9 - Videre Mendacium Pt. 1

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Perhaps it'd been a good thing you'd missed the opportunity to report to Ominis. Sneaking off so soon—especially in the middle of the night—could have disastrous consequences if you were caught. The thought of being discovered by Sebastian mortified you.

Or even worse, Evelyn.

Damn that witch. "Deranged" didn't even begin to describe her. What kind of toxic waste vat had that woman been plunged into as a child? Whenever you identified her disheveled mop of brunette hair in a sea of Dark wizards, the opposite direction became your voyage's next destination. She clearly despised but strangely coveted your history with Sebastian, as convoluted as it was. You still weren't sure if she coincidentally called him "Seb" or if it was to mock you. Probably the latter, you'd assumed.

Another couple of days passed by, the Dark Arts lifestyle becoming increasingly...boring. You were beginning to worry though, because Quincy still hadn't returned.

Damn you, Sweeting.

You were taken aback when Evelyn invited you to watch the "Undercroft Tournament" going on later that evening, which Sebastian had briefly mentioned on your first day to be some sort of dueling competition. You'd have rather utilized your time to locate Poppy's prized niffler, but there's nothing more persuasive than legitimate death threats from the person you bunk with.

Of course the term "Undercroft Tournament" upset you a little, but in Sebastian's defense, the area beneath any castle was literally known as an undercroft. Turns out Ominis' fancy little name for your hideout wasn't all that creative to begin with. Following Evelyn's lead, you wandered into the clamorous cellar before you.

Not long after entering, an empty tankard went flying towards your companion's head. With cat-like reflexes, she caught the missile and glared in the direction it came from. Instead of hurling it back at any one of many suspects, Evy maneuvered the cup so that she was now holding the handle and then made her way to the end of a short line of people. You followed suit and continued to take in your surroundings, watching cautiously as wizards placed bets and downed more than enough drinks.

Once you had reached the counter at the front of the line, Evelyn turned to you. "Brandy? Mead? Whaddya want?"

"I'm alright, really," you replied.

"What do you want?" She had asked more sternly this time. "Tell me."

You sighed. "Brandy's fine."

"Firewhisky and brandy, please," Evy beamed at the man behind the bar, slapping down some money. "And be sure to fill this cup to the brim!"

You each carried your beverages toward a section of wooden bleachers, dodging a few lunatics along the way. Out of nowhere, a wizard approached you and Evelyn, his intentions unclear due to the signature Cessationist mask he wore. The minute he was too close, your roommate kicked him in the groin, forcing the poor soul to his knees. She then poked him in the sternum hard enough to lay him flat on his back, the sound of his wincing causing you to cringe harder, which you didn't think was possible. The witch chuckled and took your unoccupied wrist in her hand, advancing forward and using the man's chest as a stepping stone in the process.

Evelyn dragged you to the front row and practically threw you down onto the bench, the side of her thigh gluing itself to yours a second later. "Hey, Evy," you spoke up, her masked face jerking toward you. "Where can I get a mask?"

"Just watch the show and you'll find out," her voice tickled your ear, jolting you away and into the wizard on your right.

"Well I hate it," you muttered, having already caught the attention of the stranger beside you. "I feel naked without one."

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