Born to Lose PV Closed

@Thomas Lestrange

Since Santario had handed off her locket the evening prior, Bridget had not been able to stop thinking about it. Something was wrong, and she’d spent much of the night trying to figure out what. Perhaps she was just giving it to Thomas, nothing bad attached, but why she couldn’t deliver it herself didn’t add up. Maybe something had damaged what it meant to her and she needed a friend to keep it until that was resolved. It could be some sort of coded message. Or worse.

It wouldn’t have mattered what she thought of Thomas, even if she hated his guts—which she didn’t—she would have felt the same relief when she saw his note. Maybe it wasn’t relief, exactly; while he could merely be wishing to catch up, having so recently returned, she doubted it. His summons so soon perhaps meant he too needed to see her, which meant another problem, but at least she wouldn’t have to track him down.

That evening, she packed her book bag with a notebook and quill in case she needed to take notes and, most importantly, the locket. The library was a familiar location, though she’d never felt such stress journeying to it, even leading up to finals. It might be Thomas himself, mentally tied to the school’s questions and dangers more than anyone else. She was a few minutes early, even, because when this was what she’d been focused on all day, trying for a few extra minutes of homework was pointless.

The library was vast and maze-like with its high shelves, so finding his exact location was a slight concern, but it wouldn’t take her too long; there he was, with papers that likely served as evidence. “Thomas.” His name, one she hadn’t said much in a while, to get his attention. From past conversations, she knew he cared little for pleasantries, and she couldn’t really be bothered for them. “It’s good to see you back, and all that.” A true statement, she didn’t know what she’d do if he was still gone. “We need to talk about Santario.”

She had no way of knowing what he’d called her here for originally, but this was likely more pressing for both of them. From her bag she pulled the locket, white rose on the front a clear revealer of what exactly this was. “Last night she gave me this and said it needed to go to you. But she was acting really odd…” Lips pressed thin, she paused there to look up at him. Had he seen anything similar? Could he have, when he’d just gotten back? How long had this been going on, anyway? She should have been paying more attention.

Unlike the last location Bridget and Thomas spoke face to face, his choice of setting this evening was partially to provide a place of comfort for his Slytherin peer. A far cry from the grim potty room, which has abandoned in the title for a reason. However, at the time it was the only place of comfort for the boy. A place he could strip down his barriers, and the only person to see would be on his terms.

Bridget Collins never appeared to judge Thomas, or view him as a pit of information and nothing else. She wasn’t like the other people to show intrigue in his story. More patient and less pressing. Initially catching Thomas’ eye at the Owlery that day, the aftermath of a spider attack where a small collection of students cornered Marion Davenport in search of an explanation. Where she did not hesitate to snatch the girl’s letter, cementing Thomas’ respect for her.

Now that Evelynn Decipio has confirmed Marion to be a hag, the boy would ease up about his threats that day. A result that felt natural, as if subconsciously aware of the creature in his presence. After all, they were linked from the moment Petunia sliced into his flesh, a branding mark that felt and looked permanent. Though Thomas would refuse to believe this until it claimed his mind.

A familiar voice broke his concentration, drawing his gaze from the arrangement of papers that lie below on the study table. ”Bridget.” Nodding in greeting, the boy pressed his shoe against the chair across of him, extending his leg to push it out for her to sit. Not the most gentlemanly way of offering a seat for a young lady, but this was Thomas Lestrange. The boy that shattered a girl’s(Tyr) lovely arrangement of flowers because it reminded him of his father.

An uncharacteristic act regardless, but Bridget would likely recognize it as showing his appreciation for her timely arrival. Thomas would not echo the friendly sentiment that comes with a long time apart, but the look upon his visage displays the boy’s happiness to see her again. Cheekbones slightly rose with a curl of his lips, forming a modest smile.

The topic instantly shifted to Santario, another quality the boy would appreciate. Direct and to the point. ”That we do.” Thomas acknowledged, pressing his fingers against Santario’s letter, sliding it for Bridget to view.

”She sent me this on the 11th… it’s why I’m here today.” Eyes growing heavier, recalling the violent eyes of his best friend in her last duel. Unfiltered rage was not a symptom of Santario’s pain, the girl seemingly always in control. It hinted at the acquisition of malicious influences, a reality Thomas has come to know for several years.

Exchanging the letter with the locket the boy was all too familiar with, collecting it in his fingertips by the chain, allowing it to swing gently before his eyes. It felt bare without San present. His eyes flickered from Bridget to the locket, ”I’ve never seen her without, she is not herself.” Thomas tapped the letter once more. ”Further evidence of that.”

Allowing Bridget time to scan, the boy held the locket in his hands, flipping it open to find a pair of photos. One of her deceased parents, the other a photo with her and…Percival Gray? Bridges and Grays’ don’t go to together, but for you they should.

Initially Thomas would not receive the message as intended, eyes narrowing at the image of Percival Gray. Sinking a tooth into his lip in silent angst. Replaced. The boy swiftly shut it, laying it atop the table.

Thomas would not rule out the sadist ploys a coven could issue, perhaps planting this photo to force a negative reaction. After all, Percival Gray swiftly filled the boy’s role as the next prefect for Slytherin. Could he also be the next hag toy?

The boy found Bridget’s eyes, pointing to the line about Bridges and Grays’, then holding the locket out as he spoke. ”That answers that, we need to find Percival Gray. Perhaps he can piece the rest of this together.”

Thomas paused with a huff, leaning back in his chair in a defeated slouch. A dowling expression overtook his features, as if played for a fool all along. ”Marion Davenport is a hag, you know. A girl sleeping in your dormitory all this time. If they’ve gotten a hold of Santario, this very well could be a trap.”

For several moments, he would allow this prospect to sit. Then leaning forward in his seat again. ”I’m getting ahead of myself. What do you make of the letter then?”

@Bridget Collins

@Thomas Lestrange

The offered chair marked a change from their previous meetings, standing in that dirty bathroom or even finding him in the Study Room and pulling up her own seat. More than that, former instances had carried a wariness now vanished, the call to meet not at all questioned. With information exchanged and a mutual friend on the line, she could finally say she trusted him.

Seated and short greetings exchanged, it was straight into business. Thomas was quick to clarify the meeting's purpose, that they were here for the same reason. So last night had not been a fluke if he had observed similar cause for concern. She'd been trying to think of odd moments during practice, but the only thing that stood out was the distance that had started sometime around when new pairings were formed. She remembered because it had hurt a bit, something like jealousy brewing towards Sarah, despite it being far more Bridget's decision than hers. Her and Santario weren't really friends, were they? Just teammates, and without that of course they wouldn't talk as much.

There were clear red flags now, all of them recent. The locket, Thomas confirming she did always wear it, that it didn't make sense for Santario to hand it off. The letter, words promising details. Her behavior during the first stage, too, because when had she ever been outspoken in a match? While Thomas examined the locket, Bridget scanned through the writing. It was like an extended version of Santario telling her to get the locket to Reaper before correcting to Thomas, poorly punctuated and thoroughly cryptic. A few things clicked on first look, but rereading would be necessary to figure out what Santario was trying to say.

Of course, she wasn't alone examining this. She nodded at the conclusion Santario was directing them to Percival Gray, focus still half on the letter. He was in Santario's locket, so he had to mean something to her, and she couldn't think of anything else that line might have meant. Observation only strengthened the idea Santario might direct them to him. "I think they patrol together. Maybe she told him something."

The words Marion Davenport halted her third readthrough, train of thought slowed by screeching brakes. Her name alone was lit up in harsh shades of red. The only thing she could do was nod, slowly. She was a hag. Had infiltrated the student body, so far under their radar they'd never suspected. If anything, she was mistrusted for her connection to Vladimir, and Bridget could remember thinking quite clearly she was harmless. She'd been wrong. Marion could have killed Flash, and though she hadn't, she'd wrought likely permanent damage.

Was Thomas saying she might have gotten to Santario, too? Her throat tight, eyes still on the letter but seeing nothing, the only thing she could compare this to was finding Katrina hurt, the works of Anastasia, and tracking her down to duel. But that wasn't even close to the same. That was child's play. Besides, Bridget had relatively few friends, so statistically speaking, Marion had attacked others. What were the chances a first year she'd assumed was pulled from the less than safe school had instead fallen victim to a hag's noted appetite for children? Barely two months in, this year felt worse than any before. They'd faced curses and fire, she'd carried an injured Santario to help more than once, but had things ever been this bad? Had she just had the fortune to avoid the worst of it?

Thomas brought the conversation back to the task at hand, pushed back the closing-in shelves. Right, Santario was the priority. She eased her hold on the paper, fingers having caused creases. What could they do about a hag, anyway? "It's like a riddle. Something must have prevented her from writing plainly." That was the obvious. The first reason as to why that came to mind was being watched, but that seemed too tame when considering everything else. "The details make more sense going line by line, I think. Were there any references you didn't get?" That would seem most logical to her; Thomas and Santario were close, and thus they had enough shared knowledge to encode a message. But if not, maybe they needed Percival to interpret the rest of it.

What it was saying as a whole was less clear. Maybe they needed to solve the individual pieces to work that out. It seemed to be leading Thomas to possible allies, her and Gray specifically. The last line indicated they would need numbers. And they would need something to do with astronomy? Spells and potions were sometimes tied to celestial cycles, maybe that was it? With the bit about the belt, it sounded like the constellation Orion, specifically. "Orion is somehow involved. I guess we could need some bit of magic affected by constellations. But... I'm not very sure about that part." She reached for her parchment and quill to make notes, whatever they came up with, so they could more easily cross-reference everything.

That mention of payment. Especially when hags had just been brought up, it wasn't hard to make a jump. "Do you think she made a deal with them?" The words spoken quietly, hoping not to hit a sore spot with him. It seemed possible, a source of trouble that had cropped up in the past. How much would they be able to help her if that was the case, though? And what had been the nature of this deal? Because if there was one, it seemed to be working out terribly for Santario. Could she have been desperate?

She looked back down at the letter, now angled between them so they could both read it. Because of how puzzle-like the whole thing was, she did a quick check for any patterns, a classic way of hiding clues, even if Santario had done plenty of clue-hiding as it was. There was something, down the left side. H E L P M E. "Oh." The little proclamation of discovery. "Look, the first letters of the paragraphs." Not a terribly ground-breaking discovery, as that much had been more or less implied. But there was something about seeing it there, plain and not likely to be unintentional. It made her heart ache to find the plea Santario maybe couldn't even say outright.

- Optional setting mood

"I think they patrol together. Maybe she told him something."

Bridget may not notice, too engaged in the clues that lay on the table between them. Though if she did peer up at the boy, a growing scowl was evident. The sheer mention of Percival and Santario patrolling left a spiteful cringe to play along his lips. Pressing them together in a huff, blue hues wandering off to the side in consideration of whatever other activities the two shared. Furthered by the locket in his grip, Thomas’ eyes flickered to the picture of Percival and Santario once more, swiftly shutting it and placing it down on the table firmly.

Muting the thoughts of replacement with the clues at hand, Santario is not herself. ”Do you think Percival has made a deal?” Thomas’ insinuation was clear, that Percival Grey was another hag servant, punishment for the boy’s abandonment. Taken and tasked to infiltrate Santario’s hardened exterior, finding a way in only to betray her. Thomas would cling to this belief for the time being, anything to subdue the cold feeling of being left behind.

She only liked you for your influence, you fool.

Now that the boy has ruined his status, severing the many connections of influence. The headliner, a prefect. As far as he could see, it was plain as day. Subconsciously, a resentment would form for his closest friend. A dangerous force that would delay his approach, instead relying on the help of other friends like Bridget to get to the core of her problem.

Bridget speculated some double meanings involved on the paper, and given the incoherent nature of her writing, the boy was left to nod in agreement. ”Most of it, actually. I expect she means for me to find Grey…” He spat out the boy’s name in repugnance, unaware of his grip tightening on the table’s edge.

”Orion?” There’s an unfamiliar name, though not a surprise. Likely another in a long line of revolving school officials. Thomas titled his head in a curious gaze towards Bridget, eyebrows rising slowly, a request of elaboration on what Orion meant, or who he/she was.

The topic was shifted to Santario’s own actions that may have led to this state. Bridget suggesting a similar deal was made, much like Thomas. An idea he would quickly shut down. ”Santario? No. Not a chance, she knows better.” With a careful glance at the girl across from him, his lips parted and then closed again. Santario’s status as her friend undeniably made her a target. Bridget herself may as well have been on the docket, the next one. A thread he would not willingly place on her mind, at least not yet.

Not that Collins was clueless to the game she placed herself. Her willingness to engage spoke volumes about her character, and her confidence. Perhaps sourcing from her success on the dueling platform, or she’s simply come to care for Thomas and Santario more than she’d let on. Regardless, she was here, and she was ready to go to work. A position he would not easily forget.

"Oh. Look, the first letters of the paragraphs."

Thomas glanced down to the paper, sliding his palm over to pull it before him. Lowering his head with narrowing eyes to follow along the paragraphs. Of course. He nibbled on his lower lip, an anxious habit. Eyes shooting from the paper to scan their surroundings carefully. It wasn’t a good way to be, to feel watched at every turn. Typically a sign of guilt, though for Thomas, a byproduct of his decisions. Feeling directly responsible for whatever gloom awaited Santario. The time for running was over, the boy knew he needed to take action.

”I don’t much trust adults. I’ll start with Grey, I have a few words for him anyway.” The sentence dwindled into distaste at the mention of Grey once more. Collecting his papers and stacking them together, he placed them within an envelope that had Angel written on the outside. Pausing before he rose to find Bridget’s eyes once again. ”I don’t expect you to come any further, it’s your choice.” An offer his guilt provided, fearful to endanger another friend. ”Thank you, Bridget.”

If Bridget hesitated, the boy would not linger for her decision. Placing the envelope within his pocket as he pushed the chair in. Scanning each table as he passed in between the towering bookshelves, the hunt for Gray begins. And if Bridget found his side in this departure, he would turn away to fight off a breaching smile.

@Bridget Collins

@Thomas Lestrange

Busy investigating the letter, she only looked up when he brought up the question of where Percival stood in all this. It was possible he had. With how severe things had gotten in the past weeks, they couldn't be too careful, couldn't blindly trust those Santario did as much as they both respected her. "I have no idea. I don't know him well enough to say." She'd scarcely ever talked to the prefect before, really only for chess combat over the summer, so couldn't have noticed any potential red flags. There weren't any rumors going around about it as they had with Thomas, but if it was a recent thing, that would count for very little.

If Percival was in with the hags and they'd concluded they needed him to understand the letter, they weren't in the best of spots. What was worse, she was getting the inkling there was some sort of history between Thomas and Percival with the way he'd said his name. Her brows raised at his grip on the table, but she didn't comment. For one, it might just be the general stress of returning to his best friend in danger. For another, she had no intention of getting involved in that animosity if she could help it.

Her hypothesis about the constellation lines sounded wrong, even as she said it. Sure, celestial-dependent magic existed, but how much of what she'd seen depended on stars? It was usually moon phases. The way he repeated the constellation name triggered a sense of familiarity, she just had to put her finger on what it was. If she discarded her original line of thinking for a moment, what were other possibilities? They needed to 'seek help', somehow, and barring an unlikely reference to something religious, what could help them? Coming after the mention of her and Percival as 'Bridges and Grays', perhaps it was another person. A New Defender. Wasn't Orion a hunter? "Wait, I think..." she squinted, trying to remember, then nodded to herself. "Orion is the first name of Professor Lécuyer. Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." That made considerably more sense than her first idea, and whatever this was quite possibly fell into his realm of expertise.

Not all speculation could be made as an objective interpretation of the lines. The mention of payment brought a deal to mind, though such a thing carried serious connotations. Thomas was quick to shut down the idea and she didn't think it merely the reflex defense of a friend; he knew her well, and of course Santario would be well-aware of the consequences of dealings with a hag, having seen them firsthand. "Yeah, of course." A quick nod, looking back to the letter to avoid eye contact. She was embarrassed for even mentioning it; they should consider every possibility, but she didn't want to compromise the high-esteem she held Santario in doing so. This seemed more like a curse than some sort of deal's consequences, anyway.

Silence fell over their little nook of the library as they stared at the capital letters. That was what they were here already to do, to figure out what was wrong so they could help Santario. After a moment, Thomas announced his plan of action. She couldn't blame him for not trusting adults, the sentiment shared by many of their peers, and though it seemed Lécuyer was the one Santario was directing them to, she wasn't sure how she felt about going to a man she'd only known for a little over a month. So he had words for Gray, that sounded lovely. Highly conducive to working together as Santario wanted them to.

He offered her leave, but she was already shaking her head. "She's my friend, too." Was that what they were? Close enough. Bridget cared about her, and how could she see her at practice and ignore her plight? This might be hard and it might lead down dark rabbit holes, but if she could do something to help, she was going to. And so she stood, collecting her things and following him as they left their brief meeting place. She kept an eye out as they walked away, just to be sure no one could have been eavesdropping.

"Besides," she added after a moment, "if there's a chance Percival is in with the hags, you shouldn't go alone." It seemed a little silly saying that to Thomas, of all people. He'd been face to face with a hag and survived--though technically they all had, she supposed, with the knowledge Marion was one--and presumably still had the mirror curse, cost of trying to get out. And someone simply in with the hags was less dangerous than an actual hag. Still, after everything that had happened, she'd rather not risk it.