Event Blossom Ball - Underworld

In response to Santario's permission, Eris happily snapped a couple of pictures, delighted by the gorgon girl's pose. She beamed at her model, pleased that for once someone wasn't offended by her picture-taking and had praised her knowledge as well. When her new acquaintance blushed, Eris couldn't help but snap one more picture, charmed by the older student's behavior. She curtsied when complimented on her own looks and told she was kind to offer her camera. "It's the least I can do for a fellow photographer!" she answered jovially.

Following Santario's gaze to where the boy from before had gone, Eris heeded her words carefully, nodding as she listened. So Vladimir Athanatos was his name. Gambling with one's life, though? She wondered what Santario had been through to make her say such a thing. "Maybe I should keep an extra eye on him, then," Eris suggested. Then, added quickly with a sheepish smile, "From a distance, of course! Oh, but...do you need to go after him now? I could come with you if you like. Not to talk, but...I could stay close just to make sure you were safe?"

It was then that something caught Eris' attention at the edge of her peripherals and she shrieked, lifting the lens of her camera to her eye and snapping pictures madly. One boy appeared to have tried to kiss another boy. Who knew what it would lead to next?

Wearing:

Reducio

Interacting with: @Santario Martin
Action: Taking pictures of @Mathias Pride attempting to kiss @Levi Drakos
Post Tracker: [1] [2] [3]

|Interacting|
@Winnie Harper @Jack Burnett @Mathias Pride
|Mentioning|
@Amelia Faye
|Open for Interaction|
Even for Kaz. I have recovered from my heartache

Admittedly, Ruka hadn't expected all that much from the boy pestering his brother, but what he did hear made him suppress a yawn as he rolled his eyes. Jack's words about the other boy being fond of making up stories elicited a vaguely amused hum from him. "Yeah," he said with a serious nod. "I thought there was something off about you spending so much time in front of a mirror. You like an audience way too much to be talking to yourself the whole time." Teasingly nudging his elbow against his brother's side, Ruka raised his eyebrows at the boy he didn't know.

"Aw, how adorable," he cooed, lifting his glass in the boy's direction as if to toast to his words. "It's utterly precious when someone's fantasies become so vivid they can't tell them apart from reality anymore. You must be very taken with your dorm mate, huh?" Grinning brightly, Ruka turned his attention back to his brother, about to say something when once again Winnie's arrival interrupted his words.

This time, however, she didn't talk to him; Instead she seemed enthralled with Jack, her eyes wide in awe as she stared, inching far too close for Ruka's liking. The words tumbling out of her mouth were a jumbled mess and the blush on her cheeks made his own blood boil with unfounded rage.

Swallowing the feeling down, Ruka swiftly pressed himself between Winnie and Jack, an exaggerated smile on his face. "Great God Pan, this is Winnie," he said quickly as if eager to get introductions out of the way. "Remember I told you about the girl who fell in the lake?" An uneasy chuckle escaped him as he nonsensically reached forward and pressed his drink into Winnie's hand. "Here, you look thirsty," he decided, waving his now free hand at her encouragingly.

The words of Winnie's friend Amelia, who had joined them as well, did nothing to calm Ruka down again either. The way she proclaimed not to be an expert on talking to boys left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and he quickly shook his head off the implications that came with that statement.

Surely Winnie wasn't... He could feel his blood boiling in his ears, his face blushing a bright red as he held his torch out in front of himself as if to prevent Winnie from stepping any closer. "Shouldn't we be moving on from here? There's more to see over there, I think. Let's just... keep moving, why don't we?"

|Action|
- Being very distressed. Potentially distressed enough to lose some stat points over it

|Stats and Abilities|
Stamina - 7 || Evasion - 9 || Strength - 4 || Wisdom - 12 || Arcane Power - 6 || Accuracy - 7

The Muggle Condition || Advanced Casting || Perfectionist

Lil Outfit Doodle

|Post Tracker|
1 || 2 || 3

It was another ball, another damn disaster waiting to happen. Erin did not bother to get all dolled up like the other girls in her dorm. All those hours of preening, she was pretty sure that if they stood near an open flame a vast majority of them would melt. Erin had arrived bare-faced, her hair a disheveled mess only surpassed perhaps by Medussa (Santario) herself. She had tied a bedsheet around her form, dressed at the very least to theme. A bottle of butter beer in hand, she needed a dose of liquid courage if she would be the hero once again on this day.

Barefoot, she would not bother with overpriced and overdone gladiator sandals. She would wade down to the courtyard, her curious eyes landing on those that had already found their way to the underworld. She would recognize Parce-face Jack, cozying up to his date - some guy that she did not know. She would not approach him, she knew well where she stood with him. She did not stand with him at all and she was a fool for thinking otherwise. He would call upon her if needed and had it not been her fault, she would not have responded. He did not deserve her help, not really but he did not (well, Flash did not) deserve her vengeance either. He had played her for the better part of a school year and then went several months without any correspondence of any kind. She lacked closure, in fact she still did but the cowardly part of her did not want to hear it. Did not want to face it. she had known something was wrong for some time but only saw what she wanted to see. She wanted to feel loved. To have the opportunity to love. In the end it was merely a practice of deception, meaning everything she felt and hoped for was a lie. A fabrication and therefore without value or merit.

She would walk past Jack, not saying a word to him; she would just shrug her shoulders as if she was trying to knock off an imaginary burden. Her hair partially covering the scars on her back as her bare feet clapped the ground. She was not here for romance, nor was she here for Jack. She would pass a few things she would not be able to un-see on her way in. She would raise her hand like a blinder to protect her sensibilities, that was the last thing she needed the pureblood do. Kiss a non-pureblood of all things, how... disgusting.

Not that she could really talk of course. She gave up everything for one and did not even know his name. Screw this ball. She was here hunting giants and death witches. "Death witches are bitches!" The Slytherin would shout, butter beer in hand.

Action: Head to the actual ball proper, leaving the underworld.

Mention: Santario Martin, jack Burnett, Eden Gardner, Mathias Pride, Levi Drakos

Mentioning n/a
Interacting With @Paige Grant as Nikita Lebedev & @Mathias Pride or "Percival Gray"
Open to Interactions (regrettably)

The various things making Levi uneasy could be counted. The abundance of people already flooding into what was meant to be the tame, sober side of the Blossom Ball, the presence of a certain boy that had a special place in his nightmares, the fact that his date—and by extension, repute—was nowhere to be seen. There was an ache in his right hand from the constant friction, and once carefully styled hair had become untamed. And somehow, he seemed to be the only one feeling that way. It was uncharacteristic of the Gryffindor to fade to the blackness of the event’s shadows, but there was not yet a place for him in the core of the Underworld. Not one so perfectly fitted as that of Medusa’s scaled skin and the glistening laurel headpieces.

It was at this point, the brunet’s lowest point, that Nikita Lebedev rushed into his sightline. As he wished to himself in hushed breaths, she was indeed beautiful. More so than he recalled, but his memory had been slowly distorting her image with every second that beauty kept him waiting. Levi grabbed the hand that hated him tightly, clasping them in front of his waist, beginning to take on his persona as the slightly taller girl approached. The preventative measure of platformed shoes didn’t do enough to bring the couple of strangers to equal height. She made up for that in silky red hair, deep blue eyes, and even bluer blood.

“Darling!” Well, if that wasn’t the fakest enthusiasm. Levi forced a cough and tried it again. “Nikita,” The rest of the breath was swallowed back down, a breathless and impressed look crossing his face upon command. She had dressed brilliantly. Her gown was dark and long, framing what little bit of body they had at their age wonderfully, and above all else, it looked expensive. It sent a message to spectators, the precise one he needed to step foot into the spotlight. She’d also worn flats. Contributed to the height problem.

With her first words, he already wanted to punch himself. Apparently, he did not look alright. “Yes, of course. Just looking for you. No idea how I missed you the first time,” The boy complimented, a more natural smile finding its odd place across his lips. Those sentiments were returned, quite apparently, in less words. He didn’t mind, merely nodding and taking her arm in his. A little less talk, a lot more status.

It was with his future reputation—I mean, wife, I guess—on his arm, that he felt much safer. More at home. The distraught screams and whispers in the back of his mind hushed themselves, finding a spot in the corner for midnight when she would run and he would walk, to different places. It was an inevitability. He didn’t even know her middle name.

The peace, however, wasn’t long lasting. Though Percival and his memory had temporarily been content with waiting for the dead of night to cause him stress, it appeared that wait had been too long for the copper haired Slytherin to handle. Levi wasn’t ready for another day like the one before; thinking about it alone was enough to get his heart racing, hearing his pulse in his ears. He let go of Nikita, saving a bit of credibility for after he ran screaming or fainted by placing it in front of her, almost protectively. “Go away, Perc—”

His comment was interrupted. Percival wasn’t only approaching, he was sauntering right over there to the couple, like he was their third stranger to complete a polyamorous trio. But he wasn’t. What was he up to? Was he going to mention the trees? The brunet wasn’t up for that conversation, not so close to the woodline. Not with Nikita by his side. Not in public. Levi was meant to be the riser, not the dust that falls from them.

“Of course I made it—honey?—Percival what are you—” There was no way. This is what it was like to die.

Percival had planted his hands on Levi’s shoulders, but any instinct to flee had fallen. It could be that his lack of strength was finally coming back to bite him, however it was more likely that the odd dialogue had thrown him off guard. Was that the kind of thing you said to someone you were about to kill? Confuse them to minimize the fight? Levi assumed Percival was to pull a small blade from his back pocket and slice, or draw his wand and utter something the boy had never before heard. He tried to look around, but his eyes were glued on Percival and every movement he made, Levi only able to scream in the back of his mind once more, that maddening, deafening screech.

But he was not cut, cursed, shot, or stabbed. In fact, Levi felt no blood except that rushing to his upper head, there was no bolt of pain except that in his heart, and for some reason, the gloomy music of the Underworld continues to play through the lion’s slaughter. No. He was—he was fucking what.

He was kissed.

Was he crying? Surely he was. Percival was nothing like his mother’s goodnights and good mornings. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t screaming, he had no mouth to do it with. There was some fleshy demon thing trying to invade it. The only thing he could think, beyond some indistinct blurred thoughts similar to the verbal equivalent of a keyboard smash (whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhyalwayshim), is why is no one trying to stop this? Is no one doing anything? And above all else…

I wish he’d just stabbed me.

Metamorphmagus
Stats Stamina: 4 | Evasion: 6 | Strength: 4 | Wisdom: 5 | Arcane Power: 5 | Accuracy: 6
Action Dying. Being kissed. Simultaneously.

Winnie could still feel her heart fluttering as she stared over at the redhead. Her mistake still horrified her. She had to say something. Quick. "I'm Flower Nymph." She managed to say after clearing her throat. Wait, that still wasn't right. "M-My name is Winnie." Winnie could feel her face starting to heat up again. Was she really this awkward? What was wrong with her? Usually she was dreamy and tended to space out a lot, but she felt like she had just been hit in the stomach. As if there were pixies flying around inside of her. She loved and hated the sensation all at once.

Then came the comment from Amelia, and her face drained of its colour. Merlin... Did she have to put it that way? She wanted to go crawl under a rock and hide until everyone who had witnessed this had graduated. "I know how to talk, I just... I was so surprised by your costume, it's really well done. J-Just look at your eyes! And that smile- I mean those hooves... They're just stunning! You are are a great satyr." She tried her best to smile, but could only manage a shaky one. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Pan." She straightened her posture and leaned in slightly, her hands pushing down against her stomach... Until she was suddenly holding a drink. She was rather thirty... Perhaps a quick sip...

Then that flame was in her face and she was backing away. "I'm sorry, I've interrupted, haven't I?" She furrowed her brows, it had never been her intention to annoy her hero! "I don't know many people so I was hopin' Amelia and I could stick by you, Ruka, but only if that's okay with you... And... Mr. Pan." She added, a tinge of red in her cheeks again. "And... Your date...?" She looked curiously over at Eden, suddenly feeling bad that she had practically ignored him after seeing the Slytherin. "You're... Eden Gardner, right? We're in the same year. You look very handsome. Are you dressed as Demeter? My gown is based on Persephone, so I guess that means we're related? Hah..."

Action: Holding a drink, feeling embarrassed.
Stats: Stamina: 6 | Evasion: 5 | Strength: 5 | Wisdom: 7 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 5
Inventory: Purse/Clutch | Wand

Interacting| Eris (@Kit Paine)
Mentioning| @Aurora Ranvier | @Erin Ryan
Attire - Medusa
Action| Leaving the Underworld. Entering the main ball area.

“That would be entirely up to you but as a younger student. I would just advise staying away. A boy like that has nothing good to offer a smart girl like you.” Santario would shake her head at the offer of the girl’s assistance. “No, I won’t approach him in this kind of mindset. I need him in a better mood. I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me.” She required his cooperation, and she doubted she would get it this night. Besides that, she had divulged all about her situation that she would to the basically stranger before her. Perhaps, too much even with the little she had.

When the girl next to her squealed, Santario flinched just slightly as she turned to look where the camera was now pointed; it was at an attempted kiss. Something that only reminded her of Dmitri Jones kissing her eyeball in those terrible summer events. Something that Aurora’s scream about the trials pulled her out of immediately. It was something Santario planned on doing before the night was over, she didn’t really care about the title, but she enjoyed challenges. “I’ll probably move over eventually or head into the challenges soon. Especially since this area is bound to get very crowded since we’re all funneled in here first.” Like chickens to the slaughter. “But, undoubtedly, amazing for photos until the entrances start trickling down.

Erin Ryan made her entrance, and the attire was not exactly a surprise looking like a college party girl disaster waiting to happen. The girl had been spiraling downhill farther and faster. The call-out about death witches made her roll her eyes and look away as she wandered off towards the main ball area. Her mind kept wandering back to Vlad. What if this was her only chance? He was away from Marion, and she needed answers.

If not evaded, she would gently set her hand on Eris’s shoulder. “I promise to catch up with you later.” With that, Santario was off-headed towards the main ball, thankfully being spared the full sight of the face-battle.

Tradition was a confusing thing- one of the many confusing things humans introduced to the world. Tradition was especially confusing if prior events paved way to disaster. If tradition resulted in harm; produced something that was disliked by the general population... why continue it? Why? Well, the answer is obvious. Because. It. Is. Tradition. Xailah went to the ball for this sole reason. In the deepest blackest pit of her conscience, she felt she was obliged to continue going to the horrible events that the school hosted. The Blossom Ball was an event that happened every year- even during the year it wasn't supposed to happen. The students liked their galas. They liked to put on their fancy dresses and sleek suits, and pretend to be "grown ups" for an evening. It was the equivalent of little girls clomping around in Mommy's heels, and little boys wearing shoe-polish moustaches. They all wanted the chance to be something they were not.

The theme of this years ball, implied that the children wanted to be gods. Most of them anyway. Upon entering the Underworld, Xailah would find that there were a few here and there, that had chosen to branch beyond Greek gods for inspiration. She was quite certain she had caught a glimpse of a familiar- albeit friendly- face who was dressed as the gorgon Medusa. A fitting character for a Slytherin to play- maybe a little funny even. In any case, Miss Medusa looked lovely in her scaly ensemble. There was some relief in finding that not everyone had stuck to the Greek theme. Xailah herself hadn't really followed through with the assignment- that didn't mean she completely misunderstood it. She had a full understanding of what "Greek themed" meant... It meant that there were going to be tons of people running around, wrapped in towels, and their dormmates white bedsheets. It also meant that everyone would be looking the same. There were only so many gods and, myths to pick from.

Xailah chose to be a deity of her own design. It was a product of indecision. Maybe she was Persephone. Maybe she was Nyx. Maybe she was Hecate. There was no real way of telling who, or what she was. She simply was. An idea. A whisper. Something changing, growing; something that would be, but had not yet become- a seedling pushing through soot and ash. The sheer fabric of her gown brushed over the dark grass, leaving behind a trail of faint stardust. She walked quietly, seemingly floating, behind a line of ball-goers. She fit well with the feel of the Underworld, but she was still out of place amongst the other sheet-clad, and laurel-wearing students. She wondered if her friends were among them. She hoped not. Xailah would not stop in the tophet to listen in on some juicy gossip, or involve herself in mindless chatter. Something far more interesting had caught her eye. She needed to investigate.

───────────── OPEN TO INTERACTIONS Interacting with:@Violet Carrington Anastasia Prokovdine Mentioning: The Kissing Boys Action: Being confused and delighted by everything ─────────────

───────────── Luka Volkov Koldovstoretz 1st year The golden wolf Russian / English ─────────────

───────────── At night, in any places that you are stars up there always complain for not being able to outshine the light that radiates from within you. -Reza Rusandi- ─────────────

Reducio

Outfit

The Koldovstoretz students had been made aware of the Ball ahead of time, of course, but it hadn’t been until they’d reached Hogwarts that they’d learned about the theme. Or at least, Luka hadn’t heard about the theme before arriving. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been told, of course, just that it hadn’t really been a priority to him. He was so much more interested in meeting other Quidditch players. But he had promised to accompany his best Quidditch bud, Ana, to the Ball. That meant a proper outfit. It was a Blossom Ball, a celebration of spring, so he’d chosen a deep green suit jacket with flowers appliqued on. Standard black dress pants and dress shirt paired with it. No tie, ties were too stuffy. His favorite part of the outfit by far was the lovely top hat. He wondered if Ana would like his top hat.

He made his way down to the courtyard, a bright smile on his face, not at all bothered by the ominous posters or the gloomy feel. In fact, he was truly impressed by the obvious effort put into bringing the theme to life. “Wow! This is amazing!” He announced as he passed through the doors, looking around in awe. “The decorations! The darkness! It’s perfect! The… kissing?” Luka paused mid step as his eyes took in some sort of… well… he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. He also wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. Kissing was not something he knew much about. Especially boys kissing boys. He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away from the lip-related shenanigans, searching instead for his date.

“Ana!” He called when he spotted her, bouncing over to where she stood excitedly. “You look very nice! I like your crown. You didn’t wait long, did you? Can I get you a drink?” He offered with a bright smile.

Interacting With:
@Howard White

Semi-open to Interactions
Please message me on discord first.

There were costumes and costumes, and Valentine had chosen neither. Selecting the ordinary over the customary for this evening, he set aside classical accessories and traditional adornment for a shirt of modern design for modern tastes. Following the latest fashions of evening wear with a one-button front, silk-trimmed peak lapels, jetted pockets, and no vents, he went with the inspired decision to go sans cummerbund or waistcoat. With a spread collared shirt and double cuffs with a packet of hidden buttons, the formal wear hit the elegant sweet spot, or so the boy intended.

This was not the say the boy was unrecognizable, however. There were markers of identity he rarely did without, such as his argent opera mask. He fiddled with it in his hand as he waited, twisting the cloth strap around his middle finger in the distracted way he was wont to do when he was passing time. His toes drummed softly against the ground, with animation that could have been considered impatience, agitation or some mixture between the two.

He brought his wand, too, it had to be said. Unpredictable, it was called, or Dangerous. As a duelist and a victim of the January Train Heist, he knew firsthand the terrible things that would happen when he pointed his wand at another. It was neither tonight, a sentiment the boy hoped would survive the evening. He kept it in a dormant and docile position, tucked beneath a black ribbon spattered with streaks the color of blood that he wore along his waist. They flashed and sometimes glowed with a preternatural light, depending on how the eye caught the reflection as if bleeding from within with an anxiety that could be seen.

And that was him, all of him, this evening tonight. A dichotomy of clashing aesthetics that perhaps suited his caprice and moods.

Once inside, though, Valentine frowned. His eyes, deep-set and dark, squinted. The Underworld was reassuringly pleasant, but it lacked people. Well, at least the ones he wanted to see. As far as he could tell, the evening’s tension had already begun, and it was yet to be the result of malicious forces. No, there were no familiar faces here. Not yet. Though he was sure that lingering any longer would likely implicate himself in the affairs of others, he decided to take his chances in the dreary setting to await the arrival of his traveling companion. As he stood apart and impartial, he scanned the room with a sweep of his eyes, the heavy melody of the music rising up from the floor and sending vibrations through him. For a moment - just a moment - he searched his heart for a pang of loneliness. It was there, throbbing in his chest. It always had been, and on such an evening, it bothered him more than he normally allowed. He recalled the Fall Ball; he had dressed then as he dressed now, and walked through scenes much like this. It made him nostalgic, albeit only briefly. Those were different times, different days, and a different Valentine.

It didn't take long to find Howard. No, it didn't take long at all. He flitted between bodies with a visible restlessness, perhaps lacking in the grace and subtlety he possessed as a Dhampir, but no less dashing and familiar in periphery. He drew the eyes of others as he was ever wont to do, though through no fault of his own, and Valentine watched him from afar, a familiar action if ever there were any.

The younger boy didn’t approach directly, though he caught his eye with the glint of his silver-lined Venetian mask. He simply -- walked, circling around the gathered congregation of screaming children with @Vladimir Athanatos at their center, and made his way to the refreshment stand. This wasn’t his night, after all, and Valentine would loathe to ruin it while it was still young. Before the shadows ever fell upon the partygoers, stole the air and momentum of the evening, he wanted them to enjoy freedom, however fleeting. He was here for purposeful reasons and purposeful concerns, but they could wait. Rather, he picked up a pair of goblets and leaned against the serving table waiting for it to be poured. Valentine, the wallflower. He rather liked the sound of that.

Actions:
Entering Thread.

"Rabbits live close to death and when death comes closer than usual, thinking about survival leaves little room for anything else." - Watership Down

A ball.

Selim wondered how foolish the school, his peers, everyone was for having another night of partying so close to a time when the realm of danger and safety has such a thin, feeble barrier between each other. The waxing recent moon, a sign of life and death, a sign of fertility, of energy, a thinning of barriers.

A thinning of barriers...

Selim told Kaegan about the ball tonight, about the dangers that will likely lurk, about the prime opportunity to stock up on food and observe the ones who walk in the light, the ones who walk in the grey, and those that walk in the dark all come together, all cause friction with each other... chaos... trouble. They will draw the ones who wish to harm them to the ball, such a center of life and energy is tempting for monsters that creep in the shadows of the night.

Selim had no intentions of getting involved, he was there to observe. He had made peace with Logic (now nicknamed 'Ronri') upon their return to the world of the awake, and they made a deal so that he may call on them when needed.

Ronri identified as nonbinary. For what reasons Selim didn't know it was merely his personality splintering, breaking into pieces more and more until he could not tell who was him and who was not.

He still remained in control, of course, he was dominant within his mind. A few of his 'Others' tried to wrestle control from him between the time of Jack's awakening and now. None of them had won.

Selim had washed himself up the night before the ball, sneaking into the showers when no one was awake, cleansing himself, his clothes, Aku.

It was the first time since he had made Aku that he had taken him off his hand. Without the hand puppet, he felt naked, and upon glancing at his hand he grimaced. It was cracked and severely wrinkly, fingers pale and scent pungent, skin chapped severely and flaking.

In short, it was not a pretty sight. He cleaned it as best as he could but the damage had been done, it almost refused to move from its position within the puppet despite there be no need to. fingers locked in their bent position, he cleaned it gently, the hot pain of inflammation flaring. He had ignored it in favour of cleaning the puppet next... when he finished it still looked faintly stained, but it wasn't like he knew a spell to remove it.

Finishing getting cleaned up, he slipped on the fresher copies of the clothes he had worn before and left the old ones hanging off his dorm bed. He had also snagged his cloak. After that, he returned to the dungeons to finish up his project for the ball.

All the preparation led him to the appearance he had donned as he stood at the entrance of 'the Underworld'. Dark cloak with sleeves covering the clothes he wore below, and a white rabbit mask made of hardened, bleached leather and tough white fabric. Details had been stained on with ink, giving it an eerily close appearance to a real hare.

Yes, his free time alone in the dungeons had been spent on learning the art of bending the material to the shape he willed it, crafting masks and puppies, carving bone into the ornamental ivory decor. The rabbit mask was his best piece... and unlike his bone raven mask from the fall ball, it would not shatter and scar his face with memories of a fist barreling toward his visage, and the pain of a broken jaw.

The deep shadows of the mask hid his eyes, which were donned with red contact lenses he had owled his brother for the week before. The mask and cloak served many things, to hide his identity, to hide his ghastly state, to remain anonymous. He hadn't bothered to dress up for the theme for he was not there to indulge himself in material pleasures.

Aku was no longer purple, he had crafted him a new form (while working on improving and mending his previous one), one to match his own, a patched ivory-pale & pure white rabbit. The eyes remained nigh same, one black button, one red one. But his bowtie and tophat were now pitch black.

He had just as deadly teeth as before though.

All in all, he looked rather different, but any who had seen his previous form would surely realize it was him, for no one else in the school would have atop one hand perched, a rabbit hand puppet. His physical structure was identical to the last form, Selim didn't feel right changing that part of his companion.

Upon entering the underworld he skulked to the bountiful shadows that shrouded the scene, he observed Vladimir in particular as he tried to drag the girl that once lay on a hospital bed beside him... what was her name again...?

"Marion Davenport." Ronri supplied. Selim's head shifted slightly as if to nod, but never completed the action as he watched the chaos. The eagle's shouted words were hard to miss.

"I do wish I could meet her properly..." The boy drawled, voice muffled behind his leather mask. His head tilted as he saw Vladimir finally lower the screeching girl to the ground, seeming agitated, unstable. The hood that escaped between the mask's ears seemed to make the shadows in its eye sockets darker, like the void.

"I doubt Vladimir would approve." Aku chuckled as he added his commentary. Selim's free hand twitched, brushing over the small, humble pocket knife hidden in a sheath on his sleeved forearm, which held aloof the puppet.

"Do you think Athanatos has bothered to remember us?" He mused passively.

"Doubtful. It would be arrogant to think he cares after we've been gone for so long, following in our insanity with no self-respect." Ronri commented coldly.

Selim's eyes narrowed. "It is hard to practice self-respect when your mind crumbles around you."

Ronri scoffed, their voice dry as a desert, "A poor excuse. Our upperclassmen would call us foolish for not getting proper help."

The boy's finger twitched again. "True. A rather uneducated comment it would be if he did say as much though. It is always said that the ones suffering in their own minds can almost never reach out for help. The mere thought makes me want to claw at my skin once more."

A moment of silence. "... Yes... I know..." Their voice was tired.

"You are cursed with the ability to know what needs to be done, but the inability to do it." Aku said, tone darkly amused and condescending. "It is only proof of your weakness." He purred, head lolling to the side.

"Still your tongue, wretched beast, for it does little to impact us, and assists in no way." Ronri growled.

Aku laughed, "You know that I never came into being to help this vessel, Ronri. Yet still, you protest against me as if it will make me go still, and die."

"Silence, both of you, we are not here to idly chit chat like most who came here did." Selim spoke, voice commanding. They both did as was told, Aku only really doing it because he had nothing more to say, rather than doing so out of obedience to Selim.

He shifted his attention to the entrance, tearing his eyes away from Davenport. He was waiting for Kaegen to arrive, he was rather late. Then again, Selim didn't know how long it had been since the dhampir had stepped out of the dungeons so close to the ones who lived outside their reality.

Glancing away, Selim remained content to wait, to watch, to listen from his darkness-shrouded corner. He watched a familiar girl arrive, the one who was neither adult, nor child, the one who tried to offer help uselessly upon finding him wandering the dungeons, shedding his own blood.

Inwardly bristling at the faculty member's presence, he moved one. His gaze soon landing on the fox, who seemed to be temporarily more goat than usual. Jack seemed rather into his role, it would b a pity for him to notice Selim, for it would likely ruin his night.

He also took note of a face he had not seen since his first year... Ruka Tân.

His finger twitched again, Jack's recently-adopted brother. If only Selim had known his schedule better than Holmwood, perhaps that would've properly driven the Fox away...it wasn't as if the boy was unused to scars.

Upon feeling the familiar churning of his bloodthirsty, he swiftly shook his head, hissing, banishing the thought in an attempt to still his twitching hand, his coiling temptation. He took a breath, slowly releasing it. The monster stilled, and mutely he hoped Deathmote would come swiftly, for he wasn't sure how long he'd last here without his grounding presence and stilling hand.

Swallowing his shifted his focus back to Vladimir. He wondered how long it would be before his peers smelt his blood in the water and attempted to lash out in response. Truly, Selim thought it would've been best for him and Davenport to depart, but apparently, the latter was still oblivious to the thirsty wolves that prowled in the crowd of rabbits, briars, and leeches. Among the whispers and corpses and all those who wandered in the light and its twilight, there was danger, and Selim doubted it had faded since he was last fully visible to the overworld.

The doubt made sure he would not e disappointed, but also made sure he'd be pleasantly surprised if proven wrong.

Who would burn next, the fairy or the eagle? Who would follow the scarecrow's fate?

His link to the decaying center of the brink and mortar prison they found themselves in had grown weak. Perhaps if something befell the eagle and the fairy, he would be motivated to jump in. Then he could feed his monster slightly, to tide it over until its next meal.

The shout and profanity he heard made him turn his head, and there he saw a dishevelled Erin Ryan, looking much like a degenerate who only relies on alcohol to keep them afloat. A pitiful sight, one that easily hid the degrading human beneath, and their own monster who seemed to hunger much as his own did.

He looked away after, uncaring, and scanned the crowd. Most of the faces he didn't recognize, some he guessed to be from other schools, but there were a few that were familiar. His dormmates in particular, but also one other, Opeila.

The slap of the sudden memory from his first year stalled him for a moment, a flash of bright lights, syringes, microscopes, rats. His eyes glittered as the file within his labyrinth returned to the forefront of his mind in cracked pieces decayed with madness. A twitch of curiosity filled him, he wanted to see beyond mere glimpses of the degraded blood cells she held, he wanted to see deeper than he had, to observe what was below the parchment that concealed most human's veins and muscles-

The monster stirred, he forced it down, a splitting migraine shot through his skull in retaliation. Groaning with pain, he held a hand to his head, feeling dizzy, and leaned against a wall. When the spell passed, he blinked back into awareness, letting out a sharp hiss of air.

His eyes snapped up as he saw something from the corner of his shrouded eyes. A girl making her way toward Vladimir. His finger twitched, hidden red hues boring into the girl's back like a hawk watching a mouse flee from its shadow.

Was someone already making a move? If so, would the faculty among the crowd actually notice, do their job? He didn't know, but he wasn't in the mood to be brash and pounce on her in an attack to defend the eagle (Who didn't much need defending but seemed very close to giving up any attempts of civility). No, he'd wait, he may be trying to get closer to the boy and thereby, the rotten core of this stone cell of a school, but he wasn't going to be pushy. He felt the urge to, honestly, because he wasn't sure how long it would be until the eagle followed the scarecrow into the grave... nonetheless, he didn't feel like being rash was the right answer at that moment.

His own tired mind ached from how many trains of thought he was following, and he sighed.

This was going to be a long night.

Actions: Entering the Underworld.

Free Actions: Lurking in the shadows like Gollum, talking to himself... and a puppet. Waiting for a certain Dhampir.