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Before Jericho could answer, he heard a thud from somewhere else in the room. Looking to the side, he saw Christof at the door. It looked like he had dropped a box.

"Oh... Hi Christof," he said before looking back to Barth, "I don't know. She hasn't mentioned anything to me. Just.. something's not right. I'm.. I'm sure she's in there but I don't know what's going on."

Barth did look up at Christof's name, expression a distinct combination of alarmed and guilty. He shut the book.

"Now, err, hold on, it's not- err," He started, even as Christof strode towards Jericho with distinctly violent purpose.

The hunchback, thankfully, did not punch first and ask questions later this time. It must have been something important that lead his enemy-turned-somewhat-tolerated-ally to be spending time in his slothful Master's dorm, and with expression scrunched up into one of frustrated revulsion, he let himself be stopped. He was indeed heavier, and taller, although with his hunch he was not as tall as the dragon, but the motion worked all the same. His hands rose, not to strike out but to sign a very simple, "What."

Seeing how Christof had stopped, Jericho let his hands drop back to his sides before looking to Barth. Apparently the sloth demon could understand those hand motions the patchwork gave. Well that was good at least.

"Riley's been in there for days," he elaborated, "She hasn't been answering anything. Door and window is locked and bolted."

The aggravated look he had moments ago shifted into a rather concerned one.

"This isn't like her.." he repeated while shaking his head.

"Christof says that Riley has a lot on her mind, and suggests that she is taking some private time for reflection. ...I admit that occurred to me, although Riley doesn't strike me as the...sitting still sort. Barring something dire, she is usually up and about for those horrid 6am jogs."

Seeing Christof's posture relaxed, Barth carefully opened his book again.

"Nothing for it except more waiting."

Now Christof was growing concerned, a tight anxious noise escaping his throat. But for once, the Sloth was right. Nothing more to it than to wait it out and hope she was alright. And not.... abducted for an emergency Field Trip or something. He shifted a bit, glancing from Jericho's worried face to Barth's seemingly disinterested expression before turning to trudge back to the box he had dropped and drag it towards barth's workbench that was SUSPICIOUSLY clean, save for one or two things Barth had been recently tinkering with.

Barth might have been shy to work in front of Jericho, but Christof wasn't. Tinkering and keeping busy was the best way to keep one's mind off of more worrying matters. He was sure Riley would be fine, whatever she was up to.

Malodore padded towards Riley's room, purposeful and grim. The plague doctor had had to go back to bed for a few days; it really shouldn't have ventured out to get 'class schedules' so soon after the wing implantation, but it had done so anyway. While it had been there everything had seemed fine, but the day after it had realized that its muscles were still most delicate and that it had overtaxed itself rather badly.

Hideous back pain was a good reason to stay in bed... but it was a terrible reason for not looking for one's missing beloved. Malodore had been an exceedingly unwilling patient, even to its own self. So it had sent out Fedele to do what it could not do itself, and search. The crow had flown as instructed, coming back every few days with nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Finally, its worry had become so encompassing that it had risen again, constructing a more thorough set of slings with Christof's help, ones that would support the wings gently until the bone and muscle became used to supporting them on their own. It was these slings that it was wearing now, cloth crossed over its chest as it stopped in front of Riley's door, the chime of its new wingfeathers muffled.

Knock. Knock.


Knock.

The raps were deliberate, and as loud as it could possibly manage. After each one it listened, silent as only an undead could be; it listened with its ears, and with the strange power Riley had awoken in it.

But there was nothing.

Drooping, the plague doctor sidestepped to Barth's door, raising its fist once more to knock there instead.

Barth had been dozing in his chair with Cheezbooger curled up on his lap. He opened one eye at the sound of Christof shuffling doorward. As Christof opened the door, he couldn't see his gestures, but he could see who was standing there.

"Come on in," he said, closing his eyes again. "But leave the door propped, please."