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[img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/301690986252206080/379050942726930432/Shaun.gif[/img]

~ [i]The Tower We Climb[/i] ~[/center]

Tentatively, and somewhat weakly, Shaun followed on behind Krista as the two ventured towards Marianne's room. To think that somebody else had been murdered, let alone in his own room... it wasn't really something he [i]wished[/i] to think about, but he didn't appear to have a choice in the matter. Every second his mind would flash back to what little of the scene he saw before Krista dragged him away; smoke, cinders, scorched furniture, and the hanging, blood soaked corpse of one of their friends.

Since the last trial, Shaun had done very little. While he hated to admit it, the constant recurring though had continued to haunt him ever since - who would be the next one to die? He hated to admit that he thought about it, but it wasn't something that he could avoid. Before coming to Axis Mundi, he though himself at least mildly strong. He could stand up with himself. Or... maybe that was the lie he told himself. What was true and false seemed to blur within the confines of the Ultimate Mastermind's machinations, and under the weight of everything he felt crushed. Apparently he was wrong to think he had an inkling of strength; since arriving, what help had he been to the group?

Moisture gathered at the ridges of his eyes as he thought. Shaun Ellen had done nothing. He couldn't help Shona, nor Mondatta, nor Marianne, and he barely helped in bringing Lucas to the justice he so thoroughly deserved. Or... did he? How evil were the killers? Lucas clearly had malign intentions, so much was evident from when he was voted to be executed, but what of the others? How many of them were capable killers, bent to ruin with the determination for escape?; and how many of them were unwitting victims, forced to the gravest of sins in both desperation and despair? 

In that vein he felt like he understood the killing game, or at least part of it, to an extent. Despite his misgivings to compliment the mastermind, the carrot on the stick approach made murder plenty abundant, even within a group of sound morals. To that end he supposed Davis's only goal in the end was to watch people be slowly murdered, once after another, in an infinite loop, or so it was implied. What the man could hope to garner from such a ploy was beyond Shaun - but it terrified him to no end.

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The moment the trial commencement announcement rang through the halls, Shaun near enough leapt from his skin. He had been, alongside Krista, digging through Marianne's astoundingly neat room. To call it organised wasn't a far cry from the truth, but it wasn't on point. It was immaculate; not a page nor plant out of place, and an aura of calm that resonated despite the miasma of despair that lay thick across the grounds. He could easily see the dread reflected on his compatriots face as his own, and despite all attempts at positivity the weak smile he attempted to feign faltered upon its derivation.

In that nervous anticipation, he once again followed on slowly behind Krista, purposefully moving slower as to delay the inevitable. No matter what, the Court of Carnage was one place Shaun never wished to see the light of again, and in his nauseous, post anaesthesia state his eyes and face plainly expressed a distinct desire to avoid the roller-coaster that proceeded the trial. Reluctant to bade Krista, his supporting friend for the past hour, goodbye until trial end, he kept relatively close to her until forced into his seat on the carriage. He felt the restraints tighten around his neck, and subsequently his whole body, forcing him close against the seat uncomfortably, before the ride began its excursion.

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The ferocity of the ride left Shaun dumbfounded as he stumbled from within his restrains to the encased podium he found himself stood behind. It was clear it had shaken the others similarly, despite being the second time experiencing it for many of them - but that foreboding sense of knowing what was to come merely made it worse. Pale faced and sweating of the experience, he found himself clutching at both mouth and stomach in a fit of nausea not unlike the one prior, his countenance betraying a clear desire to throw up in the moment.

Instead, however, he stood, merely choking down his own vomit, not that he could bring himself to be sick in the situation. While he struggled, people were discussing the murder - a topic far more important than his own issues. If they had any chance of living to see another day that had to defeat the blackened, once and for all. With a cough, and a pained swallow, he reached into his jumper to pull from it his handbook.

As his hand entered the usual pocket it was contained in, however, he found himself greeted merely with the soft fabric lining, and in the instant he remember why. Krista hadn't yet returned it. The killer had... stolen it from him, and they found it in the trash room... lightly, Shaun felt his teeth grind together, his eyes fixated on the floor as the discussions around him continued.
[colour=SlateBlue]"U-um... Kr-Krista..?"[/colour] he started, trying his best not to interrupt the theorising happening around him, [colour=SlateBlue]"Y-you never... g-gave me back m-my handbook... I-I can't see the cl-clues, s-so c-could I, u-um... h-have it back..?"[/colour]