[Solomon's making himself scarce immediately after the trial, but within about twenty minutes can be seen leaving the Greenhouse to casually start his way up the stairs in the direction of the Rose Gardens.
Surely no one will see him. Surely this will be a normal walk.]
[How about you casually eat some shit instead, Solomon?
Right's right: Nishi is in the right place at the right time for the first time in his life and he's not wasting an opportunity like this. He lunges from the shadows and lands on top of Solomon, sending them skidding back several feet on the grass...
......
...And, just like that, victory is his. That's it. That's all. He just wanted to give him a grass stain he won't soon forget.]
Hahaha! Scrub all you like, Solomon— some stains never wash away! Some stay until the grave!
It's not something Solomon's expecting, so when he has the full weight of someone else on top of him he yelps and hits the ground like a brick.]
Wh-- Nishi? [ow, fuck... He tries to push himself up, but if Nishi's still on top of him that's not happening and he just kind of crumples back down, pinned.]
Nishi, please, now isn't the time for this. Get off of me.
[After all, he can't leave this man until he's paid him a favor. Please wait warmly, Solomon. Nishi straddles him, pinning the man in place with muscular thighs.]
Who knew you were such a charmer? I'm not the type who likes to share, so forgive me if I go a little hard on you.
[Hrgh... Oh, what a horrible position he's in. He squirms underneath Nishi, trying to get a little leverage with his legs.]
If you'd be clear about what exactly you're upset about, then maybe we could talk about this -- ghh -- [God why is he such a wimp without his magic let him gooooooooooOOOOO]
[Oho? Did Solomon just whine? Good lord... Nishi chuckles, content to drag out the punchline by taking his time slowly working off his gloves finger by finger.]
You really are a pitiful excuse for a man, Solomon.
[Just what do they see in you?]
But don't worry. I've turned over a new leaf— no grudges, no festering wounds. I prefer to settle things right here, in the moment. That way, we can both move on.
[The first punch snaps out with no prelude, a brutal sucker punch to the left temple— so fast it hardly seems possible he telegraphed it at all.]
[Even with all the knowledge he has, he's still no physical fighter, and completely at a loss without his magic.
The hit connects with a crack and a choked back yell, Solomon's head whipping to the side at the follow-through. The pain is sharp, and the ringing in his ears immediate and harsh. His hands jerk from where they sit pinned at his side, a futile effort to get cover over his face.]
Wh-what -- Nishi, speak clearly, what on earth are you talking about????
[The anger that seizes him is glacial, burning not hot but hollow, leaving no room for reason. His fist lashes out again, striking across Solomon's jaw, splitting his lip with a sharp crack.]
I shouldn't have to tell you. You should already understand!
[Char is — at least by outward appearances — fine. Immaculate, even. A turtleneck beneath a blazer, pressed black slacks, shoes polished to a shine— the picture of a composed professor. He carries himself the same way he always does, though lately he hasn't felt quite so generous with his lessons.
Perhaps yesterday's gossip still lingers in the back of his mind, needling him. Perhaps he's already made peace with it. Either guess would be valid with how little he outwardly gives away. He slips into the infirmary cleanly, intent on settling in for the evening, only to find he isn't alone.
He halts, staring Solomon down in silence for a few long seconds. Then, unhurried, he shuts the door behind him and saunters further inside, claiming the space as his own.]
Good evening, Solomon. What brings you here at this hour?
[Not overly warm, not cold. Simply fine. And perhaps, by the moment, even better.]
[It's incredibly warm in here. Solomon is not sure why he didn't think a little harder about this fact.
But he's seated on the floor about halfway the length back from the door, his normal pinstripe suit jacket tossed to the side and the sleeves of his own black turtleneck rolled up, exposing the seals underneath as he distractedly stares down at his phone screen. Given the dazed and slow reaction time he has to the announcement of his name across the room, he is not having a good time with the temperature.
Still, he's straightening up with a very cautious smile at seeing he has company. Nishi... goodness, it had been almost a week since Solomon had even seen the man for more than a few moments at a time, like some sort of shadow flitting around the school.]
Ah, Danya. You're looking calmer than the last time we spoke.
[Another glance at his phone. Ah, there it goes. The cell snaps shut, even as pushes up to his feet and reaches into his pocket for a small jar of something that glints gold under the infirmary lights.]
[Char nearly catches himself smiling. Looking calmer... right. He'd given Solomon too much credit for his wisdom. Correcting him would serve no purpose, so he doesn't. He simply steps away from the door as instructed.
The heat of the room doesn't trouble him— he's endured far worse. It won't make for a comfortable night's sleep, but he didn’t come here seeking comfort anyway.]
Is this far enough from the door?
[He's given it a wide berth, strolling unhurriedly to the other side of the room. He doesn't trust Solomon— never has, so it's best to leave nothing to chance.]
Yes. If this is anything like the previous week, the doors should now be locked.
[He strolls right up the doors to test that fact - yep, not budging, surprise!!!!!!! With a twist of the cap, Solomon opens the container with him - a glitter jar, more than likely from the art room, that's laid out carefully at the opening swing of the doors and going out to the doorframe as much as he's able.]
Leave that undisturbed, would you? [Said as he attempts to brush stray glitter off his pantlegs and fingertips.] I figured it would be worth a shot.
[Glitter? Really? Well, that's one way to identify a culprit, should they be foolish enough to step into the infirmary. Char can't fault Solomon's logic, but he can certainly laugh at him.
He doesn't sit just yet, leaned against the wall opposite the door, working his blazer loose one button at a time. The garment is folded with meticulous care and set aside. His sleeves roll to the elbow, though the helmet and mask remain firmly in place.]
Better than flailing in the dark against an unseen assailant. That said, after last week... neither of us has the wherewithal to mount much of a defense if trouble comes knocking.
[He has to take some time away from the gardens immediately after Noelle's death. But Solomon eventually makes his way back up to settle into the great stone archway, slips of paper in his hand and a small black pouch with golden thread sitting in wait. One hand is bandaged at the palm and stretching down past his jacket sleeve, and he seems to be very careful in how still he's holding himself, wincing if he leans to one particular side.
He's not sure how much time passes before he notices Char in the same space. But he acknowledges him with little more than a flick of his eyes, before returning to what he's doing.
[He pauses a few steps away, his posture deliberate, shoulders squared, helmet tucked under one arm. Char studies Solomon with a careful, measured gaze, noting the bandaged hand and the subtle tension in his stance.]
You're awfully quiet.
[The words are neither accusatory nor prying, simply an acknowledgment. He lets the silence stretch, giving Solomon space to choose whether to respond.]
It seems you're having a rough time.
[Char shifts to lean his weight against the stone archway. Even in his usual restraint, there's a quiet gravity to his presence— steady, patient, offering conversation without intrusion.]
You can spare me your concern. Is this truly so simple that you believe you can resolve it alone? Are you stubborn from pride, or do you think the truth might somehow wound me?
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WEEK ONE - POST-TRIAL
Surely no one will see him. Surely this will be a normal walk.]
1/???
jk i'm done
Right's right: Nishi is in the right place at the right time for the first time in his life and he's not wasting an opportunity like this. He lunges from the shadows and lands on top of Solomon, sending them skidding back several feet on the grass...
......
...And, just like that, victory is his. That's it. That's all. He just wanted to give him a grass stain he won't soon forget.]
Hahaha! Scrub all you like, Solomon— some stains never wash away! Some stay until the grave!
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It's not something Solomon's expecting, so when he has the full weight of someone else on top of him he yelps and hits the ground like a brick.]
Wh-- Nishi? [ow, fuck... He tries to push himself up, but if Nishi's still on top of him that's not happening and he just kind of crumples back down, pinned.]
Nishi, please, now isn't the time for this. Get off of me.
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[After all, he can't leave this man until he's paid him a favor. Please wait warmly, Solomon. Nishi straddles him, pinning the man in place with muscular thighs.]
Who knew you were such a charmer? I'm not the type who likes to share, so forgive me if I go a little hard on you.
[...]
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If you'd be clear about what exactly you're upset about, then maybe we could talk about this -- ghh -- [God why is he such a wimp without his magic let him gooooooooooOOOOO]
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You really are a pitiful excuse for a man, Solomon.
[Just what do they see in you?]
But don't worry. I've turned over a new leaf— no grudges, no festering wounds. I prefer to settle things right here, in the moment. That way, we can both move on.
[The first punch snaps out with no prelude, a brutal sucker punch to the left temple— so fast it hardly seems possible he telegraphed it at all.]
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The hit connects with a crack and a choked back yell, Solomon's head whipping to the side at the follow-through. The pain is sharp, and the ringing in his ears immediate and harsh. His hands jerk from where they sit pinned at his side, a futile effort to get cover over his face.]
Wh-what -- Nishi, speak clearly, what on earth are you talking about????
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[The anger that seizes him is glacial, burning not hot but hollow, leaving no room for reason. His fist lashes out again, striking across Solomon's jaw, splitting his lip with a sharp crack.]
I shouldn't have to tell you. You should already understand!
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WEEK TWO - CURFEW
Perhaps yesterday's gossip still lingers in the back of his mind, needling him. Perhaps he's already made peace with it. Either guess would be valid with how little he outwardly gives away. He slips into the infirmary cleanly, intent on settling in for the evening, only to find he isn't alone.
He halts, staring Solomon down in silence for a few long seconds. Then, unhurried, he shuts the door behind him and saunters further inside, claiming the space as his own.]
Good evening, Solomon. What brings you here at this hour?
[Not overly warm, not cold. Simply fine. And perhaps, by the moment, even better.]
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But he's seated on the floor about halfway the length back from the door, his normal pinstripe suit jacket tossed to the side and the sleeves of his own black turtleneck rolled up, exposing the seals underneath as he distractedly stares down at his phone screen. Given the dazed and slow reaction time he has to the announcement of his name across the room, he is not having a good time with the temperature.
Still, he's straightening up with a very cautious smile at seeing he has company. Nishi... goodness, it had been almost a week since Solomon had even seen the man for more than a few moments at a time, like some sort of shadow flitting around the school.]
Ah, Danya. You're looking calmer than the last time we spoke.
[Another glance at his phone. Ah, there it goes. The cell snaps shut, even as pushes up to his feet and reaches into his pocket for a small jar of something that glints gold under the infirmary lights.]
Step away from the door, please.
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The heat of the room doesn't trouble him— he's endured far worse. It won't make for a comfortable night's sleep, but he didn’t come here seeking comfort anyway.]
Is this far enough from the door?
[He's given it a wide berth, strolling unhurriedly to the other side of the room. He doesn't trust Solomon— never has, so it's best to leave nothing to chance.]
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[He strolls right up the doors to test that fact - yep, not budging, surprise!!!!!!! With a twist of the cap, Solomon opens the container with him - a glitter jar, more than likely from the art room, that's laid out carefully at the opening swing of the doors and going out to the doorframe as much as he's able.]
Leave that undisturbed, would you? [Said as he attempts to brush stray glitter off his pantlegs and fingertips.] I figured it would be worth a shot.
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[Glitter? Really? Well, that's one way to identify a culprit, should they be foolish enough to step into the infirmary. Char can't fault Solomon's logic, but he can certainly laugh at him.
He doesn't sit just yet, leaned against the wall opposite the door, working his blazer loose one button at a time. The garment is folded with meticulous care and set aside. His sleeves roll to the elbow, though the helmet and mask remain firmly in place.]
Better than flailing in the dark against an unseen assailant. That said, after last week... neither of us has the wherewithal to mount much of a defense if trouble comes knocking.
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[The empty jar is pocketed as he stretches his arms overtop his head with a hum.]
I'd say that you'll manage fine enough. Give yourself more credit.
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And you, Solomon? Don't tell me you'll need defending.
[Does he expect that Char would expend that mind of energy for him, if push came to shove?]
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[His face is still marred from the beating he got. Ironic, asking something like that when the man knows he can beat Solomon senseless.]
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WEEK TWO - SUNDAY POST EXECUTION
He's not sure how much time passes before he notices Char in the same space. But he acknowledges him with little more than a flick of his eyes, before returning to what he's doing.
For some reason, he's staying eerily quiet.]
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You're awfully quiet.
[The words are neither accusatory nor prying, simply an acknowledgment. He lets the silence stretch, giving Solomon space to choose whether to respond.]
It seems you're having a rough time.
[Char shifts to lean his weight against the stone archway. Even in his usual restraint, there's a quiet gravity to his presence— steady, patient, offering conversation without intrusion.]
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Coincidence. Always coincidence. It didn't matter.
...]
...
Danya.
It's for the best if you don't speak with me.
[Quiet. Very, very quiet.]
I don't know who's watching. And I don't want you to get hurt.
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[He's far from incapable. Besides, Solomon's warning brings to mind one figure in particular:]
If you're worried about Fandaniel, don't be. He won't harm me.
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As long as you're certain. It will keep at least one weight off my mind.
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Tell me what happened. I need the full story, Solomon, so I can determine how to handle this.
[This is, at least in part, his fault, so it falls on him to fix it.]
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[Smiling, easy, as he pulls out the blue pen he carries on him, popping off the lid with his thumb and starting to write.]
Just be careful, Danya. That's all I ask.
I don't recommend being seen with me. But if you had other questions, I'll try to keep it brief.
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