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There were some advantages to being a professor at Amityville academy. Red was not shameless when it came to abusing them. She had made a note to extend her authority more so than usual, figuring that she still had a year or so to catch up. Besides, it wasn't like anyone was going to throw her in detention anymore.

The gym teacher had taken over the arts'n'crafts room while the goblin wasn't looking. She had taken over a large desk and was currently occupying herself with a mess of various art supplies she had apprehended absconded with borrowed from the supplies.

At first the gym teacher merely stared at Malodore as it stood in the doorway. Red had her hood up and an extra piece of cloth covering her nose and mouth, obscuring as many features as she could. The only thing visible were her two glowing eyes set within the dark shadows of her hood. If not for her cloak and the particular pattern of her bodysuit, she would have looked like a trespasser.

The teacher offered a shrug. "It is all right," she whispered, "Not many believe we wander and can wander outside of our respective domains, or that we exist outside of the classroom at all."

Red looked down at what she was working on, forlornly poking at it with a talon. "If you seek Zixil, he is not here," she whispered, adding, "If there is something I can assist you with, please let me know."

The masked professor tilted her head to one side, taking a sudden interest as it spoke its intentions. When he was finished the professor snorted, shaking her head. "What I know is what I have been able to figure out. While you have been studying it for over half a year, I have been... Adapting to it, for many moons." She clenched her hand, looking at it as she thought. "It happened in October. I suppose by now that makes it... Thirteen moons by now?"

She signed, leaning back. "Reforming after... the first incident was long and painful. I do not know how long it took. But," Red raised her hand, gesturing for Malodore to come closer. "Come in, and kindly close the door behind you. Ask and I will answer, but bear in mind that my Insanity is different from that which has afflicted others given my... death." The werewolf shuddered, her hands curling into fists.

"So the rumors were true," Red mused as a taloned hand played with a bead. "There really was more than one student infected." The werewolf's red eyes dragged themselves up to meet Malodore's goggles. She studied its expressionless face, considering her words.

At last, she spoke. "While I may be a boogeyman, I do not know what methods were used to cure your Riley. While it has been... offered," she managed, "I have declined such treatments. I am -" she stopped, and shook her head. "We are different. Him and I."

Red turned her attention to the art supplies next to her and began to pull out bits and pieces. "To know what happened... Hm. Tell me, what do you know of cores?"

The werewolf was silent as she listened. Her eyes narrowed, frown hidden beneath the face mask. "Hm. If any boogeyman was like me, I suspect I would have some skulls to crack." She shook her head at her own weak joke. "Just because we all wear cloaks does not mean we know each other, uh-" she broke off, snapping her jaw tight on the last word before it could escape.

Instead she gave a nod towards Malodore. "It is only because of Cricket's high esteem of you that I will tell you this," she said crisply. "I intend to hold you to use this knowledge only to heal others. Should you use this information for ill or share it with anyone... Know that this can be considered a fair warning."

She picked up several pieces of clay, each a different color. "To my understanding," she began, "Everyone is made out of Fear. And yet, what differs you from me? You are undead, I am what I am. Thus, you have something that tells your Fear to shake you into you, just as I have something that shapes me into me." Red rolled the orange clay between her talons. "This is one of us. And yet --" she squished it, rolling it flat. "This is what happens upon dissipation, yes?" The clay was scooped up and rolled again into the ball. "What brought it into its form? Was it my hands? Or did something else make it want to become a ball?"

Red set the clay down, and studied Malodore to see its reaction.

Something the undead said brought Red's attention away from the clay between her hands. She gave him a level look, silent. "I do not know," she answered. "The core, I think, is what defines who and what we are. We are made out of clay; it is the core that shapes us."

"And yet," she continued as she held the clay up. "I have heard rumors that some students are not quite the same. One has lost an eye, another has lost her wings. You, yourself; you have gained wings." As she spoke she gestured towards the metal additions on its back. "These are changes that I do not think the core did. Undead are not known for spontaneously growing things or limbs. Did your core tell you to get them? If you die, would you lose them?"

Red pulled her attention to the clay again, nicking a piece off. "And when you lose a piece, is it really gone? For those that lost pieces, it is. And yet -" she rolled the clay over the torn-off piece, molding it until it was indistinguishable from the rest. "And yet others who suffer similar can regain what they lose and become whole again."

"When this happens," Red continued, "Is it really the doing of the core? Or is it... is it ourselves?" The professor's hand went towards her facemask. Her hand stopped, the talon running along the top of it as if to pull it down but yielding. "I cannot help but to wonder if it is our belief of who we are that defines what happens to us. As an undead, if you lost an arm you can replace it with another and shape it into a similar, yes?"

"But for someone like me, who isn't... If I were to believe that my arm was cut off and gone, would it truly be gone? Or is it just a temporary setback, something that will reappear once I returned?" Red continued to press, gesturing with her talons. "This is why I teach and stress the aspect of death. If my theory is to be correct, then those who fall and rise again under my tutelage will return complete. And not like... this."

Red didn't feel the need to gesture to what she meant.

"That is a good theory," Red replied evenly as she met its gaze. "But it is only that: a theory. You seek confirmation, do you not? And obtaining a weapon to test yourself is too far from your reach. And thus you are here, to obtain answers from one you presume who knows."

The werewolf placed her talons on the table. "You may be Cricket's apprentice, however that trust will only get you so far. You seek knowledge that I am very loathe to give you. What will you offer me in return for hearing my tale?"

Red shook her head negatively. "I am a living example of what happens should one from Halloween manage to bond with a weapon. There are things that you do not know about that have... dissuaded others from following in my steps. They have learned much from me, and I from them. But that is another matter." As she spoke her talons flexed, creating several new grooves in the surface of the desk. She spared it a dismissive glance; not her problem, though woe to any art student who attempts to draw across it, only to have their pencil skitter and ruin their precious lines.

"Your assessment, however, is correct in that regard," Red continued. "Coin does little, save for enabling one to exchange it and fill their belly full of meat. However, what you have is... lacking." A talon was raised and pointed towards it. "Your medicine and FEAR means little to me, for if I am injured beyond my skills then I seek Cricket out. You are still learning. What you know may or may not be use to me."

The werewolf narrowed her eyes. "What you have to offer me is not enough. And yet. Perhaps..." A new gleam appeared in her eyes as she narrow them, as it appraising Malodore before her. "You offer your Fear. Do you speak of your Fear-power, or of the Fear that makes up your entire being?"