[center][h1]Emil Günther[/h1]
Physical state: a mild adrenaline rush
Mental state: frightened and alert[/center]

 [color=00a651][i]March-stalkers mighty the moorland haunting, wandering spirits...[/i][/color] Emil immediately envisioned an unspecified number of dark silhouettes of unspecific faces and build approaching them from the other side of the wall. [color=0072bc]”That letter is really heavy; and with all due respect, sir, I don't think either of us is [i]petit[/i] enough to fit into one of those cabinets,” [/color]he said, nodding to the junk-filled shelves. It might have been his practical German upbringing that drove him to his next action, although the fear in face of the unknown creeping towards the office had probably been the force that did it. He grabbed the thick edge of Atkins's desk, kicked the broken drawer aside to clear the way, and pushed the massive thing right against the door, which, fortunately, was not too far away. His daily exercise routine paid off. [color=00a651][i]Door handle. Blocked. Cut-off arm. Sensitive to noise. Fly.[/i][/color] 

[color=0072bc]”Through the window, professor?”[/color] He tried opening the thing through which he had seen the bird fly all while praying the situation would save him from getting expelled for vandalizing the property of the university, but it wouldn't move an inch. [color=39b54a][i]Corroded.[/i][/color] He saw a balcony to the left that could be reached with a risky manoeuvre, but descending down somehow using the ledges seemed a much better option because the office was not too high and piles of snow down bellow would offer at least some cushion. He pushed the window once more, but still nothing happened. He put his right hand into the pocket.  [color=92278f]GOTT MIT UNS[/color]  said the inscription on Emil's black pocketknife, a gift he had received during the summer and which he now fingered in his pocket, unwilling to take it, a weapon, out in front of a teacher, as if some invisible hand clutched his own. 

Something slammed on the door. [color=39b54a][i]Fuck it...[/i] [/color]he took the blade out and jammed it between the lower sash and the frame, trying to work the window open as the door handle behind him rattled and beat violently against the desk surface that blocked it.