[ If there's one thing Edward has learned during his time as a teacher at Castle Courtsheart, it's that all the best lessons are found outside the classrooms. That's what brings him to the basement tonight, and not for the first time. Rather than partaking in the misery himself, though, he observes from the sidelines, taking up one of the many chairs that likely wasn't intended for sitting in a relaxed sprawl.
Most of what he sees tonight is different from the ush. The visiting Silver Court ancients are having their seasonal fun, and Edward does have to admit, they're a creative bunch, when they care to be. Weird as only people who've read too many books can be.
He does notice someone familiar, though, who's interesting in his own right. A fellow teacher, Black Court, that Ed's seen in the halls now and again. Nothing stand-out about the guy up there. But right now? Slicing away at a Silver bloke, speaking in poems with an absolute verve to him? He's fucking fascinating, and Edward finds himself watching the performance with equal intensity.
Once it looks like the restrained vampire has passed out (or is dead, hard to tell with the undying sometimes, especially when Dread Blades are involved), Ed snuffs out his pipe, pockets it in his blue leather jacket and approaches. His eyes narrow as he looks down at the mess of silver blood over flayed skin. Then his expression turns pleasant as he looks at the man holding the bloody knife, and his voice lilts somewhere between gently chiding and curious. ]
Little enthusiastic there, mate. Think you might've killed 'em.
unethical, any topic is fine; cw: graphic violence
Most of what he sees tonight is different from the ush. The visiting Silver Court ancients are having their seasonal fun, and Edward does have to admit, they're a creative bunch, when they care to be. Weird as only people who've read too many books can be.
He does notice someone familiar, though, who's interesting in his own right. A fellow teacher, Black Court, that Ed's seen in the halls now and again. Nothing stand-out about the guy up there. But right now? Slicing away at a Silver bloke, speaking in poems with an absolute verve to him? He's fucking fascinating, and Edward finds himself watching the performance with equal intensity.
Once it looks like the restrained vampire has passed out (or is dead, hard to tell with the undying sometimes, especially when Dread Blades are involved), Ed snuffs out his pipe, pockets it in his blue leather jacket and approaches. His eyes narrow as he looks down at the mess of silver blood over flayed skin. Then his expression turns pleasant as he looks at the man holding the bloody knife, and his voice lilts somewhere between gently chiding and curious. ]
Little enthusiastic there, mate. Think you might've killed 'em.