#alter.writing

Stripped of a father to lay down his path,

Pinocchio is in search of another

That will set his course straight.

Two strange dolls enter the scene

Telling him of a way to get what he wishes.

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“All Pomefiore students, follow me.”

The Housewarden (the beautiful blonde named Vil Schoenheit) calls for the students behind him, leading the group like a mother hen guiding his fledglings into another room with even more mirrors. Seven large standing mirrors to be exact, all placed in its own alcoves, decorated with its own unique frame, bearing the sigil of their respective dormitories atop.

Pinocchio‘s peers (he’s allowed to call them his peers, right?) stare and gawk at the majesty of the mirror before them, one decorated with gems upon its steps and the image of a peacock cradling the mirror within its fanciful wings. Beside its head is the sigil of the dorm he’ll be staying in.

“Pome… fiore…,” The name comes out effortlessly in the otherwise tense lips of the puppet.

The earlier ordeal comes back to him like a wave, still fresh in his mind, shaking his head the guilt that comes with it.

-----

Grim was not happy.

Not happy at all.

After getting sorted into Pomefiore, Grim had begun to make his presence even louder and annoying for the rest to finally turn their attention towards the little critter. “Mrahh! Lemme go!” He shifts and turns in the Headmage's grip, reaching his paws out towards the Dark Mirror. “Lemme get sorted too!!”

Pinocchio's face contorts once again, lost and confused at Grim's desperate attempts to be accepted into school. The puppet lacked the understanding of its importance, or maybe he had no real way of knowing its value. School had been something Pinocchio was hesitant to approach, what with the many children that vie for attention and adults that are one too happy to whip their rulers on naughty children's hands. The thought makes him shiver.

The headmage, on the other hand, was getting annoyed at Grim's insistence. “Clearly, pets like you are not meant to become students in a prestigious school such as Night Raven College,” he begins his terribly long speech, about ready to approach Pinocchio. He didn‘t bother to notice the puppet’s eyes widen in horror as the Headmage stretched his arm towards him with a grumpy Grim in hand, palms sweating and frozen in place.

“Mroww!! I don’t need some wimpy babysitter looking after me!!” Grim makes another hissy fit, shaking all around just to get out of the Headmage's grip.

It hurt Pinocchio a bit. Grim didn‘t like him, not even a bit of remorse in his voice. He’s used to not getting along with company but to think even a talking cat had as much distaste for the puppet as the others he‘s encountered in the Library. Then again… Pinocchio wasn’t so sure he wanted to follow around Grim if it counted the most. Grim’s finicky and brash, ready to show off, ready to burn, ready to destroy. If not careful, Pinocchio would be at the crossfire, burnt to ash mercilessly and without care. It makes him panic, screaming internally, fighting his bare instincts to give in and take him back from the Headmage.

But he didn‘t want to take him back, he didn’t want to be responsible for another’s life. He wouldn‘t know what to do with himself already, adding another to his plate felt like too much work than he’s capable of. He needed someone strong to tell **him** what to do, not the other way around. He dislikes this.

He dislikes this. He dislikes this. He dislikes this. He hates it. He—

“I don't want to keep him—!” Pinocchio suddenly blurted out, hands thrown to cover his mouth. He suddenly felt sick, acting out of his own free will so carelessly. Words spoken without thought had its consequences, a responsibility he must carry and the guilt that comes with making a bad decision.

Unfortunately for the poor puppet, he could never pull back what had been said, watching as the Headmage drew his eyebrows close in anger, “Well, why didn't you say so!” He didn't wait for Pinocchio to stutter a response, already bringing Grim out the room and down the long corridor, Grim's rancorous pleas echoing into silence.

No one bothered to think any further, business as usual for the many, Grim all but forgotten the moment the Headmage has made the exit.

-----

Pinocchio still trembles at the memory. Who knows what the Headmage did to Grim. That weirdo bird man must've disposed of the cat but didn't want to make any more messes in that room again. There were already enough scorched marks, ashes and a gaping crater that his companion lovingly made him create sitting around the room. The groups all but ignored it, leaving the clean up to whomever was willing enough to fix everything. No one bothered to tell him to do it, Pinocchio wasn’t even sure if he liked the idea of cleaning up. The idea was left with the ashes once the crowd made their exit.

“Did you not hear me, freshman?” Came the voice of Vil Schoenheit, dragging Pinocchio‘s thoughts back to the present. “Your peers have already stepped through the mirror and yet here you are, head above the clouds, twiddling your fingers like you’re in trouble again.”

Vil‘s arms are crossed, face contorted into a frown unbefitting of someone of his stature. Then again, Pinocchio had seen all manner of beauty being contorted in a face just like his. It reminded him of people like Snow White and Cinderella, whose beauties are always twisted in anger and malice respectively. Pinocchio is no judge, he could never be able to judge for himself, he hated making decisions based on subjectives.

Once again lost in his own head, Vil’s frown deepens, as if proving his earlier point. Grabbing the puppet by the arm, he drags him through the Mirror. The surface ripple as they enter, disturbing the stillness like a droplet on the water’s surface. Underneath its silvery surface reveals to them the interior of the dorm, a fanciful room full of expensive furniture colored in gold, white and purple. Standing out amongst it is the pop of red silken curtains drawn to the side, revealing a beautifully decorated throne, the peacock sitting on top of the large imposing chair, its golden tail stretched out in a circle like the sun.

The students have already begun to converse with one another, exchanging names and congratulations. The sight makes Pinocchio gulp down a lump of nervousness. “Now, be good and wait here with the others while we prepare for the welcoming party.” Vil lets go of his arm, the command ringing strong within his mind that Pinocchio's response came out one second too late as the Housewarden makes his way outside. The students once again gawk and gasp in awe at the sight of their Housewarden, making way just for him as if it was only natural. Now out of sight, all pairs of eyes turn to the puppet.

“That was… Vil Schoenheit.” One student began to speak, eyes still trembling from beholding the sight of Vil.

“Did our humble Housewarden escort you here?” Another student said, closing the distance between him and Pinocchio who has remained where he is, looking as panicked as ever.

“Say, aren’t you the one who caused that awful crater in the Mirror Chamber?” Another one approached, suddenly standing beside him.

“W-wait—,” Pinocchio‘s pleas fall on deaf ears as excited students surround him, asking questions here and there and all around. This was wholly different from how he’s received in the Library. Every interaction with the others were always mixed, met with indifference, force , murderous intent or all three at once. There was no rest in the Library, and this school was no different.

Turning his attention down towards his ear, Pinocchio seeks the aid of his mean companion who has been uncharacteristically silent since after using him in the Mirror Chamber (he now knows that it‘s called the Mirror Chamber). Not a single peep nor degrading comment came out, not even a vulgar complaint from the noise, only silence… and loud snoring. ‘Sleeping at a time like this?!?’

Temptation to run away gnaws his mind but his conscience rejects the very thought, his body paralyzed for attempting to disobey. Even a miniscule, lingering thought was enough to put the puppet down like restraints, chained in place as if punished for committing a sin. Pinocchio was half-tempted to summon his hammer once more, disturb his awful companion’s slumber and make space for him while he patiently waits for Vil to come back. He slowly raises his hand…

… but another voice interjects. “Oh dear, our students seem to be preoccupied with our little late comer.” A new person comes into view, another tall man with blonde hair and brilliant green eyes. His smile widens as the students turn their attention towards him, mesmerizing the crowd, bright and open compared to that of the Housewarden whose presence immediately screams obey. “Ah, it warms my heart to see everyone get along so well on the first day! Trés bien!”

The boy beside him, however, gives him a strained expression, tempted to disagree but bit back the comment. His face looked too soft for someone so restrained from speaking his mind, instead letting the others carry on with their merry conversation.

“Ah, it’s the Vice Housewarden, Rook Hunt!” One exclaimed in excitement, hand now placed in his chest as he bows in respect. “It‘s an honor to be able to speak to you.”

Pinocchio and the soft-faced student beside Rook nearly dropped their jaws. “What?! He’s the Vice Housewarden?” His surprised gasp came out before Pinocchio could utter a single stutter.

Rook turns to the boy beside him, surprise written on his face but the abundantly approachable aura has not dimmed for a second. “Epel, were you not listening to my introduction at the ceremony?” His narrowed eyes betrayed a devious glint, lips drawn back into a knowing smile. “My, how naughty.”

Epel grumbles to himself, something low enough that Pinocchio couldn‘t quite catch but not enough to escape the ears of the Vice Housewarden… but Rook remains as jolly as usual, one confident hand on his hip, “Well, enough of that. Follow me, our beautiful Pomefiore flower buds, let us be seated and feast!”

In the blink of an eye, a beautiful long table stretches far across the room. Plates and dessert trays full of exquisite-looking food lay down on the white tablecloth. Students once again stood in awe (how many more times will they be surprised?) before taking their seats, Pinocchio following suit.

In front of him was a fancy-looking bowl with water inside it. Pinocchio looks left and right, waiting for someone to tell him what exactly to do. No one seemed to pay him any mind, so his hands were left resting on his lap.

Glug. Glug!

The echoing of liquid down one's throat, and a not-so-satisfied pahh!. Attention was once again drawn towards Epel, who's just finished drinking the now emptied bowl in hand. Was... that what you're supposed to do?

It didn't take another second until the others made their thoughts heard.

“Whaaaaaat?”

“Did he just drank from the finger bowl?!”

Clueless, Epel hadn't realized his mistake yet, sharing questioning glances at his peers. “What? Why's everyone staring at me for?!”

“Monsieur Pomette...” Rook begins, an ominous silence following after.

Epel nearly chokes from air. Carefully, he responds, “Yes...?”

The silence goes on for more than a couple of seconds, digging deeper into Epel ( and everyone else's) psyche, a build up of panic that worries everyone in the room. What felt like hours of waiting was met with joyous laughter, “Monsieur Pomette, you are quite the jokester!” Rook seemed to brighten up the more he laughed. “Drinking all that water meant for washing your hands.”

The others seemed to follow in the laughter, all tension having dispelled in an instant. Everyone began thanking Epel, able to enjoy the food on the table.

Meanwhile, Pinocchio's jaw must've gone slack from how quick the mood has shifted that it's giving him a sizable headache. He wonders how far he'll survive this place, how long it'll take for him to find a way back to the Library before he'd end up leaving here with new tableside manners picked up. They were the least bit useful in his original goal but he needed to learn while staying here.

With little to no choice (as if the puppet could make any), he'll just have to fit in as best he could.

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After such a long and awful day, Pinocchio drops dead onto the bed, letting out the groan he could not dare voice in the presence of the Housewarden. With the welcoming dinner and room assignments out of the way, Pinocchio had decided for himself (if being told to retire for the night is considered his own decision) to make a hasty retreat into what was soon to be his temporary living space. Physical and mental exhaustion finally caught up to the puppet, but sleep didn't come to take him just yet.

Questions swirled in his mind, questions that continue to be left unanswered but none could ever give him what he sought for. How did he get here? How can he go back? Is there even a way? It goes on and on like a merry go round eternally stuck in a loop. The ride never ends and he wants to step off now. It all seemed like a confusing mess with no singular and clear path ahead.

He turns the other way, back facing the wall. His room, much like all the other rooms in Pomefiore, is well decorated. It's not as grand as the one in the lobby but it was enough to remind him how he should always carry the elegance and grace it represents. He supposes that blood and viscera isn't the most sparkling depiction of elegance. But what does he know?

All he knew for now was how his vision slowly darkened and sleep soon following behind. There was no more time to think, he had classes tomorrow.

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The next day arrived and no sooner than expected, the poor puppet already ran himself into quite the predicament. Passing through the dorm mirror, he had no way of knowing where the classrooms were. Worse, he had no idea what his classes were about. ‘Did you live in some backwater country with no proper education?’ Vil would ask the poor puppet, anger radiating in his pretty purple eyes. Of course, Pinocchio’s home is anything but a backwater country, but it had its moments.

The poor puppet only knew the path between the dorm mirrors to the Mirror Chamber. Even as he saw students loitering about in both areas, the moment they noticed the time, they began picking themselves up and leaving for their own classes.

Pinocchio should, too. He's been wandering back and forth these two specific rooms without changing course, afraid he'll end up someplace different again. Farther and farther away from the library he'd go, with no way of knowing how to reverse his course.

He shakes away the thought, turning his focus back to the present. He ponders over following the students wearing the same colored vest as him, fellow Pomefiore students casually walking about to who knows where. Clueless to where the classrooms were, Pinocchio made the decision to (he reassured it wasn't a decision he made on his own) trail behind a group of students, hoping they’d end up in the classrooms.

Whispers exchanged between the boys, subtle glances back at the puppet as he awkwardly follows behind them. They took notice… or they willfully ignored the puppet‘s odd behavior. The boys continue on their merry way with a stowaway in tow, taking some turns here and there, through the large double doors and out into the school’s main street. Did the poor puppet end up closer or farther to his intended destination? He couldn‘t say for sure.

The outside was quieter than expected, stone brick road so wide it welcomed all that sets foot in this prestigious school. Along this stone brick road, Seven imposing statues that seemed to mock Pinocchio without even looking his way, stood proudly on both sides. Lost, alone and without a decent guide, Pinocchio lets out a whimpering groan, hanging his head low in defeat...

…

Yaaaaaaaawn!!

The sound suddenly came from his ear, gaining the questioning looks of his peers as he suddenly jumped in surprise. Could it be?

“Oh man, that was a good sleep.” His companion drawled out in its sleep-heavy state, smacking its lips as if chewing out the drowsiness that still plagues itself.

“Y-you're awake!” Pinocchio nearly screams, the already questioning looks becoming more judgmental, turning away from the overjoyed puppet cradled nothing but the ugly earring on his ear within shaking palms. “Thank goodness you're—”

“Quit yer yapping already!”

... and immediately, Pinocchio begins to regret lamenting over his companion the way he did. Despite having such a nice, long slumber, the first thing his companion decided to do was spew insults at the poor puppet, its words still as venomous as ever.

It pauses for a moment, eyeing their surroundings with narrowed eyes, frown deepening as it looks left and right. It almost looked comical to others, but to Pinocchio, it was like watching someone sharpen their knife. Slow but deliberate movements, the back and forth motion like waves on the beach.

After so long of waiting, students thinned out by the time it finished its pondering, finally locked eyes with the puppet. Then… another long and dreadful pause, the tension beginning to kill Pinocchio on the inside. “Please, just... say something—”

“I can't stand these ugly ass statues!” It began to cackle maniacally, “Let‘s break ‘em!”

“W-wait a minute—!!” Pinocchio immediately interjects, his pleading to his companion‘s brash decision-making only met with louder cackles. Although he was desperate to find someone to pull his invisible strings, the last thing he needed at the moment was to get himself into deeper trouble.

“Uh, dude… who are you talking to?”

Someone new enters the scene, a redheaded young boy with a red heart over his right eye.

Pinocchio felt like his joints popped off from every direction, turning around at the stranger in a panic. His wide red eyes stared at the puppet, arm raised defensively across himself. “W-woah there, buddy! I just asked who‘re talking to!” Pinocchio could hear his distinct ‘tsk’ before shaking his head in disappointment.

A string of apologies left the mouth of the puppet, all to the annoyance of the redhead before him. He cuts him off, scratching the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. Sheeeeeesh, if you like talking to yourself that much, then just say so!”

“Eh? N-no! It was th-the staff!” The redhead didn‘t look too convinced with his explanation but Pinocchio continues anyway, pointing at the statues along the road. “I-it told me to break those statues! I-I didn’t want to though!!” He continued to explain, growing more frantic, words melding so close together it becomes indistinguishable to the next.

Regret begins to set in the redhead‘s face, muttering underneath his breath, ‘This guy‘s a total nutcase…’. Whatever plans he had in mind has been thrown out the window that very moment, pinching the bridge of his nose contemplating whether to leave him alone or not. Looking back at the puppet, it seemed that Pinocchio was about ready to burst out crying if he dared take a single step back. He groans, “Alright, alright, apology accepted. Geez, what the hell did I get myself into?”

It was far too late for him to begin questioning his decisions as Pinocchio brightened up at his kind words. It appeased the puppet but it did little to make the other feel any better. Still, it stopped him from spewing out apologies.

“Th-thank you! Um… what‘s your name?” Pinocchio tilts his head to the side.

“It’s Ace… Ace Trappola…,” the young man grumbles his response. “And you‘re that guy that caused a bigger ruckus at the ceremony, yeah?” Ace suddenly had a big grin on his face, watching the shock cross Pinocchio‘s face. His mood shifts, arms on his waist as a smirk slowly crept up his lips.

“I-it wasn’t my idea! It was the staff—”

“Suuuure, that ugly looking staff that you snuck in that time.” Ace snorts, holding back from bursting out laughing. Pinocchio makes it too easy for him to tease, like a lost child he wants to mess around with before he goes back crying to his mother. Unlike that imaginary child, Pinocchio is a fellow freshman.

“Oh man, is that staff actually your imaginary friend or something? Are you in kindergarten or something?” Ace bursts out laughing at that point, tears in his eyes at the displeasure of Pinocchio. Much to the ignorance of Ace, that very staff is within earshot, his insults as expected were not so accepted by it.

“Oi,” Pinocchio‘s companion calls out, a sinking feeling beginning to creep in his mind. “Forget the statues, let’s cave his head in!”

“W-wait a minute—” Pinocchio looked down at his palms, its earring form still cradled in his palms, earning him another wave of laughter from Ace as if the puppet had proven his point. “We’ll get in trouble with Housewarden if we do that?!” He pleaded, his will to follow ebbing into his system, delaying what is inevitably the puppet following the pulling on his strings.

But his companion continues to be relentless. ‘Crush him’, ‘Beat him to a pulp’, ‘Make him regret’. Over and over it continues to spew as easily as breathing if it ever had lungs. Pinocchio’s hands clutch around its tiny form, unsure if he‘s trying to shut it up or call for its powers. Whatever his decision was, it was not a decision the puppet is aware of making, he could never make that himself. He could feel it elongate, like its nose whenever it lies. Ace‘s laughter dies down as he watched the staff form in his hands, taking several steps back as Pinocchio slowly turned towards his direction.

“H-hey now, I was just joking around!” Ace‘s words seem to fall on deaf ears, Pinocchio dragging his feet across the ground. He almost looked manic, a dark shadow casted over the puppet‘s eyes as if his light teasing was enough to push him over the edge. “Dude, I was only joking!”

Another step forward. The massive head of his companion, still spewing death threats behind him, drags across the brick road. Pinocchio looked pained, face contorted in conflict as he continued his mechanical march. “I-I’m sorry…,“ he apologizes, “It‘s not me, it’s the staff…”

“Dude, forget about your imaginary friend!” Ace was quick to scream. Between him and Pinocchio, Ace is taller than the puppet, way stronger most likely and definitely capable of overpowering him no problem. But that staff of his looked heavier, recalling how effortlessly he lifted the hulking mass before letting gravity do the work for him. That thing could definitely squash him into paste!

Before disaster befell upon the unfortunate student, something catches the puppet‘s eyes, something gray and shaped like a pitchfork sneaking behind one of the statues. Relief washes over Ace as Pinocchio halts his approach but curiosity caught his interest, following his gaze behind the statue in question. “What the…?”

It twitches, as if attached to something alive. Both boys walked close to the thing, flanking it on both sides, peeking behind the statue and hearing a loud “MRAHH!!” Another memory clicks in his head, the unforgettable memory of an annoying cat he refused to take care of.

“Grim?!”

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Class Unlocked: Pinocchio / -School Uniform-

Job Story:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤBiographical Information

There once was a puppet that was given life. He is an obedient puppet, Followed his father's instructions to a T. One day, he awoke in a Library... And no one is there to tell him what to do.

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The moment Pinocchio's eyes opened, everything was in utter chaos. Cloaked figures scrambling across the room, ducking and dodging to safety as the other braver souls run around chasing the cause of the mess. A fork-tailed cat spewing fireballs ran around the room, burning curtains and candles and the cloaks of others in an attempt to... what?

Pinocchio isn't so sure what to make of this except look around, lost and confused. The cat, despite it looking like a monster, didn't look like a typical Nightmare. Not only that, the room he's in… floating mirrors that hang high and low surrounds them, with dark draperies and tall candelabras lighting the room with its strange green light.

The puppet's face contorts in panic, ‘Wh... why... is this not the Library?’

“Seize that racoon!” An older man with a strange bird-like mask barked (or screeched?), pointing at the fork-tailed cat breathing fire and throwing fireballs all over the place. More students scramble as the magic makes contact with the draperies, setting it ablaze but was put out in haste before it grew. 

Two faces Pinocchio has never met before chases after the cat, one with red hair with a nasty scowl on his face and the other a white haired glasses wearing boy that followed behind the redhead. Both held up in their hand small wands with gems on top, generating sparkles that soon took the shape of a comet sent flying towards the cat. It yelps but retaliated with more fire their way.

Candelabras and candles were tossed and thrown about as they continued their chase, mirrors sent flying off course from where it once floated. The bird man that screeched earlier grew more frantic and demanding the more the cat made a mess of the room.

Pinocchio continued to watch the madness unfurl, further painting his face in deep confusion. Without a single clue what to do, he approached the nearest person beside him for questions. “Um, excuse me...” Pinocchio tugs at the person's sleeve, their head turning towards him. Underneath their hood, the poor Marionette could see the annoyed look in their green eyes.

“What? We're in the middle of something,” the person before him grumbled, arms crossed as they watched the cat cause further damages to the room. The person before him stood several heads taller than the puppet, looked strong enough to catch the cat in no time but his bored yawn told him otherwise, already ignoring him as if he never noticed his presence at all.

“Nyahaha! Take this!” The cat spews another fireball at the two pursuers, blocked instantly by an invisible shield before running off again.

The red headed pursuer, face turning into the same shade as his hair, looked as if he was about to explode. “STOP! OR ELSE IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!”

Pinocchio continued to stand awkwardly in place, fidgeting the sleeves of his cloak (he still doesn‘t know where he got it) as he watched the cat continue its reign of fiery destruction. No one exactly knws for sure what to do to help, but no one looked willing to help either way. If only they‘d have told the poor puppet to do something about it, then he might do something about it. But what exactly should he do? Oh, the dilemma the poor puppet is facing.

“Oi, dumbass,” a disembodied voice calls for him, directly into Pinocchio's ear. He tried to find the source of the voice but found no one facing his way. Who—

The voice calls out again, “On your ear, dumbass!” and Pinocchio follows, seeing his staff companion in the form of a small... earring thing. Pinocchio wasn't quite sure what had happened but despite it's smaller size, his companion is still as venomous as ever. “Hey, lets help those little punks. Or else, we'll be burnt to ashes.”

“But—” the Marionette's protest dies down before he could choke out his next word, the ever foul-mouthed head continuing to spew out insults, “Wanna die when this is all over? We‘re screwed if you don’t do something, dumbass!”

Driven to the need to follow his awful companion's directions, Pinocchio merely nods in agreement. After all, the head did make a sound argument, the poor puppet didn't want to be burnt to ashes.

As if drawing out the power of his companion, the ‘earring’ grows into the staff Pinocchio has always known it for, with its face contorted into an ugly condescending look. With the head raised high, he brings it down onto the ground, smashing the floor beneath as debris flew across the room. “MRAHH!” The cat stops mere centimeters away from the hammer and stumbles back, the shock wave caused by the staff nearly putting the two pursuers off balance as well.

Everyone, even the cat that almost had its head smashed into mush, turned to his presence.

The room goes silent. Then… the bird man screamed.

“W-what is the meaning of this?!” He approached the mess, frantic over the state of the entire room, with the burnt curtains and crater he created. “What have you done?!” The bird man wasn't particularly looking at anyone specific, but he was expecting Pinocchio to confess to the crime he has clearly committed, to the confusion of the marionette who was merely told what to do.

Pinocchio looked down onto his foul mouthed companion, seeking some form of guidance to his conundrum. But alas, all that came up was silence, leaving him alone to fend for himself.

"I– urk... I'm—" he stutters, barely able to come up with an excuse to save himself. It wasn't his fault, after all. He was merely told what to do, he couldn't be fully blamed for the mess that lay before him. “I-It's not my fault—”

The bird man didn't take too kindly to such a blatant lie. “Well, clearly someone is responsible for ruining the room as important and ancient as this one...,” he despaired while Pinocchio continued to stare in confusion.

The cat, who earlier was terrorizing the entire place, attempted to escape from the group. The red-haired student, quick on his feet, raised his wand and shouted, "—Off With Your Head!"

“Ugyaa!!” A heart-shaped collar appeared on the creature's neck, locked tightly like one would do with a pet on a leash. “The hell? Let me outta this thing!”

“Rule number 23 of the Queen of Heart's Law, ” the redhead spoke with authority and conviction in his voice, a fiery rage burning behind those gray eyes. “No cats are allowed in during important festivities.” He had a triumphant smile on his face, only shrugged off by the white haired student beside him.

The white haired student beside him claps, “Good show, Riddle~” He cheers, hand over his chest with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, as if envious of something. “Quite the handy Unique Magic that I must ha— I mean, I must give respect to.” The way he quickly catches his own words hinted something sinister in the puppet‘s mind, making him want to stay away.

The cat groans, tugging and pulling at the collar, the quiet clicking and clacking interrupting the conversation. The bird man ignores this and continues to speak his mind, “No matter, if no one owns this weasel—,” the ‘weasel’ in question makes a noise of protest, calling itself Grim, but his introduction was ignored and attention was turned towards Pinocchio. “You! Young man with that oddly shaped hammer.”

“M-me?!”

“Yes, you shall take care of this weasel.”

Grim immediately protested once again, jumping and fuming at the idea of some kid was going to babysit him. Pinocchio too, would like to protest against the idea but found it difficult to object, even raising his voice just a small bit was a chore, his very core screaming against it.

Seeing Pinocchio‘s hesitance as silent acceptance, the bird man shoves Grim into the puppet's arms. "I'll leave the responsibilities to you, young man." He cawed with authority, the poor puppet doing nothing but look down as he holds the cat tight within his grasps, lips drawn out into a small frown.

With everything sorted out, the bird man’s attitude changed immediately into joyous celebration, the pinpricks of glowing yellow where his eyes should be curves into crescents as his mouth forms into a smile. ”Now, let‘s continue on with the dorm assignments!”

The students scurry about to their positions while the seven imposing-looking figures (including Riddle and white-haired students) stand in front of the grouped up students. Pinocchio stared at the masses, a troubled look on his already troubled face. “Um—”

“Headmage!” Riddle speaks up before Pinocchio could, his narrowed eyes making the poor puppet straighten himself out. “All the first years students have been assigned to their respective dorms. All… except for him.” He points an accusing finger towards Pinocchio, making him flinch for the second time, looking more troubled than he had ever been to.

All this attention but no direction is making the puppet more anxious than before, tempted to just grab the hammer and bonk some answers out of the masses. His hand had already taken hold of the hammer but all that happened was for his only weapon to suddenly shrink and go back into the small dotted earring it was before. “H-hey—” Pinocchio made a pathetic noise, staring at where he felt his companion had retreated back to. He was ignored, as per the usual.

There was no time for him to ask any more questions, the ’Headmage‘ as Riddle had called this strange bird man as, quickly grabbed Pinocchio by the wrist and yanked Grim from his arms. He trips as he’s pushed towards the grand-looking mirror floating on the short platform in the middle of the room, an eerie green glow surrounding the intricate frame.

“Now, stand before the Dark Mirror and be sorted into one of the dorms,” The Headmage decrees, Pinocchio immediately doing as told.

Like the obedient puppet that he is, Pinocchio stands before the Dark Mirror, watching a strange mist swirl behind the mirror, flowing like water until a mask appears from beyond the abyss. “… State your name.” It simply says.

“P-Pinocchio!”

The mirror pauses, its ‘eyes’ fixed on Pinocchio. Studying. Analyzing.

Its slow deliberation of the poor puppet went on for too long a time, as if the Mirror had difficulties sifting through how ever many dorms exists, making the audience antsy with anticipation. “Come on, we don‘t got all day!” The Headmage screeched, standing behind Pinocchio, causing him to jump out of the way as The Headmage shakes the mirror for faster answers.

Once the Mirror had been thoroughly shook (as per how the Headmage gauges it), Pinocchio takes his place and…

“The shape of your soul…,” The Mirror begins to speak, taking another long pause that sent the entire room groaning from the wait. “… is…”

Another long pause. 

“Huhhh, I’ve never seen the mirror struggle for this long,” one of the students spoke up, the leader of the group. He pulls down his hood, revealing his striking red eyes and the brightest smile Pinocchio had ever come across. It‘s almost blinding, to say the least.

“The Dark Mirror must be struggling with its internal connection,” a voice speaks out from the strange floating device amongst the leading students, blinking with each spoken word. “Crowley probably broke it’s connection with all that shaking.”

“Ohhhh! Maybe if we shake the Dark Mirror, it‘ll fix that problem in no time!” The red-eyed bandana wearing boy cheered, arms crossed as if solving the most complicated problem.

“If it were that simple without risk of breaking such an ancient artifact,” a beautiful man with blonde hair spoke up, his face exasperated from the other boy’s suggested fix. 

Today, the Master wore purple lipstick.

The dark shade was reminiscent of amethysts untouched by light. It clashed with her eyes more than complimenting it, the bright yellow hue of her eyes being overshadowed by her own makeup.

Cu Alter didn't knew when she decided to wear such a terrible shade. Then again, he didn't knew exactly what idea floated in that head of hers that drove her to wearing lipstick. It just... happened. On one boring day, she showed up, with lips full of the color of pink roses.

It didn't match her skin at all, too light to even be called make up. Others seem to think otherwise, sending compliments her way. She looked happy though, thanking each one for the kind words, but her eyes kept fluttering his way, as if expecting something from him. The quiver of her lips, pulled back slightly into a tense bite. The kind master, however, was too kind to ask the Berserker and kept her mouth closed instead.

The day after that, it was a bright yellow hue similar to her eyes. Cute but once again, the way the shade awkwardly sits on her lips didn't compliment her that well. She looked his way again, expectation flashing in her eyes before turning her head the other way, her shoulders sagging in disappointment at the lack of reaction.

And the day after that? A new color, the shade of red that reminded him of strawberries. It... fits her. The way her lips move as she speaks, it draws his eyes in, focuses more on the subtle movements. The way they purse or pout, making it look plumper than usual was... sort of adorable. If his Master knew what he'd think, she might feel more inclined to wear it often.

Sadly, with how she read his straight face when her eyes glanced his way, it disappointed her once again, leaving her to change it to the color it is today. It was a downgrade for sure. Or it was a downgrade to him. Most Servants continued to compliment her color choices, some more over the other, but complimented her still. And as usual, her eyes kept fluttering back his way, disappointed at his lack of reaction.

This... was where his last bit of wondering broke.

Approaching his Master once every person had gone off someplace else, the poor girl yelps as she noticed his shadow casting over her. Turning around to greet him, she was instead met with his face already close to hers, glaring at her with an unreadable expression.

She gulps, a blush beginning to color her cheeks. "Yes... Cu—"

"What do you want?" He immediately cut her off. She responded with a weak 'Pardon?', rolling his eyes as he rephrased his question. "Why were you looking my way so much?"

Her blushing cheeks grew brighter, head turning the other way again. "I... it's because...," she fidgets, trying to find the proper words.

It took her a moment.

Two moments.

A glance and then another.

She took all the time in the world to come up with something, anything decent, coherent, or even believable enough to convince him that— "I wanted to know... which color you liked?"

A moment of silence. The Master, too afraid to look his way, remained glued to staring at someplace else while the Berserker before her continued to glare at her. Not out of impatience nor frustration. Far from it.

If she had simply asked him the question before, he'd have answered in kind. Instead of going through this cat and mouse chase of catching which color he'd react to most, he'd have made his choice already so long ago. But knowing her, she didn't want to overstep her boundaries with someone as stern as him, didn't want to inconvenience him with something as trivial as makeup.

"You overthink too much," he said, breaking the silence that lingered longer than she wanted. Opening her mouth as if to apologize, was quickly shut by his lips locking with hers, his tongue already slipping past her open mouth.

She let out a small yelp, throwing her arms around his shoulders as she held onto him tightly, her legs giving way as his arms wrap around her petite form, pulling her closer to his. His hand, the same one that held tightly around his spear, carefully tangled into her hair, making sure she didn't turn and escape from their kiss.

Once he was satisfied, he leans his head back, the string of saliva still connecting their lips. He stared down at her face, that half-lidded look in her eyes and flushed face, paired with her lipstick smudged. He forgot for a moment that she wore that horrendous shade of purple. "You look better with red lipstick."

Her face deepens red, "O-oh... okay."

He didn't bother letting her speak after that, leaning in again for another kiss.

When you suddenly burst into the kitchen, the last thing Trey thought was seeing you in a maid outfit. Not the short skirted maid outfits he'd seen trending these days, not at all. These were the genuine article, with the white frills and apron and everything. It must've costed you a lot to have it fit you so perfectly.

Calling him master, though... now that's a little too much. Even if it is a joke, this is really just too much. You can see it on his face, the blush he's trying to cover up with a clean hand. He'll let you help him bake, so please stop calling him that, alright?

Trey Clover

He's embarrassed to admit that it took him this long to finish the tarts. If anyone asked, he'd be more embarrassed to tell that it was because a certain someone was definitely trying to help and not distracting him in any way possible. No, not at all. Next time, just wear your uniform.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul nearly fell off the chair the moment you came inside the VIP room, feather duster in hand and a determined look on your face. He could definitely hear Jade and Floyd snickering from outside the room. He's definitely sure that this was their idea somehow, it has to be. Azul will surely give these two a stern talking later.

Right now, he's asking you what in the Great Sevens are you doing. Of course, he can see you cleaning but does it have to be in... that? The outfit fits, sure. But is this really necessary? He tries to let you be, doing whatever to his office. Sometimes, he'd give you passing glances every so often that he'd lost track of the numbers.

What's worse, he didn't notice how red his face has gotten. It got even worse when you pointed it out, Azul nearly falling off his chair again and screaming that he's absolutely fine. It took him at least a full five minutes to calm himself before speaking again, as if nothing happened. At least, he got his confidence back somehow.

Your intrusion surprised him from another one of his gaming sessions, making him throw his arms up defensively and scream from the top of his lungs. He watched as you pour your heart out in your confession before dropping down to your knee and showing him the box full of mangas and a controller. He stares at you in disbelief.

"W-W-W-W-WHAT?? Wait, back up a second."

He finally drops his arms to the side, shrugging. The surprise that once bursts through his system comes crashing as he's left with a slight feeling that something was amiss here.

"Marriage already? What happened to maxing out our bond first, huh? Skipped several important dialogue choices along the way, too."

Still, looking back at the box in hand, he could see you knew what important bond increasing items would help sweeten the deal here.

Cater Diamond

Although Cater loves to take important moments of his life in a single frame, he finds you dodging and blocking your face whenever the camera pans your way to be cute. Sometimes he would whip out his phone and start up his camera, pretending to take a picture of you and watch you effortlessly block it with your textbook in hand. Other times, you'll even use Grim as your certified meatshield and he'd still find it cute.

It makes capturing a photo of you all the more worthwhile. Moments where you're too absorbed in studying or taking care of Grim or what have you, he'd quietly snap a quick pic and keeps it to himself. No way is he showing this side of you to anyone else.