[M] In the Thick of Things

The Passive Ward shakedown begins.

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Tue Mar 12, 2019 4:28 pm

32nd of Dentis, 2718
Passive Ward | Early Morning
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What's past is prologue.


William Shakespeare
The Tempest
"This is highly unusual, Professors, and I'm not entirely sure that any of this is worth pursuing." Cecily Rogers had yet to be convinced that there were any severe problems in her Ward of passives, though the evidence presented by two very acclaimed educators and respected scientists on campus who had absolutely no reason to be anything but truthful certainly had her attention. The rotund older galdor was clearly distressed by the scenarios that had been outlined to her in private, first by Professor Devlin and then by Professor Moore upon his return from his home in Muffey, the two men corroborating on a story that scratched the surface of a deeper issue, an insidious issue that would require reaching deeply into the lives of those she was in charge of.

"The safety of all of campus is at stake, if you really want me to make that case." Castor riposted gruffly, arms folded over his broad chest, beard shaggy and spectacles low on his nose.

"He's not wrong, but I'm simply concerned for these people. There has been near fatal injury. You can't expect me to believe this is the first time, either." Harper added, unsure of where he'd left his own spectacles in the small office of Mrs. Rogers, his hazel gaze fluttering about the room in desperation to return them to his face.

It was his colleague who passed the man his much-needed glasses from the shelf behind his head even though he continued to glare at Cecily, "We don't technically need you to believe any of this. You are here to listen while the both of us have the Headmistress' permission to conduct these interviews. You will be sitting with Mister Fairfax, who we will be speaking with last. There are the two most directly involved, Misters Madden and Savatier."

Did it ruffle the woman further that Professor Devlin so formally spoke of the passives under her care? It wasn't as if the blu e-eyed galdor cared one bit.

"They do not know each other is here. It is my request that you don't spoil it, either, Mrs. Rogers." Professor Moore added hastily, standing and fussing with his cravat, a nervous sort of energy. This was so far out of his wheelhouse as a scientist, as a monic theorist, and yet he'd willingly committed more than just his time to the care of those passives he'd come to know. There had been so much blood already—

"Yes, sirs."

"Good then. Someone should be bringing Ayden to you shortly, and it will be I who will be interviewing him once I'm finished speaking with Fionn." Castor tapped her desk with his knuckles for emphasis, pausing to bring the same hand upward to tweak his nose, "I have a feeling that boy's a charmer, so don't let him bias your views to the truth."

"Please. I've been doing this for decades. Don't think one passive's silver tongue's going to make that much of a difference in my opinions, Professor." Huffed the grey-haired woman before she sat at her desk heavily, glaring at the two men's backs as they both turned and left her office.

Out in the hall, Moore paused, snatching the shoulder of his friend while he quietly closed the office door, "This is the right thing, Castor—"

"—Ophelia agrees, Harper. The conditions passives have been allowed to exist in shouldn't be like a prison. That isn't stewardship. That isn't caring for our children, magical or not. You know that."

"I do. I just. I worry about the rest of your Magisters. The Chairs. The King."

"One step at a time, my friend. That's all we can do, really. Let me worry about that. Let's get these boys sorted first, alright?"

"Indeed." Sighed the younger professor, shoulders sagging. Turning to head down the hall in an opposite direction from the Magister, three doors down from the office to where Lars would be waiting in another office, currently unused, already bolstered with snacks and tea, two of Harper's notebooks and a pen ready for use. Bolstering his field and curling fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the mess it'd become on his rushed race across campus from Laboratory Beta as the sun rose, he opened the door with one of his typical awkward, shy sort of smiles, "Hello again, Lars. Did you make yourself comfortable? Shall we make formal what I already know?"

Castor, in opposite, traveled across the hall and a handful more doors the other direction, slipping into Mrs. Roger's own little sitting room, complete with her hearth and comfortable, broken in chairs, both of which had been in need of reupholstering since the passing of her husband several years ago. Near the hearth was her own kettle, a few cups and a mix of teas as well as a few breakfast pastries—Harper's orders since he knew the house this whole shakedown had been arranged to begin at.

The dark-eyed professor, unlike his colleague, only offered the hint of a smile to the young passive who'd been brought to the room bright and early this morning, allowed to linger alone for probably far too many minutes too long,

"Good morning, Fionn. It's been a bit since we've seen each other. I suppose you've got no clocking idea why you're here, hmm? I'm going to start by making some tea. Did you want some?"

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Tue Mar 12, 2019 10:49 pm

Passive Ward
Dentis 32, 2718 Early Morning
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Why couldn't all of Brunnhold be as nice and as warm and welcoming as the little, unused office in which he currently sat? Oh how he hated being back within the red walls of the university, the evil, doomed fortress in which so much passive blood had spilled in so little time. He despised it. He had never quite registered just how much he hated it - hadn't registered the hatred at all really - until he had been allowed to leave, allowed some small measure of freedom, allowed some dignity and respect and common decency that he hadn't received in so, so many years. Why was it that he had to hold bitterness within him now instead of excitement for the future? Instead of being glad that a change was being made?

Because it didn't change the fact that he was going to be stuck there his whole life. It didn't change the rules of galdori society, neither did it alter their ugly hatred and fear for their lesser fortunate children. It didn't keep him out of the prison that was the university of Brunnhold.

It was difficult not to leave his seat and pace about the office as he waited, arms crossed over his chest, hand cradling his healing ribs. He had recovered nicely, at the very least, and besides the ribs that continued to heal within his chest cavity, the only physical remnants of his roommate's abuse were a healing cut on his cheek and bruises here and there. It was to be expected of the Hessean; he supposed magic couldn't fix the mistakes his body had made before his birth, just as it couldn't bring itself to him and allow him the ability to wield it.

Professor Moore wasn't pretentious like so many of galdorkind. He didn't make a mockery of the blonde for lacking magical ability, and he certainly didn't brag or show off like so many in Brunnhold did - he supposed it was just a fact of life when one spent their life around the prideful, powerful youth. He doubted that it was exclusive to Brunnhold, or even to all of Anaxas.

His heart raced in his chest, a mix of nerves and something else, something a bit lighter fluttering in his chest. The passive dropped his hands to his lap, fingers interlocking for only a moment before he was moving. He couldn't keep still, why couldn't he keep still? Pacing or twitching or fiddling with his thumbs wouldn't make this go faster, and it certainly wouldn't bring the professor into the office any sooner. Lars pushed down against the arms of his seat, standing up in order to grab a cup of tea. The office was well-prepared, he could give them that, and he was going to embrace every little bit of freedom he got until they pulled it from his hands.

Again.

A lot more honey than was likely needed was poured into his cup; he'd always had a rather strong sweet tooth, although he'd never exactly been able to satiate his cravings for sweets before. He was always too busy, too caught up in cleaning or organizing or cooking or doing everything else for people that didn't even care if he lived or died. So he was going to enjoy his tea with honey while he could.

Lars returned to his seat afterwards, a gentle breath exiting his lips and sweeping over his hot mug in a weak attempt to cool his tea before he took a sip.

He pulled the mug quickly away from his mouth. No, it was still too hot. Way too hot.

Setting the cup down on the surface of the desk before him, the Hessean opted instead to lean back in his chair, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to relax. It would be fine. It would all be fine.

It's going to be fine, Lars.

"Oh he knows that, come o -"

Lars cut himself off as soon as he heard the door begin to crack; pushed open by one timid, kindly professor and a shy smile that did nothing to help that strange, light feeling in his chest. What was it? It felt like his heart was in his throat, trying to fly out of his mouth; fluttering and beating against the inside of his chest without mercy. He swallowed, willing it to go away, willing that whispering in his head to just stop, stop for once, stop talking about -

"Professor Moore," he greeted in return, offering his own small smile with a nod, "yes, this office is actually quite nice, he thinks, very, ah, comfortable," his nervousness was clear in his hesitation.

"Yes, he's ready. He supposes it's now or never," Lars cleared his throat, grabbing his tea from off of the desk again to hold it in his hands, the warmth a far more pleasant feeling against his palms than it had been against his tongue.

"They don't... they don't know where he is, right? Fionn and Ayden?"
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Wed Mar 13, 2019 3:09 am

Dentis 32, 2718 | Early Morning
Passive Ward
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Fionn had been collected this morning, placed in a sitting room and left to his own devices. There was no explanation about why he'd been called, no reason given for his presence here but he could guess. His thoughts had a chance to run rampant while he waited, a very limited line of thought going endlessly around and around.

Lars.

It had been days since he'd beaten him up, days since he'd bled everywhere and the passive had heard nothing about it. He'd heard nothing about the boy's wellbeing since, even though he'd gone to Laboratory Beta to ask. He'd asked in other places too and it hadn't been taken kindly. The backlash for that particular attempt at investigation was why he stood rather than sitting, avoiding slouching or moving much at all really, standing unnaturally still and straight, arms held rigidly straight down from his sides. Even days later, the young man was in excruciating pain but it was only physical, he'd live, even though some of it was... bad, very traumatic, truly awful sort of bad. It was nothing compared to the mental anguish that he felt.

He was convinced that his roommate had died after all and that they'd finally found the body. It was like when Fred had died and he'd had questions asked of him, called off to one side so that he wouldn't be able to confer and lie with others. This was different though. They'd known the Fred investigation was coming. This... this was different. Maybe it was the fact that if it was Lars, this one clearly wasn't an accident.

His Lars. Gods, what had he done? What precious thing had he destroyed because of Ayden and his manipulations. Ayden... he wouldn't be dragged into this, would he? Oh, he might be asked one or two questions as the wing's patron but he wouldn't be suspect. No, even if he hadn't been standing right beside Fionn when it happened, he'd find a way out.

No one would tell on Ayden, he would get away with being the mastermind. He wasn't even that smart, he just understood people and how to manipulate them. He knew how to play people the way that some people played an instrument.

Except... he'd played more than one sour note with Fionn. Oh he'd tried to break him, stomping on him again and again in his rage, in his disgust at having lost the young man's mind, body and soul to "the Half-Wit". He'd done it, telling the boy that he was probably a murderer, that it was all his fault and yet the blond hadn't entirely broken although he was hanging on by a thread. There was a determination that kept him clinging onto something sane and solid still, stopped him retreating into himself or letting the last of his sanity shatter.

The middle Madden had beaten up Lars, he'd carried out that vicious violence, he wouldn't - and couldn't - ignore that but it was Ayden's fault. The patron had pulled the strings to make it happen, tugging here and there, manipulating him like some demonic puppeteer and he would not forgive him. He wanted him to pay, he didn't want him to get away with destroying Lars, precious Lars who seemed to possess some purity in this gods forsaken place in spite of the passage of years. But at the same time, he was a troublemaker, known for deceit, viciousness and general badness so... who would listen to him? The parse had whispered it to him after his violation just a few days before, the agony he was in seeming to sear the words into his mind, leaving him half-expecting to find them embossed on his skin.

"Who'd listen to you? You're a bastard! That's what you are to them, not a victim, not someone to feel sorry for."

He'd left him burning with pain, humiliation and shame but also... anger. He was going to make Ayden pay for Lars.

Somehow.

When Devlin entered, the passive didn't make any move to sit, hoping that the man wasn't going to suggest that they sit like equals. Sitting down wasn't a fun experience, least of all because the act of bending his knees reawakened the burns that his patron had so carefully scorched into his skin with each deliberate stubbing out of a cigarette before he re-lit it anew.

And the burns technically weren't the worst of it, even if they did make bending his arms and legs a special agony courtesy of the injuries in the soft bends of his joints.

"Good morning, Professor Devlin," he greeted flatly, not returning the older man's smile. In fact, he was looking through him a bit, too caught up in the horrors within his own head. The things that he imagined had happened to his roommate. He shook his head, not making it clear which question he was answering as he eyed Castor warily.

"Am I... am I here... because of Lars?" he asked softly, voice wobbling on the edge of cracking at the end. "Is he... is he d-d-d-"

He choked on the word, sucking in a ragged breath or two, his respiration up as he panicked and tried to drag in air. "Is he dead?" the word came out in a low murmur, a shiver going through him at the mere mention of it. Why else would he be here? They surely wouldn't have done this if his roommate was alive, right? He peered down at his hands.

"I'd hoped he was okay, I really did but... it's- I've been lying to myself, haven't I?"

His hands blurred in his vision as tears pooled, maybe unseen with his head bowed but not unheard as his upset bled into his voice.
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Tue Mar 19, 2019 2:55 pm

32nd of Dentis, 2718
Passive Ward | Early Morning
Cecily Rogers sat rather uncomfortably at her desk, rearranging her papers, tapping her nails against the worn surface, and fidgeting in her old, worn chair. She fiddled with the scratched gold band around her finger, the ring a reminder of her late husband, chewing the inside of her cheek until knuckles rapped against her door and a voice from behind it sounded almost demure,

"Mrs. Rogers? It's Ayden."

"Oh, yes. Excellent. Come in, please—right—" The rotund galdor sat up straighter, watching the passive enter and tilting her chins at the door, "—close it up behind you there. Thank you."

Doing as he was told with all the quiet obedience expected of his kind, the brunette stood in the threshold once the door shut behind him. Cecily had somehow forgotten how tall the man was, though that was hardly something that intimidated her anymore, having lived so much of her life around Gated passives and yet still seeing them as misguided children. She took in Ayden's face as if she hadn't seen it in forever, as if there was some speck on it she was about to stand up and reach out to wipe off.

This one was trouble in the most subtle of ways, she knew, but was he really the kind of trouble that the Professors had described, the kind of trouble she simply did not abide in her ward?

"Come and sit."

"Yes, Mrs. Rogers. Is there something you needed me for?"

"I'm afraid so, young man, but for now you simply must wait."




"No one else knows, no. Just Castor, Cecily, and myself." Harper answered after shutting and locking the door behind him. Leaning against the frame for a moment, he removed his spectacles that he'd hardly worn to wipe them on his brocade vest out of habit, returning them to his face with a sigh, "We haven't told anyone why they are here, save for you. Nor have we shared that you are all meeting at the same time. Is that alright?"

Professor Moore made his way to the chair by the small desk in the room instead of moving to make himself tea. He felt jittery enough and warm. It was warm in this room. Fingers curled into his cravat to loosen it just so as he sat, chewing the inside of his cheek while his hazel eyes attempted to assure the nervous passive he assumed he was beginning to know better that he was safe,

"You're alright in here, Lars. I promise." He smiled softly and waved a hand to the chair opposite, "Not that I haven't heard this all before and not that we want to really go over it again, but is there anything you haven't told me about the events prior to you arriving in Laboratory Beta the other day?"




The boy was a curious thing, even for a passive, and the Perceptive Magister could practically feel Fionn's surface emotions without even needing to breathe a word of Monite. Eddies and ripples of what writhed hidden beneath the mirrored smile whispered in the older galdor's field despite the youth not even possessing one of his own, and he sighed at the question, nodding his head,

"Yes, lad. You are." Honesty was reliable, Castor reminded himself, aware of how the opposite could also be true, "Is he dead? No, Fionn."

Someone had to say it, after all. The dark-haired man neither moved to sit nor shuffled toward the tea and pastries, far too much of a listless creature to desire either of those things. They'd just get in the way.

His blue eyes softened at the edges when the boy's emotions became tears, and while his next words were perhaps as heavy as the hand he set it on Fionn's shoulder, his broad palm warm and his fingers squeezed with a gentle expression that wasn't judgment or disapproval,

"Lars is very much alive, no thanks to you."

Castor wasn't the type to mince words. Over a decade and a half of politics and a career of teaching (not to mention the lives he'd lived in between in secret) had molded him into an unapologetically forward man.

"That said, I'm here for the truth for your sake. Yours, Fionn. Not some sob story or any excuses. I'm here to help you—I'm under the impression that you've been under a bit of influence, lad? Oh yes, I know his name, too—Ayden. Let's talk things out and figure out how to get you safe, how to get the passive ward safer. If you're willing, of course."
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Tue Mar 19, 2019 5:48 pm

Dentis 32, 2718 | Early Morning
Passive Ward
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The simple negative response to his question didn't sink in. Fionn's gaze found Castor's face but it was still teary, still miserable, utterly devoid of recognition; the word 'no' didn't appear to mean anything to him. The other's hand landed on his shoulder, earning a flinch but not a wince, hand falling on the side that didn't bear the marks of teeth from half a week ago. Still, he was rigid, uncomfortable beneath the touch, not wanting it, the boy broadcasting it even without a field. He'd never been good at hiding his true feelings, never gotten used to just how easily read he was. If he was a book then he was one with large print.

The words from the galdor's mouth would have hurt, would have made him wail at his complicity except that the fact of Lars' survival finally got through to him, those beautiful, hoped-for words made a grateful sob issue forth. His body sagged with relief, much of the tension that Castor would have felt under his palm seeming to bleed out like an electrical charge that had been earthed.

"Thank you, Naulas," he whispered, eyes fluttering shut in relief, head tilted back as if he gazed blindly heavenwards.

Alive.

It was what the young man had hoped but hardly dared believe could be possible, not after the blood, not after the interval that had passed. He couldn't muster anger at being kept in the dark, too concerned with someone beyond himself to think in such a self-centred way.

The blond sagged a little at the knees, the resulting pain sending a jolt through him, a spasm going through him against his will, a soft whimper escaping him before he could clamp teeth down on his lip. The pain flitted across his features before he got control of himself, before he managed to straighten his legs again with care. It didn't diminish the pain exactly but it did change its texture to something more uniform, more bearable.

Lars was alive though. All the pain he'd suffered and continued to suffer was worth it, deserved certainly, but it meant that he had a reminder of what he was fighting for - who.

"... no thanks to you."

The words did sink in, slower than the rest, left to sink into his flesh, his heart, his soul where they could fester, promising later pain, later suffering in his guilt and anguish but there was a more immediate concern. For while the professor talked about doing things for his sake - so undeserved, he wasn't worth it - he also said a name that Fionn would never have imagined could have been implicated in any of this - Ayden.

But Lars was alive and of course, he must have told. That he could have seen the middle Madden as manipulated rather than acting of his own free will was... a shocking kindness, an unimaginable bit of insight. If he was the older servant, he would have loathed his guts and been done with it.

"You know about Ayden," the teen sighed out, a statement that was breathed in relief, a soft laugh accompanying it, a simple joy, a gratefulness that this wasn't all on him. They didn't need his word alone. They were willing to believe, even him, awful as Fionn was.

"I'll n-n-never be safe from him, h-he's in my head but L-L-Lars... you can't let him near Lars.... c-c-can't let him hurt anyone else. Anything. I'll do anything if you'll believe me. He s-s-said you wouldn't b-b-but you can see!"

Trembling fingers rose to his collar, the boy struggling to do anything because he was sobbing so much, each tremor sending pain radiating from various injuries. He managed to pop buttons, to drag aside cloth with a wince to reveal bruising from the press of fingers on his shoulder, the crescent moons of nails and the jagged lines of teeth, although the last only marred one side, the site shiny red and slightly swollen.

"I o-o-only wanted to h-h-help Lars but th-th-there was so much bl-blood and Ayden wouldn't, he w-w-wouldn't-"

Syllables descended into incoherent blubbering, the voice in his head murmuring warnings that hardly made him want to talk about the matter. Everything was telling him to shut up, to back away from this or explain it away.

Someone else did it. It wasn't his patron. No, his patron was wonderful.

Don't let him hurt us anymore, don't give him reason, the voice seemed to whisper in his mind, mentally cowering from the impending wrath that was sure to come from the parse.
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Thu Mar 21, 2019 9:50 pm

Passive Ward
Dentis 32, 2718 Early Morning
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Nervous eyes followed the motions as the kind professor removed his glasses, wiping the lenses against the fabric of his vest in some form of habit rather than any attempt to really clean the glass - he'd noticed the man doing it far too often for it to be the latter, and he didn't imagine that he got himself into too many messy situations.

No matter. It was far too easy to fixate on the habits of the older galdor when he should've been focusing and calming the annoying, racing heart in his chest instead.

Lars offered a nod, willing himself to look away from the man and instead to his hands, "yes, that's alright," he gave, gaze remaining downcast for the moment as he heard the professor move, stepping behind the desk to sit across the smooth surface from him. It was likely for the better, for as soon as distant blues flicked upwards and met the professor's hazel, the passive had to suppress the urge to return the little smile - this was a serious matter, wasn't it? He was meant to be serious; his cheeks weren't meant to be dusted pink with the fact that the man simply looked at him.

Straightening himself up in his chair, the blonde took a breath, taking the professor's question into careful consideration. He supposed he should start at the beginning and work from there; now was the time for the truth, not for carefully-chosen stories and biased narrative.

"Well," he began quietly, "things were rough, even before Ayden came back. A lot less... violent, but... the ward has always been something of a mess, he thinks, at least since he's been here."

How did he pick out the things that Professor Moore needed to know and what he simply wanted to tell? Oh, he wasn't sure of how to do this, of how to answer when so much had happened before the punishment Ayden had devised for him.

"He - he doesn't mean to sound ungrateful for being provided for, of course, but he thinks a lot of things have been going wrong for a long time. His roommate - uh, the one before Fionn moved in with him, that is - was named Bennett, um, maybe you've met him?" the passive shifted in his seat, "Bennett Gilthau. He... well he wasn't the only one, but he killed himself at the start of the year, and methinks that's where the trouble in his dorm started."

Lars paused then for a moment, observing the bespectacled galdor with a small note of curiosity, "it was just him and Jamie for a while, and Fionn got moved into our dorm at the start of this month. Uh, Fred moved him, he thinks; the... dead one," another breath, "Fred... well, he thinks he and Fionn had some sort of relationship like he does with Ayden, but less severe. Once Fred was gone and Ayden came back to replace him, that's when Fionn really snapped."

Suddenly the passive stopped again, bringing his mug of tea upwards and testing the temperature - thankfully it didn't sear his tongue as it had before, and the servant took a long sip before continuing on.

"Fionn had been rude from the start but not violent. Once Ayden was there, he started beating people in the ward, and he was so much more... jumpy. Our dorm was just a bunch of snapping and yelling and -" Lars shook his head, glancing away from the professor, "methinks it was bound to happen. Fionn told him that he'd never hurt him but clearly that wasn't true. He hadn't even... done anything really, he'd just spilled juice on Professor Siordanti. Ayden has always disliked him, he knows, but he didn't think he would end up trying to kill him."
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Tue Mar 26, 2019 3:57 pm

32nd of Dentis, 2718
Passive Ward | Early Morning
Harper settled into his chair and watched as Lars considered the full extent of the questions presented as well as how he wanted to answer,

"Over the past several decades, I agree that the standard of care for passives has been on the decline. It's not a lack of gratitude so much as the observation of a larger issue within Anaxi society." The monic theorist replied as if they were, indeed, discussing theory instead of reality, his tone very much that of a lofty academic despite the disappointment that played out so full of real emotion on his bespectacled face,"You have some grounds to lack gratitude, but please don't let anyone else know I said that. I have already over-shared with you, I suppose. It's too late to stop now."

He smirked, half a smile, half a sneer, and hastily glanced down into his tea cup as if he was shamefully aware of the not-so-subtle rebellion he verbally participated in with his words by telling a passive they were within their rights to not only resent their placement into servitude but also their treatment within such sacred halls as Brunnhold's.

"I remember hearing about Bennett. It isn't as though he is the first passive to take their own life, unfortunately. Was this because of abuse, Lars? Was Bennett also suffering at the hands of another passive like Fred or Ayden?"

Sighing heavily as the blond passive continued, Professor Moore was restless in his seat, unable to get comfortable. While he was never one to entirely be able to sit still, he was visibly disturbed by the truth, finally looking up again when Lars brought his teacup to his lips,

"I was also at formal dinner that evening, and I was under the impression the mistake was resolved without a request for reprimand. I'm aware that much of the scene was between Nauleth and his Gioran fiancée—the Ambassador, if I recall correctly. I was wrong not to follow up. I would have spoken to Professor Siordanti myself had I known he would bring it to Mrs. Rogers personally. I—"

He'd gotten caught up in the details and he blinked, slowly and heavily, leaning his elbows on the desk between them and resisting the urge to press the hot teacup to his head just for the searing sensation of it while he attempted to string words together,

"—listen, for what it's worth, I don't think that Fionn necessarily wanted to do the things he did. Not really. From the sound of it, fear and abuse are part of who he is, and from what you have described, the situation had been allowed to become unbearable for not just the two of you, but for many passives. I'm not a psychologist, just like I'm not a physician, but as a monic theorist, I must consider relationships and intention often because, strangely enough, the mona is a sentient creature. This is all—"

He sighed, huffing stray dark hair from his face, "—this is all very complicated, Lars, and I appreciate your honesty. I'm also sorry for your suffering. For Fionn's suffering. For a lack of control over the atmosphere of the passive ward because galdorkind has forgotten that even their non-magical offspring are still people. People who need cared for, not forgotten."

Leaning away, leaving his tea on the desk as if he'd lost all desire for it, Harper attempted to refocus, "You're older than Fionn. Have these things been a problem for you before? Or were Fred and Ayden your first encounters with this level of manipulation and abuse?"



Fionn didn't need a field for the Perceptive Magister to sense his discomfort, the older galdor withdrawing the weight of his hand to fiddle with the chain of the pocket watch tucked into his vest, jaw clenching beneath a well-trimmed beard as his dark eyes watched the boy with the kind of scrutiny one could only expect from a sorcerer of his focus. He frowned, allowing far more emotion to show on his face than he would have normally in front of even his peers, the young passive revealing all sorts of clues with their expressions and the most subtle motions of his body.

"Of course I do—" Castor began, pausing when Fionn stuttered more words, fingers curling into the brocade of his vest as if he was resisting the urge to reach for the young thing with his sobbing. Professor Devlin had been married for decades now and yet he and his wife had no children of their own. He spoke little of it in public, if at all, but he'd somehow managed to devote himself to his students instead, known to invest himself in the lives of those with whom he found a kinship with and always proud to see them succeed.

He was not the most fatherly of figures—aloof and gruff, sly and esoteric—but once one made it past the professional exterior he'd crafted, Castor was a warm, congenial man who clearly cared too much about too many people in spite of his own self.

"You have made a bargain with Ayden." The older galdor cut to the chase and attempted to wade through the tears, finally giving in and digging out a silk handkerchief from the inner pocket of his well-tailored coat, offering it to Fionn. His eyes slipped from the boy's face to wander over exposed skin with his frown darkening into a scowl. There was no horror, there was no disbelief, there wasn't even shock. It was pure disapproval and unfiltered frustration, "In an attempt to keep your friendship with Lars, but Ayden has repeatedly taken advantage of you."

The hand that hadn't been holding the kerchief took the opportunity to reach for Fionn's collar, carefully folding his shirt back into place in an almost parental gesture of returning the young passive's dignity, meeting the boy's gaze steadily. His field felt as though it had shrunk against his person, withdrawn, taut and full of a very heavy mix of emotions. He considered healing the youth in front of him, but hesitated, speaking quietly instead,

"Ayden isn't the only patron to target you with abuse, either. Fred did as well—is that part of the story of when we met? I'm going to venture you're not alone under their cruelties, but you have the opportunity to be the voice—do you understand? This is an opportunity to change things. That's not to say you're not culpable for the harm that came to Lars, but clearly it was not something you felt you had much choice in because the alternatives were no better."

Castor sighed, aware that some of his words would have most likely come across as threatening to one not used to his tone, to one who expected punishment instead of used to help.

"You are not in trouble, Fionn." The Magister resisted the urge to repeat himself, annunciating the words carefully, slowly,"No one will hurt you, and Ayden will be dealt with swiftly and with finality—today. But, I need your assistance. I need the truth and I need the full side of your involvement. Will you help me? Will you help other passives? First, however, can I help you?"

A pair of fingers indicated the injuries he'd been given a glimpse of for emphasis, and Professor Devlin, like Professor Moore, asked permission before using any magic.
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Wed Mar 27, 2019 6:28 pm

Dentis 32, 2718 | Early Morning
Passive Ward
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Tears, so many tears. The passive had thought that he didn't have more tears to spill, certain that he had spent a lifetime's worth in recent days and had had no more left to give. Apparently, he had a far greater supply than he had thought possible, spilling it all in the midst of relief and shame and guilt. The teenager wasn't sure that he was capable of stopping the flow, even if he did manage to get his throat clear enough to speak, to get the words out even as the waterworks continued. He was grateful for the handkerchief that galdor provided, taking it with a sniffle and a small nod of acknowledgement, mouthing a silent thank you. He blew his nose loudly, dragging a dry portion of the material across his streaming gaze. The speech would grow easier over time although he was still inclined to stutter and choke on the odd syllable, his voice extraordinarily thick thanks to the lump sticking in his throat.

He let the older man examine his wounds, to take in some of the damage that had been done to him in recent days, a small taste in truth given the wounds he was hiding elsewhere. Still, all he managed was a soft sigh at Castor's comment, fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shrugging away from his grasp as he tucked the collar back into place. The galdor had the wrong end of the stick, didn't understand the nature of his relationship with Ayden or with Lars. It was difficult for him to explain it but he had to try. He needed the theorist to understand. If he couldn't understand that basic thing then he wouldn't understand anything else.

"I've known Ayden since I came here, professor. H-he's always looked after me-"

There was a flash of memory. Tears and cries in the dark, a voice shushing him.

"-i-i-in his own way. I- He isn't my friend but he's... he's always been... special to me." In spite of the tears and the situation, he found warmth creeping across his face, gaze briefly downcast as he considered the implications of that statement. "But I know he's the stuff of nightmares. I-I-I've had enough of them but Lars... he isn't my friend, n-n-not after what I did, why would he want- But he saved my life. I... I think Ayden realised that he was important to me, more important than him and he... didn't want that so that's why it was me. It was why..."

The blond bowed his head, shaking it slowly, swiping the handkerchief across his face again, snuffling. "I didn't bargain. I... I agreed to help him, he made me think that I was the only one he could trust, he... he took advantage of me, yeah. But if I could have- To protect Lars I would have- I never h-h-had the option," he whispered, moving to hug himself without thought and wincing as the skin at his elbows creased, moving the burns there. He grimaced but remained silent, letting Professor Devlin to speak his piece as he considered.

His lips pressed together hard, a taut line formed as he wondered how to explain Fred. This was all a mess. Ayden was right, why would anybody listen to him? The voice indeed. He wasn't exactly typical, was he? It elicited another sigh, another pinch of the bridge of his nose, a twist of his mouth.

"You can do whatever it is that you need to do to find out how I'm hurt, the full extent but... I don't want you to heal me. Check what's been done so there's someone else who... who knows what he's done but... I-I-I don't want you to take any of it away," he whispered.

Because you deserve it. You deserve all of it. It's all your own fault.

"I'll tell you whatever you w-w-want but I... might not have all the words, not the right ones at least. But... I'll help. I don't want him to- I don't want anyone else hurt. I'm... I'm the only one who d-d-deserves it. Although... maybe I should sit down."

He looked uncertainly at Devlin, seeking permission, not sure what position he occupied in this relationship. He obviously wasn't an equal - although who knew what Devlin thought - but he didn't think that he was entirely reliant on commands either; there was the suggestion of freedom here. Any sort of freedom was confusing. So he waited to see what the man would say, wondering why he should begin his narrative and how much detail he was meant to give. Wondering just what he was meant to share and how much he was meant to sugarcoat things.

"I've been taken advantage of a lot but most of it... well, it was my own fault. I could have avoided it maybe but... I let it happen. Fred was like that... I kind of tried to use him and he... did it back in all sorts of ways... I'm not innocent, Professor Devlin."
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Thu Apr 04, 2019 9:14 pm

Passive Ward
Dentis 32, 2718 Early Morning
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Although he knew not the reasoning behind the professor's little half-smirk, the sense of verbal rebellion lost on the passive, he did know the calming effect it seemed to have on him as he stared across at the older, Lars settling back into his seat with a somewhat better-composed demeanor.

"Oh, well, yes... he supposes," he gave in regards to his deceased roommate, "not the same type of abuse Ayden provides, but he was being abused by another passive. Yes."

I never laid a finger on him.

The blonde perhaps appeared a bit more distant than usual as the professor continued, moving on to the subject of that fateful formal dinner - blue eyes darted away from the steaming tea cup between his hands to glance at the galdor again, the mention of Professor Siordanti and his Gioran fiancee seeming to jostle the man from his thoughts.

As the matter once again shifted, this time to Fionn, it was the passive's turn to be uncomfortable once more. Lars straightened up in his seat, moving to set his cup of tea on the desk's surface, gaze flicking downward out of reluctance to look at the other man as he spoke. He'd told the truth - Fionn had been rude, and he had been abused by their patron, but what importance did that hold at the moment?

Get out of my head. I'm trying to think.

No, Fionn had been rude and violent in spite of the abuse he'd faced at the hands of Ayden, not because of it. He'd willingly partaken in the physical abuse of many more passives, knowing what that kind of torture did to one's self, and had only cared to stop when it had come time to abuse Lars. What sort of cruel favoritism was that? He had done it, he had beaten Lars within an inch of life and now he was being apologized for? Now there were exceptions being made? Now they were finally looking into the lives of their non-magical wards and looking at the way that it shaped their psyche?

"No," the passive offered as he filtered back into the conversation, snapping to attention, "well. Not personally, he means - he's seen it happen to many others, though, in his time here. Fred and Ayden were only two of many more."

The Hessean shook his head a little, fingers fiddling and tapping against each other, "he's been lucky not to have faced these things as much as some other passives he's known. He's never been at the center of attention, and he thinks that's been a blessing with everything that goes on. Though..."

For a moment the blonde hesitated, seemingly uncertain as to whether he should speak or not, "...things were very bad when he got here, sir, but not this bad. He thinks they've gotten a lot worse as of recent years, but he's not sure why. Forgive him if he's overstepping, professor, but he doesn't think that our service has suddenly declined. The people here just seem... angrier. Scared, he thinks."
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Tue Apr 09, 2019 1:58 pm

32nd of Dentis, 2718
Passive Ward | Early Morning
It was a necessity of his chosen field of study to have at least spent a significant amount of time on the subject of psychology and coming to understand its current methods, if only because reaching those who had somehow damaged their relationship with the mona was a delicate affair that a monic theorist was often forced to grapple with. Harper Moore was often called upon to deal with difficult students, to assist in the reestablishment of connection between galdor and the mona, and while he was not at all the most socially adept or even aware of persons when it came to reading body language and social queues, he wasn't an idiot, either.

Hazel eyes took in the shifting of demeanor, the discomfort, and the strange level of thoughtfulness that the blond passive before him often seemed to fall into. He didn't understand what a life of oppressive servitude did to one's mind, but he could imagine. He was far too naive to suspect the kind of things that he was faced with now—the levels of abuse he'd found himself a witness of, the sorrow and mental anguish—if only because he, like most of his kind, truly believed that taking care of passives was something of a duty.

What he knew now was that the so-called duty had become patronizing, glorified slavery. What he knew now was that those who directed the oversight of passives cared little for their relation to their own magic-less kindred and more for efficiency and labor.

Unlike far too many of his kind, Professor Moore cared about passives as people.

"I will admit that I would not have imagined passives capable of such cruelty to each other, but that is my foolishness. Cultural ignorance wants to believe that you are all children, but experience has taught us all that even children—which you are not—are capable of extraordinarily terrible things when left to their own devices. I'm around students every day, after all. I'm sure there are more passives like Fred or Ayden, and now I have the Headmistress' permission to find them."

He sighed, the act of comparing two sides of the same coin a revelation in accepting sameness. It was something Harper had already come to terms with, but it was certainly still a process,

"Overstepping? No, please, Lars. I'm here to listen. We're all here to listen. I may not yet have the support of the Magisters or most of campus or even of galdorkind, really, but I'm attempting to support you, to support passives like you, who are still my kind."

Heresy, he knew. Insanity, it had been whispered.

The teacher's lounge was full of talk that Harper Moore had stepped off the deep end of theory and would never return. The hazel-eyed galdor could care less,

"You're saying since your childhood—since you arrived at ten, things in the passive ward have gotten worse, not better. And you are—" The dark-haired galdor paused as if recalling information from a file, "—twenty six? Seven? You have been here for not even two decades and the living conditions, especially the mental and emotional ones, have become disturbingly worse. Other than the obvious abuse, do you have examples?"




"You do not have to be friends with someone to value them or desire their safety." The Professor offered as a strange interjection, his words sounding far harder in his baritone than would have normally been necessary for this given situation. His hands slid into pockets and he sighed, allowing the boy to continue while he kept his eyes on the young creature, reading his body language with very uncomfortable accuracy.

Castor Devlin was a strange creature, one used to playing so many roles and wearing far too many masks that not even his peers on campus knew the real man beneath the Magister robes. The older galdor was not shy about examining the boy in front of him, though he made no move to be invasively over-curious or even remotely thorough visually, instead speaking soft words of Monite and letting the heavy weight of his powerful field do the true investigation, Perceptive and Quantitative information filling his senses and searing it all into his memory. Strangely enough, his bearded expression did not sour in distaste or horror, remaining almost deadpan and distant. There was the hint of something in his eyes, brief and very unfiltered, a flicker of emotion that was snuffed out with a clearing of his throat and a sliding away of gentle hands. With a hrumph, it was obvious the Professor was displeased that Fionn denied any desire to be healed, but at the same time, Castor did not press the issue.

He was willing to respect the young man before him, even if he did not at all want to.

Instead, the broad galdor forced himself to pace the room while the young passive stuttered and sniffled through his story, explaining who Ayden was and dancing carefully around the truth of their misguided relationship,

"Please—sit. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, given your condition. All those chroveshit rules you're used to are not in effect here, not in my company." He waved a hand, the Perceptive Magister's wedding band catching light in the ruddy glow of the hearth's fire, scuffed and well-worn though it was, "You don't deserve anything that has happened to you, Fionn. I don't give a damn if that was the last thing your parents said to you or the first thing a galdor on staff said to you when you were shown your bunk here in the passive ward at the tender age of ten, young man, none of this is your fault. You don't deserve punishment simply because of how you were born or who you became."

Finally, the older man scowled. His thick brows came together and there was a passion in the rich depths of his voice that could not be hidden, a warmth that burned from some coals unseen in the barrel of his chest, "You have learned to play the only system you knew, and, sure, you're not innocent, but you're also not a monster. Trust me, as a Magister, I have seen real monsters, lad, and they are terrible, horrifying things."

Did he mean his own kind?

To look in the mirror every day was to know the truth.

Castor smirked, the hint of some mischievous grin wanting to crease its way into his well-aged features but he denied it. Instead, his expression was as warm and relational as any galdor could have been imagined to muster—only it was sincere and genuine—and he stopped his pacing to turn his back to the hearth and make sure he met the young passive's gaze,

"I understand that some of what I'm saying simply won't make its way between your ears and into that chest of yours where your heart beats so fiercely, Fionn, but you are not culpable for the suffering of your fellow passives, not in the grand picture of things as we are looking at them. Did you hurt someone who did not deserve it? Have you hurt others? Have you been hurt? Yes. Have you made poor decisions? Gods, apparently. But under whose watch? Not Fred's. Not Ayden's. Mine. Harper's. Mrs. Roger's. Headmistress Servalis'. Every clocking man, woman, and child who claims to know what's best for you has looked the other way. And something needs to change."

The Perceptive Professor did not let his eyes stray from the passive's face,

"Now, you're a bright lad, so I'm going to see where this leads us, but if you were completely free of being blamed for anything, what would you tell me about the conditions of the passive ward? If you could speak more freely than you've been allowed for probably you're entire adult life, what would you tell me of how you grew up alongside hatcherspawn like Ayden and Fred?"
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