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Calder saw the fish tank teeter and had a moment of panic that it would fall. It was one thing to be in Riley's room, but breaking it was too far. That did not stop his own flare of anger.

At Amrita's plea, Calder moved past to the door and yanked it open. "Well Chrsitof. If you want to go breaking things, we can take this outside!" He had no trouble breaking the Igor bit by bit if it made him stop and just listen for once. Being unconscious in Cricket's wing sounded like a Jackin vacation for him - Jack knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep well these next few days. A nice concussion would be a treat!

Christof's accusation hit her harder than any backhand could.

"Yoou...Yoou thiink..." Her broken voice waivered, her hand coming up to grip the shawl hiding her injuries from him. He...he just called them cruel. He didn't believe them. He thought they were joking! This had been the hardest thing she'd ever had to do...and he thought this was some joke. Why---Why?! "Loook aat uss!" She demanded shakily, raising her voice to try and hear herself over the whispering that surrounded her. "Look aat uss! Weee are woounded. Weee aare tiired. The vooices will noot---" For a moment the ghoul paused with a shuddering and wet hiss, holding the sides of her head as best as she could even though she was missing one physical one. Moments later her arms lowered to hang limply at her sides, slouching in exhaustion and defeat, her eye trained in despair on the nicely kept floor.

"Weee came to telll yoou so yoou could heear it frommm friendsss...weee thoought it would beee cruuel foor yoou to hear it froom ssoomeone elsse..." The more she spoke the more rasping her voice became, the more the dual androgynous undertone peeked through; but more than that was the pain of his words and the denial of what they were struggling to say. His accusation of her being cruel. She had never lied to him before; she'd always told him the truth, she'd always been there for him if she could. She stuck by him, learned sign language for him...and yet through all her loyalty, she was still cruel. The voices swirled in her head, and all she could think of was how unfair this was. How difficult he was being, how blind he was...and, more than that, how much she wanted to punch him right now. Knock some sense into him, make him see just how hard this was. But she couldn't, she just...couldn't. "Whyyy would I liie to yoou? Iii have neever---woould neever---whaat coould I poosssibly gaaiin from teelling yoou thisss?!" Her grey eye did finally lift though, focusing squarely on the fidgeting Igor that refused to see the truth.

Amrita darted forward, grabbing whatever cloth of Christof's shirt she could with her trembling hand and pulling, trying to make him focus on her and only her. "Whyyy would I liie to yoou, Chrissstofff?! Teelll me!" Tell me why you don't believe me, tell me what I did to lose your trust! Tell me how to make this right...all the things that went unsaid, but all the answers she sought, swirling around in her broken head.

It seemed to be sinking in now, and that was when she released the hold she had on his shirt. Her questions went unanswered, but she could - hopefully - just chalk his words up to grief. Hopefully. She couldn't think of any other reason for him to not believe her word on something, but that didn't mean she couldn't have forgotten some horrible deed she may have done to him once upon a time.

She had deflated almost instantly, stripped of whatever flash of anger she had just experienced; all she was left with was the devastating emptiness, the sadness that came following the loss of someone so important.

"Iii'm sorryy..." Amrita murmured softly, her voice bubbling wetly as the vocal cords attempted to work under such stress. Her trembling hand extended once more, this time laying softly on his hunch.

Christof was numb. Wobbling he walked around the room, a hand clenched to his chest.

Mistress was dead.

Another Mistress gone.

The unbeatable figure, beaten.

Mistress was dead.

They were talking, he could hear both of them but their language felt foreign, distant, as though he had forgotten common speak.

Mistress was dead. She was not coming back.

Calder was still talking.

A tight whine escaped the Igor's throat, his hands suddenly balling into fists. Before he could stop himself, his hands were on a nearby bookshelf, ripping it from the wall to clatter to the floor with a ground-shaking crash.

With howl, he turned his wrath next to the desk chair, cushioned and comfortable and heavy, but it was easy for him to heft and haul and send tumbling across the ornate room.

This was exactly what he wanted to prevent, and he only saw two ways out of it. Talk to Christof to calm him down, or force him out. The last one probably would result in just as much damage, but it would be more aimed to him and would work to get him out of the room. At this point, he wasn't sure if he didn't care about getting more beat up, or if he was too tired to deal with Christof and his temper. As it was, Amrita was the one to step between them, and she was soon ushering him out the door as Christof lifted every heavy piece of furniture he could set his mismatched eyes upon.

"Amrita...be careful. If it becomes too dangerous, just leave. You don't need this." He didn't want to leave her alone, but Calder knew that when things became bad, Christof never wanted to listen to his friend. In fact, Christof tended to hate him more just for being around, and he felt that maybe Amrita, being both undead and close to him, would be able to keep him from tearing every piece of furniture around.

At the door, Calder stood, uncertain if he should stay or go. "Um... Tell him Malodore will be upset with him. That should stop him. That and Barth. That might keep him from tearing the place apart." He bite his lip. "I'll....be close by.....if you need me." He glanced at Barth's door. He wanted to see him.

Thankfully, while they talked in their hushed whispers, Christof has settled down. Damage done. He wobbled until he sat on the carpet, his head buried in his arms, his hunch shaking softly with quiet sobs.

Instinct told Christof to shove her away, to run away and hide. But try as he might, he couldn't. He couldn't breath. The room was swimming. He simply doubled over, a tight, keening whine escaping his throat as he buried his head against Amrita's wounded chest.

The hunchback didn't seem to comprehend how he should be feeling. What he should be thinking. It was just... an enormous ball of sorrow welled up in his chest and stitched in tight, unable to burst free. He shuddered against her, and as Amrita's torn lips brushed his scalp, he gave a fresh wail, hands flailing between them as though trying to say something but failing.