[MATURE] Sexual Healing (Lars)

It isn't what it sounds like...

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The Six Kingdom's most prestigious university and the de facto cultural capital of Anaxas.

The Stacks | Ghost Town | Muffey

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Lars
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: nil igitur mors est ad nos
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Wed Dec 12, 2018 9:23 pm

Brunnhold | Dentis 10, 2718 | Night
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The inquiries of what they would do if caught went in one ear and right out the other--not because the passive was apathetic to the potential of both being caught, but because they couldn't really afford to think that way at the moment. He hadn't thought about it when he'd walked up to Fred and snapped his neck, he'd just... done it. His mind had raced with panicked delusions and self-deprecation, but it was his body that took over and did what needed to be done. Hopefully he could do the same now, and they would get through this quickly.

However, Lars didn't ignore his roommate when he went on to talk about if they were questioned. He was well-aware that Fionn had a rather unruly temper; he had seen it himself and had seen the way he spoke to his patron as if he was just another worthless servant. They didn't need him going off on anyone right now, especially not if they were caught with the body. They were in deep shit as it was, having to walk out of here and carry the body fifty feet, where anyone could see them.

"Alright," the older offered with a small nod, "he--I'll do the talking. If we're seen."

As Fionn went about grabbing the patron's limp, heavy legs, Lars did the same with his upper half. He reached underneath the man's arms, grabbing him around his chest and hoisting him up when Fionn did his lower half. His roommate was certainly correct, the man was clocking heavy, though Lars didn't strain under the weight as he would've earlier in the year. More frequent shifts in the outdoors had seen to that, as much as he despised the work.

Despite the situation, Fionn's snappy comment about Fred's weight actually made Lars laugh, the man's face brightening up with an amused smile; a show of pristine, sharp teeth. It was an interesting juxtaposition with the little spatter of blood on his cheek, but the smile faded soon enough, the passive putting his attention back into the task at hand.

Fifty feet was a lot when you were carrying a heavy corpse, but still, it didn't take too long before the passives had carried the body to the stairs. No one was around--not in Lars' sight at least--and he prayed to the gods that meant they were safe.

Fred's corpse was sent tumbling down the stairs into darkness, and Lars glanced over to his roommate with a nervous note to his blue gaze.



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Tue Dec 18, 2018 2:34 pm

10th of Dentis, 2718
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Castor Devlin was no stranger to this particular stairway, nor the tunnels he left behind, and so it was without a care in all of Vita that he near-silently made his way up them without the aid of a single lantern or light. Folding the sheet of paper and tucking it back into his vest pocket, the portly galdor was already panting from his long walk back to campus, but he froze at the sound of footsteps above, pressing himself into the long shadows cast by the turn of the upward path in front of him, from behind the heavy door he had set his sights on.

That same door that was his destination opened and the dull thud of something heavy hit the steps.

And the next steps.

And the next.

The body of Fred the dead passive flopped and rolled its way sloppily down the stairs until by some ugly stroke of luck, his already broken self tilted precariously to one side and became rather unfortunately jammed in the handrail, just two steps from the dark-clad older man who puffed in surprise, limp limbs flailing in a way that would have been comical had it not also been somewhat disgusting,

"By Naulas' bloody sharp horns, what the clocking—" Devlin had been a professor for nearly three decades now and his voice rang upward with the volume of a man who had spent just as much time speaking over the din of childish conversation, "—hell."

There was a pause, a slow inhale, and the exhale of monite. The tingling sensation of the movement of mona through the air whispered against the skin of two passives above—tangible and alive in its obedience—and the entire stairwell filled with light, illuminating their faces in the doorway and illuminating the body and illuminating the short, broad-shouldered galdor just barely saved from being bowled over by the dead beast's final decent.

Dark eyes narrowed at the two creatures, the last phrases of his Perceptive conversation with the magical particles that flooded the space between them as if someone had pulled the plug on all the baths above at once left Castor's mouth so comfortably and created a sudden unmistakable feeling of someone's lips brushing against both of their left ears, their stomachs wrenching as if they were no longer able to divert their attentions, suddenly compelled to feel more agreeable to the man below them despite their horror, fear, or rebellious desire to run the other way. It was, in fact, almost a calming feeling that tickled through their nerves, caressing their fight or flight reflex and slowing their pulses.

Professor Castor Devlin was not even angry. Ruffled, yes, if his sharply arched eyebrows and exertion-flushed cheeks were any indication. Magic flowed so naturally from the man and yet it wasn't in vehemence or malice. It almost simply felt like it was part of who he was, as normal as the hint of a patterned cravat visible beneath his dark coat. He raised a hand, waggling the fingers as if inviting stray cats closer for a meal,

"Boys, you missed." Added the galdor almost nonchalantly, toe of one dirty boot against the pile of flesh close to him, his gaze slipping to the pale face then back up again. His voice was hushed, aware of the house and the hour, aware that passive shifts were at every possible house of the day, and the tone was soft, "It's poor form not to finish what you started. Surely you two know better. Get your young backs down here and clean up your mess. Come on. Let's get this somewhere a bit less obvious, shall we?"

We.

He said we.

He could have shouted for someone. He could have crushed their bones with another breath of Monite. He could have dragged them by the ears down the hall toward their dormitories, scolding them like some angry father.

He could have done any number of horrible, expected things.

Instead, he said we, and had the man not been at least in his fifties, the smirk that peeked from behind his beard would have been roguish. Perhaps it still was. If the two younger passives didn't flee, if they let themselves trust the strange, contradictory creature below them in the now not-darkness, he'd even bend himself to help them, not even batting an eye at the disturbing disfigurement of a death by broken bones,

"I won't ask if you won't tell, but when we're through, we must have a bit of a word together—agreed?" Consummate gentlemen, soft spoken mystery, the older galdor winked and began to lead them back into the tunnel he'd just come from, the light following them like some will-o-wisp summoned from the old wives' tales about the Wraithwine Woods.
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Fionn
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Tue Dec 18, 2018 7:17 pm

Dentis 10, 2718, Night
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Lars vowed to do the talking if they were caught and while it should have been a relief, it wasn't. Fionn knew that he himself could be charming if he was in the right frame of mind, occasionally silver-tongued when he wanted to be. Persuasion was something that he knew he was capable of... just... not with authority figures. Lars, on the other hand, was an uncertain factor, untested by Fionn at least and so he didn't know if the other servant could talk them out of anything. For all he knew, if they ran into trouble then Lars might make matters worse. The young man seemed like he could be the type, his obedience making him fold quite willingly; Fionn hoped that that wasn't the case.

Still, there was no use worrying about it when he had an important task and one that required his concentration, focusing everything into maintaining the strength in his limbs as he carried Fred. It wasn't a far distance in the scheme of things but it felt like an eternity when the risk of being caught was so real, the weight pressing down on him making the distance seem all the longer.

It was a relief to heave the man together, sending him tumbling down the stairs. Both of them could have run, perhaps should have but neither seemed immediately inclined to move, not when the corpse was travelling downwards in the dark. Fionn briefly met Lars' blue gaze, swallowing uneasily before his attention went back to the dark, listening to the thumping.

Thumping that cut off all too soon. He cocked his head, considering the number of steps there were and how many whacks his fleshy body should have made on the way down.

"Shit, I think he's-" he began to hiss, visibly jumping with a strangled sound as a voice roared up from the stairway. For one wild moment, he thought that the man was alive, had come back to scream at them and was going to be seeking vengeance.

Fred couldn't have come back from the dead, it couldn't have happened but he still swayed on the spot, feeling dizzy and off-centre as if he'd been strangled all over again.

And then the mona shifted and his panic rose, brown eyes widening and flying to Lars. He knew it wasn't him so was it the other- no, it was past them.

The voice.

Shit.

Shit!

"Galdor," he murmured weakly, just before light blazed out of the black, its brightness illuminating his features. It wasn't clear, even to himself, if he winced because of the unexpected light or the unexpected face that it showed. Broad-shouldered, portly, and older man. Much older than Fred but then galdori lived longer, didn't they? That wasn't too hard when you weren't being ground underfoot. It might have been a comical scene, this ruddy, panting galdor standing on the stairs with a body spread-eagled awkwardly near his feet but given that it was a body they'd been creatively disposing of and that they'd been caught in the act, it wasn't funny in the least.

The young man gawked, too shocked to move and then the mona shifted again, not in his favour this time either but tantalisingly close, doing the will of this old bastard rather than him, because Fionn was broken and boy, didn't he know it? Whatever he did, he felt mona wash over him, doing something because he sure as hell hadn't calmed down on his own. By the Circle, the passive hated that one, hated this golly for messing with him. They only showed up when it was inconvenient or more precisely, when it was convenient for them. There was never one around when you needed one. This one certainly wouldn't have been near at hand to help him if Lars had decided to seek aid rather than providing aid himself.

They allowed so much to happen that they could stop, so much that they had to know was going on. The sorts of events that had ruined Fionn could be prevented if they actually gave a damn but they didn't. They were the orphan children of the galdori and although this one could calm his pulse and steady his reflex to fight, the blond could still hate him.

The blond still had sufficient fight in his tongue.

It was hard, so bloody hard to hold himself back, not to let every furious remark that popped into his head to spill out of his lips. He actually bit his lip, intending to curb the impulse with the firm press of teeth but it continued to grow, his bite growing harder until he drew blood, the taste in his mouth once more tonight. His own this time, not Fred's.

And it brought it back, the feeling of uselessness, the terror, the disgust, the rage, the weakness. This man having the nerve to step in now, all sly smiles and 'we're in this together now, eh, chaps?' as if he knew what was going on. As if he had good reason to be involved in this. What did he know? What the fuck did he know? And yet there was that knowing air to him as if he had all the facts - thought he did. Was he really going to act as if he could be complicit and have a friendly little chat with them afterwards? He was going to string them up for this either way because they were less than animals to him. They were disposable. He didn't have to care that they'd offed one of their number - what was a dead halfsie to a real galdor? - but that didn't mean that he wouldn't flattened them all the same simply because he could.

"Smug golly bastard!"

He didn't realise at first that it had been said aloud, a spitting hiss that he could have sworn was in his head. It was meant to have stayed there. His brown orbs were fixed on the professor, no sign of subservience as his gaze blazed. He'd opened his mouth now and in spite of the promise he'd extracted from Lars, he was all too ready to fling caution to the wind. To do so, he stepped towards Castor, putting space between himself and his fellow servant so that he couldn't do something to still his tongue.

"What the fuck do you know about any of this?" he queried waspishly, fingers reaching up to his collar to drag it down, giving a better view to the skin of his throat that bore the hallmarks of his attack. He hadn't seen them himself but he'd dealt with enough bruising in his time; Fionn knew that this was one that would be visible even now, certain to be worse tomorrow.

If you get to tomorrow, he pointed out grimly.

He trotted down the stairs, a scowl on his face and rebellious fury in his gaze. He could just refuse to move Fred, tell the golly where to go and just get on with it already if he was going to crush him. But that wink and turn away, the playfulness of it made him wonder if there might be a chance. Maybe they could get out of this but by Alioe, he was loathe to get into bed with any golly even if it was to his advantage.

He glared at Castor's retreating back for a few moments, rage bubbling below the surface before he turned his attention to Fred who he found himself standing beside once again. He gazed down at his stupid, doughy body for a few seconds before drawing back his foot and sending a vicious kick into his former patron's abdomen. He caught the edge of his ribcage with the toe of his shoe, feeling the greater hardness briefly as he clicked it. There was a crack, bone having caved more than likely but he didn't care. It was less than the bastard deserved. He only wished he'd done it while Fred was still alive.

Ignoring the throbbing in his toes, the blond bent to drag the body around, giving it a clear path down before he gave it a good shove with his foot to send it rolling again.

"I'm not carrying the fucker down the stairs," Fionn informed Lars sullenly. "Watch out, golly. I might not miss this time," he added, not caring if his voice carried down.
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Lars
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Wed Dec 19, 2018 5:52 pm

Dentis 10, 2718 | Night
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It was perhaps the first time during the night that Lars felt truly uneasy. He had felt the frenzy of pure panic upon seeing his roommate strangled, and the unfamiliar rush from head to toe when he had put his long fingers on Fred's jaw and twisted his neck like a snap of his fingers. Now though, as he and his roommate stared down the dark staircase and listened to the patron's body thump down every step, he felt uneasy.

Something wasn't right.

His suspicions only grew when the noises came to a stop, the corpse presumably caught on something or another because he knew the stairs didn't end there.

A loud voice roaring from below them widened the passive's eyes, his skin feeling as if the air around him had dropped ten degrees, accompanied by goosebumps. He didn't jump at the sudden sound, at the realization that they had been caught in the act, and didn't respond when Fionn hissed this realization of a galdor's sudden presence. Well this wasn't how it was supposed to go, now was it? The night had already taken one unexpected turn, and now, after sixteen full years of service to this damned slave-driving university, he was going to be punished worse than ever before.

However many of these dooming thoughts he had, they all seemed to dissipate soon enough, a strange feeling washing over him and settling his stomach. It was like nothing he had ever felt before; something so unfamiliar and strange yet it felt so right. It felt like something he had been missing for so long, that had always been just out of reach.

He had never felt the mona before. Never had he been the target of any spell nor had his diablerie exploded in any mass of fury and hatred and fear, to finally give him just a taste of what the galdori knew so well.

It removed the chill that had settled into his bones, the light feeling replaced with something electric in nature. That same rush of adrenaline that had brought a redness to his cheeks after snapping Fred's neck.

He wanted more.

Fionn's sudden outburst caught his attention again, and Lars was dragged out of his thoughts. To his surprise, the younger passive beside him stepped forward, shouting down in anger at the galdor gentleman on the stairs.

"Fionn, what are you--" the man cut himself off as his roommate trailed down the stairs, towards Fred's dead body and the galdori man that apparently held no issue with them. His words had been almost more of a shock than the sudden flood of perceptive magic, a strange and dangerous proposition that made Lars wonder who the hell this man was and what he wanted with them afterwards.

He recognized him--he couldn't recall the name, but he had seen him around the university before.

Lars hurried down the stairs, following after Fionn and reaching him just in time to watch the younger deliver a hard kick to the corpse's side. The cracking sound had no effect, but the action--the almost threatening words that followed--made him cringe. What was Fionn doing, talking to this man like that? He had made him promise to do the talking just minutes before, and now he was firing off at the mouth as if he was already on the chopping block. Lars was no fan of their galdori oppressors either, but he was not going to dig himself a deeper hole than he'd already done.

"Fionn," murmured the older, glancing towards the retreating galdor, "let me do the talking, please?"

With that, the passive followed into the tunnel, seeking to stay in the warming light that stuck close to the galdor.

"Sir," he addressed, "thank you. He kno--I know you could easily turn us in; can I..." Lars trailed off for a moment, glancing to the older, shorter galdor, "can I ask why you're not?"


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Thu Dec 20, 2018 4:07 pm

10th of Dentis, 2718
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The younger passive's outburst didn't even phase the older man before him. His field didn't ripple with indignation and his well-aged face didn't twist in self-righteous offense. Instead, Castor weathered the storm in the light of his own illumination magic, his expression calm and his dark eyes holding the boy's fiery glare like the night sky held the fiery orbs of the stars. The youth revealed bruises and had the galdor been a weaker creature, he certainly would have coddled him with some words of comfort and a whispered promise of healing, but Professor Devlin knew that wasn't at all what the angry creature in front of him wanted or needed. Instead, he didn't let his gaze linger on the injuries but looked back up into Fionn's face, a bastion of disturbing calmness in the center of impotent fury. He blinked with a measured slowness at the angry movement of the young passive to kick the body, a tension in his broad form barely visible as if the galdor could, in fact, hold his own in a fight given that he didn't flinch with the crack of bone or the dull slap of flesh.

The dark-haired man also didn't move when asked, however, not right away and not when told, taking in the situation for just a moment longer while the younger passive attempted to realign the body with his hiss of a threat. Instead, his attention shifted to the boy's older companion, licking his lips at the quieter apologies that were much more expected of his kind.

Two extremes.

Both inexcusable results of the same failed system, as far as Castor Devlin was concerned.

When it became clear that Fionn had no intention of waiting for anyone or no intention of following his request, it was a simple matter to step aside, the act of pressing himself against the wall requiring him to step up toward the pair instead of back away. He chose, with deliberate purpose, to step closer to the younger passive instead of Lars.

Inwardly, Professor Devlin was aware there was little he could say to assuage the situation for either of the men before him, even if he didn't give a chrove's erse about what had happened to the third. Violence was, quite honestly, an expected result of oppression? Hadn't Jon Serro himself said the same just a handful of days ago in Vienda to his face? Brunnhold was no sanctuary for those born of galdorkind without the ability to use magic. It was just a pretty prison dressed in pale green, and while Castor had tried to reach through the bars as often as he could, more often than not those within only chose to bite his hand instead of take it. Maybe one day this would change—if he had anything to do with things, anyway.

He swallowed audibly, one hand moving slowly to rub a palm over his beard while the dull thud of dead flesh rolled its way down the stairs, appearing to still need to catch his breath even if the truth was he was simply letting the older passive's question hang in the air and the younger passive simmer in his smoldering heat.

"Why I didn't what, young man?" Castor asked quietly, tilting his head toward the sound because he knew how far down the trip was since he'd just come up from the tunnel below, "Turn you in for assisting me at my request? Only if you do a poor job here will I at all need to write a report."

He flashed a smirk at Fionn as if sharing a joke he knew the boy wouldn't get, attempting to include him instead of at all react to his outburst,

"I don't see anything wrong here other than two passive lads lending an old professor a hand with some garbage, despite the hour that is." Did he know who Fred was? Was he aware of actual individual passives? The older galdor didn't give anything away in his tone of voice, nothing at all. Turning his back on them both, he began to descend the stairs, the warm glow of his spell following him, "It's certainly not a house that I should be caught out in either, boys, but here I am, slinking beneath the passive ward tunnels. I think we're even—unless you think someone would believe you should you try to turn me in instead? Both scenarios are still probable, I suppose."

He exhaled the barest minimum of a chuckle, obviously expecting the other two men to follow, waggling his fingers in an attempt to ask them to do so. Somewhere below them in the dark, the dead passive crashed into something loudly. Something like a barrier, probably a wall.

"Mrs. Rogers is going to be clocking livid about losing a patron, you know, but even she knew what a kenser-brained bastard he was. Clumsy, too. So unfortunate to take a tumble down the stairs, but that little errand to the Stacks must have given him a chance to sneak a bit of alcohol in. Such a shame, really. It's commendable of you both to have tried to find help for him, even if there's nothing I can do to revive him."

Whether either of them followed him down the stairs or not was clearly their choice, but he took the light with him as he descended back into the short hallway below. A hallway that could have been mistaken for a dead end save for the single door with Fred's body smooshed against it. Castor was gathering his field again, reaching into his vest pocket to remove a key and turning to unlock the door at the end of the stairs. Opening it, the door led out into the pitch black nothingness that was one of the many underground tunnels built millennia ago and maintained for centuries when Brunnhold was more a fortress than a school,

"Mrs. Rogers will also be clocking livid you've seen this tunnel. Oops." Like a student sharing gossip, Professor Devlin thumbed his nose and stepped over Fred's body to hold the door open, the glow that seemed to follow him illuminating the curved stonework-covered tunnel like a torch, "Shame on old me. Now, let's all try to be good lads and clean up after ourselves."

He didn't seem concerned to be escorting gated passives away from their dormitories at this hour, but then again, his air of authority was so strangely veiled by a quirky mysteriousness that it was hard to tell whether he didn't care or whether he had that much power.

Was this a punishment or an opportunity? Castor Devlin gave nothing away.

"I won't be giving you a tour, mind. Just a quick trip to the laboratory with our dear Fred here. If you would, I'll make sure no one gets written up for their sudden absence from expected duties, though neither of you are on duty, obviously."
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Fionn
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Thu Dec 20, 2018 7:11 pm

Dentis 10, 2718, Night
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It wasn't because it was Devlin, it wasn't any sort of personal feeling that the young man had towards the galdor. He couldn't have anything against this particular professor because he hadn't seen him before. He didn't often see galdori these days; he couldn't be trusted to be civil typically so it was easier just to keep him in areas with other scraps, keeping a very close eye on him if they had to move out of the scrapyard. But Devlin represented the enemy, or one of the enemies at least, the main one. Thus, he got angry but it simmered down, dropping beneath the surface to stew.

Lars butted in to get the passive to shut up and Fionn made a 'pft' sound, rolling his eyes in the dark. Sure, he could chit-chat, whatever he wanted. The blond didn't much care right now, more concerned with manoeuvring the body, resenting the stupid corpse when he had to bend down to get it properly into position. In spite of his words though, he didn't actually intend to bowl the galdor over. He might be petulant but he wasn't completely stupid. He shoved the lump with his foot to make sure that he could roll freely before lunging forward to catch the man with the back of his ankle. As soon as the older man moved, he lifted his foot and the man moved of his own accord having been caught teetering on the edge of the step.

"Bye, Fred, have a nice trip. You bastard," he muttered, slipping his hands into his pockets, rolling his shoulders and wincing at the pain that shot through him. Clock the Circle, he was going to feel this tomorrow and the effort of carrying the patron certainly wouldn't have helped.

His eyes flicked between the two older men, wondering why Lars was bothering to ask the golly his reasons for doing this. As if he'd answer. He wasn't like he had any obligation to them but they did have one to him. The rebel could spit and curse but in spite of the lashings of his tongue, he knew it was in his best interest to just do what he was told this time. Cutting off his nose to spite his face wouldn't do him any favours. So he'd let the man lead the way if he was so inclined, see where this would go as he listened to the thump of the body going down the steps.

The mention of a report together with the flash of a smirk was met with a sullen glance from the passive, wondering if the man was going to complain about how they hadn't carried the body down the stairs. He was too heavy for that and one of them would have to go backwards so why bother when it was an easy matter of a good push? The garbage commented earned a snort though.

"Garbage is right," he muttered, flicking a look in his fellow passive's direction, daring him to complain that he'd opened his mouth again. However, his gaze moved back to the galdor at his next words, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered what he'd said. There was something off there, something that he couldn't put his finger on.

"Oh yeah, we'll go up to the nearest golly and say, 'Hey, this other golly was wandering around under where the baths are, I'd like to report him please' and they'll say, 'Shut your mouth, you cheeky bastard, what were you doing down there anyway?' and then I'd get punished. Lars might get away with it though."

His gaze moved to the other blond, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe they'd get out of this after all and Lars wouldn't have to suffer for his fuck-ups. The smile broadened a little at the notion that the man might get away with murder.

"Alcohol? Have you got some on you, golly? Gonna pour some on him so he smells of it or- No, even if you do, don't do that. Bastard wouldn't have been worth pissing on if he was on fire, never mind wasting something worthwhile on him now," he pointed out, hands still in his pockets as he started a slow descent after the galdor.

There was still something off about what he'd said, something that niggled at the young man's brain, just within reach but failing to click into place. His expression was pensive as he considered, waiting for that moment of connection. It didn't come.

Fionn reached the bottom of the stairs, head tilted to the side as he considered the body again, the horrible angle. Yeah, that looked like a legitimate way to break your neck, all right. But Devlin didn't intend to leave him there, that was clear and that was when the suspicion grew, a question sliding into place.

"Wait... if he fell down the stairs and it was a drunken accident and... we went to get help then why would he not be here? Where are we bringing him instead?" he questioned slowly, considering the matter, his mind suddenly whirring. He'd said revive. Was there something he could do - could have done - if he'd gotten to Fred earlier? No, of course not. You couldn't undo a snapped neck, could you? Golly magic couldn't do that... could it?

"You... you'd have to have brought him to a special place to try to revive him?" he suggested although even as he said it, he wondered. If it was magic then... why not here? What else could it be?

"Laboratory?" he asked, voice going up slightly in pitch, hairs raising on the back of his neck. Experiments, passives that had heard, things, seen things and talked about those who went to a lab. Apparently it was a bad, bad place. He'd heard from another passive in another wing who'd heard it from passive that some of them went there and didn't come back at all. He swallowed. Surely there was more than one lab on the campus and if there was anything fishy well... if the man wanted to do something then he could have done it already.

Unless he's waiting to trap you somewhere and needs you to come quietly, his mind whispered, drawing a small shudder from him that he changed into a shrug.

He'd used magic to affect his instincts already, hadn't he? If he really wanted him to go somewhere willingly, Devlin could probably just make it happen. He was overthinking this but this thing did feel off no matter how he looked at it. Brown eyes went to Lars, teeth worrying at his lips while he came to a decision. If this would guarantee the golly's silence then he'd do it. If they left, he wasn't sure that he'd hold his tongue and he hadn't said that he would so do the job. Just drop dead Fred in a lab, let the golly do whatever he wanted with the corpse. Lars didn't deserve to get written up for this. He'd saved his life; Fionn owed him.

"All right, same as before and I'll go backwards again as well," he informed the other passive, bending with a grimace of pain, doing his best to ignore the live bruises on his torso as he dealt with the man's legs again, hoisting him over his shoulder as he had before with a groan.
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