Quote of the Week: "Normal? Of course I'm normal! Right? Riiight..!" -Colleen
Sorry 'bout the long wait. Personal issues and school finals kinda got me a little less than... elevated, you could say. nonetheless, I am going to go doubletime once school lets out. Ohhh yesss...
"Queek! Queek! Quuuuuueee--eeeeeeeek!"
"Shut the hell up!" The pillow bounced off the bird cage, and the bright green lovebird inside jumped to the other side of the cage with a shriek. With a groggy groan, she sat up and numbly stared at the uncovered wire cage that stood against the wall, the sheet draped over plastic bags of multi-colored bird pellets at the cage's feet. Salvatore, although easily scared into silence with the first barrage, hopped back down to the cage floor and cocked a head at Lark, peering at her with one black eye.
He squawked, ran around in a little circle, then returned to staring at her again as she struggled to her knees and dumbly disentangled the blankets from around her ankles. Leaning up against the footboard for support, the younger Admarant sister got to her feet and stared at the room around her.
Embyr had made the bed before she left, and Momi was nowhere to be seen. The music box that had been placed by the TV the night before was now back up on its shelf, while the DVD case to Amele had been placed on the top of the television. Most notably, and this she realized only when a breeze stirred the curtains enough so that an errant beam nearly blinded her, it was sunny.
"Wh-what t-time..?" She fought back a yawn and focused her bleary vision on the clock by the side of the bed. Nearly half-past nine in the morning, and she had dozed off some time around three-thirty am.
All of last night was a big blur. Everything was mixed and hazy, with no real order. One minute, in her mind, she was out in the middle of the woods with Korfius. Next, the iron portcullis that had led to the courtyard of dead bodies suddenly brought her to the front door of her dorm, then busting open her old bedroom suddenly made her get sucked up into a void, moments before a rusty spike impaled itself in her skull.
But one thing stuck out in her mind above all else: that rusty broken watch hanging around that girl's neck, fastened with an absurdly expensive and shiny chain to be used for such a horrible "pendant". And that watch... she was going to get it back today, even if it killed her. She doubted much time could have passed if those few hours in the wet and dreary other world had evened out to three months in her usual time, but she couldn't really afford to guess. The particulars of time and space were way beyond even some of the most advanced physics students and teachers at the academy, never mind her. She had a hard enough time figuring out the washing machine and dryer.
"Lark, would you like to throw anything in the load of laundry I'm tossing in?" The request was spoken at the same time the soft knock was made, and she almost didn't hear Giacomo's raspy voice. Speaking of which... she picked at her own jeans and shirt, then saw the slight muddy imprint in the rug her body had made. There were extra clothes up here in her sister's room, and a full bathroom. Why not take advantage of it?
"Yeah, sure. Lemme toss them down!" Within seconds, the muddy, torn, dirty clothes were in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, and she had wrapped the blanket she had slept with (it was still warm from her body heat) squaw-like around her. The thin hand snagged the shirt and jeans, and she heard the soft click of the door as she stepped into the bathroom. She might've even had heard the quieter reply from Giacomo if Salvatore hadn't chose that moment to make a scarily accurate wolf whistle (which she was sure the parrot didn't know before they had left). With a scathing glare at the bird (who was happily splashing fresh water over his green feathers), she closed the bathroom door behind her and ran the bathwater.
He turned the knob of the washing machine, then dumped in the basket as the tank was filling with water. Grabbing the economy-sized bottle of laundry detergent, he poured the viscous blue liquid into the cap and then slopped it in with the dirty clothes. The water turned off, the machine already full, and he stared pensively at the muddy hem of Lark's jeans, which were poking out, tantalizingly, among the laundry.
He wanted to know what was going on. To the point he didn't care if he impeded on other's privacy. With a sideways glance and a quick reiki scan of the basement floor, the small boy cautiously reached out and ran a finger over the rough denim.
Dark. Foggy. A black shadow flew above him, and in front glided a glowing person. Trees turned to meadow, then grass to stone and, eventually, water. The water rippled from the current, forming the familiar v-shaped wake as something barely broke the surface. A black body rose to the surface, hair drifting in the current and almond-shaped ears. Sulfur burned his nostrils as he squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation, but one yellow eye etched itself on the inside of his eyelids. There was no escaping it.
"Hey, Giacomo."
He jumped, the lid of the washing machine slamming down on his fingers. With a yelped curse, the younger boy gently extracted his smashed fingers from the washer, and turned towards his roommate. "What, Rogerik?"
The blond yawned, scratched the back of his head, and cracked his neck. "What are you doing laundry so early in the morning for?" The brown-haired boy snickered, and the thief's eyes narrowed. "What's up with you?"
"Early, you say. It's almost ten."
"It's the weekend. Still early morning to me." With another yawn, Rogerik started to retreat back to the shared bedroom, the door creaking to a close behind him. Giacomo coughed, more or less in the blond's general direction, and the door quivered to a halt.
"I, uh, heard you were, uhm, confronting Pru." Giacomo averted his eyes to the floor, suddenly finding an escaped lint ball that had become much more amusing. Rogerik stared, eyebrow raised, before muttering to no one in particular, "Have no idea what you're talking about." Before the door shut, the brunette thought he heard "Go back to bed" from the thief. But there was no way he could sleep after what he had just seen. Not after seeing that yellow eye that had permanently indented itself in his memory.
With a wry grin, he kicked the detergent bottle on the way out of the laundry room. Things were starting to get interesting, now.
"Lark, this isn't really smart." Embyr sat on the steps to Lyra's bedroom, watching as the older girl cautiously approached Prudence's bedroom door. Prudence never really slept at night, but the fox girl knew that, even with Prudence in a deep sleep like in the morning, there would be no getting past the door. Those skimpy clothes and cherry-red hair were cover-ups, in a way. With such a unkempt appearance, Prudence wasn't taken seriously. As a serious student, no one thought to give her a second glance.
"Ow! Damn!" her hand recoiled, the pale skin on her palm an angry red. A burn. With a little bit of spirit energy, Lark soothed the injury with cool water. "That hurts like hell."
Embyr nodded, her sympathy for the girl strong, although silent. She, herself, had been burned by the same lock seal Prudence used on the bedroom door. With a forlorn look to the silvery-white fox tail that curled around her legs (which one could notice had a sizeable chunk of fur shorter than the rest), she managed to sweatdrop. "No way you can get through that, unless you have Pru's permission."
"Permission?" Lark looked up, her burnt hand submerged in the sphere of water that floated in midair. The doorknob of the tantei's old bedroom still sizzled from the otherworldly heat and fire.
"Yeah. That seal automatically voids once you get physical permission from Prudence to go into her room. She set it up after she learned about Rogerik."
Lark frowned, her brows crinkling together, and nudged the door with her foot. No sooner had her slipper-clad appendage come in contact with the sealed-off door, then faint smoke started to rise from the sole of her slipper. Lark cursed and recoiled, hopping about on one foot and holding onto the wall for support as the slipper flew down the stairs. "Damn it again! Owww..." The water manipulator looked up at Embyr, who was trying her ultimate best to hide her giggles, and stuck out her tongue.
"Think it's funny, kiddo," Lark challenged. She slid down the wall, then let her legs sprawl as she slumped in defeat. "Have a go. It's all yours."
The fox girl stared dubiously at the door, then stepped up to examine it more closely. It was locked tight, alright; complex was an understatement. Pluckiing a stray hair that bent and tickled her face, she gently let the hair float towards the door. It burned on contact. Already, her mind was working away, piecing together the bindings and Lark's failed experiments. It would be hard to open, but doable.
"Lark," Embyr asked, noticing that the older girl didn't even bother to look up, "I'll try, but promise you won't laugh if I mess up?" Now Lark was paying strict attention to Embyr, and a distasteful look crossed her face; Embyr remembered that look, so common among jealous peers, and her tail unconsciously curled around her legs.
"What idiot would laugh? That thing is dangerous!" The black-haired water-manipulator pointed a finger at the door, her hand trembling with anger. "On a better note, take the door off its freaking hinges so we can beat that whore Pru over the head with it."
If said "whore" wasn't behind the door she was trying to dismantle, Embyr would've laughed out loud. However, the day wasn't growing any younger, and she could see the irate attitude Lark held for her most recent adversary. Whether it was the door or Prudence, all that mattered was the demolition of the seals -- pronto. Summoning up her youki, the fox girl slammed her palms against the door.
Lark jumped for Embyr, but stopped once she noticed the girl's hands weren't smoking or melting. Focusing, the water manipulator could just make out the faint outline of an aura shield that negated the burning sensation. The youki coursed out of Embyr's hands, into the wood, where it was absorbed into the door; already, the blazing cherry-red of the seals was being muted, until it finally became a pulsing fawn color. The white-haired girl gently turned the doorknob, and the door swung open harmlessly.
The room was dark, pitch-black because of the heavy blinds and curtains that covered the window, and both girls looked at each other expectantly, waiting for the other to go inside first. They stood that way for a full minute before Lark sighed and, a sphere of water in hand, slipped through the open door. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light, so she kept one hand on the wall to navigate her way around the tantei's old room.
Hissing. She whipped her head around, half-expecting one of those "guardian-spirits" Rogerik had mentioned, but only saw the stark white of Embyr's hair. One pale hand reached up to the kitsune's lips and the other hand pointed to the wall. Lark's eyes widened when she saw the faint, pulsing, glow of a complicated-looking symbol chalked yellow-green on the wall. She withdrew her hand, biting her lower lip as she nervously shied away from the wall, and the symbol slowly faded.
Lark sighed in relief and wound her way around the books, candles, and salt on the floor. Once or twice she had gone to put her foot down, only to have a symbol glow just below her foot's path, and had stepped out of the way. As she stood over Prudence's bed, she saw Embyr edging back towards the door, not out of fright, but to make sure no one would barge into the room while Lark went to take back the watch.
She stood over Prudence's bed, her hand hesitantly hovering over the gold chain that held the watch. The watch was tucked in comfortably by Prudence's neck, lodged between the pillow and her jugular. The distance between the watch and her hand closed, slowly, too slow... She was tempted to snap out and snag it before running out of the room. One second was all it would take...
Prudence grumbled, rolled over, and the watch slid from it's spot nestled by her neck to pinned below her shoulder blade. Lark jerked back, and furrowed her eyebrows. This wouldn't be easy at all... She was no stealth expert. She was more of a... a hit-'em-til-they-fall-and-run-away expert. No matter, though. She needed that watch. Once again she reached out.
Her hand contacted with something semi-solid, almost as though she was moving through water rather than air, and chills ran down her spine. She stepped back, almost knocking over a stack of books behind her. Salt flew up as she disturbed a pentagram, and the feeling of a thicker, heavier air surrounded her, crushing down on her lungs.
Lark tried to gasp out a plea for help, but no sound came out. She could see the tip of Embyr's tail twitching as the fox girl stood lookout outside the bedroom door, but even that was soon starting to turn dim. The pressure strengthened around her neck, pulling her head back as if she were a puppet, and she didn't resist. It was too difficult and bothersome to try.
As lackadaisical as she might have been, however, one thing made her break free of the spell and run for the door. The pressure took on a more definitive texture: hair. Strands and strands of hair, entangling her throat and ribcage. She didn't even want to see what the hair was from. All she could see when she ran out the door, shoving Embyr in front of her, was a coiled nest of hair and bone. As Lark struggled to slam the door shut, the strangling creature from inside rushed forwards.
The door shut, and a loose vertebra fell to the carpet in the hallway. As the two girls watched, the bone jumped to life and slid across the carpet towards the door, which was steadily becoming a fiery red again. The vertebra clacked against the bottom of the door persistently, until the door opened just enough for the small bone to slip through the entryway.
From inside came a soft chuckle, barely discernable at first, that rose in volume and pitch, finally erupting into a full cackle. The same type of cackle that made your blood curdle in your veins.
Michealangelo stared at the stack of test papers on the table, not really wanting to touch them at all, and sighed. Sliding out his chair, he stood up and brought his bowl to the sink. Pouring out the last of the tomato soup inside, he ran the water over it and rubbed at the insides a little with a sky-blue sponge. He looked out the overhead sink window, as if checking to see if anyone was watching -- not like people really came out into the woods during the current time of year.
Satisfied that no one would see, he tossed the green ceramic bowl onto the small mountain of plates and silverware that rose from the other half of his sink. With a whistled tune, he strode out the front door, grabbing his jacket along the way, to check for mail. Technically, his golems would bring back anything that was in his mailbox in the man office, but he wanted to get out for a while. Even if getting out meant that he had to tromp through a foot or two of snow.
Damn, he couldn't wait until spring came around.
He found the trail out of the forest easily enough; although it wasn't shoveled, the snow was packed down from him walking up and down it so many times. In fact, today this was the third time he had gone to check his mail. Thinking about the absurdity of this, the necromancer pondered about maybe getting a computer in his little three-room abode. It would give him something to do besides correct papers on days like this.
The tall, leafless, trees often blocked most of the winter wind, but a particularly swift breeze wound it's way up the path and blew snow in his wind-burned face. The Laird tucked the bandanna that was hung around his neck up to his face and squinted his eyes; turning his shoulder to the wind, he summoned a bit of reiki - nothing more than a bubble, really - and the little winged golem glided out from the treetops.
The golem was small, only four inches long with a streamlined shape that resembled a NASA space shuttle and a ridiculously cartoonish cat face. To tell the truth, Michealangelo didn't even remember making this particular golem, and perhaps he didn't really want to. But for all its small stature, the clay creature showed surprising skill at fighting through the storm. With a spider web-thick thread of reiki attached to the golem, the necromancer followed his spaceship-cat along the trail.
Again, he hoped no one was watching him; it was one thing to travel around with an impressive and artistic golem. It was entirely another thing when the golem you were "walking" had the most idiotic little grin on it's face. A flock of sparrows, twittering, took to the air as he stepped onto the brick pathway that ran by the edge of the woods, momentarily clouding his vision with brown-and-cream wings. Unzipping the top of his jacket, the Laird whistled to the cat-faced golem, and the clay creature darted inside to settle snugly among the softer lining of his worn leather jacket.
The walk took only minutes, and he moved quickly despite the ice sheets covering most of the brickway path. The steps to the main building were coated in salt and sand, and frost encrusted the windows and wooden doors; the metal railing was likewise covered. As the sun reflected off of the snow and ice, the necromancer jogged up the steps and opened the human-sized door, a door inside the ten-foot tall main entrance, and stepped into the warmth of the offices. Unzipping his jacket completely, Michealangelo pulled down his bandanna facemask and shook the snow out from his black hair.
"Morning..." The greeting was mumbled as Ms. Hisagawa, wrapped in a Brazillian alpaca shawl, walked by him, an open manilla folder in hand. The necromancer waved a hand, but the mythical creatures teacher was too far-gone to notice. Another sigh, and, hand on his pockets, Michealangelo casually walked down the hall, glancing at the portraits on the walls.
He paused and stared at one section of wall, where a twenty-four-inch by thirty-six-inch square was a couple shades lighter than the rest of the wall. Givanni's portrait had been the first to go. It almost made him smile.
"Michealangelo! So, the bear emerges from it's cave?" Ryo, sitting at a couch in the office's front lobby, looked up at the necromancer, taking off the pair of reading glasses that had formerly been perched on his nose. The over stuffed couch nearly swallowed the elf, even as he sat on its very edge. Four two-foot-high stacks of test papers were on the coffee table in front of him, and the elf tucked the red pen that he was correcting with behind his ear. But, as the blonde latin teacher smiled and leaned back in the couch, Michealangelo grimly noticed Ryo's unusual choice in attire: black.
The elf was dressed all in black, and a black rosebud was pinned to his lapel. The necromancer forced a smile on his face. This happened every year, always on the same week. Once asked why he would wear all black for a week straight, Ryo had answered that it was an anniversary. The anniversary of a death, but for whom's death it was never told.
Faintly, however, Michealangelo remembered running into a portrait of Ryo with a wife and child. That would explain it...
"Do I look that bad..?" The necromancer tossed all thoughts of his co-worker's mourning out of his mind, and shot a glance at the mirror across the room. Looking at his reflection, showing a rough, middle-aged man with messy hair and a five o' clock shadow, he couldn't help but agree. "My friend, the women go for the rugged ruffian-type."
"I'm sure. But you've progressed to Old Man of the Mountain." The elf went back to correcting the paper in front of him, but blinked and turned back to Michealangelo. "You're not here to get your mail again, are you?"
"W-whatever gave you that idea?" He choked out, sweatdropping as he did so. Ryo chuckled, and marked the final grade on the mid-term exam in front of him, put it on top of a stack a bit off to the right, and grabbed another test from the stack on his left.
"If you're looking for something to do, then you could help me out with these." Once again, the reading glasses went on. At the look on the Laird's face, he chuckled again. "What's wrong? I have an extra answer key right here," he said, lifting the paper in question up into the air and waving it around a bit. Michealangelo coughed, and coughed, and walked past the front desk. "Yep... really should just get my mail and go... hm-mm..."
"You haven't even started correcting yet, have you?" The question almost made the necromancer stop, but Michealangelo willed himself to keep moving. Although, his eyebrow was twitching like mad. "My tests? Of course I have them done! In fact, I programmed some of my golems and they're checking them over for me."
"Wow." For once, Ryo looked genuinely impressed. "That's a first. Maybe you could lend some of those golems of yours out to the more artistically-challenged teachers like myself."
"Oh, look, more bills! Spam, bill, spam, credit card application, make-up essay, essay... test... essay... joke mail... spam..." He shuffled through the pile of mail that had been in his mailbox behind the front desk. Amazing that it had all been shoved in his box within the last hour. But, as he drew closer to the end of the list, one letter in particular earned a frown. It had no return address, was simply labeled to "Laird M." and was without any postage stamps. Tucking the envelopes into his jacket's inside pocket, his hand brushed against the golem from earlier, and he pulled it out, rubbing his thumb against the still cartoonish face.
"Hey, Ryo, you still want one of those golems?"
The elf reached for a new test, tossing the corrected one on top of the pile to his right, and looked up, still writing and correcting from memory. A truly efficient teacher, he was. "Well, if you don't mind. It's not like I can just grab a volunteer student, what with the exam being confidential and all."
"Here, take him," the necromancer commented, tossing the diminutive golem into the air, where it levitated and glided down to land on top of the test Ryo was correcting. The elf took one look at the golem, and snorted. "What in the world convinced you to make this bugger?" Ryo bent down for a closer look, and a wide grin broke out. "He actually looks like Felix the cat."
"Really? I never noticed." Zipping his jacket back up, he strode down the hall. "Good luck correcting."
"Yes. Same to you; think you can get them done by the due date tomorrow afternoon?"
The necromancer quickened his pace and beat a hasty retreat, seeing Ryo's smug look in his head, which was just as bad as turning around and seeing it in real life.
He hurriedly stalked out the front office door, not even bothering to reply to the cheery "Hey," that Shikyo mumbled to him as the cat walked by, a bag filled with corrected tests and papers slung over his shoulders. Instead, he let the door slam behind him, and the cat demon stared blankly at where the necromancer used to be. When the English teacher reached the lobby and saw the elf finishing the last of his pile of tests, the cat jerked a head back down the hall. "Were you rubbing your mad test-correcting skillez in the poor man's face?"
"Maybe..."
Well, now that he was outside, he didn't want to go home, although he really should, seeing as the intimidating stack on his table wasn't getting any smaller. And, now that he had his mail, which wormed him out of another excuse. Sighing, the middle-aged Michealangelo shuffled along the ice-coated pathway, en route to the library. Perhaps he could see about getting himself a computer to while away the hours.
Besides Kuwabara, the necromancer didn't have any steady students. And since the carrot top hadn't returned (or even been heard of) for the last three months, he had been, sadly, without much to do. Walking by the infirmary, he looked up at the curtained windows, foggy from the overly warm room versus the cold of the outside, and made a beeline for the entrance. A number of students had been forced to submit to the infirmary's bed rest, not being allowed to move, and such, return to their own dorms. Perhaps he could amuse some of the kids...
Opening the door, he instantly realized his mistake -- and why the room was so hot. Although the injured and/or sick students (all tournament participants) were all in reach of a number of large floor fans, the heat emanated from one partitioned-off bed. He was about to turn around and leave, when the curtains surrounding the bed opened, and Ayame stepped through, orange hair unaffected by the humidity of the room. From the open space in the curtains, Michealangelo could see the black, scaly, form of a large lizard, lying on a bare mattress. An IV needle was fed into the back of the reptile's neck, and the flames that normally flickered fiercely along its back were near extinguished.
Ayame gave Michealangelo, teacher or not, a stern look and quickly slid the curtains closed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing much. Just poking around; I better go now, though." The necromancer reached for the door, already starting to feel his black hair curl from the moisture of the air. For a second, the fire demon's eyes widened, and he caught the motion of a moving hand out of the corner of his eye. Turning around to face the student, who was currently staring pointedly at the bed of his pet, Michealangelo waited expectantly for Ayame to speak.
"That girl, Lark, who went missing... she's back."
He fought back a choke of surprise, keeping a poker face as Ayame shoved his hands in his pockets. Despite the teen's baggy clothing, the teacher could still see his hands curl into fists. The orange-haired teen glared at the curtains with his red eyes, as if the fabric would burn with just a look. "There's something she wants to steal from Prudence. A watch."
At that, the Laird almost did choke, and was ready to run out the door as well. That girl had gotten her hands on the pocket watch he had entrusted to Rogerik? He didn't know whose neck he wanted to wring first: the manipulative female student, or the coward.
"I see." He turned, and gave the lizard on the bed one last sympathetic look. "I'm sure he'll be fine, by the way. It would take more than a weak spirit to finish your familiar off."
Ayame snorted, unmoving from his wall-like stance between the Laird and his injured companion. "Whatever. Get going."
As the older man shut the door gently behind him, the teen glared at the other students in the room, and every one of them shivered under his red-hot gaze. Pretending to forget the scene they had witnessed, the injured tournament participants turned back to their card games and radio.
He sighed and rustled the newspaper, trying his best to blow blond bangs out of his face. The section he was reading creased sharply and refused to release, tearing as he tried to gently jiggle the paper straight. He sighed again, and folded the page in half, then continued reading. Resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, Rogerik continued to read the most recent "art theft" article.
Now, over the last few months he had been quite the troublemaker, so seeing an article over an art theft was nothing new. What bothered him, however, was the fact that someone had gotten it into their head to continue his work -- and quite sloppily, he could add. It couldn't have been another thief under hire of Koenma... he would have been alerted if that had happened. So, that could only mean one thing: Givanni.
Thoughts chased through his head, each one coming up as fruitless in it's search for answers as a dog was at catching it's own tail. Then, there was a loud banging at the door, and the little dog inside Rogerik's head stumbled in it's tail-catching attempt as the blond nearly fell out of his chair. He swore, quietly, and scrambled to his feet, working his way towards the door the entire time. The door was banged upon again, and now the doorbell started to ring impatiently.
"All right, all right! I'm coming! Sheesh..." He had barely opened the door a crack when he saw the stern frown of the Laird. Eyes widening in something between fear and shock, he quickly slammed the door shut again, panting.
"Rogeriiik..." The knob started to turn, despite the firm grasp the thief had on it. Whimpering slightly, he reached for the chain, only to find it had been taken off -- most likely by Erika, to make sure the students didn't lock her out. It was senseless to try to brace the door shut, since it opened towards the outside. With no other options available, he got a running start and jumped over the couch, rolling to the other side and landing on his knees. As the front door slowly opened, he made a break for the basement door.
He hadn't even had time to open the door before a rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back. He winced at the pain that shot through his shoulder and arm, but still tried to fight his way to freedom -- which meant he was now degraded to digging his nails into the carpet with every ounce of strength he had.
Every ounce of strength, apparently, as the necromancer hoisted Rogerik on his shoulder and pinned the theif's hands, shoulders, and legs, was simply not enough.
"Rogerik," Michealangelo huffed, giving the blond a weary look. "Remember that watch I gave you?" The teen stared, speechless, until the Laird gave his shoulders a good shake. "Out with it, boy! Where is that watch!"
He coughed, and slowly let his body go limp. The necromancer had been pinching the nerves in his arms quite uncomfortably. "P-Prudence decided to hold onto it for me." With that, he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor by the Laird's feet. Heavy boots thudding in even the plush carpet, the older man walked by him and up the stairs. "Wonderful job there, kid."
The sharp pain that had started in his shoulders was now traveling up, down his back and up his neck. Even moving his head to look to the side hurt; just by getting up and leaning against the wall for support... that killed. But not as much as the teacher's look had.
Lark sat, once again, on the staircase up to her sister's room, staring pensively at Prudence's door. Embyr had gotten it open once, but now that the older girl had awoken and was inside the room, doing who-knew-what, the fox had disappeared. Not that Lark could blame Embyr, really, as she didn't want to even so much as look at the cherry-haired girl.
But looking was necessary to get back the watch, and she would have to be even more daring now that Prudence was awake. If nothing else, that "guardian spirit" Rogerik had tried to warn her about was still floating around. Often, Lark could feel the chill of its gaze deep inside of her. A gut instinct (which she ignored) that told her to run.
But she had to calm down... she had plenty of time. It was the only thing she had, now.
The stairs creaked, and heavy footsteps ascended. Narrowing her eyes, the water-manipulator cautiously slid up the stairs, one at a time. The person who had stopped outside of Prudence's bedroom door, upset look on his stubble-covered face, was Laird Michealangelo.
Things were just starting to look up, now. Glad that she could finally get something done, the teenaged girl hopped down the staircase and landed with a thump. "Hey!" She noticed how the Laird's eyebrow twitched at the volume of her greeting, and she quickly lowered her voice. "Hey... what are you doing here?"
"Work," was the grumbled reply, and the older man searched the inside lining of his leather jacket. Face still emotionless, he pulled out a small slip of paper, fire red with one simple kanji written upon its face in black ink. The tell-tale glow of reiki imbued the paper charm with power, and the door's malicious aura tore itself to shreds in an attempt to escape the charm. The technique was not quite as natural or gracefully simply, as Embyr had made it out to be, but it got the job done all the same. The door innocently swung open.
Prudence had stopped laughing long ago, before the Laird had even come, but now it seemed like she had gone into an unnatural quiet. As the door slowly, painstakingly, opened little by little, Lark felt a chill pass through her. Suddenly, she wanted as far away from that room as possible, and she didn't mind backing away from the door.
Bravely, or perhaps stupidly (after all, who could possibly of wanted to go chase after Prudence with a set mood like that?), the Laird stepped inside, paper charm cast to the floor. On her hands and knees, with her back still to the wall, Lark positioned herself so she could still watch what went on. At first, it seemed to come exactly from a thriller movie: the strange young girl, sitting in the middle of the floor, back turned to the hero. It was quiet, silent, tension built up to the point that you felt you would die if you so much as moved.
One second, Prudence was there. The next, she was gone.
Not gone physically, of course. Just hidden from view. Shielded from behind a large animal skull that seemed to have its eyes and hair intact. Although the greedy pupils, white set in an iris of black, were unnerving, it was nothing compared to the hair. Part of the spinal vertebrae trailed out of the skull like some ridiculous tail, bare patches showing bleached bones with little problem.
It was when hair, long, healthy, and silky brown, poked out from between the vertebra that disgusted Lark. If one couldn't see the face or ghastly tail, then one could easily live with just the hair floating in midair. But attached to a grinning skull-face? Lark felt the urge to gag.
Michealangelo reached into his jacket again, and Lark suspected he would pull out another charm. Too slow, she realized, as the spirit barreled right through the older man as if he simply wasn't there. Then, all that bone and hair, every last spine-tingling strand, charged for her. It didn't even have to touch her. The mere sight of the spirit made her lose her balance and, realizing the wall wasn't behind her (she had moved forwards to get a better view), tumble down the stairs.
Wall and staircase melded, up became indistinguishable from down... the fall never seemed to end. She felt pain, but it was muffled. Those white pupils still stared at her. She could feel the hair close in on her, a hundred tiny fingers that were stronger than steel. Then, suddenly, the world righted itself and the hair retreated.
She cautiously opened her eyes, her arms still curled protectively around her head, but now she could see the brown hair curling around another person. Namely, Rogerik.
The psychic had managed to stop her before she had slammed into the wall, but now the spirit's hair was winding around his throat and arms. It billowed behind him as he was jerked forwards onto his knees, like some twisted version of a flowing cape. He managed a wry grin and choked out, in a raspy voice, "Finally learned how to block."
A shriek filled the air, and the spirit's eyes widened in shock before it completely disappeared. With nothing to keep him suspended, he fell forwards, his skin tinged blue. Lark struggled for a foothold, eyes constantly shifting from the top of the staircase to the bottom, where Rogerik was sprawled. She was nearly in a panic, now. Her gut screamed at her, told her to run and make use of the thief's distraction.
The tall silhouette of Michealangelo, holding Prudence up by the elbow while she scratched and fought, her guardian spirit watching helplessly as the necromancer manhandled the teen down the staircase, made her mind make the decision to stay. The older man had snapped the chain with the watch, and the rusty pocket watch spun lazily on the end of the gold necklace from between his fingers.
"Lark..." His voice strained. No doubt it took a considerable amount of concentration to keep a hold of Prudence and intimidate the bone-snake-like spirit. The lid to the watch flipped open, and the crooked hands once again stared at her balefully. "Ready to go back and help the others?"
She almost nodded her head, then looked down at her feet, where the psychic lay. If anything like Prudence happened again... well, she didn't know how the wench had gotten her hands on the watch to begin with, but she wasn't willing to just let the thief do it again. As if reading her thoughts, the necromancer gave her a nod. "It's fine. I'll have it on my person at all times."
"Good... we can avoid another screw-up." They had came out a bit more callous than she had wanted them to be, but Rogerik wasn't awake to hear them. Lark caught the dark-eyed glare of the teacher and fell silent.
"I'm sure I can get the truth to the story from this girl." He yanked the elbow of said "girl". For once, Lark could see how bad the bags under his eyes were. Cringing in embarrassment, she stared at the carpet. "If we come back, can we have the dorm back?"
"I don't see why not."
"You'll send out letters to our families, so they know we aren't dead?"
"If you're alive when you get back."
Lark glared at the carpet. That didn't sound too promising.
"We can make up our midterms, right? Or maybe just let us pass?"
"Of course --errr... wait, no." He managed to crack a smile. "Take your own test, slacker."
Lark sighed, and stepped forwards, nudging Rogerik's arm out of the way with her foot. Although nudge may have been too gentle a term, at least she didn't crush his arm with a full-fledged kick. She wasn't that mad at him, yet...
She smoothed out her jeans, and tied her sneakers tighter. All ready, she saluted the necromancer. "Beam me up, Scotty!"
The grin only lasted as long as it took for the girl to disappear in a flash of white. Tucking the precious piece of junk in his pocket, the teacher took out a long strip of red paper and slapped it on Prudence's wrists. Automatically, they clung and tightened into manacles.
"Looks like I have some serious clean-up to do, eh?"
"Shut up, old man! And get me out of these this instant-"There was a faint slapping sound, and yet another band of paper covered the girl's mouth. And, for the first time in over a month, the necromancer felt at peace with his decision to send the Tantei after the beast.
Gaaggghhhhhh... headdesk I will finish this! I swear! >. Next chapter..! The arc is done!