And he absorbs back in the words right through his skin, // closed Options

[Aster Gardinier]

Weak had never been something the Slytherin would have characterized himself as, but as he numbly darted out of the Great Hall, gaze downcast and pace steadily increasing, his legs were little more than jell-o.

He cringed at the rusty taste of dried blood as he sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils, but raised his fist to the door and quickly rapped twice in succession nonetheless. His eyelids pressed shut as it opened; everything had come rushing back at once, far too familiar. The bed in the far right corner where he had rested Evelyn down that night in third year; where he had lay down next to her, wrapped his arm around her, and squeezed, even with the knowledge that he hadn't been able to protect her; where, the morning after, they had exchanged the kiss: the first and last one he had pulled away from. And just as he had left her then, alone and stumbling for words suitable enough for the smallest of reprieves, she had left him today.

Duly broken.

"Hello," he just barely murmured into the silence of the Wing, slipping gingerly into a chair nearest the door and folding his hands atop his crossed legs. It was the simplest picture he could paint of being fine; of nothing at all holding even the slightest possibility of being wrong. It would have to do.

Out Of Character Form:
Patient Name: Aster Gardinier
Current Year: Sixth
Gender: Male
Blood Type (if applicable): O+
Species (Human, Veela (part or full), etc: Human
Allergies: n/a
Damage Location (Entire body or certain parts, please specify) (BE SPECIFIC): Split lip, battered and bloodied in general; mostly near the face.
Damage type (Spells cast, Potion/poison, Fall, etc.) (BE SPECIFIC) Preston McCormack.
Summarize (what exactly were you doing when you got your injury?): Being a pansy.
Other (Is there anything we should watch out for?): He's not pleased. Whatsoever.

[Oliver Fulton]

Oliver was never fond of having assistants, they were always in the way. However, he was completely okay with dumping the bulk of the work onto Atwell and Odette, since they were so inseparable. This year came with entirely too many responsibilities. Was it graduation day yet?

He was thumbing through paperwork in the back, organizing things for the new year and general stuff that hadn't gotten done at the end of his sixth year. Ollie heard someone enter and sighed, first one of the year, eh? The Slytherin grabbed a pair of latex gloves and went out, wincing when he he saw the blood face of Aster Gardinier.

After spending the entire summer with Autumn and finding out what had happened between them...or what was SUPPOSED to happen, rather, he was tempted to beat the boy's face in, himself. Looks like someone beat him to it. "I'd ask how the other guy was, but I have a feeling you didn't fight back," he mumbled, reaching over to grab the clipboard, his brows furrowing, "Preston did this to you?" Oliver honestly had no idea how to go about this situation. He wanted to hate Aster, but he knew deep down that none of this was his or Autumn's faults, it was their parents.

"The cut in your lip is nasty, but not deep, I'll clean it up and put some antiseptic on it, as for the rest, I think you'll do fine with bruise remover paste and soothing cloths," Preston was the real pansy, Oliver snorted, heading over to the cabinet with basic first aid supplies. "Would you like to enlighten me on what happened?" Eitherway, he would find out from Autumn, as soon as he left, he had a instinctual feeling that she was involved. "It'll hurt for a while, but no permenant damage, right?" Oliver frowned, not sure if he was talking about Aster, or about himself.