Ask Malachite

Ask Malachite, Plant Professor at The Academy // PRODIGY ASK BLOG //

[malachite-vines]

“What do you need?”

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Malachite, Teacher at The Academy, Plant Professor and hater of The Puppet Master.

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“The Puppet Master destroyed any hope of an education and now he’s free again?” sigh. “Alright. Come on then. You idiots need an adult if you’re going to fight him.”

Malachite, seemingly no last name, is the plant magic professor at The Academy. With scars and a mean demeanour, he is rather intimidating, though he’s known for being a good teacher. His students education has been impacted by The Puppet Master, and they want revenge. Unfortunately, this means tagging along. None of those idiots can drive, and he’s the adult. The Puppet Master is an idiot.

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- I don’t have to answer asks

- No NSFW

- No Illness related asks

- Magic anons allowed

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Mal’s other blog is @dagger-of-malachite

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[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[physigils]

Libel swings from the roof to look into the window, up-side down, suddenly startled when they see the way Mal is acting. It upsets something visceral in Libel—maybe they’ve grown so used to ruggedness that they don’t know what it looks like to have your shit together. They regard her with the caution of a rabid pet despite wondering if they’re just paranoid.

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

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

They stay low to the floor as they try to crawl around the house.

[malachite-vines]

Mal, currently sat in the living room, doesn’t react yet again, despite the obvious noise. Her expression shifts, however, clear that she’s aware. It seems to be annoying her, more than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, Mal's house is cosy. Heartbreakingly cosy, given what Libel knows. They've put a lot of effort into this space, even if everything in it seems decently new. Mal doesn't use this space often. Her office at the academy has more wear and tear than most of this house. But Mal seemed happy here.

[physigils]

Libel sighs deeply, scanning the space. Something in them stirs at what they're planning. This isn't right, it howls, jaw aching and reeling with exhaustion, this isn't right. They counted Mal as an equal when they first met her, but now, they aren't so sure. Is she deserving of this fate? She is awfully rich, by the looks of it. Libel could use some of that money. Yet, it was Mal's face in that picture, and that suggests something worse; Libel's stomach turns at the thought.

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

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

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

"Don't make this any harder on us than it has to be."

[malachite-vines]

Mal doesn't react. At first, she doesn't react. She sits still and takes it like the good little puppet she is-- But the second Libel speaks, the glass in their hand falls and shatters, scattering whatever she had been drinking over her dark green pyjamas. It sinks into the velvet bodice and looks as though she's been stabbed. Mal scowls.

But Mal barely has time to scowl, before his body loses tension, and he somewhat relaxes into the struggle. Where previously he had been putting up a fight in the sense that he refused to move, here he just... doesn't fight back. He twitches--shifting in a way that clearly wants Libel's hands off of his scars, or just his neck in general. But Mal doesn't struggle more than that.

[physigils]

Libel's grip is strong. Nothing escapes their senses as they choke out Mal, feeling every stifled breath and muscle in her neck and chest. It bubbles up some kind of deep-seated guilt inside of Libel. The feeling makes them grimace. There's something viscerally wrong about hurting someone who is supposedly on equal footing with you. Libel's always had a strong sense of justice, even to the point of an us versus them mentality, and if those journals were anything to go by... it's Mal and Libel against the world.

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

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

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

...

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

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

"Look. I don't like this any more than you do, Prof."

[malachite-vines]

Mal takes a few moments to register what is happening, and for a moment, her vacant expression and stiff posture is akin to a machine rebooting. Her eyes flicker around the room in front of her without moving her head, as if following a conversation only she can hear, before her gaze focuses on Libel. For the first time in the entire time Libel has been in her house, Mal's expression reads as actual emotion. Panic, first, then confusion, before realisation settles into rage.

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

"Who are you? What the Hell is going on??"

[physigils]

"You don't remember me?" Libel chuckles; a long, deep sound that reverberates in the room. They extend a hand as if offering Mal a handshake, and then retract it when they seem to realize their theatrics aren't exactly feasible.

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

Libel looks away from Mal, as if in thought. "Let me get you caught up. I don't work alone anymore." They gesture as they look back to him. "Shocker, I know! But, uh... my Master--bossman, he uh--kicked me out." They look visibly upset at this, shoulders slumped as their metal hand rubs their forearm. "And I need to make it up to him. So if nothing else, know this isn't personal, Mal."

[malachite-vines]

Mal thinks for a moment, before she remembers the brief encounter she had with Libel at the library. Memorable, for sure, but could she care to remember every delinquent she came across? No! She had better stuff to be doing! Like stealing books from the Academy's restricted area, or working on her plans. Shockingly, Libel was not at the forefront of her mind.

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

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

"Oh, I'm so glad it's not personal, and I'm just being, what? Kidnapped? For a lover's quarrel. What a relationship this would be ruining if I cared."

[physigils]

Libel goes quiet. Suddenly they’re a kid again, and they’re being cursed out for their shortcomings in Storm magic. Suddenly they’re struck with an awry lightning spell again, white-hot pain through their arms and chest—but today they just rub their sore scars where they show through their clothing.

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

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

“I came here from a mountain, uh….” They point a little past the door. “That way. I gotta bring you back there alive.” They kneel to Mal’s level, helping her with her balance as she shuffles to sit upright. “I’m giving you a choice. The only one you’ll have for a while. How do you want to go about getting there? You gonna work with me, or will I have to force you?”

[malachite-vines]

"Word to the wise," Mal snaps, her patience nonexistent, "tying somebody up isn't exactly the best way to make an ally."

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

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

Something else compels her, too.

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

What would her family do if something happened to her?

So, Mal's expression contorts into one of disgruntled annoyance and reluctance, before she hisses, "Fffffine. I'll be compliant. But," Mal continues, with a slightly lighter note, "can I at least change from my outfit first? A robe's not exactly the most formal of outfits to wear on a mountain."

[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[physigils]

Libel swings from the roof to look into the window, up-side down, suddenly startled when they see the way Mal is acting. It upsets something visceral in Libel—maybe they’ve grown so used to ruggedness that they don’t know what it looks like to have your shit together. They regard her with the caution of a rabid pet despite wondering if they’re just paranoid.

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

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

They stay low to the floor as they try to crawl around the house.

[malachite-vines]

Mal, currently sat in the living room, doesn’t react yet again, despite the obvious noise. Her expression shifts, however, clear that she’s aware. It seems to be annoying her, more than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, Mal's house is cosy. Heartbreakingly cosy, given what Libel knows. They've put a lot of effort into this space, even if everything in it seems decently new. Mal doesn't use this space often. Her office at the academy has more wear and tear than most of this house. But Mal seemed happy here.

[physigils]

Libel sighs deeply, scanning the space. Something in them stirs at what they're planning. This isn't right, it howls, jaw aching and reeling with exhaustion, this isn't right. They counted Mal as an equal when they first met her, but now, they aren't so sure. Is she deserving of this fate? She is awfully rich, by the looks of it. Libel could use some of that money. Yet, it was Mal's face in that picture, and that suggests something worse; Libel's stomach turns at the thought.

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

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

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

"Don't make this any harder on us than it has to be."

[malachite-vines]

Mal doesn't react. At first, she doesn't react. She sits still and takes it like the good little puppet she is-- But the second Libel speaks, the glass in their hand falls and shatters, scattering whatever she had been drinking over her dark green pyjamas. It sinks into the velvet bodice and looks as though she's been stabbed. Mal scowls.

But Mal barely has time to scowl, before his body loses tension, and he somewhat relaxes into the struggle. Where previously he had been putting up a fight in the sense that he refused to move, here he just... doesn't fight back. He twitches--shifting in a way that clearly wants Libel's hands off of his scars, or just his neck in general. But Mal doesn't struggle more than that.

[physigils]

Libel's grip is strong. Nothing escapes their senses as they choke out Mal, feeling every stifled breath and muscle in her neck and chest. It bubbles up some kind of deep-seated guilt inside of Libel. The feeling makes them grimace. There's something viscerally wrong about hurting someone who is supposedly on equal footing with you. Libel's always had a strong sense of justice, even to the point of an us versus them mentality, and if those journals were anything to go by... it's Mal and Libel against the world.

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

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

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

...

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

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

"Look. I don't like this any more than you do, Prof."

[malachite-vines]

Mal takes a few moments to register what is happening, and for a moment, her vacant expression and stiff posture is akin to a machine rebooting. Her eyes flicker around the room in front of her without moving her head, as if following a conversation only she can hear, before her gaze focuses on Libel. For the first time in the entire time Libel has been in her house, Mal's expression reads as actual emotion. Panic, first, then confusion, before realisation settles into rage.

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

"Who are you? What the Hell is going on??"

[physigils]

"You don't remember me?" Libel chuckles; a long, deep sound that reverberates in the room. They extend a hand as if offering Mal a handshake, and then retract it when they seem to realize their theatrics aren't exactly feasible.

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

Libel looks away from Mal, as if in thought. "Let me get you caught up. I don't work alone anymore." They gesture as they look back to him. "Shocker, I know! But, uh... my Master--bossman, he uh--kicked me out." They look visibly upset at this, shoulders slumped as their metal hand rubs their forearm. "And I need to make it up to him. So if nothing else, know this isn't personal, Mal."

[malachite-vines]

Mal thinks for a moment, before she remembers the brief encounter she had with Libel at the library. Memorable, for sure, but could she care to remember every delinquent she came across? No! She had better stuff to be doing! Like stealing books from the Academy's restricted area, or working on her plans. Shockingly, Libel was not at the forefront of her mind.

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

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

"Oh, I'm so glad it's not personal, and I'm just being, what? Kidnapped? For a lover's quarrel. What a relationship this would be ruining if I cared."

[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[physigils]

Libel swings from the roof to look into the window, up-side down, suddenly startled when they see the way Mal is acting. It upsets something visceral in Libel—maybe they’ve grown so used to ruggedness that they don’t know what it looks like to have your shit together. They regard her with the caution of a rabid pet despite wondering if they’re just paranoid.

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

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

They stay low to the floor as they try to crawl around the house.

[malachite-vines]

Mal, currently sat in the living room, doesn’t react yet again, despite the obvious noise. Her expression shifts, however, clear that she’s aware. It seems to be annoying her, more than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, Mal's house is cosy. Heartbreakingly cosy, given what Libel knows. They've put a lot of effort into this space, even if everything in it seems decently new. Mal doesn't use this space often. Her office at the academy has more wear and tear than most of this house. But Mal seemed happy here.

[physigils]

Libel sighs deeply, scanning the space. Something in them stirs at what they're planning. This isn't right, it howls, jaw aching and reeling with exhaustion, this isn't right. They counted Mal as an equal when they first met her, but now, they aren't so sure. Is she deserving of this fate? She is awfully rich, by the looks of it. Libel could use some of that money. Yet, it was Mal's face in that picture, and that suggests something worse; Libel's stomach turns at the thought.

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

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

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

"Don't make this any harder on us than it has to be."

[malachite-vines]

Mal doesn't react. At first, she doesn't react. She sits still and takes it like the good little puppet she is-- But the second Libel speaks, the glass in their hand falls and shatters, scattering whatever she had been drinking over her dark green pyjamas. It sinks into the velvet bodice and looks as though she's been stabbed. Mal scowls.

But Mal barely has time to scowl, before his body loses tension, and he somewhat relaxes into the struggle. Where previously he had been putting up a fight in the sense that he refused to move, here he just... doesn't fight back. He twitches--shifting in a way that clearly wants Libel's hands off of his scars, or just his neck in general. But Mal doesn't struggle more than that.

[physigils]

Libel's grip is strong. Nothing escapes their senses as they choke out Mal, feeling every stifled breath and muscle in her neck and chest. It bubbles up some kind of deep-seated guilt inside of Libel. The feeling makes them grimace. There's something viscerally wrong about hurting someone who is supposedly on equal footing with you. Libel's always had a strong sense of justice, even to the point of an us versus them mentality, and if those journals were anything to go by... it's Mal and Libel against the world.

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

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

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

...

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

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

"Look. I don't like this any more than you do, Prof."

[malachite-vines]

Mal takes a few moments to register what is happening, and for a moment, her vacant expression and stiff posture is akin to a machine rebooting. Her eyes flicker around the room in front of her without moving her head, as if following a conversation only she can hear, before her gaze focuses on Libel. For the first time in the entire time Libel has been in her house, Mal's expression reads as actual emotion. Panic, first, then confusion, before realisation settles into rage.

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

"Who are you? What the Hell is going on??"

[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[physigils]

Libel swings from the roof to look into the window, up-side down, suddenly startled when they see the way Mal is acting. It upsets something visceral in Libel—maybe they’ve grown so used to ruggedness that they don’t know what it looks like to have your shit together. They regard her with the caution of a rabid pet despite wondering if they’re just paranoid.

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

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

They stay low to the floor as they try to crawl around the house.

[malachite-vines]

Mal, currently sat in the living room, doesn’t react yet again, despite the obvious noise. Her expression shifts, however, clear that she’s aware. It seems to be annoying her, more than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, Mal's house is cosy. Heartbreakingly cosy, given what Libel knows. They've put a lot of effort into this space, even if everything in it seems decently new. Mal doesn't use this space often. Her office at the academy has more wear and tear than most of this house. But Mal seemed happy here.

[physigils]

Libel sighs deeply, scanning the space. Something in them stirs at what they're planning. This isn't right, it howls, jaw aching and reeling with exhaustion, this isn't right. They counted Mal as an equal when they first met her, but now, they aren't so sure. Is she deserving of this fate? She is awfully rich, by the looks of it. Libel could use some of that money. Yet, it was Mal's face in that picture, and that suggests something worse; Libel's stomach turns at the thought.

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

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

Libel grits their teeth and mutters through thick breaths;

"Don't make this any harder on us than it has to be."

[malachite-vines]

Mal doesn't react. At first, she doesn't react. She sits still and takes it like the good little puppet she is-- But the second Libel speaks, the glass in their hand falls and shatters, scattering whatever she had been drinking over her dark green pyjamas. It sinks into the velvet bodice and looks as though she's been stabbed. Mal scowls.

But Mal barely has time to scowl, before his body loses tension, and he somewhat relaxes into the struggle. Where previously he had been putting up a fight in the sense that he refused to move, here he just... doesn't fight back. He twitches--shifting in a way that clearly wants Libel's hands off of his scars, or just his neck in general. But Mal doesn't struggle more than that.

[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[physigils]

Libel swings from the roof to look into the window, up-side down, suddenly startled when they see the way Mal is acting. It upsets something visceral in Libel—maybe they’ve grown so used to ruggedness that they don’t know what it looks like to have your shit together. They regard her with the caution of a rabid pet despite wondering if they’re just paranoid.

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

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

They stay low to the floor as they try to crawl around the house.

[malachite-vines]

Mal, currently sat in the living room, doesn’t react yet again, despite the obvious noise. Her expression shifts, however, clear that she’s aware. It seems to be annoying her, more than anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, Mal's house is cosy. Heartbreakingly cosy, given what Libel knows. They've put a lot of effort into this space, even if everything in it seems decently new. Mal doesn't use this space often. Her office at the academy has more wear and tear than most of this house. But Mal seemed happy here.

[malachite-vines]

It's late into the evening--the sky overcast and orange--when Libel zeros in on Malachite's home. The physical practitioner is tired, hungry, thirsty... but they're here for a reason. They watch the glowing windows of her home from the bushes, trying to figure out the easiest path to entry. It's a routine they've done a million times, yet one that never feels any easier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn't normal. Mal is the most dramatic wizard most people know, and certainly not shy from backing down from a challenge. Something is wrong with Malachite, and it's unnaturally twisted.

[ask-the-puppet-master]

[OOC]

So my flight got delayed. Might as do a Q&A with TPM & Mal lmao. Ask all of your dumb questions, lore questions, or just generic questions. They shall answer lol.

[malachite-vines]

I had a strange dream last night… Woke up in a cold sweat.

Dreamed that this great… Oh, I don’t know. This great something?? Shadow???? I’m uncertain. Anyway, I dreamed that this something was watching over someone, someone stood in a spiderweb of string with polaroid photos attached to the string. There were also mannequins scattered about, sat around the scene like a theatre audience. It was weird, but I suppose that’s on me for wanting a dream to be coherent.

Anyway, this thing kept taking and taking photos, snatching and rearranging like they were feeding some kind of need. The person in the middle kept speaking, at first like they were having a normal conversation, then like they were acting, and then ending up crying out, but not a single mannequin reacted. When they’d been talking or acting, the mannequins responded, but not to the cries. The cries went unanswered.

But… That wasn’t all. Throughout what I can only describe as a performance, the person grew more and more in likeness to both the mannequins and the creature. By the curtain, they were hung slack by the wrists, the photos scattered and rearranged on the string holding them up.

I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It just… Something felt odd about it. Maybe you can make some sense of it.

[malachite-vines]

A letter written in fancy handwriting, delivered by a Snowfluff

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

-W

((@swiftfootedrouge ))

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

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

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

“To, W,

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

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

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

Dearest, M.J.J.”

[swiftfootedrouge]

“I’m at the plant wing. Send Marquise if you need anything. -W.V.L .”

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

Was Val right about this? About this professor being able to help?

[malachite-vines]

The plant magic wing of the Academy was… predictable. The tall pine door of the entrance opened up to a long corridor. Ivy trellises adorned the walls like thick tapestries, flowing carefully into planters below. The planters were rectangular and rather thin, but the beginnings of daffodils peeked over the edges of the boxes. The floor was made of smooth marble, broken up in interesting swirling arcs of some kind of deep green stone. The pattern was interlaced with gold, and the skylight stretching across the roof made it sparkle enchantingly.

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

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

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

Just as he had said, a scrawl of notes littered the desk in a display most unbefitting of someone like Mal. It was like he had had to leave in a hurry. The notes made enough sense, scribbles in messy cursive on the weak points of the library’s security, how to get in undetected, what to do if caught. Mixed in were a few other scribbles, but those didn’t make much sense, and didn’t really seem to pertain to the restricted section. Mal knew what he was talking about, and this was a plan to get into the library and take what was needed.

[malachite-vines]

A letter written in fancy handwriting, delivered by a Snowfluff

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

-W

((@swiftfootedrouge ))

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

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

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

“To, W,

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

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

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

Dearest, M.J.J.”

[malachite-vines]

throws a tennis ball at you

Mal dodges it with… uncanny accuracy. He doesn’t catch it at firsr, but as it rebounds off of the wall, he lifts his only remaining intact limb and catches it as if it were rehearsed.

You can’t be too sure, but you could swear you saw a faint spark of purple snake its way up Mal’s hand as quick as the catch itself and hide away within the corners of the dimly lit room again..

[malachite-vines]

Deep in the forest, when all is still and quiet, something stirs. Something slithering through the brush. Something snapping, something moving, something approaching. Something enters.

Silence. Just how he likes it. Silent, still, peaceful. Music plays gently from a room with a door ajar, the melody melting out like honey. A figure rests in the light of a dimming fireplace, the last of the embers extinguished as a settling frost is carried by the great something.

The something seeks. The something spots. The something knows.

Peace is disturbed in the forest. Great black corvids, gentle rainbows of songbird flocks, and a menagerie of other avians fled from the treetops. There is something unnatural about the air. Something escapes. A roar of magic deafens what already resides. A crash. A loud, deafening noise that drowns out any sense or feeling. A sudden explosion. A push. A shove- A fall—

Peace is returned to the forest. Fauna and flora flourish stronger than ever. Creatures rest peacefully. The magic blooms back to normality. Everything is calm in the forest. Deep in the forest, where everything is calm.

[malachite-vines]

chewing on you like a dog toy

“…I am entirely unsure on how to respond to this.” Malachite responds.

[malachite-vines]

(set before libel was captured and put into the academy's prison system)

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

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

But here they are. Sneaking around a library.

What the hell were they doing in the library?

@physigils

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

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

Fuck.

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

Malachite just gave a small wave whilst making as best eye contact as she could. She couldn’t exactly see much. Not exactly known for her perfect vision. This strange child wasn’t going to blow her cover by making her talk.

[physigils]

Libel blinks lopsidedly and drops down from where they hid, confronting Malachite. They don't look like a student, but they look younger than Mal. They draw a weapon.

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

Real polite for a criminal.

[malachite-vines]

Malachite scoffs, rolls its eyes and adjusts its weight so it wasn't going to almost fall over before responding.

"I won't if you don't tell anyone I’m here." She replies. Malachite doesn't seem to care much about a student in a restricted library, but she does seem... curious.

[physigils]

Libel stares deer-in-headlights before breaking into laughter.

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

They reach out their hand for Mal to shake it. “Foghunter, sir. Nice to meet you.”

[malachite-vines]

Malachite shakes Libel’s hand with a small smile. She seems a tad on-edge, glancing around as if making sure she wasn’t being followed, but that was to be expected from someone in a restricted area.

“Malachite. Well, I suppose it’d be Professor Juniper, wouldn’t it? Anyway, nice to meet you too.”

[malachite-vines]

What’s the problem with your eyes? coming from a nearsighted anon with a lazy eye

“Long story short? Can’t see out of my left eye. Real bad vision in my right. Glasses help.” Malachite sits at her desk lazily, propping her feet up as she usually does. Her desk is rather scuffed. “Got it from a spell gone wrong. I was an idiot, they were a bigger idiot.”

[malachite-vines]

(set before libel was captured and put into the academy's prison system)

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

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

But here they are. Sneaking around a library.

What the hell were they doing in the library?

@physigils

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

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

Fuck.

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

Malachite just gave a small wave whilst making as best eye contact as she could. She couldn’t exactly see much. Not exactly known for her perfect vision. This strange child wasn’t going to blow her cover by making her talk.

[physigils]

Libel blinks lopsidedly and drops down from where they hid, confronting Malachite. They don't look like a student, but they look younger than Mal. They draw a weapon.

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

Real polite for a criminal.

[malachite-vines]

Malachite scoffs, rolls its eyes and adjusts its weight so it wasn't going to almost fall over before responding.

"I won't if you don't tell anyone I’m here." She replies. Malachite doesn't seem to care much about a student in a restricted library, but she does seem... curious.