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Daimyon clutched Marianne's notes and e-handbook tight as he rushed through the hallway wordlessly. His mind was going a mile a minute and his heart was racing it as he quickly checked his own identification at the door of his room, slamming it shut once he was inside. He tested the door to make sure it was closed, then breathed a sigh of momentary relief. With slower, lumbering steps he walked up to his table, shoved away the diary and placed down the new documents. As he sat down and took the same piece of paper into his hands for a second time, he could only hope he had grossly misread it... 

[hr]
[hider=NOTE SERIES 1]
Awake in a new environment. Hospital. Axis Mundi? Fell asleep here. Talking monochrome bear—calls self Monokuma.
ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE.
[....]
Many infinites:
[....]

Daimyon Londe: I. Poet, speaks rhymes, dresses odd, unbearably cheerful. Why?
[u]SECRET! True? Confirmed (Ref ser 3 pg 1, 2)[/u]
[/hider]

[hider=NOTE SERIES 2: Herb records]
Each page is dedicated to a new plant, filled with general observations about size and required growing conditions. Their place and method of acquisition is noted too. Additionally, where possible, rough diagrams in pencil of the general appearance of the flowers, leaves, stem and roots adorn the well worn pages.

[list]
[*]Calendula officinalis (Marigold) - Perfect for healing on skin! Make paste? From buds and flowers. Mortar, pestle, kitchen oil? Steam? Promotes healing, new tissue growth. Swelling, healing wounds, moisturise
[*]Eschscholzia californica (california poppy) - use: stem/flowers, mild sleeping agent, relaxant? E californica taste almost undetectable (self-sampled). Time taken to effect: 
[*]Filipendula ulmaria (Meadowsweet) - F. ulmaria, for ulcers and skin disease. Mix w/ C officinalis.
[*]Kava-kava - more intense sedative, grind roots, distinct taste. Mask? Too little useless, high dosage. 500mg? How? Powder? Time taken to effect:
[*]Matricaria chamomilla (camomile, German?) - found in Mondatta’s tea. Relaxant, delicate effects. Soothing. Builds trust? Good tea. Can use with steaming water if sick, clears sinuses.
[*]Turnera Diffusa (Damiana) - Damiana plentiful, summer? Zen garden functions as big greenhouse. Cannot be certain. Strong aphrodisiac. Tempting...how much usage? Flowers?
[/list]
[/hider]

[hider=NOTE SERIES 3]

[hider=XX/XX/20XX?]

[quote]
[i]Tested theory, confirmed. May lead to interesting developments. Ryoshi Membook [i](Ryomem)[/i] interesting document. Highschool girl diary. Who? Why? Unusual.[/i]
[/quote]

[hr]

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[center][@MyCatGinger][/center]

[color=seagreen]“Neu...neutral? Neural. Neural synapse? It fits the context, but...”[/color]
Daimyon Londe mutters to himself as he turns a page of the book back and forth repeatedly. There is plenty of technical jargon in these paragraphs, which are sorely out of place in what is supposed to be a high school girl's diary. Still, such mysteries only fuel his interest further—he has been working on the document for a few hours already, determined to unearth its secrets.

[i]Knock knock.[/i]
A dark skinned woman adjusts her gown, patting down the fabric at her waist. She stands before a door she’s used to seeing now. Marianne Roche waits for a moment, and then another one, her hands playing with the lipgloss-tube hanging at her neck.


The door soon opens and the poet stands inside, wondering who could want to see him.
[color=seagreen]“Marianne! Good afternoon,”[/color] he regards the herbalist with a smile. [color=seagreen]“What brings you here?”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“Why hello, Daimyon!”[/color] she returns, the most innocent beam gracing her lips as she nonchalantly gestures to the inside of the room, [color=8EE5EE]“Oh, invite me in first! So formal…”[/color]
In saying this, and before he can so much as return a word, she effortlessly glides past him, standing just past the doorway and beckoning him with playful eyes. [color=8EE5EE]“Did I interrupt something…?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“Oh, nothing important.”[/color] Daimyon glances over towards the table he has been working at. He closes the door and walks up beside Marianne with his hands behind his back: his usual posture. [color=seagreen]“I was merely working on an interesting book from the study. Once I find out what it truly contains, it should be of great help to our group! But! I assume this is not why you’ve sought me out?”[/color]

The poet’s response makes Marianne’s eyes grow even wider. At this point, she grins at him almost like the Cheshire cat, but in a coy gesture looks away with a delicate finger on her bottom lip. She continues in hardly above a whisper, as if meant for him alone, [color=8EE5EE]“Always to the point! I like that about you, Monsieur Londe.”[/color]
A moment of panic flickers across her features and she bites her bottom lip for a fraction of a second, if not less. [color=8EE5EE]“...you told me about that book yesterday!”[/color]
She perks up again, as if the faltering never happened.
[color=8EE5EE]“And you asked me to come help you with it, don’t you remember? See, I am no good with books that aren’t about plants, but I’m more than willing to help…”[/color]
Already she’s making her way to the desk where the poet lay out his work, illuminated by the light of a gentle warm lamp. Her eyes are expectant when they return to the poet, but also…?
Long lashed and...beckoning still. It’s a curious expression. Daimyon cannot help but feel drawn in by it, approaching her at the desk.

[color=seagreen]“Indeed I did!”[/color] he says finally, with a slight nod of his head. [color=seagreen]“I just...wasn't expecting you to turn up, miss. You see, everyone is busy nowadays, and my work is not a priority...”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“Heaven knows what they are doing.”[/color] the herbalist sounds almost bitter. [color=8EE5EE]“The rest intend to challenge a carnage sister, and I believe that is not the best of ideas. I chose to sit out.”[/color]
She pulls out the chair with a gentler smile now, her hands drifting to the collar of the Infinite Poet’s attire. She fiddles with the collar, straightening it, and then lets her fingers fall to the lapels of his waistcoat. Daimyon stays her hand, taking a brief step back and adjusts the lapels for himself. [color=8EE5EE]“...without that excitement, a daily routine becomes boring. Anything to beat the ennuie, monsieur. So I am here, and at your service! It’s what a friend would do, correct?”[/color]
Her pupils narrow a little, eyelids low and hooded as she searches his face for further emotions. She retreats her hands, holding them neatly to the sides of her waist. Disappointment or accusation?
[color=8EE5EE]“We [i]are[/i] friends, aren’t we, Daimyon…?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“I like to consider myself everybody's friend, Marianne,”[/color] he says, his voice lower. Looking away from the herbalist, he sits down and opens the diary again. [color=seagreen]“Let's get down to business then, shall we?”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“As diplomatic as always.”[/color] Marianne pouts, leaning over his shoulder to study the document he’s been working on—for the very first time seeing the [i]Ryoshi Membook[/i] (dubbed the Ryomem for short reference in her head) with her own eyes. She breathes a simple phrase, a little closer to his ear now, finger tracing the writing on his notebook that lay beside the tattered diary, [color=8EE5EE]“I wish you were as passionate about people as you are poems.”[/color]

He reaches over and takes his notebook from the table.
[color=seagreen]“Passion? Inspire me, miss, and we shall see about passion.”[/color] He closes the book with a satisfying thud and deftly slides it back into his sizeable shirt pocket. [color=seagreen]“Until that, though, I'm afraid working together must suffice.”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“It’s an interesting collection of entries.”[/color]
Changing the subject, with a defeated huff, the herbalist focuses her attention onto the Ryomem again. She leans in further to turn the pages, but in the process, traps the poet between the desk and the chair, and her ample bosom pressing into his shoulder-blades. Intentional?
[color=8EE5EE]“Fascinating. But definitely a bit out of my league, as they say, whew… Bravo for getting this far into it! What have you learnt from it as of yet?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“I’ve learnt quite many things...such as the fact that you have other interests besides this work of art here. Isn’t that right, Miss Roche?”[/color]
Daimyon’s lips curl into a smirk as he feels the herbalist distinctly press up against him.

A tense, almost half-hearted chuckle escapes the herbalist and she reaches up to tuck a stray tuft of her long, dark hair behind her ear. Her hand then moves so that she's focused both of them on the Ryomem, but her arms are slid around the poet's neck from behind, and thus nonchalantly allowing her [s]ample boobage[/s] chest to press up against the back of his head and the nape of his neck instead.
[color=8EE5EE]“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean! Oh, trust me, Monsieur. I would be as happy as anyone else to know what is happening here, beyond Davis Gallo’s little reveal! There must be more to the story.”[/color] she finally seems satisfied with herself in absorbing the information contained within the document’s few leaves she has scanned, moving her hand from the pages of the Ryomem to the Infinite Poet’s hair, and…
...stroking it, as if in praise.
It does not stop there, however. Her lips stray from just beside Daimyon’s ear—close enough to feel each of her warm breaths against his cheek— to its soft lobe. She dares to nibble cautiously at the spot, and leaves a little kiss there, eliciting a moment’s stir from him before pulling away from the man in the chair entirely. He looks after her as she smugly saunters to the doorway again, hangs by his room’s shut door and shoots him another innocent smile, [color=8EE5EE]“I believe in you, Daimyon. Of course, if you need anything at all, my room is on the second floor.”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“Anything at all, huh… Goodbye.”[/color]
He bids his farewell, lingering in thought for a couple seconds before turning back to the table.. In one motion, he takes his notebook out of his pocket again, clicks his pen and jots down a few lines.

[color=seagreen][i]I am besieged so send aid
Lest by this cajolery I am swayed
Lest this temptress give me such bliss
That I will not say no to another kiss[/i][/color]

[/hider]

————

[hider=XX+1/XX/20XX]
[quote]
[i]Took notebook. Seduction? Will remember tomorrow? Will see, hope was memorable. Needs to sleep...ser 2 entry 2 [/i]
[/quote]

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[color=8EE5EE]“Daimyon…”[/color] the Infinite Herbalist teases, getting on her tiptoes to kiss the much taller man’s cheek, with an air as if having become habit. His hands are firm in hers and the room’s door is quietly, contently shut. The two documents lie side by side on Daimyon’s desk, as if having not been moved from their positions prior.
[color=8EE5EE]“You could take a break from the Ryoshi Membook, you know…whenever I come see you, you are always working on it.”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“I know, Mari, I know.”[/color] The poet looks away, almost ashamed. The siege is on and he feels the walls of his heart bombarded. [color=seagreen]“Yet you have to understand how important this is...I am making breakthroughs, you see! There's so much to learn from this one diary...”[/color]

Marianne’s eyes search his, and then move to the desk where the documents are. They linger there before meeting his again. One of her hands moves to cradle the same cheek she kissed gently and she offers him a tiny sigh, followed by a sympathetic smile, [color=8EE5EE]“I will believe you if you say it is true...won’t you show me what notes you’ve made; what else you have found out?”[/color]

Daimyon nods, though retains his worrisome expression.
[color=seagreen]“Yes. You've been helpful in my work, you deserve to know.”[/color] He puts his free hand on hers, gently pulling it away from his cheek. For a moment he gazes into her eyes—then he glances off, afraid of being lost in them. He gestures towards the table. [color=seagreen]“Everything is in my notebook; sit down and look it over.”[/color]

She hardly needs any further prompting, detaching herself from being wrapped up in the Poet and making her way to the desk. There she carefully looks over both books, paging through Daimyon’s notes more than the Membook. Detailed translations and transcriptions fill the pages, among other, smaller entries. [color=8EE5EE]“This is brilliant, Daimyon!”[/color]
Reaching for the pen instinctively, she announces, [color=8EE5EE]“Oh! There is something wrong here, when I look over the Membook again. Let me just fix—”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“Wait!”[/color] The poet perks up and quickly paces up to the woman. [color=seagreen]“Let me see first what's—”[/color]

—and before he can close the distance, Marianne has already perked up herself, and in meaning to say something rises to her feet. Where words mean to break the silence, instead Daimyon is able to feel a pair of warm arms sling around his neck when he’s standing by the shorter woman, and his head tilted down gently. At his lips suddenly linger the Infinite Herbalist’s, soft and warm and wanting, and at his chest is her body, huddled up close, as if basking in his warmth. The man is caught greatly off-guard by the sudden display of affections, letting out a brief gasp. Yet, as the kiss lasts, he feels his shock mellow into content. He wraps his arms around her waist and closes his eyes. In the haze, his mind sings of this moment. 

[color=8EE5EE]“Y-you’ve done so well…”[/color] she whispers, loud enough for just him to hear when her lips part from his. Her eyes display a similar haze, but is there something different…?
[color=8EE5EE]“I saw everything. Mon coeur, it will be your work that is our saving grace. I feel it…”[/color]
The herbalist lets her fingertips walk down the young man’s arms in quiet admiration, nuzzling into the hollow of his neck with what could be called a satisfied purr.
[color=8EE5EE]“Now I [i]definitely[/i] think you can take a break from it, Daimyon, and you can spend some time...avec moi, mm?”[/color]
Using one of her hands, she tilts his chin down again and leans up to kiss him once more, and much deeper this time around. The kiss is of a much different calibre to the first: where the first was delicate, this one is far more ardent. The poet, with his presence of mind back, takes the renewed kiss in his stride, sliding his hands up her back and instinctively pulling her closer to him. He cannot recall the last time he felt this same rush of emotions—he wishes to make the most of it now.
[color=seagreen]“Oh yes...I'd go places with you right now, Mari,”[/color] he murmurs against her lips with a smirk.

When the kiss is finally broken, a strand of saliva hangs between the couple’s lips. It is only severed when Marianne speaks again, with Daimyon quite able to hear her smile in her voice, [color=8EE5EE]“I think you deserve a break, chéri. Shall we get you something to drink in the break-room? And then you can drop me to mine. I would appreciate the opportunity to spend more time with you. I believe I find myself quite...drawn, to you, as they say.”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“We are two ends of a magnet, I feel.”[/color] Daimyon chuckles. [color=seagreen]“Lead the way, miss.”[/color]

————

[color=8EE5EE]“Two cups of herbal tea! This is where my talent comes in handy.”[/color] the proud infinite declares, setting down two cups of robust green tea. She takes hers, and leaves the cup with the deeper red liquid in it for the poet, [color=8EE5EE]“I was lucky enough to be able to use Mondatta’s gift to me before he…”[/color]
Her pause didn’t last very long, [color=8EE5EE]“Regardless, I also added some herbs I had found in the Zen Garden.”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“The Zen Garden! Oh, how much inspiration must lie there waiting for someone to see it...I have to visit one day,”[/color] Daimyon says as Marianne places the cup of tea in front of him. [color=seagreen]“Ah, what a heavenly scent...”[/color]

Gesturing to the poet’s tea, the herbalist adds with ease, [color=8EE5EE]“Rosehip does wonders for the body. Won’t you tell me how you like it, Daimyon?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“Rosehip tea from a rose...”[/color] The poet smiles in appreciation, before raising the cup to his lips and taking a careful sip. The aroma floods his taste buds: sour and citrusy, yet delightful all the same. [color=seagreen]“Mm...unique! I like it. Thank you.”[/color] 

[color=8EE5EE]“You are very welcome, mmm…”[/color] Marianne seems pleased with herself, sitting herself down beside him and leaning delicately against his side as she swirls her own tea and takes from it a long, hearty drag, [color=8EE5EE]“It has been a long time since I’ve had the chance to sit and enjoy tea with anyone properly. Hopefully this will give you the peace of mind you need to finish the notes you have been taking.”[/color]
She laughs a little, her voice low again when she speaks, [color=8EE5EE]“I would ask you about your life prior to coming here, but would you remember, off the top of your head?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“I would, of course, though I'm afraid I'd bore you!”[/color] Daimyon laughs light-heartedly, if with a bit of strain, then takes another sip. [color=seagreen]“Besides, I've always kept my head in the now. There is so much to this world, and precious little time to explore it all...”[/color] Finally finishing the cup of delicious rosehip tea, he stands up with vigour. [color=seagreen]“I have one more obligation to you, miss, and after that I must get back to my work. Shall we go?”[/color] 

[color=8EE5EE]“I pray we all leave this place alive, and the world can see your ‘silver linings’ once more, Daimyon.”[/color] the herbalist shakes her head and offers the poet a curious, half-lidded smile as she finishes her own tea, rises to her feet and gives her whole body a thorough stretch. It is interrupted by a slight wince and her clutching at her waist, breathing a swear in French under her breath.
[color=8EE5EE]“Yes…! Ha-ah…”[/color]

Sensing the danger, the poet quickly steps up to her, taking one of her hands and holding her carefully with his other.
[color=seagreen]“Are you all right?”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“It seems it will take time, still.”[/color] Marianne says solemnly, easing into the poet’s embrace though keeping her eyes turned away from his as she continues, [color=8EE5EE]“I came to Axis Mundi for treatment, and have a scar of about six inches running across my...lower abdominal region? It will take time to heal. Thank you for your kindness, in the meantime. But I’m quite alright! Look!”[/color]
Pulling away from him, she straightens her outfit out and offers him a reassuring smile, only moving back to him to lock her arm with his gently, [color=8EE5EE]“It is a matter for a different day. For now, come on, Daimyon…!”[/color]

And off they go, arm-in-arm, for everyone to see. Though he sticks so close to her mainly to support her still frail body, Daimyon cannot deny how warm it all feels. Marianne's room is on the second floor, so they trot up the staircase—and that is when his nice feelings are overtaken by something much worse.
[color=seagreen]“What...the...”[/color] the poet utters, reaching out to the wall to hold him in a moment of sudden weakness as he almost trips over the next stair. The steps still ahead of him seem to not only double in number as he looks up but grow legs—no, [i]hover pads[/i] as they begin rocking back and forth. Their unruly behaviour only ceases after a vigorous shake of the head, like a disappointed teacher. [color=seagreen]“Mari, I...do not mean to be rude, but is your illness not...infectious by any chance?”[/color]

[color=8EE5EE]“Daimyon!”[/color] the woman scolds, stopping abruptly on the stairs to steady her companion, [color=8EE5EE]“My illness is merely a physical one...but if you ask me, to see the colour drain from your face like that, the only illness I have seen do that is exhaustion! Oh, I should have known…”[/color] she continues to scold and mutter under her breath, carefully guiding the poet down until they’re standing at the foot of the stairs and her arms are safe and warm around him, a concerned look on her face as she searches out his eyes with her own, deep teal ones, [color=8EE5EE]“...you need to rest more than I thought. I...we can change plans, I can settle you into bed and walk myself to my room. You will die of exhaustion at this rate, taking no breaks from that book...look, one little break and so much has happened!”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“Y-you might be right. Ah! Chasing inspiration is what I'm used to, not rigorous work...”[/color] Daimyon admits, still holding a hand to his head dramatically. Realising his state is no joking matter, however, he tries to steady himself and gently pushes Marianne away, standing on his own on wobbly legs. 

[color=8EE5EE]“...can you walk?”[/color]

[color=seagreen]“I can. Though I'm afraid our roles have been promptly swapped...”[/color]
He allows himself a weak smile.

[color=8EE5EE]“So they have.”[/color] the herbalist’s frown is lopsided as she observes his movements and makes mental notes of his affliction. Her arms are crossed and she sighs disappointedly in the face of her companion’s lingering jokey mood. [color=8EE5EE]“Come on, let us get you to bed, Daimyon.”[/color]
Without a further word, she almost drags the poet to the door of his room on the ground floor, awaiting him opening the door with his handbook before more gently bringing him in with her and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. [color=8EE5EE]“...you need to rest, mon coeur.”[/color]

Daimyon lies down without struggle, feeling the numbness spread through his limbs. Still dressed and without as much as a blanket, he knows sleep will claim him very shortly. Still, he has enough strength to take the notebook out of his pocket and put it on his bedside table, like he has done every time.
[color=seagreen]“That...I do. For even the...mightiest flames must be stoked again every so often...”[/color]
And with these last poetic words, he drifts off. 

The herbalist silently reaches for the blanket and covers his sleeping form, tucking him neatly into bed. Her catlike blue eyes glance over him a final time.
[color=8EE5EE]“Sleep well and rest easy, mon petit chéri.”[/color]



[/hider]
————

[hider=XX+2/XX/20XX]
[quote]
[i]No recollection of yesterday’s events. Interesting. Will need to re-refer to sec 2. Zen garden visit required?
def.
Should return notebook at end of sessions?[/i]
[/quote]

[/hider]
[/hider]

[hr]
Daimyon reached the end of the page. He scoured over it again, then flipped through the rest of the notes, hungry for knowledge and desperate to find out more. The feeling was akin to an excellent novel ending on a cliffhanger—except the protagonist was [i]him[/i] and instead of healthy excitement, reading the lines and filling in the blanks with his imagination awoke [i]dread[/i] in him. He had more questions than when he had started reading, and he soon realised he would not find what he was looking for between the numerous plant descriptions and general observations of events that he himself had experienced.

Shoving the pile of notes away, his attention fell on the e-handbook that sat below them. He turned it on, and sure enough, [i]Marianne Eniola Roche[/i] flashed on the screen. It belonged to her, and Daimyon knew it could be used to enter her room. He also recalled the Carnage Sister's words: that there was more to find in there. An unmistakable gut feeling struck him in that same moment and his resolve shook. Who knew what could await him at a place where no one had been since the tragedy? Still, his hands were tied. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it would not kill Daimyon Londe. He would become stronger by it, he swore.

He had to visit Marianne's room.