Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

The Dirty Part of Physics [ClockworkCadence ║ Ryees]

Consternation—however one would interpret that on this dementor's brain-like head—stuttered the creature where it stood, its many hands pausing as a strange and unknown spell evaporated its summoned glass birds into dust. Somewhere in its figure, unease set in, with that spell, and it had begun to cast a new one when Olivia's next spell had just completed.

It balked, then, as the ghostly elephant rumbled forward, tossing its head defensively in defense of its master. The winter-night camaraderie contained within its bellowing shouts had the dementor's arms clawing at its head, trying to drown out the sounds and stopstopstopstopstop that elephant from boring into its mind, all to no avail. But unlike the cloaked figures of the dementors at Azkaban, it did not flee. Its instincts did not stray to Flight, but to Fight.

With a million-voiced shriek like a chorus of tortured souls, it charged forward towards the onrushing titan of the savanna, and they met headlong. The elephant was not a dumb beast of the plains, at least not in this setting; its mind linked back to Olivia's, shared her knowledge an experience of the minutes leading up to this battle. So as the dementor's lanky arms reached overhead to aim for a spell at it, the phantom elephant shifted right in an entirely unnatural slide, made possible by the energy it drew from its caster. It skated left under the dementor's front arms, then jettisoned forward, piercing its tusks into the flesh of the nightmonster's middle-right arm.

Sherlin lost track of the other people in the classroom and leaned forward intently.

It was largely undocumented what happened to a dementor when a Patronus attacked it, for they unilaterally fled from the charm in the practical world and chose to live to dement another day. This simulated environment followed the natural rules of the world: What happened within would happen without.

The tusk rent the inky flesh of the dementor, but only for a moment. Like parchment in a bonfire, that flesh seared and rippled, disintegrating into ash at the barest touch. That disintegration started traveling, then, the arm of the dementor crumbling to dust and then traveling upwards until...

...one black arm grabbed the base of the damaged one, tearing it from its own body.

In the seconds it took for the arm to fully disintegrate, the dementor took its unraveling arm and swung it sharply downwards at the elephant like a hammer to a nail. Evaporating black met emanating white, and all involved were splashed into a cloud of gray-black mist. The creature thought itself clever, to have used its broken arm to attack its Patronus assailant, and in the moment it had seemed to work. But it was with horror that the beast realized its middle arm, protruding from its back, was also slowly unraveling at the fingertips. The taint of the Patronus had progressed up its broken arm, and jumped to its attached limb. And so too was its rear-end slowly falling to ash, as were the tips of its strangely human toes.

With its existence sealed, it turned its hatred back to Olivia. The brain-like tendrils that made up its head started to wriggle, then unravel. Like a demented flower opening to the sun, those veins pulled apart and lengthened, revealing underneath another startlingly human feature: A face, twisted and blackened, missing its eyes and teeth, that gaped its skull-like mouth and rent out the same deep, bestial howl the dementor had screamed before.

All arms and stumbling legs, it bounded forward, crossing the space in a tumble of failing, flailing limbs. Its body collapsed a few meters away from Olivia, but the tendrils that made up the petals of its black-flower head moved of their own accord. The ones that touched the ground crawled forward like snakes, while the topmost bands drifted downwards like anemone-spines. The shield at her front flashed here, flashed there, blasting some of those tentacles into fleshy pulp, but the defense was frontal while the assault was radial. A pair of tendrils snatched up Olivia by the ankles, and the moment that creature touched her, her connection to magic was Silenced. Two tendrils snaked up her legs, while others pawed at her arms, driving their way up her body and into the rips and tears of her clothing, finally finding her most sensitive—

Click.

Sherlin heard the mechanism trip, and nodded silently to himself. The cabinet doors burst open, and Olivia followed suit just as Helen before her as she was ejected from the cabinet up onto the tile in a heap. Once again, her clothing was tattered, more aggressively than Helen's was before her. Sherlin bent at one knee in front of her, shooting a glance like a gunshot to the frat boy brigade, who finally seemed to be getting with the program as they averted their eyes.
 
It should have worked.

At least, she’d hoped it would. Her patronus ebbed with light, lumbering closer in an attempt to drive back the darkness. For a moment, it seemed like things would go as she expected—the monster would retreat, every inch of its being repelled by the force of magic that threatened to disperse it into nothing.

Self-preservation. That was how dementors reacted. She’d seen the very same thing play out for years.

But this wasn’t a dementor. Not entirely, anyway.

The shadow stayed. Then, it lunged.

Despite the light, it chose to fight. Whatever survival instinct it may have once had was either long withered away, or—more terrifyingly—the spell had no effect on it. Unease settled in the pit of Olivia’s stomach, the implications gnawing at her insides. If it could fight, it may also be able to win. Could a creature like this actually tear apart a spell? And what the hell could she do if it did?

She watched the clash, wincing as some lance of pain wedged itself in her brain as she poured all of her focus into the encounter, willing memories with her sister to consume the bone-chilling crawl of her flesh. With every inch of the elephant that came into close proximity with the beast, the sensation almost seemed to reflect and intensify in her own body. Like twin magnets suddenly able to touch instead of repel, her magic touched the monster, damaged it—the wrongness of it consumed her relief at seeing the attack had actually done something.

The dementor began to erode away. Her Patronus had done its job, more than it ever had to before.

It should have worked, but the damn thing wasn’t done.

It swung its limb towards her protector, the clash sending a paralyzing jolt up her spine and a primal fear stuttering in her heart. Winter memories shattered and blurred as her spell was forcefully dispersed, her magic ripped apart in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. The loss sent her reeling, vision blurring with a wave of vertigo as she tried to grasp what had happened.

None of it seemed to matter in the face of one very real thing: the present. Her patronus had ended. The dementor still remained.

The sight of it. The sound of it. Olivia slumped onto the floor, strength and courage alike evaporating. The fear grafted itself onto her soul, assimilated with it, became it. The monster still withered away, a useless observation in the face of just how much of it still existed—enough to move towards her.

A heart-rending scream tore from her throat as adrenaline burst into every vein in her body. Her limbs frantically paddled backwards, the jab in her thigh of her wand still in the band of her leggings only dimly dragging her back to conscious action. The numbness of her hands made it hard to tell if she even held her wand out. It didn’t matter. Words couldn’t form. Magic felt like a distant memory.

Something rooted her in place. Smooth and warm and unyielding. In sharp contrast to the numbness of her hands, the rest of her felt every single atom of the tendrils that wound around her from what felt like every angle. They squeezed, cutting off circulation as they wormed their way, weaving across her skin and into her clothes and into her—

The sensation still clung to her as a sharp blow knocked her back into reality. Her body could move again. Somehow she was still alive. She had to get up get away get out—

She bolted upright only to promptly crash back down again, the crack against her head echoing the first. The floor. The floor had been the thing to hit her. Dark marble. Not colorful glass.

Her blurry gaze lifted to meet a face, panic peaking again until she realized there were eyes there. Gray-green. A tumble of dark hair. Pale skin. Lips. Human. Actually human.

Staring down at her was the very Professor that had sent her to hell and thrown her back out of it.

Her mouth moved, voice still far gone, shaking arms somehow strong enough to push herself back up to sitting. Emotions warred—fear, confusion, relief, anger, all too muddled and battling for dominance for any one of them to properly form on her face. She stared up at him, ultimately settling on frustration as she failed to convey anything.

Maybe it was for the best that she couldn’t really say or do anything yet. It’s not like she knew where to start in the first place. The fury and terror in her bones wanted her to curse him and walk out without a second glance. The student in her mind burgeoned with questions. The human in her heart needed to reach out and touch him, to convince herself that this was reality but also to just feel the comforting presence of someone, anyone after her experience. The trauma in her soul shunned all of these.

Somewhere in the jumble, the memory that this was all just a casual classroom task slammed into her, almost cracking her sanity. How ridiculous it felt, wondering if she passed or failed the test in the wake of her near not-death experience. The fact that she should have learned anything useful from this was staggeringly distant in comparison to the myriad of new fears unlocked in her subconscious. To think, she had to just return back to her daily life after this. Had to sleep after this.

Through the crashing waves of her thoughts coming back into focus, she watched his gaze search her. Only then did she look down and find out why.

She blinked down at herself, dully surprised she wasn’t as sliced and bloodied and crushed as she’d felt mere moments ago. Every bit of flesh looked fine—which is when she realized there was far more flesh to look at than she would have liked. The sleeves of the buttoned shirt draped her arms in useless tatters, the right one missing everything below the elbow. Gashes here and there gave small windows to the gentle curve of her waist. More distressing, though, was the long tear across the entire right side of her chest, the strap of her bra severed and dangling uselessly behind her. With one of the buttons missing, the fabric of the wine dark shirt drooped, the ripped thin tank top underneath peeled back and rolled up on itself to reveal a substantial amount of the slope of lacy sky blue.

She couldn’t recall if it was the first time she’d defended herself with her tits out, but she certainly wanted it to be the last time.

The soft expanse of her thighs spilled out from sizeable rips in the leggings, her skin surprisingly unmarred despite the ghost of a stinging pain lingering at the center of each tear. Stinging pain and the sensation of tendrils as they slid over and between and inside—

Her legs tensed, pressing lightly together. Instinctually, her arms began to rise to shield her body, but froze mid-motion and stiffly returned to her sides. The eyes probing along her body seemed calculated, analytical. Though she still couldn’t feel any semblance of safety, maybe his reassurance would help her find her own. Slowly, she lifted her arms, twisting and turning them to prove to both of them that she was fine, physically. Mentally was a different story.

After a few moments of rotating various limbs, she felt like she’d regained enough feeling in them to actually be useful. Cautiously, she hoisted herself up onto a knee, body still trembling as she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet. With one more scan of her body, she breathed out what might have been the first shaky breath she’d managed since the air had been choked out of her.

Alive. Again, or incomprehensibly still.

Her hands fumbled around for her bra strap, pulling it back over her shoulder. Some part of her could have cried, feeling her magic rush through her palm to mend it. Things were normal. Things were happening as they should. Things were working as they should.

The fact that they hadn’t still chilled her.

“Why did it fight?” She choked out, eyes wide as she searched Sherlin’s face for all the purpose and meaning she couldn’t yet grasp or accept. “How could it have fought?” And, as the chilling possibility settled in: “Is that…actually possible?”
 
The dim, concerned murmur that rippled through the crowd was silenced by the barest twitch of Sherlin's head up towards them, dissipated by the time his eyes dragged over them. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to Olivia. The rips and tears in her clothing that bared her not-nothing-to-look at figure seemed, in the moment, uninteresting to him. Indeed, he barely looked at her at all save for the satisfied nod that seemed to come more from knowing his device had not detached any limbs or added any additional more than it came from her apparent safety.

His wand flicked out and he moved to poise it to her head as he had Helen, but she leaned away from him. With a curious furrow of his brow, he met her eyes. The storm behind them told him that her experience had had its intended effect, but it was visible confusion that painted his face when she shied away from having some relief from those memories. Helen had seemed almost eager to let those memories fall out of her brain, but Olivia seemed, now, to be one of those "integral" types that Sherlin had read about. Forgetting would make her "incomplete," and forgetting was somehow worse than the trauma she would no doubt be discussing with a "trained" professional in the future. He shrugged and his wand disappeared.

“Why did it fight? How could it have fought? Is that… actually possible?”​

He held his breath for a long moment, chewing on the thoughts like they were slightly rubbery. "Theoretically yes," he asserted with a nod. "Our research on how the Patronus interacts with the dementors is very limited for the same reason we know very little about the depths of the ocean: The ability to study it is very low. What we know is that the Patronus is a repellant for them. What I know is that we have very little documented evidence what happens if a Patron actually touches a dementor. Very little, but not none." His eyes turned sharp at that, eyeing her with something between approval and curiosity.

Sherlin stood and beckoned for her to do the same. His wand had appeared again, and with a wave the threads in her clothing, both borrowed and owned, started to knit back together. Six more adventures took the better part of three hours. For those who had completed their turn, he instructed them that Theodoor would let them out and in one time each, with a two-hour gap allowed between their departure and return. Sherlin looked to the off-sync clocks on his desk as he announced the news, also pulling his wrist free from his sleeve and consulting a smart watch that somehow looked egregious and out of place on him.


Two hours passed, and it was old Angier that was last to be ejected from the cabinet. Sherlin's brows rose when the man showed not a scratch on him, but also emerged with a circa-1940 SKS rifle that Sherlin did not remember stashing inside. Angier looked entirely pleased with himself, and, showing no signs of any discomfort or trauma, became the second person to decline his memory erasure.

It was getting on nearly 7:00PM by the sane clocks on phones and wrists by the time everyone had returned to their seats. Sherlin returned to his desk and stood behind it, leaning forward on his palms. "Within the simulation, you all encountered some version of a problem that required you to do two things." He rose a fist, then one finger, his index. "First, you were to cast your Patronus under duress. None of you failed that. Needless to say, that was expected of each of you." A second finger rose, his pinky. "Second, you were asked to cast no only a spell that you had never cast before, but also a spell that has never appeared in any textbook. To that end, congratulations to all of you." He spread his hands, an honest, proud smile shining through. "You all, now, have done what has not been done in many hundreds of years: You have created a new spell. And if my cupboard is correct—" his tone of voice suggested that he absolutely knew his cupboard was correct "—then it should function in this world just as it did there. You have a new tool for your arsenals. These tools are your homework." His hands folded in front of him and he stood straight. "One parchment of explanation on what your spell was, how you believe the spell worked, and practical applications of that spell. Practice them, because you will be both using them in tomorrow's drills and teaching them to your classmates."

Producing his wand, he tapped the board. The owl poked its head up from the outer border, ruffled its feathers, and took off across the board. In its wake, the word, "CONGRATULATIONS" appeared in flowery, nutty script, adorned with leaves and branches and dead corpses of old numbers the owl had not yet fed on. Theodoor snapped open, and Sherlin took a seat.
 
The avoidance had been more an instinctual reaction borne from the adrenaline still ebbing through her body more than a conscious thought. Yet as she realized what his intention had been, she contemplated the consequences. Relief was tantalizing. Achingly so. Half of her wanted to catch his hand and shove his wand straight into her temple.

Forgetting, though? It was unsettling. There had been a lesson to be learned, a test of her skill, her will, her magic—hell, she’d cast something she didn’t even know she could cast. If she forgot, would all that knowledge evaporate with the memory? Would the experience amount to nothing, would she learn nothing, if she didn’t hold onto it?

At the very least, she wouldn’t have learned about such avenues of research if she didn’t have the memory to ask about it. The implication did nothing to disperse the adrenaline, but preparedness had to be better than being surprised by it later. The idea of research intrigued her, but her mind lacked any capacity to absorb anything at the moment. So, she nodded tersely, once at his words and again as a wordless thanks for having mended her clothing. She scuttled back over to her belongings, quickly shedding the borrowed clothes and sliding into her own, one step closer to distancing herself from the experience. As she deposited the now-pristine outfit back with the rest of the selection, she glanced at the time and date on her phone, laughably off-kilter with what she had assumed. Two hours to pull herself back together. It wouldn’t feel that long at all.

Grabbing only essentials from her belongings at her desk, she cast a wary glance back at the cabinet before giving a small bow to Theodoor as he reluctantly creaked open. Olivia hurriedly stepped through, ever cautious that he might change his mind as she crossed his threshold, before continuing with a jittery gait through the winding halls. Despite the twists and turns, her intent beelined her towards her small flat a few streets down from the Ministry.

She needed familiarity. Safety. A fucking shower.

With labored breathing due to her quick pace, she immediately locked the bathroom door, turned the water on as hot as it would get, and sloughed off her clothing. Her fingers deftly tapped and swiped on her phone a couple of times before music began to blare from its little speakers, not quite loud enough to drown out her thoughts but it at least eased the anxiety of silence.

The water stung, her skin blossoming red. The drops pitter-pattered a relentless drum beat as she sat under the stream, breathing deep. If she let herself notice it, she could still feel the stinging cuts of glass, the horrible tendrils that constricted and consumed her. The white noise of the shower almost morphed into the sound of the dementor’s screech, if not for the lilting beat of her music hammering it back into the shape of reality.

Still not enough. A light, unstable hum rose to join the din as she began to scrub at her body, soap running over her angry skin. Again. Again. Again. The suds smelled of jasmine and burnt flesh. A human scream joined the cacophony in her mind.

Breathe.

1.

2.

3.

The reminder brought color and shape back into the blurred edges of her vision.

She had to do this. She had to learn, be better.

Be clean. She resumed her ritual, this time with soothing circles that still irritated her abused skin. Slowly, she coaxed her magic to heal her raw flesh, no longer needing the pain to keep her tethered to reality. The water steadily grew cold, sending violent shivers rippling down her body until she couldn't take any more. Her towel felt comfortingly soft. The music came into clearer focus, cheerful and less at odds with how she now felt. The condensation on her mirror trickled and cleared. That girl, there. That was her. This was her.

After flicking on her hair dryer, her other hand fumbled around on her counter and in drawers for a hairbrush, apparently misplaced. Had she taken it with her in her bag today? With a sigh, she switched off the dryer to search around the flat for another, a duplicate or two laying around somewhere as a precaution due to previous forgetfulness. Thankfully, her search bore fruit atop her nightstand, and soon the brush tamed her gradually drying locks as she returned to the bathroom and focused in on the energetic beat filling the space, trying not to lose the sound through the loud drone as air once again blasted through her hair. It felt good, to have something to focus on. Her pieces fit back into place. Her appearance reconstructed itself. She even took the time to have a cup of tea. Stability reigned for what felt like the first time in a long time.

A long time being a scant couple of hours, soon drawing to a close by the time she re-entered the classroom after a momentary standoff with Theodoor. Olivia settled into her chair just as an older man tumbled out, blinking at the rifle in his hands as once again her mind was shunted into the role of curious student. She listened intently, scribbling notes dutifully into her notebook until she paused, eyebrows quirking slightly.

A new spell. So had the Professor himself not even attempted the spell she had cast? Not only that, everyone had a different experience, and thus a different spell to teach?

She barely glanced at the celebratory owl, hardly flinched at the loud bang of Theodoor, already absorbed in writing down her musings, capitalizing on her improved headspace before it had a chance to leach away.
 
The testing armoire chewed and spit up it occupants one at a time. Save for Angier, the rest of the occupants came out with their physical states noticeably marred, eyes wild, and accepted their memory removal with feelings ranging from gracious relief to fading terror. Ryan came out without his shirt at all, and upon inspection Sherlin could not find it anywhere within the closet. He was puzzled and pleased by this revelation.

Only the first handful of students were left with enough time to bother leaving for their spare time. Helen slipped out of the room with her head down, returning in sweats with her hair in a bun, still damp. Ryan's turn followed Olivia's, and he had puzzled out that he had just enough time to skip over to the convenience store, returning with a six-pack of dark ale and a second six-pack of energy drinks. Sherlin appeared to give the items no attention.

None of the gathered mages took the opportunity to depart once their assignment was revealed to them. One and all they sat at their desks, noses down. The sound of pens and pencils scratching filled the silence for the next half hour, interspersed only with the sounds of stretching, thoughtful grumbles, until Marcus raised his hand. "Professor?" Sherlin's eyes came up, and he gave him an acknowledging nod. "When are we ending tonight?" he asked meekly, hand withering back down to his side.

"Ah, yes, good question." Sherlin glanced between the clocks on his desk, appearing to do some calculations. "It is going on eight o'clock, now, so after we each demonstrate our spells, practice them, then master their castings, that should put us around oh... Midnight?" He nodded, pleased with the sound of the number. "Right on time. Six AM to midnight was our scheduled class times going forward, but if you all catch on quickly we can perhaps let out a little early on our first day!" He clapped the tips of fingers together, apparently pleased at the generosity of the treat he had offered them.

And without missing a beat, he stood. "We'll begin, now," he announced, heedless of the pens still on paper and the heads that snapped up above them. "Any notes you have written are your own, I don't need them, I'll not be keeping any parchments around, no use." The looks that bounced off the back of his head as he turned to tap the board with his wand were incendiary enough to boil water, but he did not seem to notice, or to care if he had. "Mr. Carmine, you've been finished for some time, why don't you start us off."

As Angier stood and walked down the steps from his seat up near the back of the hall, his name scratched itself into the board.

ANGIER CARMINE
CHOSE TIRE IRON
CAST EXPECTOACCIO​

The soldier read the board over twice, uncomfortable with the way his choices were bared when he had hoped his decisions would remain private, but he pursed his lips and shrugged it off as he turned to face the class. "What would you like me to say?" he asked, turning his head back to Sherlin for a moment.

"Explain your setting, the constituent pieces of your spell, and how you believe it worked," Sherlin replied, moving to drop into his chair. "And please describe the implications of how you understand the spell to have thought for itself."

With a nod, Angier returned to addressing his peers. "I was in a forest; dark, rainy, what you'd expect out of a horror movie to the letter. A unicorn had been attacked by a bunch'a acromantulas, was bleeing out in a clearing. Moonlight shining down on it from the sky, the whole bit." He pointed to the ceiling and put a hand over his heart dramatically as he spoke, wryly amused at the spectacle of the scene. "When the spiders showed up, first couple were responsive to arania, but there were too damn many of them. I torched up about half the approach, narrowed 'em to a funnel. Became more efficient then to start using their bodies as a barrier, so I ditched the wand and started bashing their heads in with the tire iron." He pantomimed swinging a pipe at a creature at knee-level.

His smile faded, though, flickering away as his memories replayed. "I got tackled down, though, and when I had gotten it off of me, the broodmother had shown up along with another batch of reinforcements. The stars..." His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked up, disbelief painted on his face. "It was like a constellation formed letters, spelled out the incantation. 'Expectoaccio' ain't a spell we've ever heard before, obviously, but I gave it a shot." His brows flicked up and he blinked. "That tire iron flew back to me, but it turned into a rifle mid-flight."

He crossed his arms, raising one hand to rest his chin on his palm contemplatively. "With your Patronus, the 'expecto' part usually means to call. Latin breaks up into ' to await,' I think. Obviously 'Patronus' is your patron. To 'expecto' another spell must be what gives it the self-assertive properties." He gained confidence as he spoke, nodding more quickly with each passing word. "So 'expectoaccio,' that's your retriever, with... what does that end up being, transfigurative?" Sherlin and the students watched as the man puzzled it out in real time, realization and connections dawning and connecting moment by moment. "So it summons an object, but the spell decides for you what the object is going to be by the time it gets to you, based on its own perception of—Jesus H., Sherlin, this spell is powerful!"

Sherlin was hiding a smile behind his poised fingers, already nodding by the time Angier incredulously whipped to face him. "Well done old boy, ten Sherlins to you." The professor stood, joining Angier in the middle of the room and producing his wand in his where-did-that-come-from way. "You will see the trend, as we go, in the similarity of how these spells function. When your spell thinks for itself, you lose control. You don't get to decide what it does next. Many of you will not be comfortable with that, having always been in precise control of your magics." The side to side shifting of some bodies suggested that he was correct. "We will first all come to explain our spells, then we will move to practicals." He turned and gestured, and Angier nodded, trotting back up towards his seat.

Sherlin's gaze took in the whole room as he scanned across them like a sprinkler watering a lawn with battery acid. "Now then, who's next? Volunteers?"
 
The fact that anyone in the class placed any importance or attention on time after their experience jarred Olivia's writing hand, forming a horrendously odd squiggle between the E and the A of the word "react", rendering it unreadable. With a quick scribble through the deformed word, she tried again, the Professor's words flowing through her mind in parallel with her own train of thought.

An odd sense of relief settled into her shoulders. While she practically dashed out of the room the first time today, that certainly wouldn't be the case the second time. Class (though the very reason she felt so unstable) still served as a distraction, a tether point, something normal to put her thoughts and energy towards. Being alone at night with nothing but her memories—the idea of it sent her shifting in her seat.

Thankfully, class did its duty, pulling her attention back to the present. Her focus trailed after the older gentleman for just a moment before her attention dove back into her notebook, scribbling all the whole as he spoke. She hadn't even begun to explore the rabbit hole of her considerations for his spell before the Professor was searching for volunteers.

She stood a bit abruptly, her enthusiasm for puzzling out these new spells and their uses leaking into her bodily energy—or maybe it was just the phantom of adrenaline nipping at her heels. Either way, she found her way down to the front of the room, searching the faces of her classmates. Angier's name fell letter by letter from the board, bouncing like ripe apples amidst the wilted leaves and numbers at the bottom, replaced with:

OLIVIA HUDSON
CHOSE TROMBONE
CAST EXPECTO PROTEGO​

She shuffled her feet for a moment, glancing over at the Professor before beginning. "I was standing on a giant faintly glowing circular stained-glass relief of a five headed Phoenix, like something you'd find in an old cathedral. There wasn't really anything else—I couldn't see much but darkness all around, except for three pedestals with different objects on it. As soon as I touched the trombone, the others disappeared and their glass shattered to create a thin path into nothing. When I started walking, there were these glass birds that appeared behind me along with—"

Memories surfaced. Dark ichor dripped down her back. "—with a creature. Huge, spindly, many arms, with a bulbous and tendriled head. A dementor, but not quite. It was faceless, mouthless, but it spoke, used magic to send the birds at me and to petrify me. It chased me, all the way down the path to another large disc of glass, with a—" She gave a pointed look in Sherlin's direction. "—different relief on it. It cornered me, and there wasn't another path. Instead, I heard a voice, and just like what happened with him—" she gestured over to Angier, "—this was spelled out in the stars.” Her hand flitted to the board, and the spell at the bottom.

“So, I tried it. Still held the trombone in my hands and didn't know what sort of wand motion to use, so I just…tried to play it." She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Felt right, I don't know. But it worked. This wisp of mist trailed out the bell, and condensed into an orb. When the creature sent the birds at me again, the orb just…reacted. Flickered from place to place faster than I could keep up with, scattering all of the glass to dust before it could reach me."

The tale wasn't finished, but past that point…nobody really needed to know.

She paused in thought for a moment before nodding. "An approximation of sentience. It is programmed to perform a function by a caster and is fueled by both the will of the caster and their magic. I don't believe it has the full liberty of free will or choice, such that it can decide on its own who to protect without input from its caster, or if it even wants to protect its caster, but it reacts as if it has supernatural senses, as an extension of the caster yet not limited to the caster's own perceptual awareness or ability. It is its own separate entity, yet would not exist without being programmed and without the caster's magic to fuel it.

“Mine in particular was called upon to protect me. Thus, it carries out its duty regardless of my ability to detect danger and direct its energy—it took care of those parts on its own. I couldn't direct it past my original intention, and thus it sort of took on a life of its own, but it continued on as a sort of background process to free me up to do other things. Most notably, you still have the ability to cast while it exists, which is a significant advantage. Attack and defense, at the same time. Or, if especially necessary, I'd imagine you can double down on defense."

She shuffled her feet a little, deciding to give the barest details to hint at what happened near the end of her time in the armoire. "It has its limitations, though. While fast to react, it can still only be in one place at one time. Being attacked on all sides by a flood of projectiles taxes its capabilities."
 
A ripple of polite laughter waved through her peers at the imagery of Olivia piping through a trombone in the face of some giant, tendrilled horror, but as with Angier, the mirrored experiences they seemed to have shared kept their attention focused tightly. Both Olivia and Angier spoke of their spell being given to them from the stars, and it was that detail that drew familiar nods and interested glances.

As before, Sherlin let her speak, watching over steepled fingers. Despite having seen every trial in real time, he watched as though hearing for the first time, enraptured and intrigued all the same. As Olivia's voice faded, he gave her a nod as well. "Ten for you as well my dear, well done." He sat up straight, leaning tucking his hands under his elbows to lean forward on them at his desk. "Two points there of relevance in that explanation. First, intention. It is likely that these spells will never do anything out of character. They will be predictable in that way, so as much as you will lose direct control over them after you have cast them, it is also to be expected that they will act in your best interest the same way your Patronus always will.

"And second, limitations. Just because you tell a computer to do something does not mean it will always be able. The same should be true of these." It became apparent then that Sherlin was also puzzling through this right along with them. And considering these were all brand new spells, that would have been necessary by the simple nature of the exercise. He turned his head to Olivia. "Your protego will never turn into a ward, and—" His eyes turned up to Angier, back at his seat "your accio will never give your objects to someone else, as examples. They exist within the confines of their original purpose and intention, but they will serve that purpose dynamically and to a capacity that likely, our reflexes and sensibilities would never allow for."

With an approving nod, Sherlin beckoned Olivia to return to her seat. Her colleagues stood at the front of the room one by one, telling their stories and explaining their spells. Expecto lumos, expecto obliviate, expecto fiendfyre, and expecto diffindo, among others, scribbled across the board, their respective discoverers regaling the class of their universally harrowing but uniquely flavored experiences. A car chase, a naval battle, a court trial; their experiences had been wildly varied across a vast array of different challenges, each one tinged with an unsettling twist in its middle that allowed for the presented spell to shine.

As Marina took her seat, having offered the last explanation, Sherlin stood and moved to the front of the room. He glanced at the watch on his wrist; explanations had devolved into discussion more than intended, and the night had moved on. "I had intended for some practicals tonight, but we'll have to forego them for time's sake. Thankfully the discussions on the spells were insightful, so I'm not fussed by the setback. We will simply have to get through class material tomorrow a bit more rapidly."

Theodoor wiggled in response to his words, creaking open. "It is almost midnight now; class tomorrow will be at 6:00AM. Promptly, as always. For now, you are all dismissed. Well done today," he added, offhandedly but no less sincere for its abruptness. "Your tests today were not easy. And they won't get any easier, but seeing that you all made it through these, I have high hopes for this group. I would not be surprised if three or four of you actually made it to your final!" With that, he moved to his desk, reaching underneath and producing a long tweed overcoat of gray fabric, worn at the hems, to pull up and around his shoulders.
 
Olivia tried to hide the mildly pleased quirk of her lips that threatened to blossom across her face at his praise, and at his clarity of understanding and explanation that seemed a little at odds with the times his thoughts appeared to be ten steps ahead of his words. The serendipitous realization slowly faded into another file tucked into a cabinet in her mind as the rest of the class captured her full attention. Everyone indeed had their own spell, their own experiences that required something entirely new to effectively solve the problem. In all honesty, it was fun to explore and debate these creations with other rather bright minds. The gap between her and the rest of the class felt just a little more narrow.

Before she’d realized, the Professor was already checking the time, Theodoor already doing what she assumed were his nighttime stretches. Her attention flickered back to her notebook, not quite finished parsing out the thoughts that ached to be sent out down through her arm and across the page. Surely she had a few more minutes—people always had their own paces with which they packed up their belongings, chatted to friends, discussed something further with the professor, and the like.

In any other case, she may have been right. Midnight, however, was a powerful motivator. She hadn’t realized the room had emptied faster than if it had been filled with noxious gas.

Sherlin tugged the collar of his coat tight around his neck, turning to the door until his eyes landed on Olivia, who had either not realized she had been dismissed or intended to spend the night in the classroom. Which was allowed—she was an employee of the Ministry, after all—but not something Sherlin had expected of any of this particular group. He rapped his knuckles on his desk, calling out, "Miss Hudson? Class is dismissed for the night, if you would like to get some sleep tonight."

She startled, blinking up at him as she flipped her notebook shut. “Sorry, Professor,” she called out as she hurriedly shoved her belongings back into her bag, hoisting it up as she scuttled down towards the door. “Didn’t realize everyone had left so fast, I was just trying to finish out a thought.” As she moved, she realized she hadn’t even noticed the low, pitiful creaking coming from Theodoor as he rocked wearily back and forth. “Sorry, Theodoor,” the murmured apology came with a light bow as she stepped through the door, her mind starting to catch up with her actions.

She was leaving. Back to her flat, back to sleep. Back to greet the monster that lurked in the corners when she let herself be idle. A small part of her wanted to slink into her office and work the scant few hours before her next class away. Permissiveness now would only create a nasty cycle, though. These were long days. She had to try to sleep. Had to try to confront this right away, before it became harder and harder to allow herself to slip into unconsciousness.

Sherlin was only a step behind her as they exited the classroom, Theodoor drifting shut behind them. Sherlin produced a key from within his coat, a skeleton key with only one solid tooth, and slotted it into the door. He didn't twist it, though, merely held it for a moment; Theodoor's screen slowly scrolled shut, and after a moment, the door began to gently snore. Sherlin pocketed the key and, turning to Olivia, said, "Tomorrow, then, Miss Hudson?" as he moved to leave.

“Tomorrow, yes,” she smiled, “I hope you have a good night, Professor. Thank you for today.”

Though it sounded like that was that—adieu, adios, and farewell—the building gave them no such option. Shunted into a corner of the Ministry, his path to the outside remained the same as hers, his footsteps tracking down the arrows in her mind that led her home. Following behind him was decidedly awkward. Worse yet would be racing ahead of him. Instead, she stutter-stepped into a matching pace, keeping her gaze forward.

“Always meant to ask. When did you visit Tuva?”

It was not immediately apparent if Sherlin wanted to answer her or not by his pause, but his voice was enthusiastic enough to not sound forced. "It was an assignment—well, after one. I had Ministry business in central Russia, and I had always meant to stop in. It was on the way home, so I stopped by, spent a year there." He shrugged casually. "The people there were very nice, I learned quite a lot from them."

On the way home, yet stopped by for an entire year. The odd juxtaposition sent a smirk spreading across her face. “You’re quite lucky to have gotten to spend so long there. I’d only had a couple of weeks, but it was a very beautiful and storied region. Always wanted to go back.” Her eyes flickered in his direction before returning to the hallway. “Do you have a favorite place you’ve visited?”

He pondered on that for a moment. "Tuva was arguably the most useful. Favorite? That's a difficult one—say, Miss Hudson, what is happening here?" He furrowed his brow and cast her a sidelong glance as they entered the main atrium of the Ministry. "Is this small talk? Or are you looking to glean something from a round of twenty questions?" It was not unfriendly, the way he posed the question, but baffled, clearly uncertain where her interest was coming from.

As she stepped into the lift, she met his look, lips parted and brow lightly furrowed at the somewhat defensive deflection. “I suppose you could call it small talk, if you wanted. All talk can be small. As for trying to get something out of you, just your own perception and experience of the world, I guess. It’s not often I meet people that are well-traveled like myself. It’s pretty difficult to see and learn everything a region has to offer, so it’s interesting to see how people’s experiences differ. Plus,” she paused as the lift exploded into its terminal velocity pace, stance wide and muscles a little tense as she was getting the hang of not stumbling in the damn thing, “experiences can shape a person. I hope it’s not rude of me to say that I’m a little curious as to what experiences shaped you.”

"Mm. You'll have to forgive my skepticism. It's been a moment since anyone has asked a personal question of me without an ulterior motive. I seem to make people..." He let the thought ricochet around in his head for a moment, searching for a word, eventually settling on, "uncomfortable, around here. And around most places." He put one hand on the railing as the lift took off. "Sydney, then," he answered finally. "Turning the opera house into a spell channel was an interesting exercise."

Her face remained carefully neutral. “That’s quite a shame, then. They’re missing out on good conversation.” She pursed her lips. “If I can be candid, maybe it’s less uncomfortable and more just intimidated. You’ve got quite a presence to you. But anyway, how—”

The lift crashed to a halt—she’d forgotten to be counting the seconds. Though her body was still tensed, the jarring stop knocked her slightly off balance, her shoulder bumping into his side before she hurriedly righted herself. “Sorry, still not used to these damn things—um, so how did that work, with the opera house?” She diverted while eagerly stepping out of the lift.

Sherlin's grip had tightened on the railing—he had been counting the seconds. His arm shifted backwards automatically, stabilizing her between the shoulder blades and lifting to help her collect her balance. Her apology was glossed over as he followed her off the lift. "If you redefine in your mind what can be used as a wand, you'll find that it's not quite so limited as a stick in your pocket." That seemed to be the end of his explanation as he lifted a hand, his wave awkward and uncharacteristic, but friendly nonetheless. "Have a good night, Miss Hudson. Morning's on the way, and it's an early one tomorrow."

She gave a gentle smile of appreciation, thoughts churning as she considered the last time she had visited the opera house. She gave a small wave as they stepped out into the dim light of the streetlights lining the sidewalks. “I’m looking forward to it. Good night, Professor.”

And with that, she turned and casually walked home, replaying the conversation the whole time during the short travel. It had been the first time she’d actually just talked with him—not as a student, but as a person. Her heart felt a little light, hoping to find more opportunities to pick his brain. For now, she stepped into her flat, staring down her bed as she considered the darkness lurking in her own brain. Nervous energy sent her fingers tapping across her phone screen, music filling the space again as she got ready for bed, brushing her hair before twisting it into a braid and doing all of her usual routine maintenance things before settling under the covers. The lights stayed on. The music still drifted from her nightstand. The nightmares still came.
 
Sherlin slipped his shoes off and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the floating metal ball that hung behind the door. The house was small outside, but expansive inside; like many wizarding homes, it looked to be a simple one-bedroom ranch outside, but the interior stretched in ways that space did not seem to agree with, even sporting a staircase just inside the front door that led up to a second story.

Up the stairs and to the left was where Sherlin walked, striding through his bedroom to the attached bathroom. Washing up for bed was typically a quick affair, but he found himself drifting from his tasks. He became aware that he had been replaying the conversation with Olivia in his head, and upon that realization he blinked at himself in the mirror more times than was not comical. It was the first time he had ever had a thought about a student that had not directly pertained to their performance. It only took him a moment to reach the obvious conclusion that it was simply because it was the first personal conversation he had had with anyone at the Ministry besides Odius in years. "Years," in this case, translating to, "Every year after his first, which was how long it took for his reputation to spread and people to start avoiding him."

Satisfied with his conclusion, Sherlin set out his clothes for the morning, selecting an auspiciously aureolin tie and draping it over his coat. He crawled into bed and efficiently fell asleep before the count of ten.


The morning was as efficient as the night. The blinking 5:25 on his clock saw him sitting at the bar counter in his kitchen, nursing a cup of tea with a pensive frown tugging his lips. That he has also woken up with Olivia on his mind was deeply concerning, and that it mystified him was outright alarming. It took some force to quiet his mind as he donned his coat and tied his shoes, but he successfully did so as he apparated to the alleyway next to the Ministry.

He nearly bumped into Odius as the two approached the corner at the same time from different facets, each of them stuttering their step and jerking backwards. "Ah, well, hello Sherlin, sorry f'that. Good—"

"Would you mind doing something mildly illegal and entirely unethical for me, Odius?" Sherlin fell into step next to his friend as they walked in together, brushing off his meaningless apology with the suddenness of the request.

Odius took the question entirely in stride, missing not a beat as he retorted, "Y'know I can' do anythin' unethical and illegal before m'morning coffee, friend, " with a sidelong grin. "Why, what's on your mind?"

Sherlin's look soured further as he admitted, "Who, is on my mind, is the question, and it is one of my students, who is also one of our colleagues. I would like for you to pull her records and send them to me, if you could."

"Aren't you sent all that when they put their applications?"

Sherlin shook his head, pausing in the atrium where the two would be forced to part. "I'm sent everything that is relevant to me. I want everything else, though. Employee records, school manifests, magazine subscription services, if she's ever paid for a Forbes article, I want every detail." He glanced away, then back, tilting his head in question.

Odius, for his part, narrowed his eyes, but his only response was a brisk nod.

Sherlin entered the classroom exactly thirty minutes before the bell would sound. Unsurprisingly, Angier was already in the room, a now-empty mug that made the room smell off off-brand commodity coffee on his desk. "Morning, professor," came the call Sherlin had been exdreadting, but that it was Angier who issued it softened the blow.

"Lieutenant colonel, nice to see you here bright and early." The expected raise of Angier's eyebrows, thankfully, did not prompt anymore small talk. "I imagine we'll be joined here, shortly, happy to see you here so early." Sherlin shrugged out of his coat and bent to feed it to Deskster, who thoughtfully and carefully rolled it up as the bottom-facing mouth chewed and swallowed the coat whole. Taking a seat, Sherlin took the moment to skim through his class notes for the day, waiting for the student body to materialize.
 
Last edited:
Olivia was awake long before the sun began brightening the curtains of her windows. After a few unsuccessful attempts at sleeping without startling awake, chest heaving and sheets damp, she had since contented herself with reading a book until dawn. Honesty, "reading" may have been too idealized a descriptor, unable to fully capture the drifting focus and many repeated paragraphs. She had never been more glad yet disappointed in a sunrise before in her life.

As she began to rise for the day, her phone on her nightstand cascaded into an incessant buzzing. A smile crept onto her face before she even looked at the screen.

>hey
>Liv
>Livie
>I always forget what time it is over there
>did you survive the strange hot teacher
>guess not
>you're dead aren't you
>Liv
>Livers

<Totally dead.

>i knew it
>can't trust the hot ones

<I never said he was hot, Kai.

>you didn't NOT

<I had to go back to class!

>class with THEHOTTEACHER

A short laugh burst into the quiet morning as Olivia shook her head, leaving her phone to continue its onslaught of vibrations to step into the bathroom.

Her attention didn't catch on her reflection, her toothbrush, nor the clothes she'd left on the floor last night. The clarity of a stable mind locked onto the hairbrush left on the counter—a decidedly unfamiliar hairbrush in all contexts but one. The classroom.

In her chaotic head yesterday, she hadn't realized, merely wanting to take care of herself and find something else to focus on. What had she been thinking, the whole time? What did she accidentally transmit to the professor she had to spend the entire day with? Did it have a limited range? Was it too late to bow out of the class?

Her routine passed with a bit of jittery, self-conscious energy, making a point to dig her real hairbrush out of her bag and to sequester the offending one away in her nightstand drawer with a cryptic neon sticky note that said "NOT A HAIRBRUSH."

She managed to calm back down and settle into a pleasant morning all the way up until she gave a warm greeting to Theodoor and caught sight of the Professor. Simultaneously, Kaira's earlier teasing and the hairbrush assaulted her mind. The hardest iron mask fell into place to block them out as she gave a polite nod of greeting to Sherlin, passing near his desk on the way to her own. She'd been content to leave it at that until the bright color under his chin demanded her attention.

The happy aureolin tie seemed a little at odds with his subdued and mildly dour demeanor, and yellow wasn't quite his color. She figured cooler tones matched his skin and personality, but she was no fashionista herself, and being outside the box certainly wasn't a crime. Besides, it was a genuinely nice color. It reminded her of sunflowers and pineapple popcicles. It suited him in an odd way the more she looked at it.

"Nice tie, Professor," she said with a small smile before she turned and made her way to her chair.
 
Sherlin's eyes flickered over to Olivia as she entered the room for only a moment, but they settled on her properly at her comment. As if only now remembering it was there, he looked down at it, then back up to her with a flat grin. "Nice playlist, Miss Hudson," he responded in kind, offering her an attempt-at-friendly-but-awkward smile before turning back to his notes.

The room had been notably cleared, its seating reduce to only what was necessary. What had been nearly forty desks was now reduced to eight, two desks per flight of the hall, split one desk on each side of the wide staircase that bisected the rooms. Each desk was halfway down its partition, leaving half the length of the classroom between each. The minutes passed by, and the students filtered in, the last entering well before the fated :00 hour that would spell their... ejection? Deductions? Now that they were accepted into the class, it had become less clear what the rules were, should they find themselves on the business end of an infraction. It was this that Sherlin would clarify as he rose, tapping the tip of his wand on the desk to gather attention as Theodoor slowly creaked closed.

"Good morning, all, welcome back. I trust you all got some well-earned rest?"

"Barely, we were here only six hours ago..." Marina's sleepy drawl was punctuated by a sip of the travel cup, drawing a wince from the apparent temperature within that she stubbornly soldiered through for her second sip.

Sherlin's nod was surprisingly sympathetic. "Ah, yes, truly I am sorry for the schedule, but there simply isn't a way for me to fit in all the material in the time I'm allowed with you, otherwise. To that end, though, some clarification for you." At his words, the owl darted across the board, its wings dusting a trail of chalk that settled into a chart.

Bailey, Helen
21​
Carmine, Angier
20​
Henley, Marcus
20​
Hitchens, Alfred
20​
Hudson, Olivia
21​
Mathers, Ryan
20​
McMaster, Callum
20​
Wutherford, Marina
20​

The owl perched on the end of the table, then hopped back down its length, each bounce pushing the table downwards until it was bracketed at the bottom of the board. "This class doesn't have a consequence for passing or failing, obviously; there's nothing on the line for you here save my recommendation, and the value of that is only measured by yourselves, or your potential peers down the road. But!" A stick figure appeared on the board with a scratched-in 10 above its head. "They are, however, your measure. You will be required to accrue at least 100 points by the end of the class to gain a passing grade." The 10 scrolled up to 100, and a shower of confetti chalked in above the figure, which started dancing. "You were given ten simply for answering 'yes' to returning to class, to ensure that you did not bottom out, because should your points ever drop to zero..." The leading 1 and 0 fell off the displayed number. As soon as it did, Theodoor harshly snapped open, and the chalk was forcibly ripped off the board and ejected into the hallway, dusting an unfortunate Ministry official in a haze of white powder. His indignant shouts were cut off by Theodoor slamming shut.

"As you've seen, performing well in class will earn you points. Performing poorly will not lose you points unless you cannot identify where you chucked it. Losing points will only ever happen if you don't learn something from your time here. There is a larger philosophy to this." His hands folded at his waist, his wand having disappeared some moment before. "I believe that, for the most part, you were all exceptions to a rule, that your schools are a system built to achieve failure. Arbitrary tests, grades, assignments built to prove naught but your ability to pay attention in class—I care for very little of it. I will be teaching you practical skills for a world that does not care about your House, or your degree, or your specialty, or what you ate for breakfast. And if those who recommended you here were correct, then, you should all take to this kind of learning just fine."

Marcus' hand perked up, and Sherlin inclined his chin to the boy. "Is there some competitive aspect to this? Do our points only matter for ourselves, or are we being judged relative of our classmates."

Sherlin shook his head at that. "Your points are your own, no competition here. There is no gameshow, here, despite the scoreboard. They simply act as an objective, quantifiable way for you to measure your progress in the class. The closer you get to 100, the more you will have performed, and thus the more you will have learned. I also assure you that reaching 100 will be, as you might expect, difficult. You will have to work for it." The promise came with only a hint of omen, the shallowest of grins.
 
A veritable clown car of emotions crashed high speed into her face, morbidly comedic. Confusion, realization, horror, embarrassment, happiness, curiosity, and whatever other in-betweens, before she managed to rein it all into a pleasant smile a half second later. Having the answer to her questions laid out so casually was somehow worse than not knowing. She turned and marched to her seat before she could embarrass herself further, or give the impression that he’d said something wrong—he seemed to have genuinely meant it. That little tidbit erased some of the awkwardness, though it didn’t stop her from considering adding another sticky note on the brush for good measure.

After settling down, she idly reviewed her notes from yesterday, hopping into other trains of thought as she began to drain the sizable cup of coffee she’d brought with her. When the Professor caught her attention again, the fact that this schedule was her new reality for weeks began to fully dawn on her. She wasn’t a stranger to limited sleep and odd schedules, but one thing was clear—she needed far more coffee.

Her gaze flickered between the two 1s on the board and their respective names, a mix of slight disbelief and cautious contentment rising in her chest. Somehow, both her and Helen had earned one point more than others. But what was the metric? Clearly not standardized, whatever it was. What was it that had impressed him enough to give an extra point? What did he mean, points could drop if you didn’t learn? How did he judge that? The last question haunted her in particular, made worse by the very visceral imagery of Theodoor blasting the chalk into the hall.

Some of the class fared no better, shifting uneasily under the weight of the expectation placed on them. They were only a fifth of the way there, and were given a bit of a head start. Another part of the class sat comfortably, feeling confident in their abilities and thinking this was just another scare tactic that they wouldn’t bow under. They were given a bit of a head start, and were already a fifth of the way there.

And, as usual, Olivia was neither—she busily scribbled the chart down next to the date, intending to track progression over time and deduce the reasoning behind each change. She already started considering the current totals in relation to the activities of the day before, when Ryan piped up, "So what's the total number of points we can earn, if 100 is minimum?"
 
Sherlin's head tilted at the question, and he tiled his head towards the ceiling contemplatively. "An interesting question. Interesting enough to earn a point." At his words, the owl skittered over to Ryan's column and bit down on the 0, choking it down like a mouse before scratching a 1 in its place with its talon. "Hitting 100 is your finish line; you do that, you pass. Going over 100 has never been suggested, and truthfully, I've never considered the idea." He stood and paced for a moment, then ten, then three full minutes had passed and he finally stopped, nodding to himself with a satisfied grin.

"Your next goal after 100 will be 120." He faced them and folded his hands in front of his waist. "If you can hit that second metric, you will earn the same recommendation, of course, but I will also owe you one personal favor that you may redeem at any time, failing only my death."

He clapped his hands together, sealing the comment and moving on. "Now then!" At his words, a single circle of misty white light appeared on the ground beside him and he stepped forward from it to address the class. "The name of the game today is practicals, and we have three different courses to get through so let's try not to have them take all day, hm?" He paced back and forth as he explained. "Each of you created a new version of an old spell, and notably, a much more powerful version. The ability to use these spells in context is going to bet the most difficult part to learn—so naturally, we will be starting there."

Sherlin stepped around the circle, and drew his wand from within his person. In a series of waves, the stone of the floor began to separate into bricks that clicked up and into place to form a small stone-walled room, complete with a hinged metal door. "This will be a partner drill! Our first team will be Mr. Mathers and Ms. Hudson." Ryan's eyebrows snapped up, not looking displeased as much as he was taken by surprise. With a glance at Olivia, he slunk out of his chair and trotted down the steps. At Sherlin's gesture, he poked his head inside the room, to the single wooden chair set underneath an ominously swinging light.

"This first exercise will be a real-world scenario, so do pay attention. Petrificus totalus." Ryan's head snapped around, now properly displeased as his limbs snapped up into place and he thumped down into the room. Sherlin stepped into the room, leaning his head back out to address the class. "Hostage situations happen in the real world all the time, in our circles. Ms. Hudson, you have three minutes to save your partner from execution." Sherlin's arms were not visible, but telltale metallic rip of a handgun being chambered echoed out of the room before its door closed, clicking three times as its internal locks engaged.
 
Ryan nodded stiffly along with Sherlin's words, though he looked a bit disgruntled. Olivia surmised the lack of clarity on the exact amount of opportunities to gain points was the cause for the slight furrow of his brow and pucker of his lips, or at least, she had been wondering the same thing herself. A small note scribbled into the corner edge of her notebook, considering the implications of malleable chances to meet a fixed amount of points, when the sound of her name jolted her chin up, attention flickering to briefly share a glance with Ryan before quickly following him down.

Standing over the damaged floor tile from the first day, she eyed inside the box curiously, trying to puzzle together its purpose until the flat board of Ryan clattering to the ground made her jump. Indignation simmered on her lips as she whirled to face Sherlin, only to find him already disappearing into the box. Her jaw clenched as tight as the heavy metal door, biting back protests except for the curt question of, "I suppose negotiation is off the table, Professor?"

Sherlin's voice called back, muffled by the door, but the fake drama in his voice was still batter-thick. "Afraid not! Negotiations have broken down. They've begun killing other hostages already!” The sound of two gunshots—flanking Ryan's panicked screams—rent out from behind the door.

Olivia flinched, heart leaping into her throat. Somewhere in her brain, she knew the Professor wouldn't actually kill Ryan, but it took hearing his panicked whimpers through the ringing still permeating the air after the shots to fully convince herself.

Her teeth grit together as she whipped out her wand, flicking an Alohomora at the locks. The mechanisms within clicked and whirred, clunky and entirely too slow. Not the right strategy. The captor could have noticed the movement and would know they had plenty of time to kill off other hostages. She needed a new tactic. The only safe option: quick and dirty force. She needed to play rough.

The corners of her mouth crumpled at the realization. Her wand pointed down to the ground, mentally fumbling through her notes as she pronounced a tight-lipped, "Expecto Bombarda."

A spark fell from the light-wood tip, suddenly racing and snaking forward as soon as it hit the ground. She took an unsteady step back as it shot towards the door, sneaking under its frame and immediately silhouetting it with amber light before giving a sharp burst of light, sound, and heat. The locks and hinges fell in useless molten bits to the floor, the door groaning horribly as it tipped and crashed outside the box.

Keen awareness caught the moment the Professor came into view. One hand swiped in the air, an unspoken Expelliarmus launching the gun out of his hand as her boots clanged harshly on the fallen metal door. Her wand leveled at Ryan as she murmured, "Finite Incantatem," kicking the gun further away as her free hand yanked the now-mobile man to his feet. Roughly, she shoved him towards the door, stepping to interpose with a breathless, "Expecto Protego."

The orb burst into life, much quicker than the slow seep of mist from her first attempt. It flickered with a wary light as she impatiently bumped her hip into a stretching Ryan, urging him backwards and out the door as she cautiously followed.
 
Sherlin leaned against the wall, gun trained on Ryan, face-up on the floor. "You think she'll make it in time?" he asked, checking his watch. The look that Ryan gave him was as betrayed and bewildered as a human face could be, stained with distrust and fear. "So you know, I'm not going to actually hurt you. But I need her to think I will." That did seem to comfort him, but did nothing to calm his racing pulse and shallow breaths.

His brow furrowed and he tilted his chin as a spark raced under the door, not immediately identified by the catalog of spells in his brain. It gave him no time, to process, though, as it snaked around the doorframe and blasted the door off the hinges. The pressure wave as the door plunged outward sucked the air from his ears, eyes blurring as he felt the gun get snatched from his hands. Wandless expelliarmus. Definitely Dumbledore.

His senses reset, Sherlin pointed his own now-drawn wand at the doorway, his off-hand wand pointed at the gun. "Satuccipefoy," came his dual-toned in incantation, and his spells fired. The red-white bolt tore from his wand—and was sniped out of the air by a very rude ball of incandescence that seemed to glare at him as it slowly retreated with its caster. The same moment saw the gun leap to his hand. He let the wand slip between his pinky and ring finger, folding back behind his hand to allow the handgun to land. Ryan had scrabbled to his feet and stumbled out of the room, clawing his way to his feet as his legs struggled to remember how to hold his body up. He looked back to see the pistol leveling to Olivia's chest, and regretted it immediately.

The gun cracked four times in rapid succession. Olivia's sprite darted to her protection, adjusting a few inches at a time as Sherlin changed his aim to try and get around it, but to no avail, the bullets evaporated into dust under its watchful eye. Its path was traced in the eye as it light-stained the onlookers, a collection of held breaths releasing one by one as the literal and proverbial dust settled.

Sherlin stepped out of the room, weapons and wands nowhere to be seen. His hands pressed together, he was clapping the tips of his fingers together. "Well played, well played. Five for you." As the owl scratched the number out of existence and scribbled a new digit with its beak, Sherlin turned to address the classroom. "Olivia has demonstrated an understanding of at least two spells, here, her own and Marina's. As well as a fairly clean wandless spell," he added, turning his head back to her with an approving smile.

"Now then." He turned his back to the class, and focused in on Olivia. "What have you learned?"
 
The new spell did its job, despite the newness of it making Olivia not quite confident enough in it to fully suppress the wince at each of the four shots bursting in her direction. The disintegrated bullets scattered metallic dust onto the door as Olivia stepped over and past it, out into the stark light of the classroom proper. She stayed ready and wary, careful to interpose herself between the professor and Ryan as he stepped out, waiting until she was certain enough that the professor didn't have any other tricks up his sleeve before dispelling the mote of light and straightening her stance. Her wand stayed in a tight fist in her hand for a second longer before she stiffly shifted it from her fingers back into her sleeve.

Her eyes flickered to the owl on the board, mentally noting the accumulation before coming back to the professor, the tension in her body starting to relax as she took in the approving smile on his face and the question he posed.

"Well…" she started, chin tilting downward in thought and recollection, "when it comes to hostages, I can't afford to be overly cautious about it. I'd tried to Alohomora the lock open to minimize damage and attention attracted, but it backfired in the amount of precious seconds it wasted." Her mouth pressed into a disgruntled line. "As much as it isn't my style, sometimes being forceful and doing the things that are guaranteed to work are worth being the first resort instead of the next. Especially with lives on the line. Past that…"

She considered for a moment, examining the edges of the doorframe. "it's good to actually see the effects of this spell firsthand." Her tone dropped a little, absently half-talking to herself as she felt along the edges. "It was a bit of a risk, since I didn't quite know how much of an area it might affect, despite being directed towards just the door. Could have caused collateral damage just because I wasn't familiar enough with the spell." Her attention flickered over to Ryan as he resumed the stretching she'd interrupted, concern marring her expression. "You are okay, right?"

"Me?" He blinked, looking over his body as if he'd somehow miss feeling a bullet to his skin before running a hand through his hair. "Well, the back of my head hurts from just falling to the floor like that." His lips thinned, but he had good enough sense to resist throwing a glare the professor's way. She kept her face carefully neutral at that, nodding curtly and wiping bullet dust off her shirt as she turned her attention back to the professor.
 
Last edited:
Sherlin nodded with enough visible satisfaction to diffuse the tension, gesturing back up towards the desks to send Olivia back to her seat. When Ryan moved to follow her, though, Sherlin chirped and held up a palm. "Since you're already here, Mr. Mathers..." The look of dread on Ryan's face would have set a new standard for the pain chart's image for ten.

It was a strange sight to watch the floor expand, for the room to stretch to allow an Olympic-sized swimming pool to occupy the center of the classroom, but after their experiences so far it somehow seemed entirely normal in context. Sherlin turned to his desk, snatched the Remembrall off its surface, and held it indicatively. "Return this to me, please." And with that, he dropped it into the pool, its red-tinted glow disappearing into the depths of the pool. The absolute depths—the light disappeared into pitch-black darkness of the water in a heartbeat.


Watching Ryan jettison underwater, a globule of air suspended in the bubble around his head, was a sight to behold. His usual blank-eyed stare seemed to be a cover-up for an impressive athletic streak and lightning-strike reflexes. A dolphin of fire that churned the water around it to steam as it paved the way for him to fight through an ever-looming swarm of piranhas and sharks marked the necessary use of his assigned spell, and as he clung to its fin and burst up from the water to land back in the classroom with surprising grace, he earned a round of applause from his classmates.

"What have you learned?"


Angier's thick arms swung a wicked half-moon axe with a determined grunt, carving the back half of a neat wedge out of the base of a tree as thick as he was tall. The timer on the board, managed by a now worn-out owl, was in its last minute, the dusty corpses of almost six hundred numbers discarded underneath. The axe was the latest—and hopefully last—tool Angier had acquired, its predecessors of a World War 2 flamethrower, a chainsaw, a handsaw, a rope saw, and an X-Acto knife discarded about the base of the tree. His shirt lay in that pile as well, sweat pouring down his squared-off, thickset chest as he ripped into the dense wood with an axe that he had had to sharped himself by cleverly transfiguring the blade of the chainsaw into a sanding wheel.

With a final swing, the wedge separated from the tree body and Angier kicked it free. He walked around it and with a contemptuous heave, thrust his shoulder into the bark. The sickening, telltale crack of splintering wood echoed throughout the classroom, and the tree fell towards the professor, prompting a panicked scrabble from Deskster.

"What have you learned?"


Helen had only squared off against the black-cloaked figure for a bare moment before a white-blue mist of magic from her want caused the figure to stupidly turn in circles, wondering where it was an how it got there. Her eyes flicked up to Olivia, at her desk, before her wand thrust at the floor underneath the dementor. "Bombarda Maxima."

"Well, er... What have you learned?"


Marina scurried off the classroom floor, smiling to herself at the professor's praise and the newly acquired points under her name. Sherlin dusted the plaster dust off his hands, tapping his desk to allow the floor to open up for a moment and dump away the debris of the Leaning Tower into the void below like a great, granite trash can lid. As it snapped back up into place, he cast an approving glance up at the students. "I must say, I'm impressed with you all. One day of stress and all of a sudden everyone is all determinedly-set jaws and sharp, strong-willed eyes. I've never had a 100-percent success rate on day one practicals." He spread his hands and gave the room a bow of his head. "Class will be dismissed for now," he announced, looking at the clock to reveal that it was barely a quarter past noon. "But I suggest you do not spend the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, leave your wands at home." He disappeared his own wand into the somewhere of his person, then held his hands up in front of him. "The next practical exams will be on mundane combat skill. You have until tomorrow morning to prepare. Instead of your wand, you will need to bring your own firearms to class; I don't care what style."

The sound of blank stares and jaws dropping gave Sherlin a good degree of satisfaction. Slowly, Marina's hand rose, quivering. "Ah... sir, I... No one in my family owns a gun," she uttered fearfully, the sound of hope shattering prominent in her voice.

"I can cover you, miss Wutherford," came Angier's voice from the back of the room. "And one or two others, maybe, but I can't arm all of ya." His eyes were on Marina, who had snapped her gaze around to him like he was an angel descending from on high. "And for those of ya who want it, we'll head to a range and I'll give you the one-two, at least." His gaze flickered over to the professor. "I suspect you're going to want a degree of familiarity, at least be comfortable pulling a trigger."

As the low chatter of conversation started to swell, Sherlin's raised hands silenced the room. "However you would all like to go about it, I've no qualms. The only requirements for class tomorrow are a single firearm per person and a willingness to get scrappy."

Marcus' eyes darted back and forth between Sherlin and Angier like he could not decide who he was more terrified of. The answer was Sherlin. He looked to Angier. "Can you... teach us to fight, then, too?" he asked meekly, the color draining from his face as he spoke.

Angier's breath hitched, and he sighed it out as he put a hand behind his head. "Ah... Can't teach a dog to gallop, but you can tape horseshoes to his feet," was his only response before Theodoor snapped open.
 
Like a herd of cattle, the class milled aimlessly into the hallway, simultaneously glad to not be under Sherlin's direct tutelage for the rest of the day but dreading the task ahead of them—class bonding. Or, to be more frighteningly precise, class bonding with guns.

Everyone stood huddled awkwardly just outside the door as near-strangers are wont to do, the uncertain silence broken only as Angier stepped out and passed through the group without a glance to any of them. Marcus stuttered to life then, scuttling after the older man with a meek, "Um, if you have spares, would it be okay if I borrowed one, too?"

"Fine, but it's the last one I've got to loan. The rest of ya will have to figure something out."

The rest of the group gravitated along after the two, moving as a loose pod towards the exit. "I'm good—I've already got one." Ryan said with a grin.

Alfred chuckled. "It seems silly to need such a barbaric thing, but I suppose I will have to catch up with you all after a visit to a store."

Helen's gaze flickered to him before returning to Angier. "What do you recommend?"

"Depends on what yer lookin' for," Angier started, the conversation fading to the background of Olivia's mind as she considered the task ahead. In the same drawer she'd shoved the not-hairbrush, a small revolver sat in a locked metal case.

At the steps of the Ministry, the group split off—Marina and Marcus stuck to Angier's shadow, Helen trailed after Alfred as he marched his way to a store, and Ryan, Callum, and Olivia all walked their separate ways home to retrieve their guns. By the next hour, they had all reconvened within the city's closest firing range.

Marina and Marcus stood apprehensively wide-eyed as Angier explained gun safety. Every once in a while, he reached over and smacked the shoulder of Alfred, who was only half paying attention as he polished the ivory grip of his new custom pistol. Helen took notes. Ryan stepped up to a lane, but with his flashy attempt at a cowboy quick-draw bursting a hole into the concrete inches from his foot, Angier forcefully dragged him into the lesson as well.

Crack. The recoil lightly twitched Olivia's hand as she squinted at the target, the hole considerably left of the bullseye, but still on target. Not a bad attempt, for her first time in a while. Her shoulders squared as her arm lifted again, breath stalling for just a moment as another squeeze of the trigger sent a bullet a bit right of center, but closer than she had been.

"Nice shot," A warm voice turned her attention to the redhead standing in the lane next to hers, his head cocked to the side with a lopsided grin. "What made you wanna learn?"

She offered a friendly smile his way, flicking the safety on. "Self-defense, same as any woman traveling alone in the Muggle world. Can't exactly whip out a wand in front of most people."

"Can't imagine a gun is any more welcome in some countries," He turned his attention to his own target, a solid shot hitting just on the edge of the bullseye. "You're one of the international liaisons, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Olivia's eyebrows raised a little. "Callum, right? Seems you have me at a disadvantage. Where do you work?"

He focused down the sights, sending another bullet just shy of center. "I'm just your average Auror around here. My sister's in the international division though, she'd mentioned you were coming around. Celica?"

Her mind conjured up an image of a short, bright-eyed woman that had welcomed her on one of her first days. "Oh! I remember her. She gave me a little desk plant—that was really sweet of her."

Another clean shot, followed by a chuckle. "If you let her, she'll turn your office into a greenhouse."

"I wouldn't mind that." Olivia laughed, glancing back and forth between him and the neat cluster on his target. "My turn—where'd you learn to shoot like that? You might be the only one of us that could give Angier a run for his money."

Callum's gaze flickered over to her before returning to the target, cheeks dusting pink. "Oh, I just learned from my dad. We'd go hunting together whenever I got to visit home. Still do, I guess."

A pop and a short scream wrenched their attention to the rest of the group. Metal clattered on the ground as Marcus dropped his gun after his first shot, hands shaking. Angier pinched the bridge of his nose, and everyone could practically see a year's worth of life leech out of him with the gesture before he stooped over to pick up the gun. Marina coaxed the boy to sit as Helen strode up to the lane, firing off three successive shots with respectable accuracy before stepping back, analyzing her work. Alfred half-heartedly complimented her as he swaggered up next, doing notably worse than her despite his expensive red-dot sight. He kept taking shots, getting more and more disgruntled and inaccurate until Ryan shouldered him aside. After missing all five shots, he began to attempt another trick shot until Angier forcefully disarmed him.

"That's right..." Marcus muttered from the floor with dawning horror as he watched Ryan wriggle uselessly in the arm lock, "we have to physically fight too, don't we?"

As he shot a helpless look at Angier, the older man let go of Ryan. Another nose-bridge pinch, another year off his life expectancy. `"One thing at a time, boy. Let's get you to fire a shot without pissin' in yer boots first."

The sound of a shot turned heads up to Marina, far too tense in her stance, but she blinked in wonder at the too-high little hole in the target. "I—I hit it!"

Olivia cheered for her, the girl tilting her chin down so her black hair tumbled into her face. With everyone watching, her arms trembled too much for her second shot to hit. Angier stepped up to give her pointers before she could back away from the spotlight.

Ryan, meanwhile, had strode over to Marcus, cracking his knuckles. "I could show ya how to fight! C'mon, get up!"

Olivia quickly stepped between the flexing Pukwudgie and the panicking Ravenclaw. "No no, not here! Maybe Angier's right, one thing at a time, yeah?" She held up her hands placatingly to Ryan before kneeling down to face Marcus. "But if you want to learn at least little something for now, one of the big things is knowing how to use your center of gravity, and how it works for others. Here for men," She tapped her waist, a bit abover her belly button. "and around the hips for women."

Ryan guffawed. "One of the big things is actually having muscle. Now, what you really want to do is get a good workout regimen and a high protein diet—"

"Oh, please," Helen rolled her eyes. "what's more important is hitting weak points. Doesn't matter how much mass you have if a swift kick to the balls'll have you rolling on the floor."

"I believe turning to history reveals the time-tested gold standards of combat," Alfred piped up. "Have any of you ever tried pankration?"

Callum shook his head. "Combat techniques don't matter if you don't know how to disarm someone to level the playing field, first."

Marina's hands wrung together. "I'm not so sure fighting is the best idea. I've always been told pepper spray should work just fine."

Marcus glanced between everyone, looking physically ill. "But—but it's not like we'd ever really need to do any of that, right?"

Angier sighed. "Ya never now what you'll be up against. Best to be prepared for anything."

On that dour note, the group dispersed to practice more, the threat of tomorrow's unknown looming in the backs of their minds. They hardly noticed the time passing until Alfred glanced down at his watch and slipped his pistol into an embossed leather holster. "Well, it's been lovely, but I must head back to my estate for evening tea. Until tomorrow," He nodded to the group and gave a polite smile to Marcus before turning to head for the exit.

"W-Wait! Maybe we could all go out to eat together? Get to know each other more?" Marcus suggested.

"A fine idea! Have any of you ever dined at the Maison De Luxe? Their foie gras is to die for," Alfred sighed dreamily.

"I'd have to take out a loan to eat there..." Marina murmured sullenly.

"I'd rather become yer next practice target." Angier grumbled, grabbing his hat as he shuffled on his coat. "If ya see me at the pub, you don't. Got it, kids?"

"I-I was also just thinking of going to the pub..." Marcus stammered.

Alfred's smile twitched. "Oh. Sure, I can try this "pub" food. Do they have beef wellington?"

Ryan shrugged. "As long as I'm out in a couple of hours. I can't skip leg day—at bare minimum I need to do fifty reps tonight."

Helen folded her arms across her chest. "Fine. But after, I'd like to hit the gym, too, honestly. Some of us will be well prepared for tomorrow."

The pleading look from Marcus settled on the last three. Olivia rubbed her arm sheepishly. "Ah, sure, I don't mind."

Marina played with a strand of hair. "I guess."

Callum clapped Marcus on the back, making him jump. "Let's get going then, yeah?"

The evening proved to be no less chaotic than the afternoon. Marcus drowned his anxieties in a mug of beer, which subsequently gave him enough courage to strike up conversation with Marina and enough unawareness to miss Alfred's arm around his shoulders. Alfred was a far cry from how he'd entered—he'd sat stock still in the pub's yellowed walls and sticky floors and nearly gagged when he first sipped whatever beer was on tap, but he couldn't pass up Ryan's challenge to a drinking contest, which he lost terribly. He'd only downed his second beer by the time he'd stood unsteadily to go sing the most soulful karaoke song he could find, drawing tears from Marina.

Ryan sulked quietly in the far seat for the rest of the night. At some point, he had sidled up to Angier, demanding an arm wrestling match. When the ignoring didn't get through to him, Angier did what he had to—which was apparently to shoulder throw Ryan to the floor and promptly leave.

Helen sat cross-legged as she watched martial arts tutorials on her phone, sipping a cocktail she'd been offered by a man she'd flirted with and now promptly ignored. Every once in a while, she answered a quiet question from Marina.

As for Olivia, she'd cracked open her notebook, intending to dilligently review notes and write additional thoughts and observations, which she partly accomplished. However, much of her time, to her surprise, she'd gotten absorbed in talking with Callum. The man seemed decidedly the most normal of the bunch—though being non-hostile and willing or able to hold a proper conversation were apparently the only criteria for that. Still, the interaction gave Olivia comfort—in this new place, surrounded by new faces, she'd finally managed to make a genuine connection. Her favorite part of traveling, manifesting at last.

She slept soundly that night—a far cry from the night prior. Maybe class bonding hadn't been such a bad idea. This, like many other places, wasn't home, but there was always something joyful to be found in every town.
 
Sherlin sat silently with his feet up on the desk, leaned back with a lollipop poking through his lips, as he had been for nearly half an hour.

Finally, Odius leaned around his monitor. "Y'haven't said anythin'."

"Correct. Well done," Sherlin said around the sucker.

"Are ya goin' to?"

"Well, I have now."

"Are you goin' to say anythin'... that I need ta listen to?"

Sherlin crunched down on the sucker, chewing through the candy thoughtfully. "No."

"Then what are you—"

"Do you have anything more for me on miss Hudson?"

"Ah, so that's what you're here." Odius nodded exasperatedly, refocusing on his screen and clicking through menus. "You got the outline las' time, guess you could call this the color." With a popped keystroke, he leaned back around his monitor. "On the way t'you, then. What's the deal wi'this girl, anyway?"

Sherlin was already nose-down in his phone, eyes flitting back and forth across the screen. "She stands out. Her credentials are impressive, sure, but so far she's only one of two who have taken ever practical at face value and rolled with it."

"And who's the other? Why're you not so interested in them?"

"Long-term value," Sherlin replied immediately. "Decorated war veteran, moth magical and mundane. I'm going to punch him in the face later, and I think I'm very afraid of that."

Odius glossed over the promise of violence in a practiced, familiar way. "And why's he missin' the value?"

"Too old. Heart condition." Sherlin flipped to the next screen, answers coming to Odius almost absentmindedly. "Early signs of a neurological disorder, high stroke risk. Not fragile externally, but fragile inside. He simply won't live long enough for me to bother to train, and the returns are fairly diminishing with him, anyway."

Odius was, somehow, incredulous again, eyeing Sherlin with a flat, disbelieving stare. "That's horrible."

"I knew you'd understand, Odius," Sherlin replied, nodding agreeably, "I really wish—"

"No it's horrible that you won' work with 'im for that," Odius corrected sourly, leaning his face on his fist. "Maybe don' be so loud abou' why he doesn' pass your class, in the end. Won' win any hearts talkin' like that."


As the students came into the classroom, Sherlin was sitting atop the surface of his desk with his legs dangling. The clock had a full ten minutes remaining before the day started by the time everyone had filtered into the room. Several of the students that had not brought bags the first day now had them, and the ones who already had seemed to move like their bags suddenly bore the weight of the world within.

Theodoor creaked shut, and Deskster walked his way back against the chalkboard to make space in the center of the room. "Oachalka, here girl," Sherlin called, and from off-screen, there was a chalky fluff of feathers as the owl ruffled itself awake and scuttled slowly to the center of the board to begin scratching names into place.

Bailey, Helen
21​
Carmine, Angier
20​
Henley, Marcus
20​
Hitchens, Alfred
20​
Hudson, Olivia
21​
Mathers, Ryan
20​
McMaster, Callum
20​
Wutherford, Marina
20​

"Good morning, all!" Sherlin called out, hopping forward to the floor with a clap of his hands. "We're going to get started right off, today, get the blood pumping." He rapped his wand on the desk, and the room began to shift. Their desks, much like Deskster, shuddered in place then walked aside, forming a neat row at the end of the risers. Underneath where each desk had been, the floor dropped away, replaced with a small treadmill. "Quick run for all of us, it's going to be a more physical day."

In the time that the workout equipment had appeared, so too had the center stage changed. Thick, dense mats of leatherette-clad foam had set themselves up in the floor, one half blue and one half red. A small treadmill had also appeared between the mat and Sherlin's desk, and he was pulling off his coat and banally banan tie right along with them. He rolled his sleeves up, unbuttoned his top button, and jumped on the treadmill at a steady run—a fast steady run. For all his lank and bookishness, it was becoming readily apparent that the professor was not only in shape when it came to his mind and magics.

As students stepped onto the belts, they would find that the treadmills were reactive like high-end gym equipment, speeding up and slowing down within their own pace, but they would not properly stop, it seemed, until time ran out. Ryan, Angier, and Helen all hopped aboard with varying degrees of enthusiasm and acceptance. Ryan wasted no time stripping down to his tank top and hopping right on, pushing an impressive speed with little visible effort. Angier chugged along with that hallmark soldier pace, slow and steady but powerful and unyielding like a freight train. Helen's eyes could have rolled the entire building over for their lack of enthusiasm, but she made no qualms about setting a good pace for herself, showing that she was familiar with her own limits and how to get her heart going.

Degrees of success dropped off from there. Callum was the next-best, finding himself winded and trudging, but managing to keep himself running the whole time. Marina and Marcus made their way on and off the treadmill in bursts, hands on their knees and heaving when they stepped off to catch their breaths. Neither of them were athletic by any means, but they determined themselves to do what they could. Alfred, on the other hand, could barely get himself on the treadmill at all, stumbling and skipping around it for some minutes before giving up entirely. When Sherlin's eyes settled on him, sitting next to the treadmill, he broke out in a sweat and began to jog in place. Sherlin shrugged at this, deeming it good enough. It was not good enough, but the professor would let Alfred believe it was.

Six minutes passed, and the treadmills began to slowly slow down, and finally, stopped. The proper athletes in the class came off with evenly rising and falling breaths, pulses high and the first signs of sweat barely beading up on their brows. Callum's chest rose and fell sharply, but walking about with his hands on his hips seemed to settle him after but a moment. Marina and Marcus, though, had collapsed to a squat, panting, leaning forward to open their airways to suck in precious oxygen. Sherlin seemed in the former group, activated and warm, but far from exhausted. Angier looked as if he had just risen from a power nap, absolutely unfazed.

"I'm glad to see we've all gotten ourselves armed for drills—later, though. That will be next, but while we're all fresh, and now warmed up, we're going to start with the first drills for the day." He stepped backwards. Even with his coat off, where his wands came from as he flicked his wrists was indiscernible. He set them atop Deskster and stepped back, turning to address the class. "Please turn in your wands."
 
Last edited:
Two people made her smile that morning.

As Olivia bustled groggily around her flat getting ready for the day, the typical cavalcade of vibrations nearly shuffled her phone off the nightstand by the time she grabbed it, scrolling through the wall of messages from Kaia with a huff of laughter. She brushed her teeth with one hand, the other tapping responses until a new name popped up in her notifications, eyebrows quirking.

>Hey Im grabbin coffee before headin over, u want me to bring u a caffe macchiato?

Olivia blinked, stumbling to catch herself as she sat too close to the very edge of the bed. Callum. He remembered her mentioning that was her favorite last night?

<Oh, you don't have to get anything for me!

>Im goin to the cafe anyway, it’s no trouble!

That second smile made its appearance.

<Then I guess I wouldn't mind one, thank you. At least let me pay you back for it in class!

The rest of the morning proved uneventful—she'd even almost gotten used to the damn elevators—until she stepped into the classroom, finding her classmates in varying states of groggy or hungover. Everyone understandably seemed a bit less friendly this morning than the day before, except Callum as he walked over, offering a glorious to-go cup of coffee in her direction along with a casual, "Morning."

She paused and took a couple bills out of her bag, offering them out in one hand as the other eagerly took the warm cup. "You're a lifesaver."

His hand reached out for the money, brushing against her palm as if moving to take it, but pulled back empty. Her brows furrowed as he shot her a grin and a wink, turning and sliding that hand into his pocket as he strolled back to his seat, tipping his own cup to his lips. She scoffed lightly, amusement brimming in her expression as the money drifted slightly above her palm. With a flick of her wrist, it flew into his back pocket as he departed. He seemed to be none the wiser as he chatted with a jittery Marcus.

Satisfied, she milled about offering pleasant greetings to others until Theodoor's close signalled the beginning of class. As the room transformed and she realized what task lay ahead of her, she promptly set her coffee down and dug out her water bottle, mentally scolding herself for not being better hydrated. She should have expected a warmup like this, given the nature of the day ahead. Class promised to be more physically strenuous than the day they started with hot yoga, but less mentally taxing than the day they started off solving a Rubik's cube. There was always the possibility the day started off with something completely unrelated like the time she had to endure choral vocal warm-ups, but it was better to at least pretend like there was a predictability to their tasks.

Regardless, she obediently stepped onto the treadmill and set a respectable pace, popping in earbuds with high energy music to set the tone for her workout.

"Nice playlist, Miss Hudson."​

The memory of the words slipped to the forefront of her mind as she shot a wary glance at the professor, bounding along at an impressive speed that made her unconsciously bump her tempo up a notch. The inclusion of combat training should have clued her in to the fact that he was more athletic than he let on, but to actually witness it was another thing entirely. As always, he was nothing if not surprising.

"Nice playlist, Miss Hudson."​

Maybe three people made her smile that morning.

Olivia focused on her breathing, a rhythmic in-out with the beat of her music and the thumps of her shoes until the gradual slow signaled the end. She stepped off, walking circles to cool off further, breathing hard but still in deep patterns cycling through her nose and mouth between sips of water. As her heart rate returned to normal, it spiked a little at the too-loud clacks of the professor's wands against the desk.

In the uneasy quiet, she slipped her wand from her bag and aligned it neatly next to Sherlin's. Angier's stood stoutly next to hers the next moment. Helen's clicked harshly on the wood surface of Deskster. After a brief pause, Ryan and Callum's joined. Alfred made a show of pulling his out and setting his gently down. Coaxed by the peer pressure, Marina and Marcus slowly followed suit. The complete set of wands sat what felt like miles away from their wielders.
 
Sherlin removed himself from the belt with a huff, letting his body release the heat it needed through his steady puffing. As the class had their reactions to physical stress, he chortled a laugh. "Won't do you any good to exhaust yourself before a task," he chided, walking slow, deliberate circles around Deskster. Their wands in the center of the desk gave him very much the appearance of a shark circling a school of feeder fish. "A point from each of you. Next time, warm up in a productive way." On cue, Oachalka hopped over to their numbers and began choking down the last digits, scratching lower ones in place after swallowing.

"If you learn anything from this class, it will be to adjust your expectations." His hand swept over the wands on his desk. "Working without your normal tools will be but one step in this process. And to that end, we will get started now that we're all warmed up." His eyes settled on Angier, frosty orbs glimmering with a strange enthusiasm. "I would request your assistance, Mr. Angier, so I would like to assess you first."

Angier, tucked away in the back upper corner where he had taken to sitting, let his head drop, squeezing his eyes shut. When it came back up, he was wearing a wry grim. "Y'er really gonna make me hit a skinny twat like you?"

Even exhausted, the two on the ground bristled, snapping their heads first to Angier to measure his audacity, then to Sherlin to gauge the fallout.

Sherlin was grinning right back at him, though, rolling his sleeves back and stepping towards the mats. "I'll make you work for it." As his feet touched the mat, a white light coalesced at this feet, a bubble of misty white viscously forming over his feet. After a moment, the bubble split, crawling up to his knees, then slunk up over his torso to roll down his arms and form another globule on each elbow, then coat his hands. As he walked they bounced like a soap bubble, but were slowly shrinking, solidifying into a dense gel-like consistency as he stretched out his arms.

Angier trotted down the steps, his breath hitching every third step as he winced out an obvious pain in his hip. The soldier stepped onto the mat, and like Angier had flickered out of existence, it was like a new man had entered the room. Those white bubbled rolled up his form as he raised his hands, all semblance of frailness and fragility gone in the way his hands glided through the air and snapped into place as if held by magnets. His eyes, having grown a touch foggy with age, sharpened like lighthouse bulbs cutting through the misty sea at night.

Oachalka hopped to the left of the scoreboard and scribbled a ring bell onto the board, then bonked his beak against it twice.

Like a defensive viper, Angier ghosted forward on impossibly light steps for a man his size and weight. His hand shot out and snapped back so fast it seemed like it would snap his elbow, his fist darting past Sherlin's nose. The professor's normally unflappable gaze had flickered for a moment, eyes widening in what looked for all the world to be surprise.

Reassess.

Angier's second and third strikes drew a less impressive reaction from Sherlin, a smooth sway and a snapped up hand deflecting them off. As the gel on their hands met, that gel flashed white like it had reacted to the pressure of the impact in some fashion. Angier held his hands down in front of him curiously, looking back up to Sherlin. "Point trackers, then?"

"I couldn't hire a referee; no one would take the job."

"No one should take that job, you lunatic."

That earned another cheeky grin from the professor, as well as his first move. His eyes zipped up and down Angier's figure as he slunk forward, ducking his head as his hand lashed out and was caught smoothly by Angier's forearm. They shared a motion as each stepped to their left, spinning about as Angier threw a somewhat loose hook through the air over Sherlin's head.

Reassessed.

Forward again came the professor, an elbow curled into his midsection while the other launched forward in a straight jab. Angier stepped into that punch, gracefully tilting his head to get inside Sherlin's arm while driving his weight forward. His shoulder impacted the professor, who was launched backwards a half-step, knocked up onto one foot and reaching out to grab onto his leg, kicked up to shoulder height by the impact, just to pull his balance back center. Angier moved forward like liquid mercury at that, his inside arm snapping forward—

Angier's head snapped almost ninety degrees as Sherlin's hand released his shin and his leg snapped downward like a spring uncoiling. The gel on his leg flashed red, and a single red bubble appeared over Angier's head as he reeled backwards, shaking his head out. "You kids and your bullshit."

The two pressed into each other, jabbing, ducking, and weaving about in a languid display of awareness, assessment, and reflexes. Angier moved like a combatant, tight and coiled and round, pressing in with closed arms and snapping out with efficient, calculated strikes. Sherlin stood tall, arms forward, his movements suddenly entirely foreign like something out of an old Kung-Fu flick, lashing out with a much wider variety of palms, elbows, and kicks, but it was another full minute before either found purchase.

As they split, Angier powered forward with his right elbow coiled into his chest, snapping it forward and towards Sherlin's midsection. Sherlin's knee came up to catch that blow, only for him to make an entirely unflattering sound as, for the first time, Angier's leg leaped forward, blasting Sherlin's one remaining ankle out from underneath him. His foot flashed red as the professor toppled onto his back, as did the fist that caught the lithe combatant and drove him flat onto his back on the mat. The two red bubbles over Sherlin's head swirled around each other, combined, then burst in a shower of...

Angier had been so close that the viscous red paste that had burst from the orbs had splattered onto his shoulder and neck. But something about it had made his nose twitch, and he touched it with one finger and raised it to his face. "Is this... ketchup?" he asked in disbelief, bending down to wipe his hand on the mat. The gel had dissipated the moment the two bubbles had burst, leaving a condiment-covered Sherlin and a condiment-adorned Angier unprotected on the mat.

"It felt appropriate," was Sherlin's only response as he peeled himself up off the mat, rolling his neck as he moved to his desk and retrieved his wand. With a precisely—if pridelessly—muttered, "Tergeo," the ketchup whisked from his form and disappeared into the somewhere that the cleansing charm always sent things, then turned to address the class. "In an excellent display, Angier has passed his task. He will now be my co-examiner."

Angier's head whipped around at that, his mouth hanging open.

"The first to two points in a match will win, but you do not strictly need two points to pass the assessment." When Sherlin indicated the board, Angier's number had gone up by a massive ten points. "But it will earn you some extra credit. Your pass or fail will be determined by your instructor; if we think you could handle yourself in an average fight with the average Joe, you will pass. If not, you may receive partial credit." At that, the mat in the room shuddered and, much like a caterpillar, inched its ay to one half of the classroom's floor. In the other half, the floor slid open like a door had been hidden in the floor the whole time, producing a second training mat, this time with green and yellow segments.

"As always, first we take volunteers, then I will start picking myself!"
 
The class collectively stifled their reactions to losing one of their hard-earned points, ranging from indignation to horror. As the Professor continued on without missing a beat, the mood stayed notably sour, only shifting once the fight between him and Angier properly started.

While the rest of the class watched intently, Olivia busily scribbled observations, eyes darting between ink and flesh.

- Angier: Heavy-handed approach, soldier training apparent. Brute force, straightforward, practical. Every motion has purpose. Efficient, conserves energy where it’s not needed. Stance not as stable on his left side, favors it. Not very varied, but very practiced—easier to predict, but harder to get around the fortress. Seems to know the common counters to his actions and uses that knowledge to his advantage.
- Sherlin: Tactics over pure strength, some form of martial arts training? Amorphous, unpredictable as always. Risky, but it can pay off. Not afraid to be more core-distal with his longer legs and wingspan, but has to cover more ground, open himself up more. Comfortable with being less grounded, but can get knocked off-balance easier. Mixed success directly deflecting. Can be caught off-guard by unexpected actions. Preconceptions and assumptions may be a weakness.

Then, after a confused pause:

- …Has a flair for theatrics, as indicated by the ketchup rain.

She glanced up at the rest of the class for what felt like the first time in ages, mind buzzing as she took in the reactions of her classmates. Ryan practically vibrated in his seat, but everyone else displayed varying degrees of determination, bewilderment, or outright terror.

At the call for volunteers, Ryan stood sharply, excitement brimming in his lopsided grin as he jogged his way down. The silence that followed felt a bit too heavy. The weight propelled Olivia to her feet instead of sinking her further into her seat, nervous energy driving her down towards the mat before she could stop herself. She took a tentative step onto one of the mats, shifting her weight, feeling the cushion as she and Ryan stood next to each other, waiting.
 
Sherlin's eyes were already on Ryan as the man bolted out of his seat and tried his best to teleport down the stairs to ensure he got there first. Then there was a lot of space with no movement and no breathing and no human life to be seen, the students all acting as though frozen in time. Helen or Olivia, then. Who's first?

When Olivia stood, Sherlin nodded in a self-satisfied way. He gestured from Ryan to Angier's mat, producing a nod and an excited hop from Ryan as he trotted over to his mat. Sherlin stepped forward onto his mat at the same time, the sparring gel climbing up his body and setting into place on his hands and feet once more. Olivia stepped forward with an air of confidence Sherlin was somewhat certain was faked, but her facade didn't crack in any notable way and soon she was also being accosted by the pseudo-living white gel. As it settled into place, she leaned onto one foot then the other, levering her elbows and knees and testing their motions. On a whim, she bonked her hands together, giving the gel a mildly disappointed look for some indiscernible reason that disappeared as she opened and closed her fists, testing the motion. The gel formed neatly around her hand, expanded when her fingers stretched, and contracted when she made a fist, keeping a neat, half-centimeter barrier between all parts of her hands and feet at all times. With a satisfied nod, she squared up with Sherlin and raised her hands.

Assess.

Sherlin nodded in kind, his flat-handed guard coming up, and then they were moving. They walked a slow, measured circle that slowly carried them tighter. Sherlin's eyes scanned up and down his opponent's stance, analyzing. They came nearly close enough for their hands to touch, and Olivia still had not made an assertive action; that told him something.

He stepped forwards sharply, his upper hand closing into a fist while the other curled its elbow back towards his torso. OIivia's hand came up, open, and caught his hand at the wrist, pushing it aside as she hopped aside and back. With a pivot, Sherlin brought that low hand out and forward with a heavy jab. Olivia's back hand came down, her hand closing around Sherlin's wrist and locking in its grip. When he snapped his upper arm across, she ducked underneath, pushing forward with her back legs and pulling his arm up as she pushed behind him. His arm threatened to twist behind him as she moved, and, sensing the throw, Sherlin planted his feet, stance suddenly changing to heavy, gravity-centered power guard with bent knees. In the half-second it took for Olivia to readjust her pathing, he swung his other hand down, scraping her grip off his wrist—

—and coughing as he knee plowed forward and impacted his chest. His balanced escaped him and he stumbled backwards, staying on his feet only by throwing his arms forward and lowering into a deep squat. Reassess. As a red blip appeared over his head, he moved forward again, just as sharply as last time.

The open-palm strikes he delivered were non-committal, at first. All loose jabs and sweeps, he pressed Olivia backwards, his height and limb length able to let him play a clean offense. It did not take Olivia long to settle into the rhythm, though, and even less time for her to slip forward as a long strike pushed past her face. Her hands came up to grab at Sherlin's elbow, with her hips moving to check his and pull him backwards over the leg she planted behind his. Instead, he twisted his wrist, breaking her grip and pulling his arm down around her middle. His other arm barred across the back of her neck, and, leaning forward, he put his weight on her back. The two of them fell face-first into the mat, his weight crashing on top of her earning a red blip over her head.

It seemed he intended to stay there, but Olivia was quick to plant her palm in the ground and heave, in an attempt to push him off her. With his arm around her middle, though, they rolled, her lying on her back atop him. Were the ground rigid, Sherlin's head bouncing off the pavement would have been enormously uncomfortable, but instead he was simply pressed into the mat by her as she kicked her legs to jostle free. It was like a move from a dance that saw her land on her butt and swing her legs to one side, rotating to face Sherlin, who had sat up to his knees now. She carried her momentum of that spin, though, planting on knee in the ground and launching a heel-forward kick backwards as Sherlin advanced on her.

The hands that locked around her ankle were firm and confident in the way they pulled. Olivia's arms flew forward as she was pulled back onto her belly, and Sherlin slid his hands up her leg to plant on her hips and shove her sideways onto her back. She quickly flattened herself and pulled her knees against her chest, but like a sport wrestler, the professor had scrabbled around so that he was at her side. She tried to roll and tried to twist, but the jab that caught her flank populated a second red blip. Sherlin shoved himself backwards and crawled away from the pop of sticky red that shortly painted Olivia's face.
 
Her face scrunched up as the condiment drenched her from above, the sensation even more unpleasant than she expected. Why did it have to be straight-out-of-the-fridge cold ketchup? He couldn't have summoned room temperature restaurant ketchup? She windshield-wiped her forehead with her fingers before it had a chance to drip down to her eyes, shifting to sit in a way it could harmlessly slither down her skin and plop onto the mat—harmless in that it wouldn't ruin her vision, but the sensory sensation was a different sort of pain.

"I don't adapt quick enough when I'm on the offensive." She said thoughtfully, before he could even get his trademark question out. "I can adjust well enough when I'm defending, but if I make an offensive move, I'm too intent on carrying it out. If something interrupts that, it takes me too long to figure out how to recover. If there are warning signs I should change trajectory, I don't catch them as easy."

"Tunnel vision," Sherlin replied, panting and recovering his breath while he nodded. "Not something you alone struggle with. And not something you struggle with terribly strongly, but it's a valid criticism." He sat up, cross legged, extending a gel-gloved fist out to her in a strangely human gesture. "You're not bad at all. No reason for me to be worried about you in the dark streets at night."

A breathless smile crept onto her face, genuine at first though it grew a bit puzzled as she tried to decide what to do about the fist he held out to her. "I'm out on my own a lot, for my work. It never hurts to be careful, so that's why I picked up some training." With a bit of embarrassment that she could be interpreting him wrong, she raised her fist in kind, bumping her knuckles against his.

When their fists bumped, he pulled his back, spreading his fingers and making a rumbling sound with his cheeks puffed. With that, he clapped his hands on the ground, pushing himself to his feet then extending a hand out to Olivia. "Let's get you up, feel free to grab your wand to clean off before we get to live-fire exercises."

Her smile broadened, trying to keep the amused bewilderment out of the equation of her expression as she took his hand, pushing herself up and slightly slipping in the ketchup minefield, grip tightening on his until she righted herself. With a word of gratitude, she turned to leave the mat, the red mess surrounding and coating her dissipating with a flick of her wrist. Her hand combed through her hair, trying to dispel the phantom stickiness as she returned to her seat.
 
Olivia's bout with Sherlin had been a focal point for the class, watching enraptured as the two circled around each other searching for openings before eventually going to ground. Ryan's had not. Angier had darted forward, his sweeping elbow pulling Ryan's arms away like a child posing their dolls for him to deliver two machine-gun fists into Ryan's abdominal cavity. Ryan choked as he fought to regain the air ripped from his lungs, only for his mouth to be filled with condiments as the bubbles over his head populated and burst in the same moment and filled his mouth with ketchup.

The remainder of the spars went quickly, with the work divided between two instructors. Angier remained unique in his victory through the whole process, emerging as the only one of the students to gain that second red light on their instructor. There were, however, a number of notable single-blip earners, two of which earned their red marks first in their bouts.

When Helen's hands had come up into the classic, prototypical boxing stance, Angier had given her a dubious look, posting his hands and charging forward at her with the same dismissive abandon he had Ryan. What he had not expected, however, was Helen's startlingly smooth roll, rocking forward on her right hip and dropping her shoulders to pound a wicked jab into Angier's soft abdomen. Her movement sparked a strange tick in Angier's eyes; after that first blow, his dominant hand whipped across his body, snatching that forward right hand and dropping his weight down hard on her back—harder than a friendly spar may have warranted, as was the elbow, then follow-up knee, that punched into her ribs. The soldier had her pinned face-down when her bubbles popped, reprieving Helen from the bulk of the mess as they deposited most of their contents directly on the mat.

Helen was coughing, rolling onto one side and holding her ribs, when Angier blinked and dropped to a knee on her side, whipping a hand up to retrieve his wand from the desk. As he waved a delicate weave of healing spells over her, he spoke to her in a low voice pitched only for her ears that sounded an awful lot like a bashful apology and an explanation, but his words were muffled.

Callum had posted a very similar bareknuckle stance to Sherlin himself when he squared up against the professor. Their bout was notably longer than Angier's hyper-efficient dispatch of Helen, but were it a spectator sport, it would have been called boring. They spun around each other trading even blows, matching guards, and gaining little ground on each other for some five full minutes, Callum unwilling to commit to any proper advance and playing far back from his opponent. The blow that earned him the first bubble was a slip-off from a guard that he pushed through Sherlin's extended hand and connected to the professor's shoulder. Sherlin's tongue clicked in irritation when the bubble appeared over his head, and his stance suddenly dropped, bouncing on his legs and blasting forward with a series of high kicks accompanied by high-pitched, barked vocalizations. The first kick blasted Callum's guard aside, the second cracked against his temple, and the third pointed into his chest and sent him back across the mat, a trail of red goop in tow.

Those unaccustomed to physical combat fared as well as to be expected. Alfred sauntered up to Sherlin with his chin high, raising his hands in a pose no doubt Googled the night before. He was back at his desk in barely a beat as Sherlin efficiently pounded four rapid-fire punches and an elbow into his chest and collarbone, summarily ignoring the arms that pretended to be in the way.

Angier took his time with his spars against Marcus and Marina. Neither looked even remotely prepared for what they were about to do, and though Marina managed to put up a fight when Angier put her on her back, whatever women's self-defense she had taken had not seemed to take, and a pair of punches to her belly popped the bubbles over her head. Marcus stayed on his feet, at least, but when Angier punched him once, the boy reeled around and turned his back to his opponent. Angier twisted his lips as he pounded his boot into the boy's butt, flopping him onto his hands and knees and spraying ketchup over the mat ahead of him.

Oachalka watched diligently from the board. At the end of each match, Angier would look to Sherlin, or Sherlin would look to the board, and the owl would flit across the board to kill a current number in one of the positions. Olivia, Helen, and Callum each gained five points, scratched into place by the chalky owl. Ryan earned three, despite the speed at which he was dispatched. Alfred, Marcus, and Marina's scores, though, remained unchanged by the time everyone was seated at their desks. Angier's score, though, had climbed by a full ten points.

Bailey, Helen
26​
Carmine, Angier
30​
Henley, Marcus
20​
Hitchens, Alfred
20​
Hudson, Olivia
26​
Mathers, Ryan
23​
McMaster, Callum
25​
Wutherford, Marina
20​

1730256648778.png "A good enough showing from each of you!" he said, sounding robotically sincere, but sincere nonetheless. "Three points were awarded for a pass, with two additional for a successfully landed blow. Mister Carmine, of course, won his bout, and earned ten percent of his grade in one exercise." Angier's face did not change, up in his desk in the back, but he bowed his head forward. "You have fifteen minutes amongst yourselves, and we'll move to firearms training."

Sherlin had set himself up back behind his desk, leaning forward onto the surface on his palms. His wand appeared, and he tapped Deskster's surface in what seemed to be a particular arrangement. To his right, the north wall of the classroom started to peel back like old wallpaper. A breeze rippled in from the walls as they crept back to reveal a rain shed set over a group of U-shaped tables. An entire firing range sat waiting for its occupants, each station neatly marked with a printed white plaque bearing its assigned occupant's name.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom