Penwick

Kasimir considered the cultivation of life to be an art form. The medium were plants: living paint, breathing stone. Gardeners and botanists were the artists, shaping their vision with careful brush strokes, gentle chiselling, and a sense of duty to the ecosystem. He loved touring botanic gardens as much as any gallery, back when his mother took him to those sorts of things. The New York Botanical Garden was a favorite close to home. It almost hurt to think it had been over a year since he'd seen the place, viewed the grandeur of such a beautiful, delicate ecosystem in its springtime splendor.

But now he was stuck here in Wales.

Try as he might, Kas was only able to be five minutes late to the greenhouse for his Alchemy class block. Staff were unfortunately very prepared when he attempted to escape lunch early to skulk off to the edge of the grounds for dramatic existentialism purposes, and he was practically escorted out of the castle to his class. Fine. Whatever.

Apparently, Penwick had seen so many transfers this year that despite the syllabus' focus on advanced potioneering in this class, a greenhouse tour was needed for new students to be acquainted with its layout and contents. So here they were, among a variety of mundane and magical plants, not so artfully arranged as the gardens he loved, but efficient for the purposes of a school greenhouse Kas guessed.

He lurked near the back, hardly paying attention, just roving from bed to bed, studying these plants. They'd make a splendid exhibit, this one here and that one there, if one were to try to stage them.

Kas bumped into someone, a sneer already set upon his features as he looked down his Roman nose at the shorter boy. The face was familiar. Very. "You're the boytoy," he stated, all smiles and good intentions. His shoulder bumped against the Flowery student's as the dancer moved. "Pryce's guard dog, right? No, more like lapdog. She's the biter in the relationship, isn't she?"

His eyes were hungry- starved, even. He needed to get at Enid with more than simple annoyance. He needed to do more than be an unruly child in the classroom, because obviously that wasn't going to work on every professor here. Kasimir wanted blood and he was determined to draw it, and he tried to tell himself he felt no remorse for choosing this mark, tried to tell himself the guilt didn't exist as he threw this piece on the growing contrite landfill in the back of his mind. Ever since that conversation with Enid, may she always have troubled sleep, he'd found it harder to ignore the sorriness he felt every time he sunk his teeth into an innocent victim.

But this one, he reasoned, wasn't so innocent. This one was attached to Enid at the hip, and so was an accessory to her own wickedness. "What's your name again? Santana?" He poked a finger in the dirt of the nearest raised bed, glancing around the greenhouse once more. "How much does she pay you to follow her around like that? Don't tell me you put up with her for free."