The Silvermoon Academy

"You're not going to land yourself in any trouble, are you?"

It took the professor a moment to register the question, blinking his eyes once before furrowing his brow. The quiet and steady scrape of a craftsman's tools, as well as the quiet of the room he was in, had allowed his eyes and mind to wander, the former focusing on an invisible particle in the air to the side as the latter returned to the happenings in the past week. Her voice, rich and melodic as it was, had snapped him from his reverie, and he flicked his glance over to the elf sitting opposite from him. The source of the scraping was in her hands, as it always was, the gem in one fair palm as the other hand held the tool that would mold it into whatever design she deemed fit. She was a beautiful creature, with golden hair that caught the light in the room as it cascaded over her shoulders, skin as fair as his own.

"What, talking to you? When have we ever worried about that?" He offered a quiet smile, albeit thin and somewhat forced. There had been far too much on his mind as of late to smile like he used to, and from her weak expression mirroring his own, she knew it all too well. She had a knack for reading people; they both did, rather, but few could read the two of them better than the other. Every subtle arch of the brow, twitch of the lips, sidelong glance was a sort of unspoken code between the two that had been developed over the years.

She stopped her work for a moment, giving him just one of those aforementioned glances, sky-blue eyes locking with his just long enough to convey her playful annoyance at him being coy. "Last I checked, you didn't have an armed escort with you coming here. Unless the Brigade has managed to procure gnomish cloaking devices in recent years. And if that were the case, I'd wonder why you hadn't warned me yet." Her lips curled upward in the subtlest of smirks before she returned her attention to the gem in her hand, resuming where she had left off.

His own smile widened, left hand reaching for the glass of caraway resting on the small table next to his seat. Bringing it close to his mouth, he shrugged his shoulders before taking a sip. Burnwine was one of his favored drinks, the contrast of the aspects of its taste appealing to his fascination with all things complicated. He savored the sweet flavor as the liquid rested on the tip of his tongue for a moment, then swallowed, the sweet fading into a faint bitterness as it lived up to its namesake, burning its way down the back of his throat. He set the glass aside again, nodding his head at her slightly. "I'll be alright, Kami. I'm not as helpless as I look."

She snorted, smirk broadening as she glanced his way playfully again, only to laugh after the fact, returning the nod. "I know that. Still, it wouldn't do to lose your job or anything because of a little pride, mm?" He knew she was right, of course. It just felt unnecessary to call a guard for a quick walk from his office to his home and back. Not to mention he was meeting with a high elf, and if any guard caught wind of that, he'd lose much more than his job. He nodded regardless, watching her finish the edges of the gem to a polish before she gave it an almost loving smile. "There, all done." She tossed it his way, then set herself to putting her tools away.

He lifted his right hand to snatch it from the air, giving it a look over in his palm before holding it up to the light. Her workmanship was masterful at the least, but he still found a certain pleasure in inspecting it, if only to have an excuse to watch as the light from the lamp refracted through the treasure. "As always, Kami, thank you."

She stood, flashing him a kind smile as he did the same. She only approached and embraced him in a hug. Stepping away, she patted him on his shoulder, then moved for the door, her steps light and rhythmic, as if she were dancing across the room. "As always, Nicolas, you're welcome. Now be careful! And play by the rules, for once?" She smiled again before disappearing through the doorway to the foyer.

Still standing in the lounge, the professor let out a sigh as his sister departed, shaking his head. Reaching for the wineglass again, he lifted it to his lips, draining it of the last vestiges of the drink. Pocketing the gem, he readied himself to leave.

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As he walked along the streets of the city, he could hear little happening around him. In the relative distance, the faint murmur of the tavern business hours beginning for the evening an almost imperceptible background noise to his walk. More apparent was the sound of his boots lightly hitting the street, the faint rustle as his coat brushed against itself with every step. He was lost in his thoughts again, mind wandering as his feet remembered the way on their own. So much seemed to be happening at once these days; the magisters' meeting, the murder. Not to mention everything still going on in Northrend. Still, as much as was happening, there was even more that had to be done.

He discarded his thoughts for the moment, glancing around as he walked. Now on the Academy campus itself, he was just entering the building that housed his office, pulling the door open before stepping inside. It wasn't until he entered the building that he paused. Had he passed guards on the way in? Did they approach him, only to be ignored as he walked right past them? He shook his head, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. Perhaps an escort next time. This was bound to come around to bite him in the ass. Still, he pressed on, soon rounding a corner and coming within sight of his office door. He was in the midst of an experiment, and the beaker that was simmering was bound to be...

He paused again, his stride slowing before coming to a complete halt, still the majority of the hallway away from the door that led to his office. He blinked, squinting his eyes as he strained to see in the dim light that shrouded the halls. He thought he saw something at the base of the door, but as he looked from his vantage point, he couldn't see what had distracted him. He frowned, voice quiet. "Excellent work, Nic, you're sleep-deprived and imagining things." He stepped forward again, continuing on his path to the... he stopped again. He suddenly remembered leaving his room lit for his sprite darter. She grew anxious if left alone for a time at this hour. Yet the light that should have been leaking out underneath the door was not there. He stepped closer, only to watch as what he thought he had not seen was suddenly very there. Somebody was on the floor in front of his office door. It suddenly became very apparent just how quiet it was in that hallway; his heartbeat sounded in his ears as he drew closer, each step heard as a pulse of thunder as his boot collided with the floor. Mouth drying by the second, his pace quickened, only to stop as he neared, looking down over the form at his feet.

The silence hung in the air as he froze. The moments dragged on as he blinked, as if by closing and reopening his eyes he could make the sight before him disappear. And then he let out a quiet sigh of acceptance, before breaking the oppressive silence with one word.

"Fuck."

Opening the door to his office, he glanced around first to reassure himself that all was well within. And it was, nothing was touched. The sprite darter flew to his shoulder in a flurry, distraught at its owner's distress. He turned, quickly, putting his hands beneath the shoulders of the body, dragging it into the confines of his office before he raced to the door, shutting and locking it tightly. The darter looked it over wide-eyed, fluttering down from the professor's shoulder to a nearby table, eyes pulsing a myriad of a colors as it tried to discern the truth of things. Nicolas did the same, his eyes looking over the body, unblinking.

Whoever he was, he was young. Dressed in fine clothing, skin fair and hair a pale blonde. The professor swallowed hard, kneeling to the left side of the corpse, for that it was dead was obvious. He paused a moment, inhaling deeply as his eyes closed. Exhaling slowly, the tension in his body seemed to release, and his mind cleared. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked over the body again, then looked to the neck of the corpse. His fingers trailed over the sliced skin at the boy's throat, tracing over disturbingly familiar wounds: a deep horizontal slash, as well as a vertical one. A perfect cross. Perfection. He closed his eyes for a moment, muttering the word out loud.

"Perfect."

After a moment, he opened his eyes, glancing at the boy's hands. Anticipated, the fingernails were removed, just like the Redbrook girl. "A collector? Or a calling card?" His voice was calm, any anxiety he had left masked by his work. He sat back, frowning as he stared at the body. Then the darter let out a quiet, mournful croon, eyes locked on the body from the opposite direction. Nicolas looked up at it, knitting his brow in confusion, only to notice its locked gaze. Getting to his feet, he stepped around the body to look from the darter's perspective. Now he saw it, a word as mocking as it was perfect, etched into the left cheek of the boy with something thin and precise:

DIAGNOSIS?

He held out his palm for the darter to hop onto, the creature then scrambling up the elf's coat to perch at his shoulder, tail looped around his neck. He got to his feet, all but glaring at the body, as if by through it he could channel his message to the one who had done this.

"Fuck you."

He moved to his desk as his hand fished for the Academy talisman hidden within the many pockets interwoven into his inner coat. Lifting it to his mouth, he stepped around behind the large wooden desk, his free hand reaching for another pocket, extracting from this one a small metal key, which he set to unlocking the middle drawer on the left side of his desk. His voice retained the same calmness, perhaps even monotony, that he had when he was looking over the body.

"Headmistress? It's Nicolas. We have a problem."

He pocketed the key, opening the drawer, his eyes lingering on the heavy metal object impassively for a moment before reaching to pick it up. Though the handle was a perfect fit for his hand, the weapon itself was heavy, the barrel longer and larger than typical. Edging the drawer closed before setting the talisman on the desktop, he eased himself into the chair behind the desk, hand snapping open the single chamber near the handle, assuring himself that it was loaded before snapping it shut. One heavy round is all the contraption could manage, but having examined the victims himself, Nicolas was fairly certain one round is all that he would have a chance at if the bastard decided to come back.

"Warn me before you open the door."