It had been several weeks since the first ever semester of Marchand Academy had begun.

And as far as things went at a magical high school, things had been...relatively calm, if not without the excitement that one would expect to come with a new school, new friends, and new, somewhat strange teachers. 

Classes had begun as soon as Monday hit, giving the students ample time to get settled in and get to know one another. Friends were made. Some discussed their families, others chose other, safer grounds to tread on. The Professors hung in the background all the while. Some made an effort to interact and get to know their students, while others only really acknowledged their charges when the students made trouble or asked something- and even then, made it obvious that they’d rather be doing literally anything else.

As one might expect, when classes rolled around, these same teachers hardly changed in behavior. 

Madison Lovette had been one of the more affable teachers- cheerfully answering questions and stepping in to resolve whatever trouble that needed to be dealt with. When class began, he kept his sunshine demeanor. Homework was light. Efforts were made in class to keep students engaged, despite the rather dry tone of the knowledge conveyed in history class (most of which included offering candy for particularly compelling responses in class discussions). He was an enthusiastic teacher, passionate. His Pyromancy class he taught with just as much excitement, although he didn’t teach in quite the most orthodox means.

Considering the fact that it essentially served as a glorified cooking-and-mundane magic use class.

There was no exciting burning of dummies. No very literal fire-fighting. Instead, they were expected to do...simpler things. Bake this cake. Roast this turkey. Boil tea. Light a candle, and put it out again. Subdue a campfire with your pyromancy alone. 

Life at Marchand went on. The days marched on. 

Sunday had rolled around again, much to the delight of many students. It was currently around nine a.m. or so, meaning that many students (with the exception of night owls, the particularly lazy, or those who had been busying themselves in the dark of the day) were already up and about.

The day was looking to be a regular, rather sleepy one.

Perhaps that would change sooner than not. 

[@VitoftheVoid][@Avanhelsing][@LorelleQuips][@ScoundrelQueen][@Akayaofthemoon][@Gelatinous Cube][@chocomog333][@Prosaic][@Sailorsadie][@akirashadow][@KillBox][@Furiosa][@Oooie][@Dutchess Sarah][@Trinais][@Ejected]


[hr]

[i]“All around us are people, of all classes, of all nationalities, of all ages. For three days these people, these strangers to one another, are brought together. They sleep and eat under one roof, they cannot get away from each other. At the end of three days they part, they go their several ways, never, perhaps, to see each other again.”[/i]

Dawn ran her tongue along the pad of her thumb, then slid the digit neatly beneath the page, flipping it to the next. [i]Murder on the Orient Express[/i]. She had first read the novel when she  maybe nine or so, give or take a few months. She had been held by a staunch fascination of the world of detectives around that time, devouring whatever scrap of text or bit of medium she could get her hands on. Her passion for the genre had been so strong that she had dressed herself up in a fake little stovepipe and a hunter’s cap that Halloween, much to the amusement of her family. Even after the holiday had passed, the hunter’s cap had remained, up until the point that it could no longer be worn and was in near shambles. 

One of her favorite novels from the time had been this one, and she had found herself reading through it again after stumbling upon it in the library. It lost some of the excitement and luster it first held for her with the knowledge of the culprit of the crime, but it was still enjoyable regardless. 

Flip. Flip.

It was a quiet day so far in the common room. Dawn wasn’t really complaining, of course. She enjoyed the quiet. There was a faint jazz piece that she couldn’t name off the top of her head in her ear, courtesy of her earbuds, but that was about it. That, and the sound of her own breathing, of the book, of the drone of the television in the background.

Flip. Flip.

It was after she reached the next chapter that Dawn stopped. Carefully slipping a bookmark shaped to look like a leaf between the pages, she closed the book and put it away into her purse. Her magic worked quickly as she tore her eyes away, whisking it safely off into her backpack for the time being. 

She was feeling a bit hungry, though. While the common room had a few vending machines, filled with chips and granola galore, none of them held anything that would make for a proper breakfast in Dawn’s eyes. Stomach growing slightly, she stood, plucking the earbud from her head, and moved to slip out of the room and head to the dining hall.