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Horace had been idling the afternoon away by documenting all the weird stains that splashed the walls of the basement. He had also made notes on which rooms were occupied versus unoccupied. He was highly doubtful it would ever be relevant, but it was good to know, anyway. With a sigh, he snapped his notebook shut and slipped it into his pocket. Maybe he'd grab a shower or something.

CRACK

Pain blossomed across his face. It was dulled quickly by his shield, but Horace cursed, stumbling back blindly. Horace dropped to a crouch and cradled his poor, abused nose. His fingers gently probed and came away wet. he groaned. Who the ******** had open the door on him? Who the ******** had bloodied his nose?

Kuuropii

At the words, Horace's head jerked up, away from his hands, and he watched in horror as a few drops of blood flew outwards, heading straight for Chance. Oops. "s**t." Horace's nose would not have look so awful if he hadn't recently sparred with Peyton. The tender cartilage had met her knee multiple times and, even with a hunter's quickened healing, it was still tender and bruised. Therefore, more likely to bleed profusely.

"'Lo. I'mb 'Orace. Are ya bnormally dis ********' cumsdy?" Typically, Horace was a nice, easy-going fellow, but that hurt. And not a good kind of hurt. He rose to his feet and swayed, putting a bloodied hand against the wall. Horace should probably go to the infirmary or the bathroom. Instead he pushed off the wall, bringing his hand to his nose. Touching it, he hissed and swayed again.

"'Oo're you?"

"No b'orries."Horace tried to crack a smile and it just made his nose hurt more.But the weapon bond was working and, bit by bit, the pain was receeding exponentially. He tried breathing - nope, no dice. When he spoke again, his voice was a little clearer, a concentrated effort. "Dun think I need the infirmary. Got a bottle of water in my room though." He pushed off the wall and wobbled. "Also got a bottle of vodka. C'mon. Unless you wanna tote me up the stairs to the bathrooms there - the water here can' be trusted." Horace blinked and looked at Chance.

Well, s**t. The other kid hadn't wiped the blood off his face. His eyes had widened at the hover, the almost touch of Chance's hand. It was weird, but his own nose still throbbed a little too insistently for Horace to dwell on it. Horace reached out a hand, snatching it back when he realized his fingers were bloody too.Noses bled a lot, he thought dispassionately. Instead, he gingerly wiggled a clean finger into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of cloth. It was a cleaning cloth for his glasses, but it was a small sacrifice. Normally, he might have handed it out with an exaggerated gesture to indicate the blood. But Horace wasn't thinking terribly hard at the moment and simply leaned forward and attempted to wipe it off himself.

"Are you okay...? I mean, I know I'm looking the worse for wear here, but-" -but something had seemed off, just slightly. Most people would've wiped off the blood immediately. His eyes glinted curiously at Chance. Bloody hands be damned - Horace pulled out his notebook and made a couple of notes in shorthand. Each new hunter Horace met got a new page full of both personal observations and information gleaned from the scraps of records they saw fit to feed death trainees. It wasn't enough information; it was never enough.

He walked as he wrote, kind of unsteadily, both because of his nose and the fact that Horace wasn't actually looking where he was going. But, automatically, his feet stopped in front of his door. Finally, it seemed as though he'd walked it enough to not get lost. (The numbered doors helped.) With a smile, he shouldered it open and and continued to prop it open with his body so that Chance could slide in.

"Will you take a chance on dubious alcohol, Chance?" The corners of his lips twitched. It wasn't funny, and the other hunter had probably heard it a million times. He gestured to the bottle of alcohol sitting on his desk. It was low, low quality, but Horace didn't have expensive tastes. Two glasses set next to the bottle and yes, Chance, they were both clean. With a soft whuff of a sigh, Horace sat on his bed and pulled out a bottle of water and white towel. Carefully, he pulled water onto the towel and pressed it to his face. The towel would be ruined.

"What division are you? I'm death, by the way." A hiss of pain as he daubed at his nose. "Tell me your life story or something."

He arched a brow at Chance. "You should've seen the place before. There were two huge stains - one on the floor, one on the wall - blood stains maybe. Melvin - life hunter - you have stains, he can get anything out." He accepted the drink with a thanks. The towel was folded neatly so that the side stained pinkish was tucked out of sight. Despite the neat fold, the towel still went onthe floor.

"You must've gotten one of the last first floor rooms - lucky." Would it be rude to pull out his notebook? {unforgiveably so. I will help you rememeber this time.} The corners of his mouth twitched up. "I like knowing absolutely everything, Chance. Have you met Dr. Morris?" The questions was abrupt, but Dr. Morris loved the stars, Chance loved the stars, they might get along. The nails were given an appreciative nod, although personally, Horace thought a deep blue or mulberry might work better. He took a huge gulp of vodka and yelped as the rim of the galss hit his nose.

Suddenly, something he'd said earlier clicked. "Wait - you're a sun? Spar me!" Horace grinned and leaned closer to Chance. Suns were the most fun to spar because Horace reasoned he could fight as he wished. "Not right now, of course... unless you wanna... But what kind of weapon do you have? What's his or her name? What were they before?"

Horace narrowed his eyes. There it was again - that little something, not yet identifiable, but just barely there. It made Chance fascinating. "I dunno about revolting - it gave it character, I guess. I'm glad to see it gone, though." He took a drink and hummed as the cheap alcohol burned down his throat. For a second, he dearly wished for apple juice to chase it.

"Nose is feeling better, to be honest. Doesn't throb so much." He prodded it gingerly. Wrapping both hands around his glass, he summoned Jannisari briefly. The tekkos clinked lightly against the glass, the pale purple light from her runes filtering through the vodka. "That's mine: Dr. Jannisari. She wants to meet Dr. Morris as well. Dunno that we get along - I guess you could say she guides me." With a bare whisper, he de-summoned her, shrugging his shoulders.

"As for sparring, I, uh-" Horace made a rather comical 'bwu-huh' expression. "I never fought before coming here, but I kind of like it. Especially because it's something I choose, you know. Wait, that probably didn't make any sense." It was a pain he chose instead of one he had no control over. "Did you meet your division leader yet?"

Horace chuckled at Chance's doctor comment, the sound a little congested. If not for the 'full' feeling, he'd have forgotten his nose by now. "Yes, you do seem kind of reserved - not a bad thing. We've got a lot of hotheads on the island, from what I can tell. And, hmm, Dr. Jannisari is a lot.. colder than I. I guess that's a good word for it." He took another drink and then set the empty glass on the ground. He probably had duty in a bit and it wouldn't do to show up drunk.

"You know I've actually heard that your weapon can change as your bond grows stronger - maybe Asher will develop some sort of short range bashing power." Horace jiggled his foot, thinking. "Since you said you were on an expedition, d'you want me to show you around? There's a couple creepy rooms and uh, well, the bathrooms are a whole other type of horror. We could go exploring!" He flashed white teeth at Chance in a grin.