Welcome to Gaia! ::

The familiar lines made Jannisari's thin mouth, normally so immobile, twitch into a faint smile. She stroked one thumb over the page, relaxing. This particular courtyard was nearly deserted, the students typically electing to stay inside or visit one of the more easily accessible enclosures. A chill wind ruffled the pages as she settled her thin frame against the stone. It made a comfortable and quiet reading spot with easy light, although it was nearly too cold to use it. Autumn was slowly ending, taking the last vestiges of life with it in the dry leaves that fell as though they loved the ground and could not bear another month apart from her coldly bare loam.

Jannisari crossed her legs as she turned the page, swinging one foot idly. This was her first free afternoon in some time and she relished it. The previous weeks had been filled with rounds of lectures: typically covering the basic theories of contagion or plagueology. While she loved those subjects dearly, sometimes it was nice to read and not think about anything at all. The chatter of the people nearby faded even more as she turned another page, utterly engrossed in a story she had read multiple times. A stray leaf landed on her page, and she irritably brushed it away. Leaves. A tree had leaves, terrible dry things of death and decay. A book had leaves: two pages, thin as daydreams. To leave, to depart, an absence, an aftereffect, a trace like lingering perfume or a scar. There was poetry in language but it was not for her to weave; words were not Jannisari's specialty, so bent her head back to read another's words as they crawled elegantly across the page.

While Petra's light footsteps could not penetrate Jannisari's concentration, her voice, or rather, the utterance of Jannisari's name, did. It sounded far away, but as she looked up, she realized the girl was close, quite close, as she was short. The hazel-eyed girl standing there was young, no more than fourteen. Her dark hair was bound up in a braid, neat and tidy; her clothing was sensible, if worn. Silently, Jannisari approved, tucking a few errant strands of brown hair back up in her own bun. Although not prone to an expressive face, Jannisari's eyes warmed and she nodded gently at the girl.

"Ah, yes, I am Doctor Jannisari. Did you perhaps attend one of my lectures? My apologies, child, I do not recognize you." She wondered a moment about her lack of a guardian, but many children did not have guardians. And a girl in pursuit of knowledge always warmed her heart. Snapping the book closed, she slipped it inside her professorial robe. There were a few hidden pockets on the inside, not all of them standard, but really, there was no use to the robe without added pockets or slits to carry a multitude of small things. Tucking the edge of that robe more firmly underneath her blue-clad thigh, she gestured expansively to the spot next to her. "Please, sit. How can I assist you, Miss...?"

Dr. Jannisari turned her body slightly towards the young girl, noting the twisting of her hands and her stammer. "No person willing to learn is unwelcome, Petra. Every great mind begins young." There was something about the girl that brought to mind her own younger, formative years. She still remembered the feeling of isolation and, yes, a bit of ostracism when she began her journey into science. It was still a male dominated field. And so, Jannisari had found in herself a soft spot for girls and women who asked questions. When she spoke, her face was stern, as was usual, but her voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

"This is not a question with a ready answer. The Plague, as you well know, is highly contagious in its own right. There are a few ideas, but no defining theory." Her fingers moved idly along the stone bench, a gentle tap tap tap near her thigh. "Some people theorize that being in possession of a Plague does not confer immunity, but instead just an increased resistance from the prolonged contact between the Grimm and Plague. By this same thought, some say that it does give full immunity through, once again, prolonged contact. The final theory that I have heard is that immunity or resistance is controlled by the strange bond between Grimm and Plague: that of ownership."

Her hands moved as she spoke, like small birds, swooping to accentuate certain words. She paused again, lost in thought. "It is likely, that if scientists were to know the answer for sure, we would be able to unravel the exact origins of the. Plagues that we possess. I hope to continue to study this more thoroughly in my own plague." Her hand reflexively patted the thigh-level pocket in her robe, only to remember that she did not keep it on her person today. A frown briefly twisted her lips.

Petra had a plague? The frown on Jannisari's face deepened momentarily, the lines a cruel map of wrinkles to come. For one so young to be bound to disease - the world was surely becoming more dangerously unfair. She fought the urge to rub her hand over her face; it would only be a vain attempt to smooth out a face that never was overly pleassant to begin with. But still, as of late she seemed to be twisting her face into all manner of disagreeable expressions. It was to be expected, Jannisari supposed. Her own mind flashed again to the laurels... an altogether unsatisfactory mental pursuit. To say that the Plague hung over her like a personal sword of Damocles was accurate, if a tad melodramatic. Even now, when the laurels lay safely locked away, under folds of cloths and behind doors and doors... they were here in a way. It irritated Jannisari and, if she were truly honest, it frightened her. Her fingers twisted in the folds of her robes and she forced them, one by tense one, to relax and hang loosely in her lap.

"Yes," she finally, heavily, said. "I am a Grimm. It is a useful burden, at most." Jannisari looked at Petra's box, then back up at the unassuming young girl. It worried her that Petra referred to the Plague as 'she' even though it still held no human-esque form. "Petra, you find it comforting to possess a disease? There is certainly a bond of sorts, but I do not find it an innocent one. Perhaps instead it is a form of self-preservation. By illiciting or initiating a bond with a Grimm, the plagues ensure their own maturation in the eventual stage of anhelo. It is nothing if not self-serving." With a small sigh, nothing more than a heavy exhalation of breath, Jannisari once again looked at the box said to contain Petra's putesco. "My own plague is in my office at the moment; I feel it best not to spend every hour in it's presence." She outstretched one long-fingered hand towards the box. "May I?"

She did not touch the cursed item directly, instead turning the box this way and that. The stench of death was a familiar, if unpleasant thing. Hair. She still puzzled over the range of items affected by the rampant disease. It seemed to show no rhyme or reason, nor a particular relation to the Grimm. Well, perhaps that was no entirely true. If the items were not, in some way, valued by their possessors, each plagued thing would have been summarily discarded, stunted. Which did happen. She made a note to inquire after the sentimental bonds between plagued items and their owners.

Closing the box, Jannisari sighed heavily. "You do not need a plague, young one, to seek your own purpose. Your destiny is held only in your hands - it is up to no one but you to grasp that. Petra, do not use this disease as a crutch. It is a siren song that would only lead you down the wrong path." She found it hard to process Petra's claim that her mentor was a good man. A good man. Both words were equally implausible for a plague. Disease, destruction: they spread chaos as easily as breath. The box was gently handed back to the girl. Such curiosity in young girls was a boon. Jannisari placed one hand on her shoulder. "In your travels, Petra, I would encourage you to, if you have such a bent, to pen me letters. I find myself very interested in your plagued progress." And perhaps, Jannisari might be able to keep progress of her, maybe have a slight influence before she strayed from herself and into the sweet words of plagues. At the very least, it would be nice to have a continued source of fresh information.