In Sickness and In Health PV Closed

@Olphie Bercegeay, @Opeila Seilun, @Ruka Tân

Up until this moment, the circumstances of the afternoon had been pleasant according to a rather jubilant Persephone, who was now in the stiff clutch of Professor Bercegeay. The young Slytherin, accompanied by two of her victims, trudged down the corridor undoubtedly on their way to the Hospital Wing, where the wounded couple would receive the medical attention they so badly needed. Opeila Seilun, another Slytherin first year, walked alongside them, limping from the agony of the likely broken toes. The other boy, a Gryffindor called Ruka Tan, had delicate blood oozing from his forehead, the result of one of her earlier attacks.

The professor who strolled beside her, attached indefinitely, attempted to readopt her facade, a tone of whimsy and carelessness highlighting her words as she joked about the couple and their fated marriage. As far as Persephone knew, the two students had no romantic relations, but the girl was far too wise to assume this would halt her Flying Professor. If anything it would be an unnecessary dash of encouragement. Without voicing her opinion, Persy pondered over her professor’s desire to live through her students. Rather impractical, the Slytherin might have called it. But alas, the hole she had drilled was deep enough as is, and although it might’ve lightened her current mood, Persy ultimately decided against following in Burnett’s footsteps, expressing unreliable narration to another person’s intentions.

Persephone Barret was many things (rude, careless, idiotic), but she would hardly consider herself a hypocrite.

Beside her, Professor Bercegeay again questioned the girl’s rationality, inquiring about the justification to her prior assaults. If the woman had asked a glorious fifteen minutes ago, the Slytherin would’ve spat out a snarky reply, only furthering the trouble she was in. However, now, when things had gone so wrong, so terribly off route, was not the time for snide remarks. The detention that was given to her, rightly so, was no reason for depression as it should’ve regarded her with more joy. But on occasion (or far too many occasions), the grimness of an occurrence outweighed the positive. Now, of course, was one of those occasions. The bad, in this scenario, was very, very, bad.

So, instead of screaming to the galaxy her rationality, Persephone’s voice was regrettably small when she responded, after moments of dead silent consideration: “It’s nothing against you, Professor.” Lying would be futile, and furthermore, it was a sin Persy rarely indulged in, unless it was extremely necessary to her peaceful continuation of life. Detention and scoldings were measly punishments when compared to the ultimate destruction of everything you’d ever known.

Everything, it seemed, brought her back to her own name.

Wait, did she say Barnett?

Persephone’s forest-colored eyes darted up to her interrogator, who was visibly fighting back the built up sorrow behind her own ocean eyes, her bottom lip suffering as a dam. Without a moment’s delay, the younger girl averted her eyes to the corridor before her, as though guilty to observe her in a time of despair.

For this entire afternoon, Persephone had relished every second of the anarchy, her entire being aching of pure euphoria. Good things never lasted, however, and now time was her undeniable nemesis as it forced her to live through this hell that was the decaying corpse of February, ‘month of love’. 

@Olphie Bercegeay, @Persephone Barret, @Opeila Seilun

Has lost Consciousness 
This is what Olphie gets for making a severely injured student stick around her Tea Party

When Praiseful said that it was nothing against Olphie, the Flying professor felt as though the child had taken a large dagger and aimed it straight through her heart. Nothing...against her? Was the girl daft. Olphie wanted to pin the girl to the stone wall in revenge for ruining her day, but with the reminder of her dear siblings, she took a deep breath and instead said, with a tinge of annoyance, "Nothing against me? Dear, if it was nothing against me, you would have chosen any other location to cause chaos. Now, I will ask you one. more. time. Why?" 

She, of course, wanted to understand why the girl had targeted the two children that she had, but if she could not get a straight answer out of the Barkpet, she certainly would not get further explanatory details. 

Although Olphie wanted to continue glaring at the girl, she feared she would snap; instead, she turned her gazes to the other two, innocent members of this quartet. They seemed quite quiet. Her eyes fell on Oh-pale-ia, who did not look quite so pale. She looked quite...red with fury, if one actually grew red with rage. She certainly was not full of joy. Olphie didn't blame her. She was injured, her one true love was hurting...it had been a disasterous day firstly for Olphie, then for the poor lovers beside her.

While Opal wasn't very pale, her companion, Roota, seemed to have given all his color to her. He looked quite unwell, and it was a wonder that he had acquired love so easily when she, much more of a looker, remained forever alone. Olphie was about to ask him if he was alright, as he really looked quite unwell, when he uttered his fateful last words before slumping to the floor. 

"I-" Olphie began, uncertain where to continue. "My, this has been quite a day, hasn't it?"

She gazed at the lump by her, wondering what the next steps would be. She still gripped onto Pursedlips, not wanting to let go of her, but she did not know if Opusdei would have the ability to carry Mr. Tank or keep the sneaky Slytherin out of causing more chaos, especially given her own weakened state. All she could do was ask the girl her thoughts, as she was the only one that she trusted in the group, which was silly, because she was a mere child. But right now, Olphie was lost for ideas. 

"Miss Sailormoon," she asked gently, with a sense of confusion permeating her words. "Do you have any ideas of how to...er...make it to the Hospital Wing?"

She felt as though she was about to go on a ridiculous treasure hunt, yet the prize at the end of the journey was simply safety for two children and a plan for punishment for the last. This day had been quite strange, indeed.

@Olphie Bercegeay, @Opeila Seilun, @Ruka Tân

The conclusion was probably ill-judged on Persephone’s part, but the criminal was almost certain Professor Bercegeay had been born in roses, carrying the burden of love with her the entirety of her life. Watching that break, the facade that the woman was likely so accustomed to that it felt real, was admittedly depressing, the complete shatter of another person. This wouldn’t last, not with the professor’s immense whimsy and innocence, the shards of glass would be picked up and given back, although not in the correct order. The fit would be tight, certain shards would have to be coerced into returning, and the finalized construction would look rather ugly. Persy couldn’t relate to this, the assumed inherited wholeness. She was born in blood, forever covered in the stubborn red stains.

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Frustration that had clouded her perceptive before had now overtaken her vision as a whole. “Just happened to be there. It’s not about you. Or at least it wasn’t before. Now, I actually do have something to hold against you. Good job, there.”

It was pitifully plausible that the professor was ignorant as to what she had done to provoke such icy replies, trickling with disdain. Such ignorance must be bliss, as the saying goes, but it was terribly vain on her behalf; for a woman who claims to have such knowledge of the forbidden world, her vision was biased, seeing that which she desired instead of what existed behind disguises molded from the heart and soul, or lack thereof. Persy couldn’t be swayed to make a decision, swinging gracefully in between ‘Bercegeay obviously doesn’t care’ and ‘I pity her for caring so much.’ Devoting oneself to either end of that spectrum was blinding, as the qualities overlap in such a manner that distinguishing between the two was nearly impossible from an outsider’s standpoint. Perhaps Bercegeay had the privilege of a colorful childhood, filled with different emotions being expressed in a healthy manner. The destination and the starting point would always be the same, it was the route that took such complex thought. A challenge was always accepted.

But this confusion, this curiosity, would not act as an obscurity for the cruel deal given today, the lowest of the hearts and diamonds.

For the vast majority of their journey, easing towards the Hospital Wing with such a slow pace (as to accommodate for poor Broken Toes and Broken Head), the injured couple remained majorly silent, perhaps dwelling on some thought or plotting a piteous vendetta that nearly warranted a laugh. Although Opeila looked rather normal, though compact in frustration, the brunet referred to as Tân appeared sickly, sweat dripping along with the blood that flowed like an endless river, a true tourist attraction if one was ever seen. To be reminded of her damages was almost as replenishing as spraying Bercegeay with some Lysol to mask the scent of defeat.

Persy licked her lips, racking her brain for the perfect taunt for a moment so ethereal in nature, only appearing that way from her emerald eyes. Bercegeay was depressed, Opeila was furious, Tân was decomposing before their eyes; Persephone was simply floating on a cloud of bliss, with the occasional slip because of the Flying professor's recent decisions. A part of her relished this, yearned to freeze it and protect it from time’s passing habits. The cloud would blow away or darken, and the storm of remorse or consequence would arrive, thunderous and merciless. Detention was a gift now, but what would it be in a month’s time, when the blonde had thought about it and wasn’t running on fumes?

Whatever that ideal taunt sounded like would never be discovered, as at that precise moment, Tân’s body fell limp under the burden he carried so closely. With their initial hostess still glued to Persephone’s side, little could be done on their behalf without understandable risk. To a passerby, this sight would’ve been somewhat funny (probably untrue, few could find joy in the misery of an ‘innocent’ boy); half of an elderly married couple mourning the loss of their life partner and a frustrated aunt gripping the arm of her misbehaving niece.

All families were dysfunctional, apparently.

“I think Miss Sailormoon here has a fine sense of direction. Are you capable of bringing Tuxedo Mask along?” There was little shame in kicking a dead horse; he couldn’t feel it, obviously.