemed to be lost again for a moment, before he shook his head, and almost mild embaresment registered on his face, "Dr. Grimm. Librarian. I've only been here for a short while." He spoke, his voice was deep, and his tones were well educated. He gave her a small grin and passing his book from one hand to the other, held an open palm out for her to shake. If she did, he would grip it very lightly, daintily, as a lady should be greeted, then released. "It seems we are both heading to the great hall. Would you..." He was going to ask her to eat with him, but he feared that might be too forward, "... Perhaps we can find it together." He said, motioning her to join him in the walk towards the Great hall, following the directions given in brief by Thane.

[Faeble] The silence was heavy once the soft echoes of Thane’s footsteps had faded away softly into the distant hallway. Phedre’s eyes lifted briefly to observe him before they retreated awkwardly, looking for something to say. Her rosey hued lips parted to speak, but he was quicker than she was and, for that, she was grateful because she hadn’t a clue what had been about to emerge from her mouth. The deep greeting he gave her was rather abrupt and informative, as though he was answering a question he already assumed she would have asked had she had the chance to speak first. A brief smile hinted at the corner of her mouth. “Um.. Nurse MacAuley. Or.. Phedre, if you prefer.” She answered in return, the words, tinged in a British accent, sounded almost amused. Her hand rose and grasped his offered hand and she followed his lead, the grip feather light before it retreated back to her side. A dark brow raised at his pause in the next inquiry he framed as she waited politely for him to conclude it, hazel hues studying his dark emerald ones behind the gleaming spectacles along the bride of a well-made nose. The latter part of his statement earned him a small flash of white as she grinned, concurring with the wording he chose. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks myself, so a comrade in the maze might be a good idea.” She agreed, following him. For a few moments, she let the silence settle over them again as she tugged off the white coat and draped it lightly over her right arm, their footsteps rather loud against the quiet. “So.. uh..” She grasped awkwardly for a footing in making conversation; it wasn’t really her strong suit. “You’re the librarian, huh?” The question implied that she was hoping for an explanation if he was up to giving it. She kept it open for the possibility of a polite rejection, knowing that she preferred less personal questions herself.

[Mila] Days had turned to months at Hecate. She was never one to return for the holidays – living in Australia, such was a pricey request of her middle class parents and clearly, the whimsical lass who had a knack for finding herself in trouble, wasn't angel enough to deserve that level of extravagance. Even so, she'd not have been permitted over Christmas. After the War of the Delinquents, were they calling it? Or rather, the brawl wherein missiles were made of their evening meal begun at her, Jake and Emri's mischievous hands, that right was taken from her. An unnecessary addition to the whipping they received. It was March now, a month past since the Valentines Day festivities that had flown right over her pretty, sable head. Aye, she'd been too wrapped up in The Gauntlet match between one of her closest female friends; Lara Locke and none other than the Were, previously mentioned. Quite the battle – one, that saw the Siren reigning as victor, if only just. Present day, she was drearily waking from the sanction of wakefulness where her exotic eyes of smoke were open, yet glazed. Her body upright, yet slouched. Another Divination class that had trudged past at the pace of a snail, their lesson learned in lecture form and spread over the entirety of that everlong period. Just as her heavy-lidded eyes began to droop, they were dismissed. The Sixth year Seer was quick on her way, hips asway beneath the tartan of her standard issue skirt while she took the steps two at a time – just one, in the throng of students leaving their class for luncheon. Just as every day, their meal was to be held in the Great Hall, on the four long tables that snaked the length of the room. Platters of food were already laden along the center, and on entering, it was clear she was not among the first to arrive. The femme rushed to find a seat. She missed in her sights Lara and Chase so, thinking she might be the first, seated herself with a huff along the Arcadian table. Reason being, there was pizza at this section of the table. And Mila wanted it. The books she'd not bothered to discard shoved onto the table as well, and then delicate hands were snagging a piece of margarita, slice brought quickly to eagerly parted lips. Then, her dusky eyes of smoke cast their attention about the noisy hall, hoping to catch sight of a friend or two.

Drake watched her. He was an observant man, always, and he saw the flash of teeth behind lips in a smile, and her brows, the most expressive thing on her face, save for her eyes. Eyes always told the truth. He reached up and gently slid the glasses back up his nose, as they slid very slightly, and he liked them snug against the bridge. His feet tapped quietly along side hers as they wandered the maze of halls towards the Great Hall.. "I am indeed." He chuckled slightly at her question, looking down at the ground they were about to cover. "Actually started a few months back, but the library was in terrible dissarray. I spent much time buried neck deep in pages. Thought I should make an appearance in the school, and become a known member of the faculty." He licked his lips, knowing he tended to go on a bit when he was... out of his element. He turned the corner, looking at the two halls presented for them to take. He didn't know which one. His emerald deep eyes switched between the two. He swallowed, slightly embarassed that he did not know the way.

[Faeble] Phedre found that she rather liked the librarian. She wasn’t sure exactly as to why. An instinct in her told her so, she supposed. The propriety he portrayed in his manner as well as his words could have had a lot to do with it. Perhaps he reminded her a little of her father tucked away in his own personal library, nose always deep to the spine of a book, his demeanor also that of an old fashioned gentleman. “That may explain why I have not seen you before.” Phedre said in response before he stopped abruptly, almost causing her to collide into him from behind. Twisting slightly, she observed the two hallways, then glanced hopefully at his mildly anxious expression. Her hope diminished, but the shame marring his features took her by surprise. Phedre captured her lower lip in her teeth and held her breath, fighting the urge to chuckle. Her dark chocolate curls, hanging loose over her shoulder, shadowed her face, hopefully concealing her silent entertainment. When she felt it was safe to speak without the in her voice, she cleared her throat and told him, “I could be wrong, but I think he said to go right. Let’s hope I don’t get us more lost because my stomach is feeling like an empty pit at the moment. And, I confess, I get a little cranky when I’m hungry.” She started moving in the direction she indicated.

[Charlie] An exhausted sigh had easily parted Charlie’s pursed lips as Herbology class ended and lunch had started. Studying plants and discovering the differences between brown soil and slightly browner soil, were certainly not his idea of a bearable lesson. Awash with boredom, the nagging of his professor still ringing in his ears, he welcomed the lunch break and freedom from the Scottish professor’s clutches. He hastily found himself at the front of the group, which consisted of his fellow classmates, eager to be free of the greenhouses, he began the stroll back to the institute. Olive hues traced the faces of those who passed him, his search however would be in vain. Resident playboy, Jake Connolly was nowhere to be found, seemingly chosen to dodge their shared lesson leaving the pyrokinetically gifted to face the overwhelming boredom alone. Attentions attracted to the courtyard entrance once more, his short journey eased by the surprisingly bright march morning, with a cool breeze and delightfully warm sun at his back. Joining the queues of students at a talkative march through the hall, the rebellious, uniform eschewed Charlie broke free of their number, sauntering down the length of the Magnus table, eyeing the dishes on display, his choice disrupted upon the notice of a familiar face. “Mila?“ He called over the table, catching the Seer on her apparent lonesome at the Arcadian table. Rounding the table, brushing past those who did not part his path as he strode, he helped himself to a seat…and a slice of pizza, a hearty bite followed by a question. “What‘s a pretty girl like you doing on her own?.“ He commented, in an all too familiar tone. Taking another bite, his eyes resting upon her porcelain features, his own hues glinted with recognition. “Shit lesson too?“ Charlie asked with an air of nonchalance.

[Izak] In the months that passed, it was safe to say that the Sixth year durusball player hadn’t quite been the same since the incident by the lake. The generally carefree, lackadaisical, and easy going were had been uncharacteristically distant, lured out of his mind numbing work out regiment by a few concerned friends and teammates now and again. At some point though, came a much needed leave of absence, time away from the academy meant to clear his head and do him some good while the details surrounding the incident had been ironed out and officially settled. Not a word had been uttered to his pals by means of a farewell, opting to leave with as little fuss as possible. Returning earlier than Luthor had suggested, Izak had stepped foot back on campus just this morning, bright and early – not that he bothered attending classes just yet. Busy unpacking, and roaming the oddly empty halls whilst lessons were in session, the lanky male found himself suddenly caught in the hustle and bustle of lunchtime as his peers flooded into the halls in waves. It felt good to be back. There was a renewed vigor to the Were’s step, still lazy, still long but not quite as weighted with guilt. Those grey optics not plagued or haunted with what ifs or otherwise demoralizing thoughts. Tattooed arms swayed about at his sides, shoulders rolling easier as he slipped through the doors to the Great Hall thanks to the gracious hands of someone else. With an upnod in appreciation, he found himself searching for familiar faces by his house tables. Almost ironically, Izak spied a femme not of Arcadia swiping scraps nonetheless. On cue, a cheeky, lopsided grin cracked his features as the man ambled up with some sense of stealth behind the dark haired and self proclaimed Disney Princess. A knowing glance would be given to the unfamiliar gentleman by her side, coupled with a index finger pressed to his lips. Ie. You sir, best pretend not to notice me for the duration of this so called prank. Assuming Charlie would subtly play along, long arms would quite suddenly snake around Mila’s form, one her shoulders, the other reached up so a hand could obscure her vision in quite the cliché of surprise greetings. “Guess who?” Mumbled Izak, in a faux accent of no particular variety, that familiar impish twinkle in his eyes. ||

[Mila] For the sake of convenience, Charlie's call occurred before the appearance of Izak, so that when the exotic glanced up as though a light-bulb had suddenly found itself crowing her sleek, sable locks, and glanced about – she saw only the jock. A slight up-nod was given, delicate hands busied by he cradling of a pizza slice. Her mouth, distracted in the same fashion. Charlie was known to her. Without ever intending to climb the social ladder of Hecate, the easy-going, athletic and whimsical Mila had always found herself accompanied by more friends than she'd ever have need for. Aye, one would be hard pressed to count her as enemy. In the same hand, the brunette couldn't name a person she honestly didn't like. Although.. Brigitte wasn't high on her favourites list, either. As for the Mage, he was a close friend to Connolly, and thus, someone she encountered often through her years at Hex. His all-too-charmed greeting was met with a mumble of gibberish, until she swallowed. “I'm not.” Insert adorable Cheshire grin, 'cause he was here. Badumpsh. Mila wouldn't have called herself pretty, either. She was more on the average side of things – so she presumed. On a legitimate note, Mila knew almost everyone in her year, and many underclassmen too (from Crux, 'least). With the boundaries no longer necessary during meals – in that they could sit at any table they wished, she was sure to catch the eye of someone, and find herself flanked with people to talk to. Speaking of, Izak appeared. With tunnel vision, the easily distracted and whimsical lass was never quick to catch on trickery. His presence went undetected until a hand snaked about the slim line of her form, and the other covered her eyes. She squeaked. Surprise ebbing away, and amused smile toyed at plush, cherry-stained lips. Now, Mila considered the options. Seeing no reason to keep from eating, another bite of pizza was taken below his hands and then, when swallowed, “Hummmmnnn.” It wasn't Jake. Of that, she was sure. Accent unknown, but the voice sounded a bit like.. “The big bad wolf?”

Drake was, indeed, as previously stated, an observant man. Her amusement at his loss did not go un-noticed. He felt his face warm up, and his cool toned skin might glow a bit pinker. He looked sideways at her, over his shoulder, and though surfacly, it might seem like he was upset at her laughing at him, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips to kill any idea of such a distain. "I will follow your judgement..." He said, the smile tainting his words as he motioned for her, like a lady, to go ahead and lead the way. "I agree with that. I have had nothing but small snacks since I started the long work in the library." He said, falling into step behind her, starting to hear the chatter of the Great Hall. "Well, I guess If I ever take a trip, I will have you as a great navigator..." He chuckled and then swallowed abruptly, thinking he might have crossed a line there, "That is... If... Uh... Nevermind." He grimached a bit embarassed at his presumtion and went quiet as the great doors to the great hall loomed. "Ladies first?" He offered for her to enter the hall first, half grin tugging on his lips as he once again pushed his glasses snug against his bridge.

[Charlie] The question would apparently be misplaced for soon as he had taken his seat and asked, the seer found herself surrounded by two, whom interests she had piqued. The Crux and Magnus student knew of each other, their crowds mingled and awkward familiarity quickly grew into casual greetings, the occasional up nod or idle chatter. Today had been a similar engagement, Charlie approached whilst the rest of his friends had vanished, no doubt littered about detentions or working on their next prankster exploits. The flirtatious opening, gifted to any girl, none holding special interest, he smirked. “I can see that.“ Flicking olive oculars up to the new arrival, name escaped him yet the amused curve of his lips signalled his co-operation with the lad’s antics. Whilst the two played their little game, presuming of course they knew one another, Charlie helped himself to more pizza, wolfing down his helpings and attentions drifting curiously about the hall. It wasn’t such an eerie sight to see the fire mage separated from his usual company, still his attention wandered, skating across faces, usually of the female variety, perhaps he wasn’t so different to his usual crowd after all.

[Izak] Thanks to a co-conspirator, sloppy subterfuge, and Mila’s general tunnel vision the ‘prank’ of sorts went off without a hitch. Well, sort of. She’d guessed the name first shot, which meant either she was one lucky and intuitive son of a gun, or the femme had cheated using that pesky mind’s eye. Never could trust a Seer, he mused to himself, ignoring the fact that maybe it had just been his voice that had given him away. Regardless, Izak was a good sport about it, grinning all the while. “Ding ding ding.” Chimed the Were in an up-pitched octave for the sake of sounding as much like an impromptu Jackpot tune one could rightly manage. There was an unspoken ‘Long time no see’ attached to his words as he slipped out from behind her chair back and into the nearest seat, Charlie across from him. “How’ve you been Cinderella?” He continued, tossing the inquiry her way with a grin before, some flicker of proper social etiquette had his head swiveling to the pizza munching male. With a stretched form and arm ‘cross the table, ink laden knuckles and fingers would waggle about Charlie’s personal space. “Izak.” He introduced himself, canting his head vaguely now that he took a better look at his likely classmate. “You’re a Dball forward, yeah? With a mean right foot.” Magnus if he remembered correctly. Genuine laughter found its way into the guy’s voice as he potentially shook the kids hand as well as his head, leaning back into his seat when it was appropriate to do so. Stormy hues flicked between he and Mila, resting elbows on the table casually. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve put some actual fire on that ball once or twice.” Being that the guy was mage, no? Still caught up in – well catching up – and getting back into the swing of things, Izak reveled in the time now spent with his peers, people he hadn’t the chance to see in two or so months. Gaze panning back to Mila, he cocked a brow quirkily. “Haven’t pulled any high scale pranks without me, have you?” ||

[Faeble] The blush that tainted his pale features remained for a moment or so and Phedre was hard pressed to know whether it was from his own embarrassment or because she had been unsuccessful at the concealing her laughter. His friendly tone may have implied the latter. Oh, well. Phedre was relieved to hear the hint of voices and the clattering of plate ware in the distance, having doubted, for a moment, whether she had heard Thane’s directions correctly. It appeared she would not have to wear the same look of shame that had captured the librarian’s features only moments ago. When his deep voice resonated again, her chin lifted to glance over at him, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. This time, Phedre was incapable of holding back the soft chuckle as he verbally stumbled over himself and then retreated from the previous statement, a new shade of red coloring his face once more. “I was lucky this time. If there was a chance you’d ever have to follow me again, you may find yourself more lost then you began.” Her lips curved upward as he indicated that she should enter the hall first. Phedre obeyed, her stomach growling incessantly as she and her newly acquired companion roamed past the sea of chattering students toward the staff table. She assumed that he’d sit with her considering he had implied that he was in the process of meeting the rest of the school faculty and, therefore, had no one he could say he knew. Taking a seat among the professors and other staff members of the institute, she slowly began to add to her plate, expecting him to do the same. “Dr. Grimm…” She replied, testing out the name with her natural British tones. “What exactly are you a doctor of?” Phedre then asked conversationally, buttering some bread and taking a small bite.