(Nathilium Wing)

?Novice Granger.?

A lift of his head sent the stray strands of blonde hair to wisp across his forehead, ?Yes, Overseer??

Thea Pausanias drifted into view, a marionette strung to life and creakily descended upon him. The black gown heralded back to days of censure and repression; he couldn?t help but remember masquerade balls and courtesan functions in which those self-same ideas were deliberately flouted. Of course those images of sinful debauchery were transgressed by the skeletal framework and chalky pale skin of the woman currently engaging his attention. The towering powdered wig perched atop her head did nothing to soften the decrepit tone of her arrival.

?It has been some days hence your last visit to our Wing. I trust all is well at home.? The disapproval that iced her tone rankled and he took a moment to let his hunter green gaze traverse the length of her. The few times he?d interacted with Thea Pausanias had been enough to convince him to keep their visits to a minimum. Not for the first time he found himself questioning his decision to join the house of GorgonHorn, an answer that had made itself apparent in the prestige of the position and the enviable library at their disposal.

And there was Kinid of course. The mixed-breed elf had become a good friend in the passage of the semester and Alaric admitted privately to himself that he missed their usual camaraderie now that Ascensions had taken his drinking buddy and focused him on his studies.

The silence had grown slightly awkward between them at this point and the cool smile that he adopted revealed just the right hint of charm, ?Your concern is touching, Thea,? Deliberately dispensing with her title as he took a step closer to her, siphoning off the distance that she kept from all-comers. She immediately stiffened and he pondered the miracle that her bones did not creak from such a feat, for surely she could not possibly grow any more rigid, ?you?ll be pleased to know that my home life is doing just fine.?

He was not taller than her wig; yet, she had to tilt her head back slightly to maintain his gaze. Such a disadvantage had her dry lips pressing together and nostrils flaring, ?That is good to hear, Novice Granger,? The emphasis on his name clearly given, ?as I would hate to see anything distract you from Ascensions.?

He took yet another half step toward her, one deep breath drawing the expanse of his chest upward, the muscles of his pectorals brushing against her corseted top. This close to her he could smell the hint of musty flowers, as if a dried sachet of potpourri had been discovered at the bottom of a forgotten chest of drawers. Years of training kept his features aligned in perfect amenable neutrality: ?your concern is quite touching Overseer,? giving her the due title at the precise moment to appear as if he were capitulating. Such a small thing this acquiesce but it would give her the surge of renewed confidence in her position of authority that?combined with his disconcerting physical nearness?would off-balance her.

She sucked in a sharp breath through parched and dusty lips, pulling back immediately and dismayed by her retreat, ?Good, Good.? An incline of her head delivered despite the weight of the towering wig. She gave no recognition that she?d just approved of nothing and that he had successfully diverted her from prying too deeply into his progress.

Internally he snorted at the thought, Progress. Progress gave hint that he was actually moving forward. A feat he?d yet to accomplish by any means. Flashing straight white even teeth in a devilish grin to further unbalance her, he nodded his farewell as he made his way through the darkly decorated living suite of their shared Wing.

Passing the doors of his two other suitemates he wondered if they were as far behind as he felt. Surely that wasn?t possible. Between his schoolwork, his sister, and rebuilding his holdings he?d been able to give no thought to the Ascensions.

A calloused hand found the ornate door knob that heated at his touch, warming in recognition of his ownership it twisted beneath his grip and swung the door inward.

He sighed at the empty sight before him.

A bed, no sheets.
A desk and bare shelves.

Everywhere he turned there was more work to be done. A glance back over his broad shoulder revealed the hovering dark shape of the Overseer, a crow perched upon the threshold of the exit. Not willing to risk another round of discourse he closed the door firmly behind him.


At least the room promised no distractions.

Infirmary

He blamed Danilo.

His mentor was steeped in the ways of healing and his hours in the Infirmary demanded that the majority of their meetings took place there. It was because of this that he'd discovered himself under foot whenever Mistress Evahlys needed a helping hand.

When the summons came he'd been engaged in a battle of derisive wills with Tutori and he was more than a little perturbed at having to let the SatyrKiss snob get the last word. Gina Magerelli had joined into the discussion and their little jabs and spitefully snide comments were well-played. Too bad he'd spent years in the upper-crust high society houses of New Haven learning how to have his heart cut out by a sharp tongue and smiling all the while. He was rather immune to such derision, though admittedly the thick skin had only grown after numerous wounds had been inflicted.

A frown furrowed his brow as he made his way through the corridors of the school. Old bitterness tamped down as he sought to focus on his more immediate issue.

His decision to remain Undecided in his focus was a personal one as he had yet to find a specific area of magic that spoke to him. Defending this wasn't necessarily an easy path as he wasn't about to reveal that weakness to another. Those around him spoke of their "calling" and he envied them their surety.

Such thoughts were left for another time as the doors to the Infirmary opened before him to reveal chaos.

Green eyes widened in shock at the sight of the tortured and the sick. Beds were claimed and students wheezed, wailed, and whimpered in varying degrees of agony. Atop all of it was the bellowing roar of an enraged Sartha.

Instinctively he took a step toward a writhing novitiate who was dangerously close to ejecting himself from his bed when Evahlys appeared before him. Normally stoic, he could see the tension that pinched the corners of her eyes and left her paler than usual.

"Novice Granger, thank you for joining us. Here drink this." And he found himself blinking down at the flagon of vile yellow liquid that clotted in the most unappetizing of fashions.

"Uh," He wanted to protest, was in the process of doing so, when the young man on the bed before him shrieked and convulsed, flopping from his perch to hit the floor with a painful crack of bone.

Alaric took a step forward to offer his aid when Evahlys slapped a hand upon his chest, "No. You can't go near any of them if you won't drink the potion. I can't risk your infection as well."

A glance to the putrid smelling vial sent his stomach clenching in protest but the moans of the ill surrounded him and pulled at his convictions.

A toss of his head sent blonde locks flaring as he slammed the potion with a frat boy's finesse. Immediately the tendons in his throat stood out in protest as his jaw clenched shut to force the rebelling motions of his body quiet. Gelatinous, the thick mucus-like mixture poured slowly through his throat and took its time to arrive at his stomach.

Feeling a little green, he grimaced his displeasure and held the flagon out to the Mistress of the Infirmary, "That was f*cking wrong."

Her grin was a tight little flash of teeth, a rare sight indeed as she nodded her quick agreement before leading him into the fray, "Immunity always comes at a cost, Novice."

A lesson he needed no primer on.