CHEVALIER.

                    ♣️  private trey clover, affiliated with night raven university.  ♣️

prepared by toca.

replies / asks are usually queued.

no specific content warnings apply, other than a general warning for a lot of food talk. considering the setting and the general nature of twisted wonderland, this blog has a blanket #nsfw warning. common triggers will be tagged accordingly; anything egregious will be under a read more.

always open to plotting!

#NotAllScorpios | CATER & TREY.

“YEAH, IDK IF WE NEED to worry about the maidens and how much sway they have over things when it comes to you, bestie. And I don’t need to worry about them because who needs maidens when I have Ganymede—the Mr Pretty!”

Allegedly, anyway. But if anyone’s constellation was going to be ruled over by someone pretty, Aquarius deserves it.

—Which isn’t really helping him focus, here. Cater clears his throat. “BUT, they are sure all over your chart. Astraea be with you, I guess~”

Cater steals his laptop back on that note, with a wry look offered to Trey’s No Maidens? humour in good measure (kinda good, kinda also makes Cater want to groan and bury his face in a pillow because Okay, Awful but he has an assignment to finish, so indulging in the full misery of Trey Clover Puns isn’t something he has the time for RN. Serious bizz only).

“But, yeah, lots and lots of earth sign. Like, mostly earth sign. So no wonder—and don’t get all, you know, eugh about fussy. Maybe that was the wrong word, but you know how it is with Virgos…” Or maybe Trey doesn’t, ‘cause Trey dipped out of astrology pretty early on, but like—both of them know a Type One Perfect Example of a Virgo pretty well.

Not like Cater needs to reinvent the wheel explaining things they can intuit just by looking up to the Queen’s bench every so often, TYVM!

“—Anyway, my point was, there’s good stuff there too with your abundance of earth sign vibes and Virgo-y-isms. Having a solid representation of Mercury through Virgo isn’t such a bad thing when your Sun is sooo… Head-Down-Hustle focused. Virgo putting a little nudge to communicate and foster community when Scorpio’s a little more withdrawn on their goals—sort of a good balance.”

Makes for a sort of perfect presence in a place like this, honestly, because NRU thrives on people who can get shit done and mind their own business. Trey’s pretty good at both. Scorpio blessings are few and far between, but that’s a dece one to cash in on.

“—What was I even talking about before you distracted me with the maidens?” Cater asks, nose scrunched as he looks back over at Trey, reaching for his assignment outline.

—UNFORTUNATELY FOR CATER, Trey’s lost the plot, too.

“Stelliums?” Is what he offers, but honestly Trey isn’t even sure that’s right, either, and he’s laughing just a little too much to sound sure. In the moment, he was a little too amused by his own bad joke, and the rousing between them—and now whatever they were supposed to be focused on has gone and vanished.

Feeling a little more relaxed—for better, and for worse, as there is a looming deadline—Trey gets up from his armchair, and nudges Cater’s foot with the toe of his own shoe. “Okay, we’re not getting anything done unless we focus. Move over.”

He doesn’t even wait for a response, before simply plopping himself down next to Cater and, for his own good, doing a little light tugging until he’s secured Cater’s laptop for his own. Really, it’s for Cater’s own good—and, probably, Trey’s, if he wants to get anything else done today.

This is a better view, now, star chart properly in front of Trey and able to scroll through the information at his own leisure. It doesn’t make it any more comprehensible, really, but maybe this can re-center their discussion so Cater doesn’t simply fail from not submitting in time.

(There’s an earful to the both of them from Riddle looming over them were that to happen, both of their necks on the line.)

“Okay, so.” Trey says, with the false confidence of someone assured in what they’re about to say as they’re making it up on the spot. All the while, Trey’s elbow digs into Cater’s side, forcing some sort of attention while he carefully keeps a grip on the laptop so as not to have it stolen back in turn.

we are fucking under attack.

The new year’s has passed and faded faster than a blink of an eye, but for his sanity’s sake, he was happy that his family didn’t make him and his friends stay until new year’s, too. That isn’t to say that they had a bad experience. If anything, it went pretty well, all things considered.

Until they return back to the university and Luciano realizes that he made a very grave error. See, there are many students who slack off in their duties, so he is usually there to make sure that nothing awry happens. Usually this consists of a friendly get together and a look through of the schedule. And though he wasn’t groundkeeper this time around, he would work in the shadows to make sure the greenhouse was clean and kept for. The sake of his section for the chickens is on the line, after all. 

Monday afternoon arrives, and he is walking to the greenhouse with an upperclassman. He is a bit of a strange case, being oddly polite while there is an underlayer that occasionally takes him off-guard. Though that slowly changes to a small form of respect. Though, some of the topics he talks about are strange, such as talking about flamingo eggs. He may be a chicken farmer, but that doesn’t mean that he would exactly have interest in talking about their reproductive cycles. Especially since, as Trey says, flamingos aren’t a good reproductive species, thus not making a good game bird. Now if it’s to raise them to be an exotic pet or to be used as personal croquet flamingos, that was a different story. He might not be in the market for such strange eccentricities, but he can definitely see how their status can affect their population, regardless of their legal protection. Though being in Heartslabyul, he knows better than to possibly offend their vice housewarden, even if titles don’t exactly apply in clubs. So in total, he mostly just nods and hums in agreement. It seemed like he was talking to himself more than him, after all.

However, in trying to zone out in the conversation, a small huh snaps him back to reality as Trey is trying to open an overgrown greenhouse. Then Trey faces Luciano.

“…Huh. That’s not good.”

“You can say that again, Mr. Clover,” he says. “It looks like a treant invaded the greenhouse.”

He uses his wand to summon a small flame close to the root and door, but not touching any of them, yet. Letting the door warm up and weakening the biggest roots.

“Sometimes a defrosting and a good pull is all that it needs. Or a controlled wildfire.”

Luciano removes the flame and gives the door a good yank. It cracks open and though some of the roots are still holding the door in, there’s enough space for an agile person to enter!

“LET’S NOT RESORT TO A WILDFIRE JUST YET.” Somehow, it feels like famous last words.

Trey takes a step back to let Luciano take a better look, and the fire in their favor does paint a picture of an easy solution to a problem that gets a lot bigger in scope the longer Trey happens to stare. Luciano’s kind enough to get the door open, and Trey sticks his head in before committing to going in blind.

What he expects to find is someone’s experiment gone awry. Plenty of assignments in class see the first step being a trip to the botanical gardens, because Professor Crewel wants to impress upon them the importance of good ingredients—polite care and keeping of, recognizing the hard work that goes into a single potion. Understanding that every single step is of the utmost importance. Nothing can be skipped, no detail out of place. Students grow things for their assignments in turn, under many watchful eyes.

Sometimes those watchful eyes aren’t watching close enough, clearly. Trey sees roots, as far as his eyes can see, growing upwards along the glass walls in crossed patterns as though planning on blotting out every trace of the inside entirely.

While Luciano’s fire does do something about the ones clinging the door, Trey swears he still sees the writhe nearby. His head promptly decides to retreat from peering inside, taking a step back and pulling his own pen out of his lapel.

“So. Do we have any idea who was looking after the place this weekend?” Trey’s wracking his brain, and coming up with no names. Presumably, someone skipped their punishment.

Arms crossed, to think, peering inside and considering the best course of action, but then—something moves.

It could be the plants. Without sustained contact to the fire, a couple of larger roots slowly try to work back towards the door—“Ahh, watch your feet, Luciano!”

But there’s _something_ inside. The bushes—looking substantially more overgrown, too—begin to move as well.

“—Okay. Be sharp, and follow me. We’ve got company.” One of the downfalls to being a Vice Housewarden: a sense of responsibility, even to nonsense that isn’t your dorm’s fault. Trey hops a little over the roots and through the door properly.

Still, he had some questions about plants, and, if rumors are true, he knew just the student to ask.

"Trey, correct?" He called out to the third year, walking towards him, "The names Ember. I heard you have a lot of scientific knowledge and I had some questions I would appreciate answers to. How knowledgeable are you on growing plants?"

“GUESS THAT'S ME.” Trey only pauses in his path for a moment, following a well-worn path in the botanical gardens over a little plot of crops tucked into a corner. There’s little signs at the head of each row, stylized little pictures (not by his own hand) of their yield. “I’d say pretty decent—haven’t had a crop fail to yield something early last year.”

He’s watering, hose in hand, nozzle pressure low—more of a gentle spritzing over his current crop, the prized strawberries he’s been cultivating routinely since enrollment.

“You’ve come to the right club, Ember. I’ll answer the best I can—I do have one or two trade secrets you might not get to leave with, though.”

A beat. A smile that reaches his eyes. Mostly. And a chuckle.

a detour. part of the process. riddle turns the words over in his head. part of the process is reassuring. detour, less so - detours are deviations from a plan, and therefore are…not really meant to be part of the process. 

“that feels…contradictory,” riddle says, quietly. too timid. don’t get so upset! you’re getting upset. stop - getting - upset. he bites down, harder, on his bottom lip. “but who am i to argue? i’m not the, um, the master baker between the both of us.” he claps his hands together. “so. a small detour.” 

shamedly, riddle takes the proffered paper towel. it’s cool to the touch, and just a tad bit slimey. like a slug. or a potions ingredient. riddle begins to swipe it over the light dusting of flour scattered across the kitchen countertops. the heartslabyul kitchens are quiet, sans the sound of trey, scooping flour back into the container. riddle doesn’t quite…like the idea of it; the flour’s been contaminated, hasn’t it? and if potions are any metric, well - there’s no such thing as the five second rule in potions. that way lies many a melted cauldron. riddle’s seen the results firsthand, thanks to heartslabyul’s newest freshman members.

(deuce and ace…well…neither have claimed to be the sharpest tool in the gardening shed. and for good reason at that.) 

those thoughts carry riddle through the last of the flour cleaning. he’s since given his hair and clothing up as a lost cause. “okay. detour…completed, i suppose.” riddle turns to trey. “what’s next?” 

Couldn’t Trey just get hooked by his pitch already?! The thought skirts through Azul’s mind, his smile nearly strained. The Heartslabyul third year hardly has anything else worthy enough to dedicate his money towards. If not Mostro-Bans, then what else would Trey dare to splurge his money on? Textbooks? A new hat? An industrial food processor? Please!

“Yes, student budgets and the ghastly living expenses!” Azul exclaims, though he’s never once felt the woes of financial pressure on land. Obviously. I mean, who was he? Ruggie Bucchi? “A student discount will have the price settled at a hundred-and-fifty thaumarks, approximately fifteen percent off the original pricing. What a deal, no? Mind you, most luxury brands sell at two-hundred thaumarks minimum!”  

He waves the velvet box closer to Trey, gesturing for him to take it. “Now, what do you say? Come, at least give them a wear!” 

THE CHANCES OF AZUL refusing to let him leave after they’ve been worn once are high. Trey feels that in his gut, stronger than the instinct to actually try them on. He’s not about to break out into a run to escape this attempt at a transaction, but Trey does consider it.

“No kidding.” Trey Clover doesn’t know enough about luxury glasses to confirm or deny. It’s been a couple of years since he got new frames, and every time he needs them, he chooses the sturdiest kind that doesn’t look terrible on him. Against better judgment, Trey bites, and takes the case when offered this time. “I’m not really a brands guy, so I’ll have to take your word on that. You might have better luck talking up Cater.”

His glasses get slipped off his nose and hung on the collar of his shirt. On come the totally-not-copyright-infringing Mostro-Bans.

He feels exactly the same.

                            CURRENT POINT COUNT /20.

ACTIVE THREADS.

WAITING ON REPLY.

MEET YOUR GREENS / with @zigvoltage​​​​​​. ♣️

WE ARE FUCKING UNDER ATTACK / with @thecoachman​​​​. ♣️

BIRD BRAIN / with @vipetriol​​​. ♣️

FLAMINGOS IN FOR THE KRILL / with @hyaina​​​. ♣️

#NOTALLSCORPIOS / with @espritdediamant​. ♣️

MY TURN. // ALL REPLIES ARE QUEUED!

YO SOCRATES IT’S A FUCKING COOKIE / with @vorpalswxrd​​. ♣️

ART CRITICS IN THE MAKING // with @99lostsouls​. ♣️

ACTIVE PLOTTING CALL.

on hold till after the event ends! open to some post-event recap but right now, trey’s ass is in the shadow realm.

MONTHLY GOAL.

trying to make at least ten event posts this month for word count!

LAST MONTH’S CARD.

99lostsouls​:

everything happened so fast.

to blink, and suddenly have your teammates— your upperclassmen on the ground brought about a dizzying confusion.

but there was no time to be confused. that would only seal a gruesome fate - it would be foolish.

and ortho was not designed foolishly.

in a string of bad luck, after the spirit had successfully taken down jamil— its path of screeches and wails seemed to be heading straight for ember next.

in a quick effort, ortho charged forward, shooting out a laser from his palm.

ORTHO ROLLS A 12 AND 20 FOR DAMAGE: HIT for 2 DMG!

PAINTING GHOST’S HP: 0/3

ORTHO’S HP: 5/5

the stench of flames and burnt oils wasn’t pleasant, but being killed wasn’t anymore agreeable.

once the flames of the burning painting went down, ortho reached to help up his injured colleagues.

❝ let’s go. ❞

By the time Ember can fully process the scene laying out before him, Ortho has laid waste to whatever possessed the painting. His hand, wrapped around his magic pen, tenses up just in case the spirit came back to life before he finally puts it back in his coat pocket.

“…let’s look around first,” He says, stepping ahead of the group and around the smoldering remains, “Then proceed.”

His eyes scan the world around them, focusing on the ground to find either some mark left by another being or some food… anything to help the group. Instead, they land on a small plant growing out of an abandoned planter near the window. He picks up the plant, inspecting it, before…

“…this is mint,” He tells the group as he chews on the leaf, “Anyone want any? It’s good to chew on to keep focus.”

( In all honesty- he didn’t recognize the plant until he chewed on it. )

THE AIR SMELLS TERRIBLE, Trey's back where he started (on his back and lucky his glasses aren't cracked or otherwise lost to the shifting monochrome world), and they're not any closer to figuring out which way to go, with an extra dose of humiliation. Somehow, it's par for the course for luck.

"...That should probably be washed, but. Everyone okay?" Rhetorical question, but it feels like the smart thing to ask as Trey stands again, this time standing dead in the middle of the hall.

Trey's adjusting his glasses and rubbing where his shoulder took the brunt of his fall, rolling his arm and, once again, taking in the endless route before them.

At least they have mint.

...Why is something growing here?

"...Let's keep moving." Lingering only puts targets on their back more, he wagers. With a tinge of resignation, Trey keeps walking.

threadedwheels

Ember idly listens to the group while they debate their options, trying to use his sight to see what was to come. It didn’t work before but… it was worth a shot now, right?

He tries to focus, to even shut out the voices of the others, but… nothing. All he can see is the monochromatic tones of the world around them.

“…I think the stairs are our best choice. At the very least, we can look for more items there,” He says, walking towards them. By no means is he going to be at the front of the group, but at the very least he will act confident in his decisions.

Even if he is unsure of every step he’s taking.

“We should get going either way. I feel as if standing here is going to start attracting trouble.”

though ortho could surely display his own ideas on how to proceed— he saw no need considering they aligned well enough with the rest of his team. 

once everyone came to an agreement, ortho nodded. ❝ I’ll scout ahead! ❞ 

it only seemed natural, being able to travel faster than the rest. without another word, ortho began to fly up the twisting stairs to see what lie ahead. as the android flew up he began to brighten– his connection was growing stronger, allowing him the ability to detect magical energy. 

it was strong, beginning to warp his surroundings but before he could inform his teammates, ortho had flew straight into a flash of light. before he knew it he was outside of a ruined castle, falling apart at the seams.

@threadedwheels @vipetriol  @hyaina  @troisfleur

THE WORLD DISTORTS. Before Trey can even process how—they are no longer climbing up an endless staircase, and the expanse before them becomes cramped and liminal far too quickly for his liking.

"Wait," Trey says, pausing in his steps, stumbling slightly as a foot meant for stairs meets dead air.

A hand reaches to the side, to steady himself. An arm grasps his bicep to keep him upright. "Hah, thanks for that—”

—Not being helped by part of their party. Trey's hand rests against an oil painting that's seen better days, no time for thoughts other than fleeting recognition that itches in the back of his mind, somewhere. The hand holding him steady sets every hair on end, cold like death and springing forth from the wall.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, before the grasp gives way to a ghost, dropping his arm to leap forth and send Trey back to the ground.

threadedwheels​:

At the mention of the communication devices, Ember begins frantically searching his pockets for a mirror. His mirror- the only way he could contact Atticus in this haunted hellscape.

No mirror, no phone, nothing in his pockets other than the lint that always finds its way in.

He tries to bite down the frantic tone in his voice.

“Yes. Let’s look around- No eating anything until we know what we have. We’ll… give it all to Trey, I suppose. Stay here, though. No sense in getting split up.”

The focus of his searching wasn’t on food, of course, but rather his mirror. His eyes land on it and he quickly reaches out to scoop it up, flipping it open with shaking hands, and…

“…the mirror isn’t working.”

He smacks it once, twice, but… nothing.

“Anyone else have theirs? Ortho- you have to have a way to contact someone, right?”

❝ please, stop. ❞ a gentle request made as ortho would push ruggie away from trey.

the hyena’s behavior wasn’t surprising in the slightest, but it did remain inconvenient. ❝ we just got here. your stomach will have to wait I’m afraid. saving our resources is more important. ❞

he’d look up when ember called his name– further questioning their means of communication.

ortho then summoned one of his holographic screens, typing away at something until— he closed it with an expression of disappointment.

❝ my connection is faulty… my systems are picking up on some type of signal somewhere, but we have no idea where that is. ❞

or where they were right now…

NOTHING THEY CAME WITH made it through, save for an ice cream bar he doubts anyone packed. All things considered, Trey could be stuck with worse people. They won't be winning marks for flawless teamwork, but it’s all workable. Either way: panicking right now won’t solve anything.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Trey starts, offering a tired smile Jamil's way. Not much else to do but stuff the squished ice cream bar in his back pocket and hope it doesn't melt down his leg. "And thanks for trying, Ortho. A weak signal's better than anything else we've got."

Finally, Trey regards the stairs. (He'd really rather not, for the record. His legs are aching looking at them.) "Any chance getting higher would help us get through?"

Ember wishes that Ortho’s evaluation regarding a lack of injuries felt accurate.

Everything felt out of place. His joints, his head, fates- even his whole body. He laid on the ground for a few moments longer than anyone else, frankly hoping he somehow died in the process of falling through. He hears the others talk, vaguely listening as he takes mental note of all the new bruises he has forming.

“We just fell into the ghost dimension and you’re worried about gummies?” He groans, finally opening his eyes to see Ortho holding a hand out to him. He takes it, grateful for the help, and stands with a slight creaking sound.

“Rations I can understand, but gummies?”

He looks at the group of people he was grouped with- different to the one he was fully expecting.

This was… going to be worse than expected.

THIS ISN’T TREY’S CREW.

It's not the end of the world, but it is enough to give him pause, as soon as his eyesight rights itself. It's the least of his worries, after all. It takes a moment of adjusting his glasses to realize that the world's well and truly devoid of color. Another moment more, wringing both wrists and carefully peeling himself up, to realize the sound of crinkling isn't bones turned to liquid on impact but—

Trey carefully gets to his feet, regarding Ruggie with a nod before staring back down at a wrapper at his feet.

"I think our rations might be gone, too." He didn't come in with an... ice cream bar?

A rather sad-looking one, now that it was the sole cushion for Trey's fall. He picks it off the ground, adjusting his hat on the way up.

"...Does anyone have their mirror?"

“CAN WE COME TO A TRUCE?”

There’s an endless list of chores that needs to be done in Heartslabyul. Rarely does Trey volunteer for the worst of them.

Six pairs of beady eyes look up at Trey, beaks poised to strike his hand if he withholds the feed.

Many more trail behind them, some choosing to ignore him and go about their business, some remain huddled together to stave off the cold. The flamingos have themselves an enclosure perfectly suited to the elements; unlike their hedgehog and dormouse companions, they’ve stayed relatively unbothered by the snowstorm that’s overtaken Heartslabyul’s endless spring.

The hedgehogs have already been seen to, running up against Trey’s shoes with frightful determination, as they always do when he steps lightly and offers them their weekend feast. It’s a sign of intimidation, so he’s learned. They’ve long been taken inside, a miniature enclosure made and gated off in one of the common rooms of their dormitories while no one else stays. The dormouse family, too, and because they’re about the only animal residents of Heartslabyul that doesn’t want him dead—they can be put to rights with a sugar cube or slice of cheese, and as long as they don’t scuttle about in Trey’s kitchen he doesn’t make trouble for them—Trey offered his room in lieu of their little burrows in the rose gardens, moved to cages from storage that are suitably-sized but nowhere near as expansive as their tunnel systems or as familiar as their teapots.

The trio of juvenile flamingos, ready to ambush Trey, have their mouths open and necks bent, poised to strike.

Trey scatters their feed at his feet, taking a cursory step back.

It feels as though better preparations for tomorrow’s trip should be in order, but he knows of what little else to do. Nothing needs to be prepared—rations are being doled out through other means, and he’s frankly sick and tired of fighting a losing battle against Ramshackle’s dilapidated kitchen. But that does take out his usual routine to clear his head.

But something must be done. Idle hands make Trey antsy, and if he dwells too long, that anxious energy sinks deep into his gut and gets in his head.

There’s an endless list of chores that needs to be done in Heartslabyul. While their well-oiled deck is currently in disarray, there’s comfort to be found in the familiarity of them while everything else remains a mystery.

One closes its mouth and turns feather immediately, greedily nipping at the ground. A second’s feathers ruffle, making himself bigger, circling around Trey before retreating into the larger throng of their flamboyance.

One of them loses a little fight when not backed up, and greedily goes to peck at the ground, too. Brethren follow, although with a lot less fight.

Harassing Trey is less interesting than the meal.

He’d like to take that as a good sign, all things considered. Trey makes his way through their indoor barn, scattering feed all the while. He whistles a little under his breath.

All things considered? The easiest feeding time he’s dealt with, since… freshman year.

Some people might take that as a good sign. Instead, Trey sighs, and leans the wall with the empty feed bag.

“Don’t tell me all of you have gone and marked me for death.”