Frigid Encounters Main Story

"Yeah, that's me."

"I know," he coughed.

"I'm sorry, have we met before? I'm afraid we probably haven't had the pleasure."

"Sorry, no." His voice wobbled a bit. "Sorry about that too." Not about the not-meeting, but something else he had done, that he was doing to him. To them but he had to be careful. He could not trust. he could not afford to make any more mistakes. Nicholas McCowan of Belfast, Ireland, a Gryffindor first year with a talent for dueling at a young age. "I am a good guesser," he lied in a single exhale.

"Here, take my arm." a girl announced, a blonde Slytherin whom he met in passing on several occasions but the most notable being the train incident that left him in St. Mungos the weeks that followed. There was a lot of people there and while the Ravenclaw's memory was good, even he had his limits. Starlee Kennedy, half-blood from Edinburgh, Scotland. Another first-year and another one with a proficiency for slinging spells. He accepted the assistance of the girl, his free hand on the albino girl. An apologetic grimace, he lifted his hand from her. A soundless apology escaped his mouth, just the movements of the word he had already said thrice.

"The dead boy?"

That was what he saw, as unlikely as it was. "Yeah, him," he confirmed. His voice not nearly as casual, how could it be ok? He was angry and still mildly disoriented, a trickle of paranoia and of course concern. He had to contend with a duality he could not accept - that Victor was back from the dead and had decided to victimize Vladimir as his first act from beyond the grave or that someone had chosen his form to do this very deed.

”I will help you find Victor, dead or alive.” The albino girl he saw and briefly mistook for an angel. Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood of Glasgow, Scotland. A second year this time and another with a proficiency for casting. A coincidence becoming perhaps a pattern he wondered.

"Victor was dead this time," he assured her. He was certain of that much, a second chance was more than most ever had, a third would have been outlandish. "Besides, they were too strong, Vic could hardly carry his own books" towards the end in any case. Who or whatever this was, they were powerful. They easily overpowered him and... his hands felt about his garments and he paled. They took it.

“Are you looking for the letter? Pericles just sent it by owl.”

He silently shook his head -- no. No, it was not a letter than was missing. It was something significantly more dangerous. "The l-letter," there was a weight in his stomach. "Y-yeah, fine. Whatever," he stammered taking shallow breaths as his eyes darted around the room. "Was anyone hurt?" Besides him of course. The Owlery was in disarray but everyone was standing. The panic was swelling, the room swam a bit. His wand, where was his wand? Well used, he would draw his hand and say a single word out-loud.

"Lumos"

His wand quavered in his hand. "Don't stay in the dark," he empathized.

She might have smiled when the bird quipped back. Might have thrown a few smart words his way. Might have, didn't mean that she did. Because she didn't. She smiled yes- a small curl formed and faded at the cheek- but there had not been a retort. Pericles had picked up the banter for distraction, and in turn Xailah let it drop- so that it would not whittle away at her focus on a self-appointed task. She would have liked to continue the gentle ribbings- would have preferred it over sticking the unconscious boy with a painfully large needle- but ever dangerous curiosity had called, with a job offer. Play was going to have to come later. Instead of replying she mulled, over what the Ravenclaw had said; while skimming through a short list of witty things she would have liked to say then and there.

The Owlery posse was given a slightly bigger problem to face, once Vladimir woke up. The boy had shot up; and immediately started spewing blood, bile, and some nonsense about love and drugs or... something. He sputtered the name of the young lion, to which the boy responded with confirmation and a question. Vladimir always seemed to know things that he shouldn't; such as the name of a Gryffindor first year- who had not hesitated to subtly call Athanatos out. Xailah looked between the two young men, eyes sliding from face to face and then finally, to the bloody puddle on the Owlery floor. Pericles took a step forward. Xailahs weight shifted into a little more defensive stance. When elder raven was around, it was absolutely necessary to be cautious- not of him per se, but of what followed him. Poor boy had demons nipping at his heels, just like everyone else- only his were of an abnormal breed.

River spoke, questioned if now was the right time to ask Vladimir things. Xailahs head cocked, as if in agreement with River. Now might have not been the time to prod him into answering questions- even if he appeared coherent enough to answer. Despite having been attacked and drained of his life source, he was surprisingly coherent. Mmm. Or was he? His answer to Pericles question, had the lioness wondering otherwise. Vic, was the name given, when asked who was to blame for the battery. Vic. Vic. Vic. Vic. A nickname, or a full name? Vic...tor Moore? The metamorphs eyes widen slightly at what the name Vic could have implied. A chill crept along her spine, sending her hair wiggling at the tips. Mr. McCowan would ask the question that had planted itself in Xailahs head- the dead boy?- before proceeding to make an offhanded comment about the capabilities of ghosts.

"Not a ghost." Xailah whispered, not bothering to explain why she thought otherwise. A zombie perhaps- a corpse reanimated. Frankenstein's monster maybe. Any of those things could have been capable of ripping apart crates via brute force- if any of those things were real. A reanimated corpse, is still nothing more than a corpse. Bodies of the dead do not have control over their muscles- in the instance of animation, a cadaver would not be able to detect its "breaking point" unlike a living person. It would not be able to think: Ow, this hurts, stop trying to break the crate. It would simply do, until it accomplished its task- whatever task that may be. Ripping a crate in two, in this case. But that was all speculation. Vic could have been anyone (regardless of Vladimirs confirmation), not just Victor Moore- or as the young Gryffindor boy called him: The Dead Boy. But lets say it was Moore. Lets say the young man clawed through his coffin, and broke out of the mausoleum he had been laid to rest in. How did he do it- what enabled him to walk again? What enabled him to attack his friend and make a mess of the owlery? To break crates? To-

Oh. Xailah blinked. The burnt letter flashed for a moment, in the fleeting darkness. Thoughts went to the tourniquet; the track marks and puncture wounds, that she had seen on Vladimirs arm. In life, Victor and Vladimir had been friends. Allegedly. Xailah only had rumors to support the fact. Since the two boys were (alleged) friends, Xailah was willing to bet good money on the idea, that they shared the same curse. If Marion had it, why not Victor too? Make sure all your friends go to the grave with you. Scratch that. No betting. She knew they shared the curse. Flash had said so- though, she was starting to wonder if Mr.Holmwood was a liar. That would be a very elaborate story to craft into a lie. The lioness drummed four fingers on her side. Was it possible that said curse, had taken control over Victors body? Allowed him to walk with the living once again? With the sole purpose of making more of... whatever he now was? Certainly. Without any concrete proof any theory was possible. Though, Xailah hoped that this was one theory that would fall flat.

It suddenly occurred to her- not once did anyone check to see if Vladimir was actually alright. No one checked for breathing, or the rhythmic vibration of a pulse- movement from the eyes clasped shut behind fleshy blinds. Not that Xailah realized it then, but the thought of doing any of those things, had not even crossed her mind until this very moment. Vladimir had been checked on, yes, but no one had bothered to look for signs of him being alive. Or maybe they did, and the act had simply gone unnoticed. So then, Xailah began to think- if a (supposed to be) dead Victor Moore was up and moving around, who was to say that Vladimir wasn't a moving corpse as well? Well, he was breathing now. Sharp shallowed breaths. Ones made from- what was that? Fear perhaps? Shock? He was breathing. Not that it meant anything.

From where Xailah was standing, it would be near impossible to find a heartbeat on Vlad. Between the hurling, and the pained breaths; the sudden search of his person for an item that would not be discovered; finding the thrum of a pulse by eye, was something that could not be done. When the young man asked if anyone had been hurt, Xailah responded with a snort. N0t the humored kind. Just a soft huff of air expelled through the nose. She took a step towards her classmate, bootheels padding methodically to evade any large puddles of bile. What she'd give to have an encounter that didn't involve coming into contact with bodily fluids. Gosh. She approached the boy, with her wand in hand- squinting past the light that he had produced. His instruction would be heeded, but at a later time. Right now she had a task to finish. "Give me your arm." It wasn't a question. The metamorph extended a gloved finger towards his bare one.

No movement came from the boy as two of his peers offered support to the wounded Ravenclaw, he stood solid, muscles tensed as if debating between fight or flight. Only once Vladimir spoke did some of that tension ease from his frame, shoulders relaxing somewhat. He hadn't met Nicholas, and he even apologised for knowing his name. There would be no connection drawn between the younger boy and the older this night. But that did not dissuade Nicholas of his concerns entirely, something about the way Athantos spoke seemed off, his choice of words in particular filling him with a sense of foreboding and mistrust. A good guesser? The hastily exhaled explanation reeked of dishonesty and backtracking. Nothing that Nicholas had seen thus far in the Owlery made sense, nothing tracked as logical with the information he had. The behaviour of the older students meant that only one thing could be true, they were all hiding something.

But rather than voice these concerns, the young lion elected only to nod in response, an action that he would soon repeat when Athantos's angry response came to his question about Victor Moore. Nicholas bristled at the tone, suspicion clouding his already short-temper further and tempting it to take hold. But he held it in, his glare alone remaining.

That same glare held Athanatos firmly in its stride as the boy reacted to the unfolding events. It was as he analysed the wounded fourth-year that his brain ticked over, something didn't make sense, something didn't quite add up. The owlery was in disarray, correct, and Vladimir had been wounded, also true, but there had been no witnesses to the assault. It was clear from the way that he was acting, the way that he was speaking, that he had been up to something in the tower. The letter had spoken of curses, of how Vladimir himself was cursed. The black-haired prefect had taken his blood, as if to test it, and the albino girl had spoken in hushed tones to the boy as soon as he had risen. No, there was a secret here, something that wasn't being said. A dead boy coming back and assaulting him only to leave him alive to be found by other students? The story was preposterous. Nicholas's mind raced over the possibility that this all could be some sort of sick plot, after all, the only way that he had heard the name Athanatos was through the school rumour mill and such a mill had done nothing but blacken it. He did not have the facts, nor did he have any insight into Vladimir's mind, only the knowledge that he had addressed him by name, in spite of the fact that they had not yet met. The first year knew that such an action may have predisposed him not to trust anything that the young man said, but he didn't care. His gut said the man being held up by girls his junior was not to be trusted.

But it was the final words spoken by Athantos that clinched that shadow of a doubt and matured it near-instantly into a veritable distaste. How was the boy to know to avoid staying in the dark if he didn't even know what had assaulted him other than it was his deceased best friend? He had to be hiding something! It seemed that the suspicious looking girl agreed, the one who had stolen his blood before he had even awoken, as she approached him and demanded his arm. What she was checking for, Nicholas did not know, but he was certain that he wanted to find out. Dark brown eyes glanced from the moving prefect then back to the wounded blonde.

The snarl that formed on Nicholas's face was surprising, materialising quicker than even he could have predicted, "What aren't you telling us? A dead boy attacks you, doesn't kill you though, and all of a sudden we aren't supposed to be in the dark."

Nicholas's eyes darted to the wand that Vladimir held, it was maintaining lumos but that did not mean the wooden instrument could be discounted as a potential weapon.

"Something doesn't add up here. Why should we be afraid of the dark?" His tone softened slightly, as if aware of the overblown nature of his earlier outburst.

He wanted answers, nothing that night so far had made sense. Kansas, this most certainly was not.

Stats: STA: 7 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 4
Abilities: Foulplay
Interacting with @Vladimir Athanatos and mentioning @Starlee Kennedy, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood & @Xailah Alptraum

@Xailah Alptraum | @River Dewlight | @Nicholas McCowan | @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood | @Starlee Kennedy

Pericles remained torn, guilt prickling the back of his mind as Vladimir- confidential correspondence read, pockets prodded, blood drawn- struggled back into a state of consciousness. The older Ravenclaw was patting around his person, searching for something that might now be in Xailah's possession. Aida had the tender forbearance to try and ease his mind, explaining that Pericles had sent the letter off, for which he sent her a brief grateful smile. "It seemed important..." and, perhaps for the sake of saving face for the fact that he had read it, elaborated "...someone tried to burn it." But who...? Vic was Vladimir's answer, a name that rang utterly unfamiliar to the second-year, who looked to his Gryffindor friend for a sign that she may have an answer. Instead, a roundabout explanation came from Nicholas. "The dead boy? I didn't think ghosts could rip open boxes or rob people." The mysteries of Hogwarts were like an unconquerable hydra. There was simply no end to them. Every answer that cut off the head of one question, simply sprouted many more in its place. If a boy named "Vic" was the attacker, why? More pressingly, if he was dead, then how? What was he looking for? Where had he gone?

Pericles drew breath, but struggled with which to voice first. He might have been lost to the sea of questions if not for River's gentle voice: “Peri are you sure this is the time? I mean I’m sure we’d all love to know what happened, but perhaps he will be in better shape to answer when he’s… you know... not vomiting blood?” The voice of reason. She tipped the scales between curiosity and duty, made the priority seem so clear, he was briefly surprised that it had been so difficult to decide between the two before. "Yes..." he was emerging from the investigative fervor, coming up for a breath of sensibility. "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry." He looked to Vlad as he spoke, roping him in to the apology. "If you'd like, we can help you look for him. But we have to get you to the nurse first." Looking between Scarlet and Aida as they held him up, Peri opened his palms towards them, an imploring gesture. "Will you help us to help him, please?" Xailah, he suspected, was jumpstarting that process when she asked for Vladimir's arm.

"Something doesn't add up here. Why should we be afraid of the dark?"
Pericles eyed the ball of light now living at the end of Vladimir's wand. He grimaced vaguely, and although the expression was small, his unease was evident. "It is because the curse terrorizing our peers is a living darkness. The light won't banish it altogether, but it might help hold it at bay." Might. A cursed darkness that had life, the letter had said. It creates not just monsters, but nightmares.... Yes, he could settle for "might" over no protection for himself and the others whatsoever. In an attempt to widen the radius of light Vladimir had created, Pericles raised his wand with a smooth sweeping motion, cradling the pale wood between equally pale fingers. He murmured breathily, incantation nearly a whisper: "Lumos."

Casting Lumos

"Victor was dead this time," said Vladimir.

Back from the dead? All throughout her childhood people told Aida that magic was not real– impossible. The moment Aida was told what death was, she was assured that it was inevitable and irreversible. Yet... over the last two years, brick by brick, stone by stone, the grown-ups showed themselves to be wrong at best and liars at worst. Now the house of purported reality that Aida had built before Hogwarts was not simply in ruins. No, as the erosion continued on and on with every traumatic incident, a crack in the bedrock of her reality widened into a steep ravine. A fall from sanity became forever a couple steps away.

"Besides, they were too strong, Vic could hardly carry his own books." It was “them” again, the forever ambiguous shadow that Aida kept failing to drag into the light. "The l-letter… Y-yeah, fine. Whatever," It was not a well-concealed lie. The real question was, why not answer her straightforwardly about what he was looking for? Aida decided he was not in a position to reveal the information here in front of everyone and would not press him on the issue now. Still, Aida’s mind had always been a steel trap unlikely to forget important details like this, at least… not unless she was forced to forget against her will. She would have to ask him later.

Who was this “they” who was too strong? How many times had Victor been dead, and why? The questions gathered and spawned new questions, but Aida knew she could not afford to overwhelm Vladimir now. Besides, the white witch was more interested in helping the nearly dead boy than plying him for information now.

Aida considered contributing another lumos to the room after hearing Vlad’s incantation, but if previous encounters had taught her anything, it was that sustaining lumos in dangerous environments necessitated a division of labor in groups. Sustaining that spell was hard enough to concentrate on, so Aida would be more useful finding something else to contribute.

”Why did Vic do this to you? What happened?” asked the pale girl bluntly. The stammering speech, the fevered glances around the room– there was something very wrong here that Vladimir was not explaining. ”How can I help you? Where would Victor be?”

While Aida's Ravenclaw brain operated at one level, there was always a baser animal instinct running about below the surface. Subconsciously, Aida was trying to figure out what it was Vlad was looking for. Yet, she couldn't understand why the scent of peonies had caught her nose. While one half of Aida was talking and trying to be rational, the other was busy trying to figure out what on Vlad's person might be emitting the curious fragrance.

@Vladimir Athanatos
Free Action: Talking to Vlad
Action: Aida tries to identify where exactly Vlad's peonies scent is coming from
Abilities: Blindvision, Sixth Sense
Stats: Stamina✵ 4, Evasion✵ 6, Strength✵ 1, Wisdom✵ 10, Arcane Power✵, 10
Accuracy✵ 10

Interacting with @Pericles Dralt & @Vladimir Athanatos
Mentioning @Nicholas McCowan & @Xailah Alptraum

Everything going on in this conversation was going completely over Starlee's head. She felt like the only one too - even the other first year boy seemed to have some semblance of an idea. Maybe it wasn't fully understood, but he knew who this 'dead kid' was that supposedly hurt Vladimir, and that was already way more than Starlee understood.

She did clock it as a bit strange that the other first year hadn't known Vladimir, while Vladimir certainly seemed to know him. Not just that, but the Vladimir said about being 'A good guesser' made her think back again to the train incident. He had tried to warn them all that trouble was coming, but Starlee had brushed it off. How had Vladimir known that trouble was coming? What was he hiding? - Heck, what were all of these older students hiding? They all seemed to know at least something about the mysteries going on here.

While Xailah asked for Vladimir's arm, Starlee would continue to help him stand. Vladimir had said something about not staying in the dark, which was rather ominous. When the first year boy questioned Vladimir about it, Pericles gave an answer - that curse again everyone was talking about earlier. Was Vladimir cursed?

One thing she knew and could certainly agree on was that Vladimir needed to get to the hospital wing. It didn't matter if Xailah was going to try to heal him, he needed real help. Not the patchwork healing abilities of a gaggle of Hogwarts students.

"Yes," she began, "We really should get you down to the hospital wing."

Action: Continuing to be a support for Vladimir

For Moderation:
Stamina: 4 - Evasion: 5 - Strength: 6 - Wisdom: 8 - Arcane: 6 - Accuracy: 5
Abilities: Healing Sage

“Peri are you sure this is the time? I mean I’m sure we’d all love to know what happened, but perhaps he will be in better shape to answer when he’s… you know... not vomiting blood?”

River Dewlight reasoned. She was not wrong, he was in no shape for questioning. "I look worse than I feel," he lied with a grimace. "I will be seeing him later anyways," his daily trek to the nurses office for another dose of the thick golden potion. He did not want anyone to see him like this. Then he would have to explain ad nauseum circumstances he did not fully understand that nobody would believe.

"Yes... Yes, you're right. I'm sorry." An apology for River he presumed, he was not expecting or in need of one.

"If you'd like, we can help you look for him. But we have to get you to the nurse first."

He shook his head somberly. No he did not want to find him. Whoever he might be. "Just a prank in terrible taste," his voice wavered. He was uncertain, closed off. Scarlet and Aida nearby, he was back on his two wavering feet.

The motley crew of wizards had questions, not that he could blame them. He had no answers that could satisfy them. When Xailah demanded that he give her his arm he only had the chance to mouth a what before she cast Episkey. It would only be then that he even noticed his aching arm, his eyes widened his mouth slightly agape, he paled. Yes, the exposed limb was quickly and efficiently healed but that was not the issue.

Damn it. He did not say anything. This was a state of silent shock.

"What aren't you telling us? A dead boy attacks you, doesn't kill you though, and all of a sudden we aren't supposed to be in the dark."

Some people were more valuable alive rather than dead. "I know what I saw, but that does not mean I was right," he protracted. There was a razor-edge to his words, he was agitated and that was not Nicholas' fault.

"Something doesn't add up here. Why should we be afraid of the dark?"

The young lion demanded answers. Answers that Pericles would supply.

"It is because the curse terrorizing our peers is a living darkness. The light won't banish it altogether, but it might help hold it at bay."

"It does enough... for now..." He muttered. "It might be here," he announced as he eyes the crates and the open windows, the exposed rafters inhabited by agitated owls. "Someone stole my blood from where the monsters are made," he admitted with less pride and more a tone of defeat.

"Lumos."

A light would form at the end of Pericles' wand.

"Why did Vic do this to you? What happened?”

Aida asked.

"No clue. I was... sending a letter," a moment hesitation before he made that claim. "Someone entered behind me, I turned and I saw Victor's face. It was not him, he basically hit me in the head..." he gingerly touched the back and sides of his head and noted areas of tenderness. "--thrice," he sighed. He thought, he was not entirely sure. "Next thing I know you all are here, my letter is gone" they claimed sent but he was uncertain and in no condition to investigate "and my sleeve is ripped off and my needles are missing."

”How can I help you? Where would Victor be?”

There was no 'helping' him. "I am going to go back to my dorm, get changed" he had no idea his dorm was set ablaze or that a darkness had attacked his peers in the common room. "And will meet the nurse at our appointed time. They don't need to know about any of this," especially the blood part.

"Yes," Starlee began. "We really should get you down to the hospital wing."

"Not interested in their sympathies, Xailah has done a fine job of healing what ailed me," he claimed. He did not want the nurse to hear about the marks on his arm, that his blood was extracted and the implications of such. "Victor is dead, buried in Bath," he answered Aida's previous question. "Besides, the dead usually stay dead." A basic truth everyone knew, Victor was no exception even if he desperately wanted otherwise. "If he was alive again, I would be overjoyed," he claimed. "Besides, if he was around how in the world would he be able to go without notice?" Was he trying to convince them or himself? A bit of both really.

"If you find whoever did this, they are... strong," physically in any case. Not that Vladimir was a paragon of physical potential but he was stronger than most. "And they are armed with something dangerous," his blood presuming they knew how to use it which he assumed they did if they went through the trouble of extracting it.

Action: Vladimir attempts top stumble away.

Loose ends--

If unprevented (as there is no additional information to glean from him here and I am seeking to set up your summer threads) he would stagger down the stairs, taking them one at a time. He moves very slowly and has a limp that he is trying to hide but is unable to at this time. He retches a few times in transit, but he swallows whatever might have come out.

When he enters the common room he falls over. He appears disoriented, is stumbling about the room and searches the wreckage but finds nothing of interest but he lingers over an opened book with the internal pages removed as well as the broken glass. A cold sweat soaks through his clothes. He says nothing but appears as pale as a ghost.

He shuffles to his dorm room, it too is destroyed. His bed burnt. His trunk cracked in twain. He rummages again through the remnants that remain, mostly smoke-damages articles. He takes a seat at the foot of his bed, what little has not been burnt away and stares out the window for a protracted period of time. Perhaps in thought. Perhaps in shock. Perhaps something else entirely. He maintains a stoic expression and shrugs off communication.

For those monitoring him, he leaves a few hours later and seeks the nurse out when alone. He offers little in terms of communication, requests his bottle of thick golden potion but is evasive to all questioning claiming simply that a 'prank got out of hand' to explain his missing sleeve. He then seeks out the house elves, the matter he discusses with them is not something that could be overheard but a short time later a house elf repairs his bed and his trunk but find that the trunk was resistant to their attempt. The bed was an easy repair. Vladimir never tried to repair either with magic.

He wasn't much of a liar. Wasn't much of a good one. Why did he insist on playing down the severity of what had taken place? Everyone (well... mostly everyone) probably knew that there was much, much more to what met the eye. They probably knew that none of this was the work of a deranged prankster. What sort of prank- "in poor taste"- leaves a person unconscious and bloody? Shit, if this was how "poorly tasting" pranks were ending, then maybe she needed to crack down on the little clowns who enjoy setting off Exploding Whizz Poppers in the halls during class hours. They might shoot their eye out. Or worse, someone might wind up battered and kayoed. Vladimir should have known. Should have known that they knew, and was therefore fooling nobody. Or did he already know? Which in that case- why? Why continue spouting the excuses? To make the others worry less? To make him worry less? Who was he trying to spare? It took Xailah a moment to mull, eventually forming a conclusion; that had she been in his place, she most likely would have done the same. Admittance was weakness.

"Episkey." She had made a mistake in asking for his arm, and expecting him to just give it to her. There was no move on Vladimirs part, just confusion. Xailah, didn't dare reach out to touch him. She wasn't the grabby sorts when it came to strangers. Or anyone, for the most part. Personal space was to be respected. No arm meant no inspection. Vladimir could only be presumed to be both living and dead. Xailah stood still for a beat, realizing that she would have to commit to her mistake. She swore silently. Scolded herself. Tried to rationalize- convince herself to just grab his arm and check. Just- just check. Swiftly, she moved the tip of her chestnut wand in a circular motion while saying a incantation. It was a confusing matter. First she was "stealing" his blood, and now she was mending the young man that she had no intention to heal, in the first place. Mistakes were being made- had been made. A fusion of disappointment and confusion revealed itself across the metamorphs fair features. The others, if they looked, would be able to see the expression when she turned away from the flaxen-feathered bird.

His coherence was being noted- jotted down between thin folds of grey matter. His ability to recollect himself in only a few minutes, was rather remarkable. And lets not ignore his remembrance of specifics. His mention of numbers. Amazing, truly amazing. It could have been total bullshit but... hm. We'll come back to that later. He gave instruction- it was delivered in a way more casually than it should have been. Stay out of the dark. Keep Lumos handy. That said, casualness was half expected. This certainly wasn't the first time Vladimir had to drop such advice. The ever inquisitive Nicholas would continue to throw questions at Vladimir. Pericles summoned a light from the tip of his aspen wood wand. Aida pleaded for answers. And Xailah listened. Cherry picked words. Sorted through them to the ones that had meaning. Something that Vladimir said would catch her attention. It was not him, he basically hit me in the head...thrice. How very, very odd to recall such a thing- that thing being a precise number. Even more so for someone who had been beaten unconscious to recall such a thing. It had been established long ago that Xailah found the mention of specific numbers (especially when time was in question) to be very important. She pounced on the thrice, and began her process of dissection. What did it mean? Why did he remember- Disruption. Vladimir mentioned something he was missing, something Xailah took- the needles. Alright, which one of them was going to be the first to squeal? A sharp, fleeting look was shot to McCowan first, and then to the rest. Vladimir, after answering what he could (or wanted), would then seek leave.

Xailah would grant Vladimir the courtesy that he had failed to extend her way, during during last years Masquerade; concerning her doll dilemma. Her doll. Her problem. She had not wanted any of Vladimirs "help"- made it clear that she did not welcome it. She was no damsel to rescue- not for him- not for anyone. Apparently a spell cast as warning to back off, was an invitation to throw fists. Figures. But here, the tables had turned. Flipped- but not in the tainted ravens favor. Who was the damsel now? Vladimir needed the help of his peers present; however, judging by his readiness to leave, he did not want their help. His dead boy. His problem. He would pursue his phantom on his own. Well. Without Xailah trailing him, and trying to track him down. She had no control over what her classmates would do. Maybe one would follow the disheveled young man. Try to coax him into the hospital wing. Convince him that getting a checkup was more important than hunting down a supposedly dead friend. Ex-friend? Didn't matter.

The darkling swayed to the side, removing herself from Vladimirs path; permitting his passage. He fled towards the steps. No, she would not urge him to go to the wing. He would be fine. She realized this, and accepted it. Based purely off of what she had seen happen to the boy during the aftermath of Gryffindor's train wreck; she could assume that he would be more than alright. Assault and battery? A few pricks in the arm with a needle? Vomiting blood? Its just a flesh wound. It was nothing in comparison to laying bleeding, and gnarled, in numbing snow. Broken and utterly helpless. Once the Owlery door grated to a close; and the scraping, and shuffling of Vladimirs shoes could no longer be heard echoing from below; Xailah looked to those in her company. The cattish glow in her eyes dulled. She looked at each face- the ones she knew- and the one she would learn. Her back straightened, and her hair stiffened. Palms folded into each other, and fell comfortably on a spot slightly above her nave. She would give a simple suggestion. "You all should go. That included Pericles. "I'm going to stay here for a while longer-" She huffed and covered her nose and mouth, with the curve of one hand; stymying the rising smell of stomach acid, and bird guano, from reaching her sensitive nose. "-And clean this mess up." She mumbled. Clean, yes, but she was also going to snoop some more. Maybe taunt Vladimirs shadow monsters. Provoke them into revealing themselves, if they were around. She wasn't afraid of the dark- even though she should have been by now. She moved away from the others, wand in a gloved grip. Her eyes weighted to the floor; watching the blood-infused vomitus spread between the dirtied grout, which held the floor tiles together.

She needed to figure out what to do with the collected capsule of liquid nightmares. Or at least learn more about it. More importantly, she needed to find a temporary place for Schrödinger to stay in the meantime, while she conducted her experiments. Having the contents escape and infect Schrödinger, was not a risk she was willing to take. There were places to put Schrödinger- lots of safe spots to keep him in. For a short while anyway. She could figure something out. She always did.