[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=F2541F]Atkin Bowman[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[/center][hr][center][color=F2541F][b]Location:[/b][/color] Wizard Tower 20th Floor[/center][hr]
	It'd be nice to just go one day without having to see Cuyler's face. He was around *constantly.* If it wasn't for the fact that Arya had one of the busiest jobs in the entire Castle, he was certain that he'd just hang around all day. Shouldn't he be at his job right now? It was pretty late in the morning to be out and about sticking his nose into other people's business. What even was his job anyways? Atkin had a feeling that he'd said something at some point about it, but it didn't stick if he had. Regardless, his very presence seemed to make his headache suddenly spike.

	Silently, he trudged over and poured himself a cup of tea she was being so adamant about. Really, if she wanted him to feel better, she wouldn't invite him to come along constantly. Seriously. It'd been like half a year and if she could tell how much he didn't like him, there was no indication made of it. Was she just that enamored by his... foreign-ness to pick up on that. At least Azula and Chloe understood him. That they disliked his pet was indication enough that there was a kinship there that went beyond simple pets. Although he did wish that they were on hand so he could distract himself with something else.

	Atkin doubted that those herbs were actually of any significant benefit. They might be good for general healing purposes, but this sicknesse that's been affecting the whole tower? Nothing he'd seen or heard about worked on that shit. If a few exotic herbs that any old schmuck could get ahold of was actually effective, he was pretty sure that it would already be known about. The Physiks likely have been trying anything they could get their mitts on. Those herbs were likely tried and thrown out months ago. But he wasn't going to say as much. She wanted him to drink his tea, so he'd drink his blasted tea.

[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=87e5b8]Chief Hermetic Scribe[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[/center][hr][center][color=87e5b8][b]Location:[/b][/color] Manuscriptorium[/center][hr]
	The Chief Scribe stopped in his tracks when he noticed the breeze. Could the same fool who tampered with the hatch have also managed to break into the vault? All logic said that whoever did it had to have been a scribe, or had help from one. Perhaps some thief had talked his way into the ear of one of the scribes, convincing them of untold riches that would be shared among them. Or they had been coerced by witch into doing her bidding. Regardless, the worm would need to be sniffed out and quashed under heel. Every scribe by now should know full well that insubordination was not to be tolerated; to go further into traitorous action was asking for punishment most severe.

	Amundsen didn't notice the breeze and kept moving forward, thinking his boss was merely performing another minor inspection of some detail of the Manuscriptorium. The Hermetic Scribe contemplated whether he should investigate alone of have the senior clerk follow him. Having even a little bit of back up could potentially be useful, but his options would be limited. The man was ignorant on much of the workings of the Castle. If things went awry, he could learn too much. No, he would go alone. This all was quite a nuisance. He was quite busy, and all this was merely creating delays in his schedule.

	Underneath his outer cloak, the masked man placed his hand onto the hilt of his dagger as he began to make his way through the maze. He knew that it was more likely that he'd not find anyone during his little investigation, the culprit having taken what their little brain craved and left, but he preferred to err on the side of caution. A simpler man might have gone for a gun first, but in such a confined space, any projectile weapon would be more of a liability. In the scramble to try to get a shot off, one was more likely to end up bloodied or dead.