Avery No. [Open]

[subconmodo]

Who: Avery, open -- will match tagging format
What: Avery goes about his days. And ends up in the infirmary by the end. Again. 
When: After midterms, before An Icy Reception. Flexible with timelines. 
Where: The library, Avery's office, the infirmary,
Warnings: Prompt B and its responses are likely going to reference injury, trauma, and a yandere ex. Will update depending on how the threads go. Please contact me if I miss any warnings and I'll get things corrected.





A. Sweet Dreams - Library

Deep in the darkest depths of the library, surrounded by old legal texts and new fantasy novels, you might be lucky enough to find a rare creature.  Perhaps one you didn't even think existed.

Mouth open and head tilted back, Avery sits spread out comfortably on one of the armchairs, larhe thermos of Hell Concoction half-drained and unattended.

At least sleep caught up with him in a place that makes sense. 



B. Sour Nightmares - Library, after Héctor is de-Hollow'd

Despite his stubbornness, Avery finds himself dragged deep by the cold hands of slumber.  He's been avoiding it for awhile now, ever since that whole incident with Héctor had dragged him back into nightmares he had thought long forgotten.

It's been years since he dreamed of iron and blood, of the candles burning down to waxy stubs until he was left in darkness, of his throat burning from unheard screams.  The demon doesn't come in these nightmares.

No one does. Not even her.  And little by little the last of his strength fades away, and he can hear the rats skittering toward him, eager to feast upon what meager flesh is still on his bones. 

He wakes up in the library with a start, wild-eyed and drenched in a cold sweat. He feels something around his neck and before he can fully grasp that it isn't, in fact, made of metal, Avery has practically ripped his cravat to shreds, the remains tossed away.

There's light.  Electric light.

It's warm. 

He's surrounded by bookshelves, not dirty stone.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, eyes shut as he tries to slow his breathing.  The last thing he needs is for someone to see him like this--vulnerable, weak-- and yet here they are, the unmistakable spark of a soul on his senses. 

The world is all but growled. A threat within a question. "What?"



C. Accio Office Hours! - Avery's office

Anyone who happens to be walking by Avery's office, whether to visit him personally or just on their way to or from another teacher will catch him staring intently at a variety of fruits spread out across from him at the far edge of his desk.

He frowns in concentration and holds out his hand, a lemon seeming to fall into the desk until it appears again in his hand in a puff of purple smoke.

"Ugh. I was going for the apple."



D. why are you like this - Infirmary

Avery had stepped into the classroom grinning like the cat who got the cream.  If that cat were exceptionally sick, shaky, and pale.   He had just enough time to have his first set of students collect his midterms and inform them that they were graded in blood (along with a wish for them to sleep well tonight) before he finally collapsed and had to be taken to the infirmary.

For the second time this month.

And yet, for a man who's lost quite a bit of blood,  he seems to be in good cheer.  He probably shouldn't, but he is.  His new pen is so cool you guys.

((NOTE: if the whole blood thing makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to have your characters' midterms be graded in ink. He can always have started that way and switched to being edgy partway through))

Comments

d;

[inflictwounds]

At this point, Hieke isn't surprised when people are dragged into the infirmary unexpectedly. He might be a little disappointed, but everyone at this school seems hell bent on making their own lives as miserable as possible by getting into danger they can't handle or working themselves to the bone.

Or, in certain cases, using magical pens that write in blood.

At least Avery seems to be feeling good emotionally.

"So...you said it was a pen that did this?"

[subconmodo]

"Sure did!" He's not presenting it, though. Not until he's sure it won't be taken away from him. "Pretty neat, huh? It doesn't even need cleaning!"

[inflictwounds]

If it's any consolation, he's not the one likely to take it away from you.

"...How does it work?" He's no pen wizard, he doesn't know how the magic of this thing functions, but he is intensely curious about it.

[subconmodo]

"Uh."

He takes a moment to try and remember how Tyzias described it. Runes not being his thing, most of it honestly went over his head. Nevermind the fact that it probably fell into its own category of magic. "I know hellfire cleans it out to make sure there's no residue."

d..................

[spelleton]

What, again?!

[ Congratulations, he actually raised his voice at you, even if it's a minuscule amount. That's an accomplishment. ]

[subconmodo]

[Avery grins deliriously and gives him a thumbs up.]

[spelleton]

[ He resists the urge to slap his hand down because that's not professional, and decides to just get on with diagnosis instead. ]

How did you lose this much blood in a short amount of time. From a pen.

[ His voice is flat. ]

[subconmodo]

Oh, that's easy. I was grading midterms. Great, right?

[he sounds so proud of himself.]

B

[eudaimonikos]

I'm reading a book, chill out.

[Michael is, in fact, poking around the shelves. Because it's a library. Not that he didn't witness that or anything, but - well, what does he care? He doesn't need to pinpoint weaknesses in the other faculty members, and that may in fact be discouraged!]

[subconmodo]

[And that reaction does, in fact, actually help him chill out, even startling a little laugh from him.]

I suppose that's fair. This is a library after all.

[He lifts his head and rubs at an eye with one hand, voice just a little on the raspy side. He's still tense, maybe not all there, but at least a little more grounded.]

[eudaimonikos]

I tend to come here in the off-hours. Helps to avoid students, and I don't sleep anyway.

[He'd actually ask after it - is it entertaining? Worth trying out? But the current answer seems obvious. Michael may not sleep, but he's versed in inflicting nightmares.]

[subconmodo]

Lucky you.

[Just twist that knife, Michael. One of the few times he wishes he really was a demon.]

But I understand wanting a break from the brats.

c;

[redcarmen]

[ Carmen is one of the fore-mentioned "on her way somewhere else" people. She has to pause at that display of power, becaaaaause what, dude?

Don't mind her staring from the door. Just your usual TA passing through. ]

[subconmodo]

[It isn't long before he gets the feeling that someone is watching him, and he glances over from his spot in the office to find that, yes, that is in fact the case.]

What, never seen someone learning how to summon things before?

[Well. Not "summon" exactly, but close enough.]

[redcarmen]

As a matter of fact... [ She pauses, a little more comfortable now that she's being addressed instead of awkwardly looking. It gives her something to focus on. ] ....no.

Is that what you're doing, then? Summoning?

[subconmodo]

[That... was not the response he was expecting. Though he can't help but appreciate the blunt honesty.]

Summoning, picking up objects from a distance, whatever you want to call it. But yes. Figured it would come in handy.

[He tosses the fruit in the air, catches it, and promptly sets it to the side. The summoning trick is tried again and... orange.]

[Still not the apple, but good enough. He digs his claws into the peel and gets to work.]

B

[unpocoloco]

He was never much one for hoodies. It wasn't that he was formal-- despite his dress he tented to look like a slouch even before homelessness-- they just didn't suit him, always making him look as though he was drowning in fabric. He sees the appeal now. He'd like nothing more than to disappear.

What he's grabbed instead is a grey and grungy old fabric, something pulled out of a store room with enough balling lint it might look like it was textured so on purpose. He hauls it around himself, donning it like a cloak or veil. There's less people at night, less questions to be asked, and eveything that's has added up just enough that he'd rather be caught dead than deal with even trying to fake life more than he had to. But maybe leaving the room at all was a risk if this was what was going to happen.

He'd been approaching slow when Atchison suddenly roused in a panic and tore at his own neck. The cravat tore and he'd stumbled back, stepping on his own makeshift cloak and revealing his skeletal face. He suspects Avery didn't see him, backed into a bookshelf, but he apparently senses him. He can guess how now all too easily. The thought makes him want to run.

Instead, a croak comes from him. "Señor Atch... Avery?"

Re: B

[subconmodo]

His shoulders tense, then drop. Of course. Of course Héctor would want to talk. Why wouldn't he? Or maybe Avery was just that unlucky today.

God he's tired.

"Yes?" he asks, hostility gone.

[unpocoloco]

It's strange. He's far more used to giddy taunting or hostility. This is a worn down sort of thing. He almost feels more afraid.

he straightens, pulling that "cloak" back up around himself, stepping closer to the table. His eyes fall briefly upon the torn shreds of fabric, then back.

"... Are you okay?"

He doesn't know if he means simply in this moment or as a whole. Maybe Avery will pick whats suits him.

D is for irony!

[tiredcharmer]

The funny (and by that Tyzias means painful) part of this whole fiasco is that it's uncomfortably familiar to her. The obvious signs of exhaustion. The increasingly inept attempts to push on despite it. The refusal to accept any advice. And then finally the incredibly bad decision that landed her--Avery, rather--in the hospital.

What's worse is that it was the pen she gave him that caused this whole mess. She realizes it as soon as she sees the grade on the contract she printed, the one that started this whole thing.

Tyzias is the first on her feet, the first the support Avery and help him to the ward. The first to pickpocket the pen off him. When he wakes up, he can see Tyzias toying with the pen she gave him. Runes hover around the writing implement, which Tyzias is slowly, painfully erasing before Avery's eyes. "I can't believe I have to treat a man hundreds of years older than me like a fuckin' dumbshit toddler, but if you can't be responsible with your god damn toys, I'm taking them away," she says, voice cool as ice. There's an undercurrent of guilt, of anger, and of genuine concern beneath the glacial tone, though.

"...what the fuck happened? You're normally way smarter than this." She pauses. "For a given value of smart, anyways."

[subconmodo]

He tries to shoot to a sitting position with no success, his head forced back to the pillow by the rooms sudden decision to start spinning. She's dismantling his pen. His pen. The one he bartered for fair and square.

"I wanted to grade it that way, so I did. I was nearly done, so I finished," he replies tersely. "That's it. Now put those runes back on there."

[tiredcharmer]

"Acting like a petulant fucking toddler does not help your case, Atchinson."

D

[hattersgonnahat]

[How does he keep getting sick...]

[At any rate, a certain kid was a bit worried about him and at some time after classes decided to give him a visit. Perhaps to also make up for missing the first time Avery was sent here.]

[subconmodo]

[why is the child here. Didn't he exempt her from the midterm?]

Don't you have classes or something?

[hattersgonnahat]

[He did.]

Not anymore for today.

[The rest of the day was all free~]