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TUMBLRxxx


LOGICxxx


VECTOR TIMExxx


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MENTAL HEALTH


MEMORY



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xxxxxA voice rose out from one of the seats in a row closer to that commanding director of this airborne set, posing an intriguing question. Cherno blinked. It was an airy voice, refined, and yet tinged with a hint of melancholy. If this was some sort of trick by that demoness, then why had he never heard the voice before? Was it a Brookridge student? From his view, he could not get a proper look at the girl, or the other person -- there was someone else here, no?

​

1/x | the demon's heavenly flight​

Cherno slumped in his seat and gently placed his fingers together. His dull, calculating eyes observed the plane. Lurch was of a minor momentum. They were travelling at an extremely fast vector. Little turbulence, for now -- or rather, there would be a lot of damned turbulence when they all figured out what sort of new jive-jumping hob-nob slaughter would happen today.

Cherno held a porcelain palm to his left temple, rubbing it gently. Threads of nervous pain wrapped through the sinews of his gaunt body. He would at least have to thank Eleanora for keeping his body well. A--ah ... it was so high up ... would they-- would they really get out of here? ...

Guh. There was-- there was no time to worry. You have your body back. That was one step for a dead man, Cherno Plume. What was important at the moment was getting yourself ... and, and these two strangers off of this airplane, if ever so. If wanted, really.

Did Cherno really wish to go back to the world, the cage of asphodel below where little waited for him?

...

Spoiler

"I'll make sure to protect you, Hyperbola."

...

Of course.
How could he forget his promises? The small, grey ribbons that tied him to the world of decay. Not for his own use anymore. What good were promises that were kept only for one's own sake? He was getting off this screwed up airplane. Anything it would take. Anything it would take to make sure people would not die by his hand any further.

The voice boomed out a response to the girl's question.

"Crestatia has sent you here. You are those who have chosen to reject the demon's proposal. My name is Rhia, I am very happy to meet you."
Ah. Her name was Rhia.

He finally gazed upon a better view of her. The most startling thing about her was her large horns, emerging from soft bundles of a lightish coloured hair. To him, the hair seemed a silvery grey. It must have had a nice tone to it. Strawberry? Blonde? He wouldn't know. But her eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Her crimson eyes were careful and striking, yet they seemed to have a gentleness to them. The red was so vibrant, even in this world of grey, and it threw a wide-eyed Cherno off.

"I will be escorting you to your new destination. I sincerely regret to inform you that it is most likely that only one of you will return to the Gameboard. Are there any more questions before we start?"

Crestatia's fault. The demoness had her hands in everything. As expected. Cherno bit his lip and grimaced in his corner, as if a bitter taste lingered in his mouth. That bitch. And a new destination? ... Perhaps a new way to start over?

Cherno dangled the thought in his aching mind before gently placing it away. Most likely only one of us would return. Most likely. Still a chance, was there? It was time for Cherno to ask his own questions. He cleared his throat.

"'Scuse me, uh, Rhia," He began, a bit heavyhandedly and awkwardly. "I've uh, I've got a few queries to fly your way, you dig?"

Think, Cherno.
First of all, where the hell was this airplane going?
And did the chance for some of us to escape together exist? He barely knew the other two, but they were in the same boat of this damned e-mail. He wasn't going to get the stench of blood on his hands after they had been already coated with bucketfuls.

And be careful. Careful. Word your questions carefully. These demonesses were tricky and fickle kittens.

"Where and what exactly is the destination of this airplane?" Cherno stood up, his face set stone-like, gazing into Rhia's bright blood red eyes. "And you happened to have said "most likely" a jiff ago. Is it true that there's a chance we'll all be able to leave this plane together and alive, then?"

...
One last question.
It had hit him hard how he had not asked this of Crestatia before, nor anyone else did.

"Who here, in the airplane, is most likely to die, and what is the order of people not on this airplane most likely to die, cat?"

DAY 25
December 24th, Monday
​

​

​

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[ ??? ]​

Oh-

Oh ...
Cherno slowly opened his eyes, and ...
And the world. It was grey, again.
Grey, white, as if everything was coated in a steely frost. The air was thick and clouded everything. He looked at his hands and balled his fists. A--ack. Tight pain again. His left hand ... bandaged, yes. Ah! He was ... back in his own body? Cherno looked around. Where was he? Seats after seats after seats. Nobody else seemed to be on this ... airplane?
What was going on?

He looked towards the window. Black and silent, with winds rushing by. A--ah ... urgh. He felt nauseous. It was dark outside. So dark. It felt as if he would fall in. Beads of sweat formed near Cherno's forehead, and he quickly looked away.

A voice chimed in from somewhere. Where was it coming from?

"Please wake up, now."​

It was commanding. It echoed through the fuselage, as if a director on the set of a film.

Was it the pilot?
This was definitely something related to this entire gameboard problem. Okay, Cherno. Keep yourself damn calm and rational. You are a machine. Dead of emotion. You are going to get out of this soon. Cherno inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, before once again opening their dimmed golden irises, like dead suns, to the other end of the airplane.

​

Cherno strolled on back to his room. Eleanora was still there, yeah? He hoped. Ah. He didn't feel well. What was it like him to leave the young girl in his body like that? At least he would have a reason this time, right? Maybe they should keep in contact. Did she have a phone to use? Cherno pondered this as he gazed at Quin's text.

Quin.
Whatever was it that she did again? She was a wonderful violinist. That-- ugh, fuck. Violins. He-- no, he didn't want to think about that. What else about her? She was prim. Very prim. Would he even be able to jive up a day lasting with her? Eh.
What else.
There was something about an auditorium. Augh. Cherno rubbed his temples. It was that place. That place had such a big gap in his memory, as if it were intentionally removed.

...
And that was right. That professor said that all of these memories were removed for a reason. Why? Who did this? Why would they do this? Come on, Cherno. You're a robot. A lifeless logical machine now, with your dead-set eyes and your willow-wind gait. You have time. Of course, that time was limited by the days until your imminent expiration. Dandy.
But perhaps this time with Quin would dangle back some memories.

He strolled, in his small body, through the lush, wintry gardens of the Heliocanthea. The large Cherryleaf dorms, like the tops of dead trees sticking out from dark Bavarian groves, sat squat and imposing at the very far end of the vivid chilly white and green interplay. The leaves were curling up. Trees were hibernating in the silence. The night was abnormally blue, and even in this body there was little darkness to penetrate his mind. Cherno shivered and the smell of frozen pine tickled his nose.

Voices in his head again.
"Look at that girl,"
"What is she doing, alone in the night"
"Is she mad?"
"Goodness, get away from there, the pines will eat you"
"Kukuku."

Ignore them.
Ignore them, Cherno.
For the past few days, these voices had sprung up in his head. As if they were coming from everywhere. The plants. The rocks. The animals. They weren't of course. They were in his head. Eleanora's head. Right? Ugh.

"Ahahaha."

He typed away on his phone.
She was at the hospital. What had happened? It was news everywhere. But like all news unheard of through the media, it was rumours and spreads and lies mixed in with the truth.

...
Cherno did not sign this message.
It ... it didn't feel right.
He stopped his stroll and looked up at the sky. The same bright sky that he had seen on his walk at the hot springs. Cold. Alone. How unfeeling those stars were. How they mocked him silently, grasping at his past but letting him wander like a lost soul through a loud world. Was it like this at the hot springs? Right before he--
Before ...

Before ...

Cherno grit his teeth. He raised his phone again, sent the text, and continued walking. It didn't feel right. Who was he? He wasn't in his own body. He didn't have the memories of Cherno.

"Ahahaha."

He eventually reached his old room, the purples and bright blues sparking and dancing along his vision. Eleanora was sound asleep. Was it a boring day for her? Ack. A hole crumbled up in his heart. How insensitive was he being?
He would have to tell her tomorrow. Would she stop him? Why did he suddenly seem to care less about his body, or this girl?

...
No, screw that.
That wasn't true, Cherno Plume.
You were just hiding your feelings, weren't you? The pain of being alone. The aches of having nobody to depend on.
You wanted to scream out to those unfeeling stars and tell them: "I'm fucking Cherno Plume and I can find my way without using you as a guide!"
But it was hard. So hard. How could you stay adrift when you knew little about how to swim in the rushing currents?

Cherno would tell Eleanora tomorrow.
He made a mental note of visiting the store in the students' hall before. He had some sort of idea. There was no way he would leave the poor girl alone like this, even as his mind screamed at him to take this trip.
He unbuttoned his small coat and threw it to the bedside table, before changing into his pajamas and getting into bed. Gently and with his thick leather gloves, he brought out the wand. Ack. A spark shot through his fingers, even like this. But he would need this. Need this for tomorrow. These days defied logic. They defied the incomprehensible, even- no, rather, they operated on their own world of logic. That was right. He would bring the tool of magical pain with him. The pain that ebbed away not at his nerves, but at his heart. The pain that brought with it these whispers through his ears, barely noticeable, that he repressed as much as possible. He couldn't accept magic, but as he slipped off into bed and closed his eyes, he could accept one thing.
Dead men felt no pain.

"Ahahaha."

---

Her arm?
Ooh, that silly Ben.
But Olivia was le tired and she received a few texts. Oh hrm. She told Ben that she would work on everything tomorrow when she was not so fast asleep in the darkness of the night, especially when she would get her post formatting back. Texts and robotics would wait until tomorrow. She wandered off with a sneaky smile back towards the chair and curled up into a ball, snoozing away.

79


Even in the bright lights of this world, the coffee tasted dark and bitter upon his lips.

Cherno sat alone, his back turned to the rest of the world of the small shop. His hands trembled from the comforting warmth that the bitter drink brought to his senses. It made him feel real. It made him feel awake in this unrealistically bright and lively world. And yet? And yet his eyes still contained their dead, dim intonation. He felt terrible for Eleanora. Fuck. Why did he have to ruin her bright physique with his horrible, dismal qualities? It was a curse, for him to ruin all he touched. He gripped the white wand tightly in his tiny gloved left hand, holding it with the grip of a viper, whitening his knuckles.

The pain hurt. It flowed through his arm. But it was dulled. Cloth worked. Why did he feel it so much?

He sipped the coffee again, and slumped his head on the table. His soft, blonde locks fell around him like feathery snowflakes. His full, youthful cheeks puffed slightly in consternation.
Nobody contacted him anymore.
Nobody cared. Who would care about a man such as him? Stuck in a world that does not fit his limits, and personal limits that do not fit his world? His memory was as spotty as ever. His headaches were dull but still omnipresent. He wanted to leave. Leave everything. Yeah. That'd be great. That be wonderful ...

But he couldn't.
No damn way.
He-- he had memories to pick up.
He slowly picked out his phone from his pocket. Move through texts. Move through texts. He still had the letter from Temperance on his priority tag. The more he read it, the more it pierced his heart. The more he wanted to know about her. He only knew bits and pieces. Bits and pieces. An unfinished jigsaw puzzle. And his past before the e-mail? Why, it was completely empty. What luck, Cherno Plume. What luck.

The entire shop was filled with a lazy, slow air, as if possessed by a western saloon. A ceiling fan drifted about slowly overhead, dust falling from its lethargic blades. People were silent, hushed, like small creatures, dominated by their shadows and hovering only over their coffee. It was not what Cherno would expect from a coffee house on campus. But then again, the damn vipers were slithering themselves all throughout the place.

"Why you so dull, girl?"

W-
W-what?
Cherno looked up. Staring back at him from behind the counter was an old lady with droopy eyes. Height short. Rather lower than average. Walked with gait. Possible past experience of physical injury? Skin tone-- huh. Her skin tone was untraceable. As if she was a melange of all sorts of backgrounds and patchworks in her history.
Cherno's lips trembled, and he slowly opened his small mouth to say something in return. But he couldn't find the words.
"Huh?" She asked. "I ain't hear you. My hearing's ain't grand."
"Nothing ..."
"What? Speak up, lassie!"
Her voice was harsh and jagged. Cherno flinched away, curling himself ever so closer into a ball.
He paused and breathed in, before opening his eyes and staring their dull, lifeless visions into the lady in front of her.

"It isn't anything, you dig. I'm already dead."

"What?" The old lady looked incredulous, her mouth frozen in half a grimace and half a smile.
"I'm dead." Cherno raised his head and lowered his eyes to emphasize. He looked very much like a pissed off lion. "D-E-A-D. Dead. You're looking at a shimmyin' little ghost, you catch me friend?"
"Ridicubabble!" She threw out her hands in exaggerated frustration. "Stop playin' tricks w' me! You're a slurpin' that coffee like it's a donzy manger stilk bonker. Are ye gonna boggart off to tell my chops why you're eyes are gummer than a fox-face twice?"
Cherno winced. Not at her vanilla breath. Not at her violent gesticulations that always seemed to accompany indescribable accents. But from the very fact someone took the time to notice him.

...

Fuck.
Fuck this.

He jumped up, slammed his hands on the table, and puffed out his pink cheeks.

"No. No, I'm not gonna say a right flyin' jive-tripping biscuit to your flowery face-hold. I'm tired. Fucking tired. Tired of everything. Tired of this institution. Tired of these colours. Tired of the coffee and the tininess and the pain. Tired of being unable to remember a right damn thing. Tired of waking up nights just shimmying in my stop-hop jam-stomping bed flurry almost off the damn fucking thing because I'm hap-stancing so hard for grasping and clutching at the stupid fucking memories that lie outside my heads like mocking unfly clouds having lost their silver linings and like snow they slip between my fucking fingers because my fucking fingers ain't right for my body and I will never get to see her ****ing face again in the worst betrayal of Cherno Plume. Cherno Plume is dead. Cherno Plume died a long time ago. Don't fucking tell me it's ridiculous when your staring a dead meister in the face."

The woman gazed at him with wide, unfettered eyes. She held her twitching fingers close to her, and she looked at Cherno with the stare of a caught rabbit.
"... For a tired, dead lass, you're pretty animated."
Cherno sat down and rested his head on the table.
"How much for the coffee." His question was more a statement of apathy.
"It's free."
"What?"
"I don't charge no dead lassies."
Cherno looked up slowly. The woman was smiling at him, her droopy eyes in upward, negative parabolas.

Oh.
Well.
Well then.
Cherno stood and began to walk away from the counter. Nobody had even turned to stare at his outburst, as if it were a common practice at these particular coffee shops. But it was expected. Would anyone listen to the silent wails of a dead man?
Ah.
He turned. The old woman was still staring at him, solemnly. He walked back to the counter, took out two dollar coins from his pocket, and placed them on the desk. No words. Just get out. She keeps the change. His feet, small, fitting perfectly in Eleanora's tiny doll-like shoes, shuffled out the door and into the cold air. He kicked the door of the shop closed behind him, the soft jingle of the bell echoing through the harsh winds that reddened his nose and cheeks. Cherno winced and hid his head in his scarf.

It was almost Christmas. A few more days.
He had the presents. But did the boy Anthony remember.
And what good would they be? They would remind him of the girl.
Temperance.
Right ...

How would she have spent this day? With him? With the Cherno who had all the memories of their adventures together and not simply fragments? Did she like that crazy raft? Did she ever say trustworthy comments to him beyond the denouement of everything? Did she get over that fear of water in the end? What happened? What happened to her? Who was she? Who was Temperance Spike, truly? And why did he have the right mind to get her to die?

Cherno pocketed his hand and gripped the wand tightly again. It seemed to surge with more power which tickled his fingers sharply, as if running sewing pins along their tips.

There was another girl.
Right?
There was.
Madeline. Madeline Moore is what the police said. Suchet ... where did he go? He promised. He promised Cherno. And like that, he disappeared.
But that girl. There was another girl with her. In the same instance as him.
It was ... Quan? Quail?
No, Quin. Quin, yes?
Quin.

How was she?
Maybe she understood the feelings.
Cherno's heart ached. He looked up at the sky. Oceans of grey clouds washed over whatever weak sunlight shone through. It was a bleak day. A dismal, pointless one, and yet, the life of this day seemed much more than any he had seen. It was such a dissonant experience.

...

He took out his phone.
Quin's number was there. Where was she? Where had they been? Cherno knew little about what had been going on around this place. He still had yet to meet any Brookridge kids besides the creepy guy with the-- with the glowing blue stuff.

Beep.
Text sent. Off to tell Eleanora before. Was she awake? Aah--

OOC: Can someone edit the number into my post please. Shall by myself regardless.


"Dear Miss Lein,
I am well.
I was unable to follow the rest of yourselves because of the presence of the police.
I suppose, in time,
I shall tell you of my qualms with them.
However, what is of more importance is your personal well being.
"

Olivia sighed gently. The only sound in the cold room was the light tapping of fingers upon her phone.

"I assure you that it is in my guilt that I led to the harm that you face.
That is a positively terrible first impression. Like a falsetto hitting the wrong note.
I am ... filled with much regret.
Please tell me any outstanding injuries you may have.
I have, at my disposal, some tools that may provide temporary relief to your pain.
-- Olivia"

Switch.

"Dear Miss Sario,
We are still in our bodies, Ben dearest and myself.
I hope you are well. Are you out of the hospital yet?
I understand you are not particularly fond of my company from time to time.
I hope we may amend that over tea.
After all, we are in the same boat."

Olivia's hands shook, very briefly.
She quickly gazed at the large gash marks upon the walls. The ruined, dusty couch she sat on upstairs seemed to suck her deeper and deeper into a black hole.

"If you request of me to require anything, please ask.
After all, I too have my connections.
- - Olivia"

Switch.

"Dear Mr. Nunn,
Greetings.
It was good of you to not take up my prior invitation on the helicopter.
If possible, may you tell me an update on the status of snakes in the Academy?
Thank you.
- - Olivia"

She paused, resting her small phone close to her large knees.

There was one more text.
Oh. She had not checked the recipient.

Click.

...

Oh! Oh it was him! He-- he was okay!
A--ack.
What are you doing, Olivia, did your heart just mispalpitate? Keep calm. Reply slowly.

"Malchik,
You're a right fool and in all honesty I could care less about your well being but for the sake of others I am glad you are relatively alright.
I am lonely and cold in this prison of memories that traps our pasts that I was foolish enough to return to.
Please do not come because being here is enough of a toll on my mind simply having to get the machinery ready. Hopefully the move may come soon.
Your presence would simply make my senses less sensical, as they always do.
You already arouse them enough with your terrible taste in beautiful things, mmm?"

Olivia giggled sinisterly. Playtiiiiiiime.

"Are you out of your body yet? I am still trapped in Ben's shell. Don't be sorry you can't be inside my wonderful body, philistine. Too good for you of course!
Keep me company.
We must have the first part of our appointment over this text.
- - Ollie"

Ahaha.
How sweet it felt to toy with Mr. Anderson. Only justifiable with him. Foolish young man. He was making progress. Olivia was so very proud. Her mood felt a bit lighter.

Only a bit.
She hoped he would not come here after her. What a buffoon. Seeing this again? Any-- any reminiscent tune on the Roncesvalles Case? Him?

No.
She would not allow that.
Olivia stood up, she was shaking a bit. Why was she shaking? Stay calm, Olivia.
Stay. Stay calm.

Olivia walked to the former kitchen of the burnt out corpse of a manor. Stay calm, Olivia. Why are you trembling. There is no need to tremble among this sea of scars and bloodstains forgotten ...

Of course not.
You were a strong girl now. You were a lady.
Olivia clenched her fist.
In the old kitchen, scarred with black, puffy burns and cracked granite counter tops, the familiar photograph sat in its haughty frame, burnt, scarred, ripped in pieces. Drops of blood were splattered by its glass. She walked over to the dirty, nasty, mocking thing. An abomination. Uncivilized creature. Dastardly ghoul that dashed hopes away.

Right. Right. Keep mocking. Do as you wish.
Olivia violently ripped the photograph and frame from the wall. It came away as if done many times before, before being replaced.
The Roncesvalles Family. What a wonderful family. Sweet, sweet family. May such a family shatter to pieces so quickly?

May such a family shatter to pieces so quickly.

Like everything in this rancid falsetto corpse of a dead home.

Olivia raised her hand to throw the photograph to the floor. One inch. One move would lead her to do so. Violently. Break it to pieces like it had done to her heart.

Slip.
She let it drop.
Her hand was held up in the air, unmoving, her heavy fingers trembling slightly in the cold air.
The photograph would survive a drop, of course. It fell to the ground with a sharp cracking noise, but did not shatter. It did not split. It stayed intact. Just like her memories of the entire debacle.

The winds chimed their soft, airy voices through the corpse-house. Olivia breathed in and kept her face solemn, before slowly moving back to the main room. Broken glass crackled beneath her feet, she gently walked back down into the basement.

Ben was already set and awake. He had woken up some time before her, but Olivia needed to go upstairs for a moment to settle things and breathe.

"I have returned," She said gracefully. "Ben dear, are you ready to undergo your temporary fixations? Please-- please tell me where your injuries lie on my precious body."

Did she slip for a moment? She covered up any doubt with a well placed giggle.

"Be as detailed as possible. It is my body, after all." Olivia winked coyly.

"Olivia?"
The light, airy soprano of her voice was absolutely unmistakable. Olivia rose from her seat and walked to the stairs.

Ben! There he was! For once, Olivia's face lit up like a bright light. Viola fluttered by through the door and settled on her shoulder, ruffling her cloudy, fluffy plumage. A few more red feathers fluttered down to the ground. Wherever were they coming from?

"I apologize," Olivia began in her deeper tenor, "That I had to meet you here. It should be free of snakes, and it gives me access to my machinations." She held out her hand to the work bench. "We must get some rest. It is dark. Tomorrow, I shall adjust your body - mine, rather, and explain to you why we had to escape the police." Olivia rushed around the room shutting things down, making sure nothing would explode, or malfunction, or escape, and closed the doors, so that nothing should harm her or Ben as they slept.

Olivia walked back to the seat and swivelled back to the computer screens. She curled her legs close to her, feeling nervous about any possible vipers unaccounted at her heals.

"Sleep on the workbench. It is clean. Relatively." She yawned slightly, and her heavy eyes slowly closed to darkness.

- - -

The wand was not something Cherno had expected. It looked plastic. Fake. Damn. Was this actually what they used? He wouldn't know. It was a straight tight ramrod. Almost futuristic. A perfect line with a sharp conic tip. And to Cherno, its complete and utter whiteness - no, it was a lack of colour, seemed to make it stand out in such a colourful world, as if one had forgotten to paint this particular part of reality's canvas.

With his tiny fingers, he gripped the wand- Oh DAMN.
ACK.
He dropped it. The wand clattered to the floor.
A spark - a white one, had shot through his arm. Was that static electricity, or ... something else?

Cherno tried picking it up again. Crouching, he analyzed it with his dull, calculating eyes. He slid an index finger along i--GODDAMNIT.

He quickly brought the finger to his lips, sucking the wound. Aaaah-- it was so painful. Ugh. Small tears welled near the corner of his eyes. Why was it so hard for him to touch this thing?

Okay.
Second plan.

Cherno looked around. The bedside table had a small cloth around it. Standing up, Cherno slid the cloth from beneath the table and held it in his palm. Take three. Here we go.

Cherno held his breath, turned to the wand, crouched, and tried to pick it up with the cloth--

- -

A--aaaaah ...
It. It hurt. It hurt so much. Just holding it. Shoot. Goddamnit. Was this the magical power, his hand, holding the wand, shook violently. He grit his teeth. His head began to hurt, slightly.

W-what was this?
And yet, this power. It was like a current through his body. It hurt. And yet it felt natural to him. Was this a contradiction? Was this because his mind so effectively doubted the existence of magic--

ACK.
SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT GODDAMN

Cherno jumped up and slammed the wand on the table. The table trembled slightly. He shook his hand quickly, as if burned.
This was too much.
He would need to deal with it soon. In sleep. He slowly wandered over to the other bed and, getting into it, pulled the covers over him.


...

("Ahahahaha.")

WH-WHAT.
Cherno shot up in bed., the covers fallibg around him.
What was that? It was the voice in his head. It was a voice, right? He was sure now. Someone was talking to him through this body. Were they? This body really was cursed.

His head throbbed.
He held a tiny hand to it, grimacing. Maybe his dreams would provide better access. He laid his head down again on the pillow, and closed his eyes, making sure the wand was on the nearby table.

Ah.
Olivia, delicately and tightly holding a branch, cleared her way towards the edge of the hill. She was a bit far from the rest of them now. Her legs needed rest. She hoped dearly that she had not worn out Ben's body too extensively. Her feet were aching. But she was here.

The cold air tickled her nose, and the quiet, empty mountain street, with its palisade of blackened conifers, smelled of sweet pine sap intermingled with the blight of cold rain. Rain? It would be raining soon, at least here. That would be a pleasure for Olivia. Something finally going her way, it appears.

She walked, slowly, out onto the decrepit, worn asphalt of Bacchus Road. Few cars had passed this particular hill in years. But still, Olivia found much solace in this serene soprano of nature and human effort.

For before her stood the burnt out corpse; the blackened husk, of an enormous structure. It was tall, monolithic, imposing. The winds rang songs of lamentation as they flowed between its angular, jagged crevices, as if reflecting happier days before. The windows were broken in or melted, with jagged talons of glass turning the building into an imposing fortress. Prisms and slabs of smoky concrete and metal tbrust out almost at whim, and altogether, it gave the once-dignified modernist home, a symbol of a nigh futurist vision, an air of folly and failed pasts. It was a wrecked coffin of an old estate, with stagnant pools of greenish waters and piles of rubble overtaking corners and edges. It was like tarnished silver. It was a structure that would always haunt Olivia. It was what she needed.

To the outside world, this forgotten relic was a transcendental, ephemeral pinprick on the long history of Brookridge. To the police, it had been the scene of the most gruesome murder and escape case since the earlier centuries. Who could forget the Roncesvalles Case?

Olivia shuddered. Was it from the wind, or was it from the lapses of memory that briefly tickled her mind?

All on the road was silent save for the wind that trailed across the smoky conifer branches. Olivia, without a second thought, entered this Burnt Estate through the familiar gaping hole near its farthest corner. Charred stone, broken glass, and crushed leaves equally crackled under her soft, careful footfalls, indiscriminate in their piercing shrieks.

The estate was just as it had been left. Equipment of the police, now relatively forgotten, still existed here and there. The wooden floor was messy and stained with odd liquids and colours, and holes in the rotten wood led to the abyss of the dirt beneath the old home. Floating dust created a foggy mist that remained hovering over the violently scratched furniture, the inner cotton fleece soul thrusting and protruding from welts and worn corners into the dead air.

It was good you were calm, Olivia. There were a few things to do first. Olivia moved down the stairs towards the basement. With each step upon the old mahogany, the small, cramped stairwell echoed shrieks and creaks. In the silence, they rung in Olivia's ears, and she tried her best to keep her face solemn.

When she reached the basement, she pulled a beaded cord directly in front of her. Snap. The lights flickered on from aging incandescent bulbs along the ceiling. The room was musty and smelled of damp wood, metal and oil. Her workshop was a familiar sight, and it rested her heart to see it here like this, unscathed, in touch.

She coughed again. Ack.
Olivia slowly walked over to one of the cabinets and opened the broken glass doors. The shelves were stocked with all sorts of bandages and pills. Mm. She traced her finger delicately along one of the labels, and picked out a small red case labelled. "Direnesse of Coughe".

Pop. It opened. She picked out a translucent pink tablet and gently placed it on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she swallowed.

Urgh.
She coughed again. But this time it was loud and menacing. Her chest seemed to inflate with these coughs. They turned into hacks. She almost slipped and quickly held the edge of the work bench. The pills dropped to the floor.

Get it-- get it over with already--

Drops of blood from her throat hit the stone floor with soft falls. She coughed again and vomited a bit of blood. Her hand trembled violently, and she held her stomach--

But like that, it was over.
The soreness left her chest. Her air and voice felt free again.
Ugh. Blood. Her blood. The thought made her nauseous. Why blood? She looked away with a queasy expression. She would clean it up later. She picked up the pills and returned them to the cabinet, grabbing a.roll of bandages along the way.

Ben's body had been limping for a while. She set about her next task. Moving to a metal cabinet, she opened it slowly. Inside hung a few strange, oddly built robotic parts. They seemed light and minimalistic. Some looked like braces, others like entire limbs, and even then some like giant cubes and towers of metal and wire. She grabbed a pair of sandle-like structures and limped over to the work bench.

Taking off her shoes, she noticed that her feet were bleeding in places. She sat on the bench and held the bandages by her teeth as she wrapped a few around her gashes. Righty. She then slipped her bandaged feet into the sandle-like objects, and began adjusting dials on both of them near their heels. Proper calibration for Ben's centre of gravity was necessary.

She flexed her toes. That seemed good. Bounding off the workbench, she landed easily on the bracers. These would only be temporary, but would allow these feet to heal without putting extra pressure on them. And the best part? They doubled one's running speed with only sixty percent of the energy needed. Olivia giggled.

One last task, before waiting. She moved past the work bench to a small wooden table in the corner. In the dim lights, a few monitors glowed a stark, gamma blue. She sat on the swivel chair and began typing away on the computer, and immediately, she was able to see through Viola's robotic eye.

Viola, having flown this time by the helicopter, had been swooping down looking for Olivia in Ben's body. With new instructions, she changed her course, and began following Ben, walking off in Olivia's own body. It looked a bit scratched, but nothing her mechanics couldn't fix.

Olivia turned away from the computer and sighed. Soft pattering gently tickled the upstairs walls. It would be raining soon.

Ah.
She should probably send texts to a good few of them.

"Dear Miss Lein,
I apologize, deeply, if you may dislike my person, and our Academy, for this traumatic event. It is understandable, and all I wish to do is to make it up to you in some fashion. If you are at the Hydrangea Hospital, and if you still do not mind my company, please allow me to visit you.
- - Olivia"

"Dear Miss Sario,
I sincerely hope you are feeling alright, and I hope that the boy Mr. Weldon is alright in your care, but I trust he is. I apologize for my sudden departure, as I was to avoid the incoming police, but I hope that the paramedics that have been sent on call are enough to help you all. Thank you for attempting to save us. You are a kind soul and in my gratitude. The Tosca Estate shall pay you in full for the helicopter, and I hope you may allow my visit to your room, for we must discuss things regarding your well being which is sorely my own fault.
- - Olivia"

For once, Olivia let out a gentle sigh. It was as if she failed all of those on this trip.

Failed.
Failure.
She looked at the sleeve of her coat. Drops of blood stained it a brownish maroon. Olivia lowered her eyes and began typing another message.

"Malchik.
I had to steal your coats. They're dirty. Not that they were not before anyway. Aha.
Stay careful of those damn snakes, and that is a definite order upon my person, who is currently in the middle of contemplating her past and futute.
Not necessarily that I may care regardless, but my little-worth student does deserve the satisfaction of staying alive, I suppose, because he has in his ability to stay alive and do much, much more.
- - Ollie"

It was time to wait for Ben.

Olivia ran out of the helicopter or something because his puppeteer was confused and tired od how annoyng it was to type RP posts on a tablet.

What was that sound?
Oh no it was a Bellhurst student! Olivia tried running off to save the cry of the trapped student but her limping legs gave way and she sort of crashed to the floor whoops. She got up and saw that a few paramedics were on their way to save them HURRAY.

She directed a few paramedics towards the injured people in the helicopter than slowly walked off to a grove of trees away from the riff raff disaster scene to work on the next part of her plot. She would be okay. Maybe.

Olivia made a mental note to apoligize more to Miss Lein forvthisvdisaster and how she was on the run later. She could not let the police see her of course.

Or her body. Bah. Was Ben okay?

She sent a quick text message.
"If you can walk, get to the Burnt Mansion on Bacchus Road. Meet me there. Do not let the police see you.
-- Olivia"

She frowned slightly and disappeared into the grove. To the others, it would be as if her body was missing.

- --

Cherno was like aw heeell no. He snapped his fangers in Eleanora's face or something and said that he knew they were Ugly Uganda Wine Snakes or something. Probably drunk. He was so bad with names.

He clasped his soft, gentle hands on his body's shoulders and told Eleanora, with the voice of a dulled feather softly floating to a bundle of warm bored kittens on a five hundred count thread duvet, that they should be careful and escort each other out of here. First things first. Get that damn wand. Cherno held Eleanora by her bony pale hand and they whisked off to the girls' Ashvale dorm for an ADVEEEEEEENTURE until Ashwin could post properly later tonight

Spoiler

Spoiler

Olivia awoke.

What a startling experience. Hm. Helicopter crash. It was almost too covenient. She lifted up her body, a bit bloody and bruised. Oh. Was everyone else okay? Stay calm, Olivia. Stay calm in the midst of danger.

She got up and dusted herself off. Her body was a bit numb. The pain would come later. Stop dallying, Olivia. You are a lady of serenity. Get to the point quickly.

To hell with panicking. You would have little of that. Get on it, already. We were not going to die as long as you were effective about it, Miss Olivia.

Blood trickled down a small gash on her cheek, but her face was set in stone, without a trace of worry, and only a gallon of determination. She took out her phone and dialled the Hydrangea Hospital. Regardless of where they were, their positioning meant they would always be close by.
That was very much a part of the saving plan.

"Hello? We have a predicam--" Olivia was thrown off guard as she coughed violently. Ack. This body may not be able to carry as much as her own could. "Pardon me. Predicament. Downed helicopter approximately forty minutes in the mountains between -- between the Academy and the Tosca Estate. Seven students, one of which is the daughter of Senator Sario." Olivia smiled slightly as the dispatcher audibly reacted to this. "Unknown number of casualties. Crashed into house in Hydrangea." She looked at any indications of street names. "Green Dolphin Street. Please be there immediately. Thank you. Yes. Thank you." She cut the call and looked around.

Her legs were sore, but first things first was to check on the others and the extent of the damage. They were nearby. Still on the helicopter. Good. The pilot. Oh! Miss Lein had tried to fly the craft on her own. Olivia widened her eyes? In the body of the robotic voiced child? She tried getting out of the sea--

Ack.
She coughed blood.
Well then.

A sharp pain shot through her leg.
She couldn't move very much right now, could she? Tsk tsk, Olivia, learn to be a better crisis manager.

She sat herself back down, looking at the carnage. Would Miss Lein be conscious?

"I am unable to move at the very moment. It may take anywhere from ten to forty minutes.
Although it was an immense risk for you to handle the copter, I dare say you saved an even worse crash."

Olivia could still hear the screams and screeching metal.

No.
No more.

"Let me know you are safe. It is my fault. I apologize. Regardless, I am coming to you momentarily.
- - Olivia"

She coughed again. Something internal. Righty. Olivia you nut. She pat her head and felt more warn blood. It did not smart yet. It would soon.


But she should be dignified. Calm. She slowly tried to move up and forward again. It did not hurt very much like this. She grabbed her swords on the floor. Her coat was stained with smoke and blood. So much to the philistine.

She could hear sirens outside. Sirens? Ambulance sirens, then?

---

Cherno woke up and was like DAMN YO THOSE SNAKES LESS GO DAWG and having slept through the PA he kicked the snake violently off his body and calculated the right vector velocity and force to drag his flimsy body out of the room

His roommate was a girl for some reason was still in there! Must be a body switch. He asked Eleanoravto carry her out of there before SNALES ATTACK using the specific amount of weight he dictated. Would she be able to understand with her magicness. Cherno thanked the MAGICS for making his logic so clear

Where were we to go on the helicopter? Hmm.

"The Toska or Sario Estates. Either one is a simular distance away. It is up to Miss Sario in the end." She turned and noticed, behind Ben, was Mr. Weldon having returned to his normal body. Odd. She would have to ask him on the flight, alongside Marina. Near him was --

Oh!
It was the girl. The girl Miss Lein had switched with. The one who spoke with the songless, soulless voice.

Hm.
Olivia made a note of sitting with her on the flight.

She received a text from Miss Sario.
Ah.
Eight seats, about? Olivia counted those that would be here. It would-- be about nine actually. Extras left over.

No, not when the snakes were so dire. She could remedy this problem easily.

Olivia turned to Miss Lein's tiny lab coated figure and picked her up, placing her on her rough shoulders. Although Ben's body was stiff, it was fairly strong.

"I hope you do not mind staying like this for the duration of the trip, Miss Lein." She addressed the rest of them. "Eight seats total. Make room, everyone. Miss Sario and the helicopter shall be here soon."

Turning her head back to Miss Lein, she added: "It is of good use that we may use the advantages of our different shells, is it not so, Miss Lein?" She giggled.

---
***
---

And theb Marina appeared and Olivia got on or some such whoops timing

Tut tut. She was a Bellhurst student, then? Her words were careful, quiet. As if she had been recovering from a great loss.

Olivia stared at her deeply with her earthy eyes for a moment, before smiling. "Miss Aileen. How do you do?" She extended her hand. "You may call me Miss Olivia. My original shell is that of a white-haired ghost."

She turned to the stairs. "We must reach the top soon. A few of us shall be picked up, and it would be a pleasure if you may come with us, hm?" Olivia giggled.

Suddenly with plot convenience the scene switched to the roof or some such.

Olivia looked down at the small young girl before her. Her straw blonde was gently tugged by the frosty winds. She seemed at an unease. A tad queasy. Even cold.

She introduced herself as Miss Lein. Ah, so she occupied the body of this strange young girl. Olivia narrowed her eyes when she first heard the voice. It was robotic. Mechanical. It contained no trace of the elegance of human speech. It was false. A construction.

And yet, it interested her. What were the mechanisms behind this device? Who was the mysterious mute girl who required a fake siren call to express herself? A girl with a songless voice. For once, Olivia was close to frowning. Was she to feel sorry? Her mind buzzed at the thought of the interesting mechanics behind the girl's robotic soul. How expressive could an expressive voice be?

"It is good to see you, Miss Lein." Olivia could virtually pat the young girl on her head. "It is a pleasure for you to make it here. Hopefully, the others shall appear soon. And if possible, I would like it very much if you may contact your Bellhurst friends?"

"For you see, this meeting shall be hosted on Miss Sario's private helicopter, at least in its later stages." She looked beyond Miss Lein's body, down to the Hastings Garden.

"Are you cold, Miss Lein? You look a slight bit uncomfortable to me." She had many lab coats on, anyhow. Olivia removed her outer layer and draped it over Miss Lein's tiny body. The ends of the lab coat piled around her feet., as it was a bit too big for her.

From afar, she heard the familiar foot falls of her very own shoes.

Ah. Magnificent. Ben would make it.

Snakes.
Snakes, hm?

Olivia rolled around gently in Ben's bed, waking up with a yawn and sitting on the soft duvet. She looked at her toes and wiggled them. Still in the same body, it seems.

"Viola . . ." She said, her deeper tenor rife with strings of fatigue. "Record PA . . . ah, record PA announcement December twenty-second, tenth hour, fifty second to fifty fifth minute." She stretched out her arms. Ack. Everything was sore. Did she push Ben's body much too hard? He required the exercise regardless, no? "Topic: S--Snake Outbreak on Academy Campus."

Viola let out a jovial, metallic tweet, and the white dove's artifical eye briefly turned green before returning to its normal state, cocking her head to the side.

Today was the day of the meeting. Ah . . . but these snakes would pose a problem. Olivia rose from the bed and looked around the room. Would Ben be alright? She did not care ver much about the . . . philistine. Perhaps the meeting should be on the roof of the dining hall.

The roof . . .
Miss Sario had connections to the senate, no? Perhaps those connections would be of positive advantage.

Olivia gently picked up Ben's phone and readied herself to text Miss Sario about her little idea. Oh. Oh, wait. What was this? Olivia pursed her lips out of deep inquisitive thought.

It was a text from Miss Sario herself.

. . .

She-- oh.
Olivia blinked.
She had her body returned back to her, did she?

. . .

Olivia blinked again, with a calm expression that showed years of tender practice. She gracefully turned her gaze to her -- Ben's -- gruff and steady hand, and lamented on it, slowly opening it and closing it. How the muscles worked and tensed. How it was rigid and marble-borne. It was like a machine, one alien to her.

Olivia turned her attention back to the text. Marina and . . . the girl she switched with, would certainly have some potential explanations at the meeting.

"Dearest Miss Sario,
I congratulate you on your immediate return to your exquisite and beautiful figure.
I certainly hope that you may assist in providing explanations at our little rendezvous.
Because of this,
I sincerely ask you to bring the student you had the luck of switching with as well.
"
Olivia bit her lip slightly. Viola stared off out into the window, onto the rustling Heliocanthea below.

"Especially,
If they are students of Bellhurst.
I ask that you relay a message via your potential partner, if they are of Bellhurst, and if they have contact, to gather the Bellhurst students at the dining hall.
More specifically, the roof.
For you see, Miss Sario,
I feel it would be safest for all of us if we may use Senator Sario's famous, private luxury helicopter to gather us away from the snakes.
I feel this is not a coincidence, and holds a connection to the latest events.

Please defend yourself.
Wear your thickest dress, Miss Sario.
The Tosca Estate shall pay you back in full for the usage of Senator Sario's property.

- - Olivia."

She was worried about the other students of the Academy. Apparently, the laboratory already had its personnel on the grounds. What else was it that they could do?

Olivia walked over to the closet and dressed herself with a graceful swiftness. Smoothing her short hair in the mirror out of habit, she absentmindedly turned to the bookshelf in the room.

There was a clear divide between dearest Ben's texts and the texts of the uncultured swine.

The Aeneid. Roman History. Economics of the Hanseatic. The Orestian Trilogy. Ben was a very sweet and well read fellow. She traced her finger gently along the spines of these old books, as if it were natural to these hands. Eventually, the humanities gave way to the sciences, and though Olivia would still be relatively interested, the very association of these texts with the malchik made her retreat her hand.

But one particular text caught her earthy eyes, set alight by Olivia's softening passion. It was titled, "Snakes of the Northwest Region". Ah. How coincidental that it was the written product of the very same laboratory that caused this predicament.

She unshelved it and moved to Ben's bed, crossing her legs to prevent any potential snake attacks from below. Ah, hm. A bit dusty, this was. She blew on it and opened it to the index, tracing her finger down as she quickly read through the content.

Aha.
There was her catch.

Page 2212. The Vine Snakes.
" . . . Kill by slow poison, neurochemical, shuts down body's vital organs . . ."
Her face grew solemn.
". . . Painful sensation, dullness, potential colour blindness . . . treatment required immediately, followa specific steps . . ."
". . . aggressive, unprovoked, attack without warning, require thick clothing to deal with. Do not interact with at any costs. ATLSB WARNING LEVEL: 5 <hazard to enclosed populations>".

Olivia closed her eyes gently. Would the other students be able to survive these . . . biological monsters? Ah.

She closed the book and returned it to the shelf, before looking at the boy's odd clothing. He had lab coats. Piles of then. Mountains. They sat like Matterhorns, some on his bed, others on one of the tables.

She required some sort of protection. The malchik wouldn't miss one in a million. With delicate fingers, she grabbed four of them, picking them up away from her like wads of wet paper, dangled from her hands. She wore the four layers of them. They fit her perfectly.

Ack.
They were still his. HIS.
Olivia scoffed on the inside.

He left a text for the fool.

"Come to the dining hall.
Please do not make us wait. Of all people, I do not wish to see your corpse mangled by venomous snakes, even if you are quite corpse-like already.
- - Olivia"

Ah! Good enough. With her thick four lab coats, she ran out of the door. She required something that fit her. Her own weapons. Right. Defending was of utmost priority.

She slipped into her room. It was neat and clean. Things looked relatively untouched. Very good, Ben. He was a sweetie. She gathered up some of her fencing blades. Sabres. Epees. Foils. Very good, very good. She wrapped an old metal holster around her back and placed the blades snugly in them. Gears lined the device of her own creation, and the mechanism looked very daunting. But it was good in times such as these. The blades snapped to clamps inside the mechanism. Would Ben's body be used to fighting with these? It all felt very stiff. Olivia decided to leave a few of her blades with Ben. Her body was light and flexible compared to his. Although she was not quite sure how Ben would fare with sword techniques, he could at least hold off by virtue of her natural body conditioning.

She ran out of the room, the coats fluttering behind her, looking almost knight-like with the many swords strapped to her back. As she approached the dining hall, she drew out her saber. Aaah. Her hands felt stiff, but proper technique could overcome improper physique.
Holding it close to her side, she entered the dining hall, empty and eerily quiet.

Hissssssssssssssssssssss

Oh.
She blinked and looked around.
Would this be a safe place? Hm.

A few students chattered by. As she began moving to the staircase, Olivia noticed a girl silent, shifting around in an uncomfortable manner. Alien, even.

She was one of the girls at that . . . that table, in the white room, no?

Olivia walked up to her.
"Excuse me, but you are familiar with the . . . recent body switching, yes?" Olivia giggled, gruff in her deep tenor, as if to imply how the switch had affected her. "I have not seen you, or your shell before. Are you of the Academy?"

Eleanora.
Eleanora. He would have to remember that name.

A wand? Of course. He needed to try and find a way to control all of this. Huh. Could it be used to fix his memories . . . or talk to the dead?

Would he even be able to use the magic? He barely believed in the supernatural. It was mostly all garbage. Mumbo jumbo. But with everything that had been going on, he felt as if he should at least try and see what sparks could fly.

He decided to go back and check te pillowcase tomorrow. He needed rest too. He moved to one of the chairs in the room and sat on it, watching as Eleanora contorted herself childishly in his body. It felt so very unreal to him. All of it did. Only recently, with his loss of memories, did he feel as if he was in another person's body and world. Now he quite literally was in another body.

. . .

Cherno gazed at the sleeping Eleanora with lowered, calculating eyes -- those of one who had seen far too much. Voices and feelings nagged at the back of his head. It was as if he was surpressing the very liveliness of his own body with his consciousness. Would his dreams be different?

He had to remember that he was talking, and had been talking, to a witch here. One of the supernatural forces in this terrible game. She was the key. Cherno was in an advantageous position. What a terrible thing for the girl.

. . .

She looked cold. Maybe it was just looking at his own body, so grey and pathetic like that, as if it were the complete opposite ofthe own body he found himself in.

Cherno grumpily rose and walked over to the lanky Eleanora. He sighed. Remember to protect her. And the others. He took the blanket and slowly draped it further across the sleeping girl, making sure she was warm.in this winter.night. Cherno knew his body did not store heat well.

On the bedside table, he picked up his phone and pocketed it. He moved back to the chair and curled up into a ball, slowly dozing off.

Tomorrow he would try and figure out more of this body business.

Cherno had little time for pleasantries. Right now was not the best time. His dull eyes widened as Hyperborea tried to smile in his body. She didn't understand very much about him, did he? But how could she. She was a little girl, after all. At least a polite one.

Cherno did not exchange smiles. He needed to get down to business. His old body was fairly flimsy, eh? A quick shove would get the point across. He wondered if Hyperborea's brain would calculate things as effectively. She was a bright girl. Sweet too.

With his dull eyes, he looked beyond Hyperborea's position. The bed was only 1.5 meters away. The height of his body would allow a fall of the right speed to land on it without injury. He would rather hurt himself than hurt the poor girl who had gone through so much. Window closed. Wind speed naught zero. No external environmental variable. Staring at Hyperborea with unfocused, tired eyes, he slowly pushed his body's small, gentle hand harder and harder to the wall. Maximum latent pressure accurate. Her body was a bit flimsy too, but Cherno knew the weak spots of his own better. Vector force application to the solar plexus of only a minimal number of Newtons necessary.

Cherno closed his eyes. Analysis complete.

He walked into his former room, rife with the dancing colours of night time. Standing directly in front of his body, he kicked the door behind him, shutting it closed with a sharp, gun like bang.

He stared at Hyperborea and immediately pushed her chest in such a way that should havr made her fall gently, not violently, to the bed.

And he spoke, staring at her deeply, with his dead eyes in Hyperborea's sweet face.

"We don't have no time for pleasantries. It wasn't your fault, you dig?" His voice was hollow. Quiet. It carried with it the dead winds of an autumn evening. There was little inflection. Little emotion. Cherno didn't think much of those. Why should he? Screw them. "Get some rest on the bed. I'm staying in this room making sure my body is kept well, and I'll be jive dandy jumping to make sure your body is in impeccable condition after this." It felt unnatural saying all of this in a monotonous high pitch, but none of these events could be considered natural.

He walked over to the edge of the other bed and jumped on it, his legs gently dangling by the end. He looked at his soft, youthful hands, unscarred by the past.

"Even though we've been stuck in these switched.bodies, Hyperborea, we need to find a way to return, quickly. I don't want you to . . . have to suffer through my body's damn old bloody shenanigans." He grimaced slightly, but it was almost unnoticeable. "I'm going to stick by your side until we can find a way out. I don't like strangers going through my memories."

Cherno watched his dangling legs.

"But more.importantly. I can't stand another friend losing their life. So in this body, with its off attitude, I am going to protect you for both our sakes, you dig? John-- he would want that." Cherno's voice trailed off, but it did not lose its flighty monotone.

"I barely remember any damn thing about who we all are. But I don't care. What is important to me now, just as much as learning about my past, is making sure all of us get out of this safely."

He raised his eyes dimly at Hyperborea. "Yourself included. There's something off about you, Hyperborea.

Your body is trying to force me to do things. Unnatural, impossible things, on a whim."

Cherno jumped down and walked over to Hyperborea, staring her in the eye.
"I fear, Witch Hyperborea, whom I ain't naming at risk of more armageddon, that your very body is a curse and a blessing upon my consciousness. So I must ask how you are able to deal with it, for so I may sleep soundly with no magical nonsense running through my veins."

Although Cherno's eyes were dim and dull, they seemed charged and fiery, as if there was something very much behind his driving force.

---

Olivia agreed to find a spot tomorrow. Elliot? Elliot. Oh. Oh, that was right. Ben shared a room with the malchik. A sinister grin crossed Olivia's face, but her voice was pleasant and airy as usual. "I did not see the boy. I will tell you if he is seen. I shall stay in your room for the night, dear. Be careful with my things. Ciao, Ben." She cut the call and looked around.

A few items she surmised were Elliot's lay at the other end. She did not recall the last time that she had entered thos room. Ah. How silly of her to forget.

But it would be a nice surprise for Elliot to return to. Olivia giggled, clasping her rough hand to her mouth gently. Ugh. It was just her luck that she may have to stay with the senseless philistine if he decided to return. At least she could potentially teach him more things. Continue their appointment.

First things first was the Brookridge rendezvous. The dining hall was soothing enough of a place, no?

Sitting on her knees in Ben's bed, she typed up a text message.

"Greetings, this is Olivia in Ben's body.
I ask that all of you try and meet in the dining hall tomorrow for an important rendezvous.
As it were, it was a dire mistake for us to have ignored that email almost twenty days upon its inception. Our body switching is testament to this.
We must discuss a plan pf action that we may also introduce to the Bellhurst children who have been of much help.
We are the brightest, after all.
If you receive this message as a Bellhurst student, please relay it to your Brookridge counterpart, and what is more, I suppose you now have the luck to be cordially invited as ambassadors or representatives.
Let us put aside our differences and preferences for the sake of saving lives.

-- Olivia
"

It was a true testament of luck that many Brookridge kids had each others' contacts, even if they were distant. Olivia was able to send it to Marina, Allison, Dylan, Marcus, Theodore, and others.

She bit her lip.
What was Miss Lein's number again?

. . . ah, right.

"Dear Miss Lein,
I request you visit the dining hall tomorrow for a discussion, if possible.
I understand you are not in your body, and this may be a different person. If so, I ask you to deliver this message to Miss Lein, and you are also cordially invited.
Mr. Jackson's presence.is optional.

-- Olivia"

She sent the message, and off it went, floating on the winter winds, like the many others. She rested back on Ben's bed, curling her stiff toes. Would the malchik be here? Hm. She stared off into the darkness of the room. Olivia turned to the window and opened it. Viola would always manage to find her. Her soprano was simply that unique, regardless of its shell.

Cherno. Cherno Plume was attending the Academy. This certainly added a twist of events. She giggled in the darkness. Oh, how long had it been . . .

As these thoughts floated in her head, she drifted into a light sleep.

Unnoticed to her, Viola fluttered by into Ben's room, resting her sligtly worn plumage by Olivia's rigid body. A single red feather, of a cardinal, floated gently by Olivia, having fallen from Viola's wing.

Magnificent! Olivia let out a gentle yet haughty chuckle of triumph as the phone was picked up on the other end.

"Ben? Is that you, dear? You are in my body, yes? For it appears I have found yourself in my own. I am sure we have quite a bit to discuss regarding this predicament. We must meet in a public location, for I plan to gather a number of the Brookridge denizens to attempt and deal with this strange e-mail occurrence. It certainly serves us right for disbelieving in it."

Olivia looked to the window. The cold winter breeze buffetted the icy glass. "Please check on my dear Viola when you have time. Also, I am going to make sure your body gets into better shape. You are as stiff as oversteeped rooibos." Olivia attempted to hold back a chuckle. "Please give me a location of rendezvous."

"And Ben dear, if you have done a veritable thing to my body, then--" She lowered her voice on the phone to a playful yet sinister whisper -- "I'll just have to explore each and every one of your personal secrets myself."

---

Cherno -- the Cherno in Hyperborea's small body, stood before the door of his former residence. He had been mildly thankful that the others did not see him tumbling around on his small feet getting used to this body. He breathed in deeply. Was she still in here? He hoped with whatever small fraction of hope he had left in his heart, held his breath, and knocked on the door with as hard a force as his delicate hands would allow him.

Take a last minute series of faces because I do not have an eraser with me and doing anything else is being extremely frustrating:

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Also known as Ashwin should not draw things with a broken pencil in a hotel on scrap paper at night near Niagara Falls

Here is a badly drawn two minute sketch of Aaliyah becsuse time problens and lack of laptop for two weeks:

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