Ask Malachite

Libel climbs a tree and makes a jump to the roof--a dull thud audible from inside the house as they land. They slip and scrape themselves on the shingles, but eventually get their footing. They'll clean themselves up whenever they make it in... and maybe ransack Mal's fridge, too. - @physigils

Mal's home is... nothing short of stunning. It's all cosy vibes mixed with that roaring 20's -- 80's theatre vibe, all tied together with green and gold. The windows of what is frankly an adorable cottage in the woods are all fogged up, a fire roaring in the hearth. The entire home is warm, and smells vaguely of woodsmoke and new books. It's a carefully curated environment that Mal has put a lot of time and effort into maintaining.

Mal herself was currently in the living room, sitting on her bay window like she was the main character of some love story where her third husband had “mysteriously” disappeared. Someone call Mal's actual husband. A robe falls from her shoulders, paired with velvet pajamas that also fall down her shoulders, but not as much as the robe does. This pairing shows the scars that spread down from her face, down her neck and across the left side of her body like wildfire. An insensitive comparison. She doesn't currently have her prosthetic on, so the robe favours falling toward there her arm should be, but it just adds to the vibe Mal is clearly going for.

She has a glass of what seems to be wine in one hand, her other preoccupied by holding her fringe back as she sips. The moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees outside her home glints on her oddly sharp canines when she smiles, and adds a sparkle to her green eyes. It's all very peaceful. Very serene.

Though... Watching Mal take a sip, pause to check his hair, and then resuming the action is... oddly rehearsed? It's not unusual for someone as performative as Mal to be theatrical in the comfort of his own home. However, this gesture... It's repetitive, like a broken record skipping back and forth in a rather mundane part of the soundtrack. Something isn't right here, though it doesn't seem like Mal has noticed.

In fact, Mal hasn't noticed so much that she barely reacts to the noise on her roof. There's a brief flash of alarm as she initially hears the thud, but her expression soon returns to one of mild calm.

Their movements are suddenly hesitant. They retrieve a twig from their waist and pick at the window lock. It rattles the window pane and the metal of the frame. They’re being awfully loud, it’s a wonder how they haven’t been spotted. Something in the back of their mind screams that this isn't right, and they know that it isn't. Yet, Libel has a job to do--one that will give them a place to sleep again.

Libel freezes when the lock comes undone, not believing it themselves. They slide the window open, and then slink inside the house. They're uneasy on their feet as the land, their ankle and sore legs begging for rest. They examine their surroundings--this looks like some kind of front room. They make a mental remark on how fancy and warm it all feels--'someone's gonna miss Mal when she's vanished.'

The corridor is quiet, the dark green wallpaper almost shifting under the dim light. The fireplace in the living room spills beams of flickering light into the hall, but the rest remains dark. The hallway seems to be the main part of the floor downstairs, leading from the front door to the staircase to the dining room at the end. Almost immediately to the left of the front door is the living room, the doorway—sans a door—carved with ivy patterns intricately.

To the right of the front door sits Mal’s coats and shoes. He tends to wear most of the same thing when it comes to winter coats, however, there are some rather intricate designs and details that suggest he really likes fashion. Unsurprising.

The upstairs level of the house is mainly dedicated to the bedrooms of the house. The master bedroom is cosy and soft, home to a four-poster, a cute desk engraved with flowers, and a cat bed. It also contains Mal's wardrobe, and two of Mal's cats.

(If you were to ask their names, Mal would happily reply with, "Oh, that little black and white fluffier one is Gucci, and the grey one is Biscuits. Don't pet Gucci, she will scratch.")

The rest of upstairs is a guest room, which... seems occupied? And Mal's workshop, full of paperwork, fabric, wool and various other crafts. It's strange, she doesn't seem the type...

But other than that, her choice of wallpaper and carpet tends to stay the same, green, gold, and floral. Potted plants cover the windowsills and decorate shelves, of course, along with lamps and paintings, and some posters of what seem to be Mal herself…

They slink around on the floor, almost soundless. Clearly, Libel is no stranger to break-ins. From their low vantage point, they study Malachite's expression--they grimace when they notice she's tense. Libel's been noticed. They can only hope to be forgiven. They swallow their pride--for their master. For their master.

Libel stands abruptly behind Malachite's chair, and slings their arm around her neck. They pull back, forcing her into a headlock between the chair back and Libel's bicep. Their strength is crushing, Malachite's body lighting up in pain as her windpipe contorts at unnatural angles. Blood bulges in her head. Her sweat runs cold.

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

Libel chuckles at the thought. They're sure it sounded sadistic.

When they're satisfied Mal is unconscious, regardless if she is or not, they step back and then around her chair. She's slumped against the backrest, blankly staring at the ceiling. Something twists in Libel's gut uncomfortably at the sight, but they swallow their pride. They step out of her view for minutes, clanging and shattering sounds coming from her kitchen, before the thief returns with a length of rope.

Libel wastes no time manhandling Mal, pushing her around her chair and shoving her face flat against the backrest. Their touch and recklessness leaves the professor bruised. Libel ties her up effortlessly, craning her arms uncomfortably behind her back and binding them above the elbow. They use the tail of the rope to tie down her ankles. By the end of the ordeal, Libel's hands are raw.

...

When Mal awakes, the first thing she's made aware of is the cold floor beneath her. Then she feels and hears Libel breathing heavily as they lean over her. Their cheeks are flushed as if they found the alcohol.

Spittle and crumbs fly as they speak. They seem to be absolutely devouring a stale baguette.

The sound of fabric rustling precedes the sound of a body hitting the floor. It seems Mal tried to go on the offense, and didn't take into account the rope around his ankles. Granted, he can't feel his ankles, due to his prosthetics, but the rope tying his arm to his chest should've been an indication. A muttered curse word is what follows, along with the deepening of a frown across his sharp features. When he's done situating himself, so his fringe isn't in the way any more, Mal speaks up.

"Libel Foghunter," they announce, leaning back. They size Mal up as they stand straight, cracking a smug grin. The professor looks small from his vantage point on the floor. "Lamplight menace. Ringing a bell?" They step back, giving Mal some room to breathe. They take another bite out of their baguette, shaking the bitten chunk off the loaf like an animal with prey. They talk as they chew. "Pleasure to re-meet you."

"Ohh, yes, I recall you. In all your mediocrity." Mal sneered, though her malice was dampened by being on the floor, "The pleasure is mine."

Her formality oozed sarcasm, her eyes narrowed to slits as she tried to regain a sitting position. With her hand and ankles tied, it was quite a challenge.

Their tone snaps to something gravely serious, their Adam’s apple bobbing in their throat as they swallow their pride. “I don’t want you to hate me. We’re both in for a world of pain.” They retrieve some kind of weapon from their waist. They click it open to reveal some kind of hunting knife, which they wave in lazy threat in front of Mal’s face.

“But if you want to hate me, then this is be so much worse for both of us. I’m not your enemy. Not right now, anyway.” They put the blade away, adjusting their posture. They gesture to the door out the house.

However... Well, Mal knew what position she was in. She knew how easily this encounter could result in a demise she had somehow avoided up till this point. She knew the sensible solution was to comply.

Especially as the voice in the back of her mind urged her to comply, coaxed her forward to accept whatever deal was placed before her.

Something else compels her, too.

Mal's gaze flicks to where she had been sitting. To where a photo frame sits. A frame, holding onto a photo it cherishes as much as Mal does. It depicts an adorable scene of Mal kissing a man with dark skin and light hair, with two children stood at their feet teasing each other playfully. The photo is carefully preserved, and by the way Mal looks at it...

What would her family do if something happened to her?

Libel climbs a tree and makes a jump to the roof--a dull thud audible from inside the house as they land. They slip and scrape themselves on the shingles, but eventually get their footing. They'll clean themselves up whenever they make it in... and maybe ransack Mal's fridge, too. - @physigils

Mal's home is... nothing short of stunning. It's all cosy vibes mixed with that roaring 20's -- 80's theatre vibe, all tied together with green and gold. The windows of what is frankly an adorable cottage in the woods are all fogged up, a fire roaring in the hearth. The entire home is warm, and smells vaguely of woodsmoke and new books. It's a carefully curated environment that Mal has put a lot of time and effort into maintaining.

Mal herself was currently in the living room, sitting on her bay window like she was the main character of some love story where her third husband had “mysteriously” disappeared. Someone call Mal's actual husband. A robe falls from her shoulders, paired with velvet pajamas that also fall down her shoulders, but not as much as the robe does. This pairing shows the scars that spread down from her face, down her neck and across the left side of her body like wildfire. An insensitive comparison. She doesn't currently have her prosthetic on, so the robe favours falling toward there her arm should be, but it just adds to the vibe Mal is clearly going for.

She has a glass of what seems to be wine in one hand, her other preoccupied by holding her fringe back as she sips. The moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees outside her home glints on her oddly sharp canines when she smiles, and adds a sparkle to her green eyes. It's all very peaceful. Very serene.

Though... Watching Mal take a sip, pause to check his hair, and then resuming the action is... oddly rehearsed? It's not unusual for someone as performative as Mal to be theatrical in the comfort of his own home. However, this gesture... It's repetitive, like a broken record skipping back and forth in a rather mundane part of the soundtrack. Something isn't right here, though it doesn't seem like Mal has noticed.

In fact, Mal hasn't noticed so much that she barely reacts to the noise on her roof. There's a brief flash of alarm as she initially hears the thud, but her expression soon returns to one of mild calm.

Their movements are suddenly hesitant. They retrieve a twig from their waist and pick at the window lock. It rattles the window pane and the metal of the frame. They’re being awfully loud, it’s a wonder how they haven’t been spotted. Something in the back of their mind screams that this isn't right, and they know that it isn't. Yet, Libel has a job to do--one that will give them a place to sleep again.

Libel freezes when the lock comes undone, not believing it themselves. They slide the window open, and then slink inside the house. They're uneasy on their feet as the land, their ankle and sore legs begging for rest. They examine their surroundings--this looks like some kind of front room. They make a mental remark on how fancy and warm it all feels--'someone's gonna miss Mal when she's vanished.'

The corridor is quiet, the dark green wallpaper almost shifting under the dim light. The fireplace in the living room spills beams of flickering light into the hall, but the rest remains dark. The hallway seems to be the main part of the floor downstairs, leading from the front door to the staircase to the dining room at the end. Almost immediately to the left of the front door is the living room, the doorway—sans a door—carved with ivy patterns intricately.

To the right of the front door sits Mal’s coats and shoes. He tends to wear most of the same thing when it comes to winter coats, however, there are some rather intricate designs and details that suggest he really likes fashion. Unsurprising.

The upstairs level of the house is mainly dedicated to the bedrooms of the house. The master bedroom is cosy and soft, home to a four-poster, a cute desk engraved with flowers, and a cat bed. It also contains Mal's wardrobe, and two of Mal's cats.

(If you were to ask their names, Mal would happily reply with, "Oh, that little black and white fluffier one is Gucci, and the grey one is Biscuits. Don't pet Gucci, she will scratch.")

The rest of upstairs is a guest room, which... seems occupied? And Mal's workshop, full of paperwork, fabric, wool and various other crafts. It's strange, she doesn't seem the type...

But other than that, her choice of wallpaper and carpet tends to stay the same, green, gold, and floral. Potted plants cover the windowsills and decorate shelves, of course, along with lamps and paintings, and some posters of what seem to be Mal herself…

They slink around on the floor, almost soundless. Clearly, Libel is no stranger to break-ins. From their low vantage point, they study Malachite's expression--they grimace when they notice she's tense. Libel's been noticed. They can only hope to be forgiven. They swallow their pride--for their master. For their master.

Libel stands abruptly behind Malachite's chair, and slings their arm around her neck. They pull back, forcing her into a headlock between the chair back and Libel's bicep. Their strength is crushing, Malachite's body lighting up in pain as her windpipe contorts at unnatural angles. Blood bulges in her head. Her sweat runs cold.

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

Libel chuckles at the thought. They're sure it sounded sadistic.

When they're satisfied Mal is unconscious, regardless if she is or not, they step back and then around her chair. She's slumped against the backrest, blankly staring at the ceiling. Something twists in Libel's gut uncomfortably at the sight, but they swallow their pride. They step out of her view for minutes, clanging and shattering sounds coming from her kitchen, before the thief returns with a length of rope.

Libel wastes no time manhandling Mal, pushing her around her chair and shoving her face flat against the backrest. Their touch and recklessness leaves the professor bruised. Libel ties her up effortlessly, craning her arms uncomfortably behind her back and binding them above the elbow. They use the tail of the rope to tie down her ankles. By the end of the ordeal, Libel's hands are raw.

...

When Mal awakes, the first thing she's made aware of is the cold floor beneath her. Then she feels and hears Libel breathing heavily as they lean over her. Their cheeks are flushed as if they found the alcohol.

Spittle and crumbs fly as they speak. They seem to be absolutely devouring a stale baguette.

The sound of fabric rustling precedes the sound of a body hitting the floor. It seems Mal tried to go on the offense, and didn't take into account the rope around his ankles. Granted, he can't feel his ankles, due to his prosthetics, but the rope tying his arm to his chest should've been an indication. A muttered curse word is what follows, along with the deepening of a frown across his sharp features. When he's done situating himself, so his fringe isn't in the way any more, Mal speaks up.

"Libel Foghunter," they announce, leaning back. They size Mal up as they stand straight, cracking a smug grin. The professor looks small from his vantage point on the floor. "Lamplight menace. Ringing a bell?" They step back, giving Mal some room to breathe. They take another bite out of their baguette, shaking the bitten chunk off the loaf like an animal with prey. They talk as they chew. "Pleasure to re-meet you."

"Ohh, yes, I recall you. In all your mediocrity." Mal sneered, though her malice was dampened by being on the floor, "The pleasure is mine."

Her formality oozed sarcasm, her eyes narrowed to slits as she tried to regain a sitting position. With her hand and ankles tied, it was quite a challenge.

Libel climbs a tree and makes a jump to the roof--a dull thud audible from inside the house as they land. They slip and scrape themselves on the shingles, but eventually get their footing. They'll clean themselves up whenever they make it in... and maybe ransack Mal's fridge, too. - @physigils

Mal's home is... nothing short of stunning. It's all cosy vibes mixed with that roaring 20's -- 80's theatre vibe, all tied together with green and gold. The windows of what is frankly an adorable cottage in the woods are all fogged up, a fire roaring in the hearth. The entire home is warm, and smells vaguely of woodsmoke and new books. It's a carefully curated environment that Mal has put a lot of time and effort into maintaining.

Mal herself was currently in the living room, sitting on her bay window like she was the main character of some love story where her third husband had “mysteriously” disappeared. Someone call Mal's actual husband. A robe falls from her shoulders, paired with velvet pajamas that also fall down her shoulders, but not as much as the robe does. This pairing shows the scars that spread down from her face, down her neck and across the left side of her body like wildfire. An insensitive comparison. She doesn't currently have her prosthetic on, so the robe favours falling toward there her arm should be, but it just adds to the vibe Mal is clearly going for.

She has a glass of what seems to be wine in one hand, her other preoccupied by holding her fringe back as she sips. The moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees outside her home glints on her oddly sharp canines when she smiles, and adds a sparkle to her green eyes. It's all very peaceful. Very serene.

Though... Watching Mal take a sip, pause to check his hair, and then resuming the action is... oddly rehearsed? It's not unusual for someone as performative as Mal to be theatrical in the comfort of his own home. However, this gesture... It's repetitive, like a broken record skipping back and forth in a rather mundane part of the soundtrack. Something isn't right here, though it doesn't seem like Mal has noticed.

In fact, Mal hasn't noticed so much that she barely reacts to the noise on her roof. There's a brief flash of alarm as she initially hears the thud, but her expression soon returns to one of mild calm.

Their movements are suddenly hesitant. They retrieve a twig from their waist and pick at the window lock. It rattles the window pane and the metal of the frame. They’re being awfully loud, it’s a wonder how they haven’t been spotted. Something in the back of their mind screams that this isn't right, and they know that it isn't. Yet, Libel has a job to do--one that will give them a place to sleep again.

Libel freezes when the lock comes undone, not believing it themselves. They slide the window open, and then slink inside the house. They're uneasy on their feet as the land, their ankle and sore legs begging for rest. They examine their surroundings--this looks like some kind of front room. They make a mental remark on how fancy and warm it all feels--'someone's gonna miss Mal when she's vanished.'

The corridor is quiet, the dark green wallpaper almost shifting under the dim light. The fireplace in the living room spills beams of flickering light into the hall, but the rest remains dark. The hallway seems to be the main part of the floor downstairs, leading from the front door to the staircase to the dining room at the end. Almost immediately to the left of the front door is the living room, the doorway—sans a door—carved with ivy patterns intricately.

To the right of the front door sits Mal’s coats and shoes. He tends to wear most of the same thing when it comes to winter coats, however, there are some rather intricate designs and details that suggest he really likes fashion. Unsurprising.

The upstairs level of the house is mainly dedicated to the bedrooms of the house. The master bedroom is cosy and soft, home to a four-poster, a cute desk engraved with flowers, and a cat bed. It also contains Mal's wardrobe, and two of Mal's cats.

(If you were to ask their names, Mal would happily reply with, "Oh, that little black and white fluffier one is Gucci, and the grey one is Biscuits. Don't pet Gucci, she will scratch.")

The rest of upstairs is a guest room, which... seems occupied? And Mal's workshop, full of paperwork, fabric, wool and various other crafts. It's strange, she doesn't seem the type...

But other than that, her choice of wallpaper and carpet tends to stay the same, green, gold, and floral. Potted plants cover the windowsills and decorate shelves, of course, along with lamps and paintings, and some posters of what seem to be Mal herself…

They slink around on the floor, almost soundless. Clearly, Libel is no stranger to break-ins. From their low vantage point, they study Malachite's expression--they grimace when they notice she's tense. Libel's been noticed. They can only hope to be forgiven. They swallow their pride--for their master. For their master.

Libel stands abruptly behind Malachite's chair, and slings their arm around her neck. They pull back, forcing her into a headlock between the chair back and Libel's bicep. Their strength is crushing, Malachite's body lighting up in pain as her windpipe contorts at unnatural angles. Blood bulges in her head. Her sweat runs cold.

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

Libel chuckles at the thought. They're sure it sounded sadistic.

When they're satisfied Mal is unconscious, regardless if she is or not, they step back and then around her chair. She's slumped against the backrest, blankly staring at the ceiling. Something twists in Libel's gut uncomfortably at the sight, but they swallow their pride. They step out of her view for minutes, clanging and shattering sounds coming from her kitchen, before the thief returns with a length of rope.

Libel wastes no time manhandling Mal, pushing her around her chair and shoving her face flat against the backrest. Their touch and recklessness leaves the professor bruised. Libel ties her up effortlessly, craning her arms uncomfortably behind her back and binding them above the elbow. They use the tail of the rope to tie down her ankles. By the end of the ordeal, Libel's hands are raw.

...

When Mal awakes, the first thing she's made aware of is the cold floor beneath her. Then she feels and hears Libel breathing heavily as they lean over her. Their cheeks are flushed as if they found the alcohol.

Spittle and crumbs fly as they speak. They seem to be absolutely devouring a stale baguette.

The sound of fabric rustling precedes the sound of a body hitting the floor. It seems Mal tried to go on the offense, and didn't take into account the rope around his ankles. Granted, he can't feel his ankles, due to his prosthetics, but the rope tying his arm to his chest should've been an indication. A muttered curse word is what follows, along with the deepening of a frown across his sharp features. When he's done situating himself, so his fringe isn't in the way any more, Mal speaks up.

Libel climbs a tree and makes a jump to the roof--a dull thud audible from inside the house as they land. They slip and scrape themselves on the shingles, but eventually get their footing. They'll clean themselves up whenever they make it in... and maybe ransack Mal's fridge, too. - @physigils

Mal's home is... nothing short of stunning. It's all cosy vibes mixed with that roaring 20's -- 80's theatre vibe, all tied together with green and gold. The windows of what is frankly an adorable cottage in the woods are all fogged up, a fire roaring in the hearth. The entire home is warm, and smells vaguely of woodsmoke and new books. It's a carefully curated environment that Mal has put a lot of time and effort into maintaining.

Mal herself was currently in the living room, sitting on her bay window like she was the main character of some love story where her third husband had “mysteriously” disappeared. Someone call Mal's actual husband. A robe falls from her shoulders, paired with velvet pajamas that also fall down her shoulders, but not as much as the robe does. This pairing shows the scars that spread down from her face, down her neck and across the left side of her body like wildfire. An insensitive comparison. She doesn't currently have her prosthetic on, so the robe favours falling toward there her arm should be, but it just adds to the vibe Mal is clearly going for.

She has a glass of what seems to be wine in one hand, her other preoccupied by holding her fringe back as she sips. The moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees outside her home glints on her oddly sharp canines when she smiles, and adds a sparkle to her green eyes. It's all very peaceful. Very serene.

Though... Watching Mal take a sip, pause to check his hair, and then resuming the action is... oddly rehearsed? It's not unusual for someone as performative as Mal to be theatrical in the comfort of his own home. However, this gesture... It's repetitive, like a broken record skipping back and forth in a rather mundane part of the soundtrack. Something isn't right here, though it doesn't seem like Mal has noticed.

In fact, Mal hasn't noticed so much that she barely reacts to the noise on her roof. There's a brief flash of alarm as she initially hears the thud, but her expression soon returns to one of mild calm.

Their movements are suddenly hesitant. They retrieve a twig from their waist and pick at the window lock. It rattles the window pane and the metal of the frame. They’re being awfully loud, it’s a wonder how they haven’t been spotted. Something in the back of their mind screams that this isn't right, and they know that it isn't. Yet, Libel has a job to do--one that will give them a place to sleep again.

Libel freezes when the lock comes undone, not believing it themselves. They slide the window open, and then slink inside the house. They're uneasy on their feet as the land, their ankle and sore legs begging for rest. They examine their surroundings--this looks like some kind of front room. They make a mental remark on how fancy and warm it all feels--'someone's gonna miss Mal when she's vanished.'

The corridor is quiet, the dark green wallpaper almost shifting under the dim light. The fireplace in the living room spills beams of flickering light into the hall, but the rest remains dark. The hallway seems to be the main part of the floor downstairs, leading from the front door to the staircase to the dining room at the end. Almost immediately to the left of the front door is the living room, the doorway—sans a door—carved with ivy patterns intricately.

To the right of the front door sits Mal’s coats and shoes. He tends to wear most of the same thing when it comes to winter coats, however, there are some rather intricate designs and details that suggest he really likes fashion. Unsurprising.

The upstairs level of the house is mainly dedicated to the bedrooms of the house. The master bedroom is cosy and soft, home to a four-poster, a cute desk engraved with flowers, and a cat bed. It also contains Mal's wardrobe, and two of Mal's cats.

(If you were to ask their names, Mal would happily reply with, "Oh, that little black and white fluffier one is Gucci, and the grey one is Biscuits. Don't pet Gucci, she will scratch.")

The rest of upstairs is a guest room, which... seems occupied? And Mal's workshop, full of paperwork, fabric, wool and various other crafts. It's strange, she doesn't seem the type...

But other than that, her choice of wallpaper and carpet tends to stay the same, green, gold, and floral. Potted plants cover the windowsills and decorate shelves, of course, along with lamps and paintings, and some posters of what seem to be Mal herself…

They slink around on the floor, almost soundless. Clearly, Libel is no stranger to break-ins. From their low vantage point, they study Malachite's expression--they grimace when they notice she's tense. Libel's been noticed. They can only hope to be forgiven. They swallow their pride--for their master. For their master.

Libel stands abruptly behind Malachite's chair, and slings their arm around her neck. They pull back, forcing her into a headlock between the chair back and Libel's bicep. Their strength is crushing, Malachite's body lighting up in pain as her windpipe contorts at unnatural angles. Blood bulges in her head. Her sweat runs cold.

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

Libel climbs a tree and makes a jump to the roof--a dull thud audible from inside the house as they land. They slip and scrape themselves on the shingles, but eventually get their footing. They'll clean themselves up whenever they make it in... and maybe ransack Mal's fridge, too. - @physigils

Mal's home is... nothing short of stunning. It's all cosy vibes mixed with that roaring 20's -- 80's theatre vibe, all tied together with green and gold. The windows of what is frankly an adorable cottage in the woods are all fogged up, a fire roaring in the hearth. The entire home is warm, and smells vaguely of woodsmoke and new books. It's a carefully curated environment that Mal has put a lot of time and effort into maintaining.

Mal herself was currently in the living room, sitting on her bay window like she was the main character of some love story where her third husband had “mysteriously” disappeared. Someone call Mal's actual husband. A robe falls from her shoulders, paired with velvet pajamas that also fall down her shoulders, but not as much as the robe does. This pairing shows the scars that spread down from her face, down her neck and across the left side of her body like wildfire. An insensitive comparison. She doesn't currently have her prosthetic on, so the robe favours falling toward there her arm should be, but it just adds to the vibe Mal is clearly going for.

She has a glass of what seems to be wine in one hand, her other preoccupied by holding her fringe back as she sips. The moonlight filtering in through the canopy of trees outside her home glints on her oddly sharp canines when she smiles, and adds a sparkle to her green eyes. It's all very peaceful. Very serene.

Though... Watching Mal take a sip, pause to check his hair, and then resuming the action is... oddly rehearsed? It's not unusual for someone as performative as Mal to be theatrical in the comfort of his own home. However, this gesture... It's repetitive, like a broken record skipping back and forth in a rather mundane part of the soundtrack. Something isn't right here, though it doesn't seem like Mal has noticed.

In fact, Mal hasn't noticed so much that she barely reacts to the noise on her roof. There's a brief flash of alarm as she initially hears the thud, but her expression soon returns to one of mild calm.

Their movements are suddenly hesitant. They retrieve a twig from their waist and pick at the window lock. It rattles the window pane and the metal of the frame. They’re being awfully loud, it’s a wonder how they haven’t been spotted. Something in the back of their mind screams that this isn't right, and they know that it isn't. Yet, Libel has a job to do--one that will give them a place to sleep again.

Libel freezes when the lock comes undone, not believing it themselves. They slide the window open, and then slink inside the house. They're uneasy on their feet as the land, their ankle and sore legs begging for rest. They examine their surroundings--this looks like some kind of front room. They make a mental remark on how fancy and warm it all feels--'someone's gonna miss Mal when she's vanished.'

The corridor is quiet, the dark green wallpaper almost shifting under the dim light. The fireplace in the living room spills beams of flickering light into the hall, but the rest remains dark. The hallway seems to be the main part of the floor downstairs, leading from the front door to the staircase to the dining room at the end. Almost immediately to the left of the front door is the living room, the doorway—sans a door—carved with ivy patterns intricately.

To the right of the front door sits Mal’s coats and shoes. He tends to wear most of the same thing when it comes to winter coats, however, there are some rather intricate designs and details that suggest he really likes fashion. Unsurprising.

The upstairs level of the house is mainly dedicated to the bedrooms of the house. The master bedroom is cosy and soft, home to a four-poster, a cute desk engraved with flowers, and a cat bed. It also contains Mal's wardrobe, and two of Mal's cats.

(If you were to ask their names, Mal would happily reply with, "Oh, that little black and white fluffier one is Gucci, and the grey one is Biscuits. Don't pet Gucci, she will scratch.")

The rest of upstairs is a guest room, which... seems occupied? And Mal's workshop, full of paperwork, fabric, wool and various other crafts. It's strange, she doesn't seem the type...

But other than that, her choice of wallpaper and carpet tends to stay the same, green, gold, and floral. Potted plants cover the windowsills and decorate shelves, of course, along with lamps and paintings, and some posters of what seem to be Mal herself…

“Hi do you know how to gain access to the archives in the Academy. Thanks.”

-W

((@swiftfootedrouge ))

Mal, who had been engrossed in a book—and enshrouded in a mist of purple—, started when she saw the Snowfluff, causing the sleeping Vegabloom on her lap to scamper away. She huffed a sigh of annoyance, paying the small Snowfluff in a few leaves of a pine tree she was able to summon in her palm. The rest of the leaves fell to the ground as she shook the lingering magic away, but a small deposit stayed, sticking close to her palms.

Mal sighed. She’d read the first two words and her mind was already clouded with a headache. Was no one teaching these students how to write?!

But Mal wasn’t one to ignore fan mail. She thanked a Batterbot with mismatched metal as it handed her a pencil and took a fresh piece of paper from the coffee table in front of her. Fresh paper was always a staple in her letter writing.

“To, W,

Well, It all depends on what you can offer me. Some information, perhaps? A book you can steal on my behalf? Or perhaps—“

But Mal crossed out those last two words. Something stopped him from writing “Or perhaps your hatred for the Puppet Master and the Academy would be enough.” A great something held his arm back, dancing around him like stardust in the night sky. It was… disorienting. But before Mal could look up to even see the force, the great something slinked away again, back to the corners. Mal shook his head.

“Or perhaps, our views just align. A shared enemy with an interesting solution. All this is to say, yes. I do. You’ll find notes in my study for more details. I trust you know where the Plant wing is?

That was the note Winston left for Val as he walked across the academy hallways, finding his way to the plant wing. Truth be told… he hasn’t really been to this part of the academy often. His classes were in other wings.

At the end of the corridor sat a large hall, octagonal in shape and bearing much of the same decor. However, the trellises were replaced by actual tapestries, adorning the spots of the white wall where doors weren’t. Carefully embedded into the wall of white stone were more pine doors, each labelled with what they lead to.

In the centermost side of the octagon was a particularly tall door, glass flowers and leaves decorating the wood, resting on thin golden stems. A plate in the centre of the door read “PROF. M.J. JUNIPER”, the text slightly scuffed as if someone had once tried to change it. This was Mal’s office.

Mal’s office was… well, it was nothing short of beautifully elegant. Green carpet stretched out like moss, broken only by pine furniture. A sofa rested against one wall, an armchair next to it, making an L shape around a fireplace. A pine desk sat at the back of the room, tall stained glass windows allowing colourful sunbeams to dance over the smooth surface. Two chairs sat in front of the desk, clearly for meetings, and a well-upholstered desk chair rested behind it, thick green velvet coating its cushions. The walls at first seemed just to be wood panelled, but upon closer inspection, it was lined with actual bark. It was beginning to chip without Mal’s magic, stray bark crunching underfoot. Paintings and photos adorned the space where ivy didnt occupy, and a cork board decorated the space next to Mal’s desk. The desk itself?

Libel snoops around the library. They swing from rafters and climb on bookshelves--moving quietly except for the occasional creak in the wood they step on.

They seize up when they see Malachite. Malachite sees them. LIbel is easy to recognize, given their face is plastered on posters on every street. Women hide their children when people speak their name, more town mythos than a person.

But here they are. Sneaking around a library.

What the hell were they doing in the library?

@physigils

Malachite herself shouldn’t be in the library. She had stolen books too many times that she was practically banned at this point, but she needed more books. She needed more research. She needed to keep looking.

Maybe here? Maybe further along… Maybe past the teen on the bookshelf?

Fuck.

Malachite did a double take, spinning around so fast she was surprised she didn’t drop her cane. There was a child in the teacher library. Definitely not allowed. Now, should she be a responsible teacher and report it, or should she just… let this one slide?

"Don't tell anyone I'm here, ma'am."

“Well, fuck, this is awkward, isn’t it?”

Libel snoops around the library. They swing from rafters and climb on bookshelves--moving quietly except for the occasional creak in the wood they step on.

They seize up when they see Malachite. Malachite sees them. LIbel is easy to recognize, given their face is plastered on posters on every street. Women hide their children when people speak their name, more town mythos than a person.

But here they are. Sneaking around a library.

What the hell were they doing in the library?

@physigils

Malachite herself shouldn’t be in the library. She had stolen books too many times that she was practically banned at this point, but she needed more books. She needed more research. She needed to keep looking.

Maybe here? Maybe further along… Maybe past the teen on the bookshelf?

Fuck.

Malachite did a double take, spinning around so fast she was surprised she didn’t drop her cane. There was a child in the teacher library. Definitely not allowed. Now, should she be a responsible teacher and report it, or should she just… let this one slide?

"Don't tell anyone I'm here, ma'am."