Outside room 201, late Monday night

[notmyownage]

It'd taken an exceptionally long time -- especially after Claudia became convinced the rickshaw driver was a stealth-goblin and decided to abandon ship -- but Claudia'd finally managed to haul the lightly snoring Scully back to her room. She had her arms hooked under Scully's, locked tight over her chest, and after half of town, the school grounds, and two flights of stairs, Claudia wasn't actually sure she'd end up being able to let go.

"Next time --" she gasped, fumbling around to try and get at Scully's pocket for a key without dropping her friend. "-- I'm just gonna --" *pant, wheeze* "ow -- take pictures and -- keeeeeeeeeeeeys -- send them your -- ha! -- lonely sniper friends."

Okay. She had keys. She had Scully. She had no idea where her knees were supposed to be.

"Oh lord. Going down." She tipped over backwards. "Okay! We'll just -- rest here a bit."

[ooc: I haaaaaaaaaaaaad to. Scully modded with permission.]

Near the Bog of HOLYSHITWHATFUCKINGDIEDHERE, Tuesday Afternoon

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

George couldn't believe she was actually going to class -- the shitty one, because the one she liked had been canceled, and naturally, if she was going to have only one class cancel today, it couldn't be the shitty one. It had to be the one she liked.

Unfortunately, going to class meant crossing a weird-looking marsh. Bad enough by itself, except --

"Oh, I think I'm gonna puke," George announced. "That is the worst -- I can't even --"

George might go to class, if she could cross the bridge of the worst scent ever fucking invented.

"I HATE THIS ISLAND," she shouted, just in case anyone was listening.

(OPEN. I am so, so calling in a Sir Didymus for this, because I MUST. Anyone else who wants to bother the knight, or pester a cranky dead girl, JOIN US!)

Second Floor Common Room [evening]

[momslilassassin]

Ben had spent a long, long day in the library getting nowhere himself, but some of the other people'd had more luck.

Being Ben, he had written down all of the clues they'd shared on the wipe board himself and was now trying to see if he could spot a connection between an Escher painting, a similar maze in Ireland two hundred years ago, a creepy hallucinatory and death-inducing recipe and a weird song.

But the part that was sticking in his mind was the snatch of the conversation he'd overheard between Scully and the librarian, about how Escher had been "wished" away to spend time in the maze.

He had a giant pot of coffee going since he wasn't planning to sleep (or, frankly, to go back to his room. It was too empty there), and was settling in for the evening.

The boy could use some company.