Adelaide wrung her long, pale fingers as she hovered by the old rental that had been part of San Marcos since the 80s. Eyes as black as pitch trail up to note the second floor, tar papered planks snuffing the light within. Chewing her lip, she raised to knock a second time, flinching as the door swung open to the young Tolltaker Knight with a bubblegum mohawk. The punk cocked an eyebrow as she snapped her gum and looked the Lost up and down.

"Evenin' Lady Adelaide," she hummed in a sing-song manner, waves of desert wind sucking the moister from the night air. Her steel-toed boots leave bloodied footprints in her wake as she lets the waif inside before unceremoniously clattering her feet on the table to return to her laptop. The furniture is worn, but functional, with a newer TV blaring the news in the background and reflecting its glow off a bong lined with cartoon stickers. Angel had set up a cot with her things slowly taking over the living room.

The Razorhand's chrome nails tack away at the keys, "Second door to the right."

The Eternal Echo initiate peers up the stairs, a little perturbed at the treatment as frost collects around the edges of the neglected houseplants.

"How is he?" she ventured, twisting black hair that almost reached the floor.

"Easiest job I've had. Hasn't left his room in like, three days now," Angel chimed, blowing a bubble until it deflated from overstretched skin. "I don't know what he's doing up there. I keep hearing him tapping the walls all over the place. Stops when I holler. Wish that worked with the crying. Spooky fuck."

Adelaide's lips thinned, whispering turning into a hiss, "Has he said anything? The ritual?"

The Darkling smiled pointed teeth from over the edge of her monitor, "That ain't my job. Is it true your Monarch is Banishing him?"

She snickers as the Fall Courtier ghosts up the stairs, going back to her report.

Adelaide looked down the darkened hallway, silent as the grave. All the doors were open save the one that was indicated; a small signal of the absence that had sparked this whole mess. The light under the door flickers across her sandal-fitted toes. "Fawkes?" she calls, lips pressed against the crack. "It's just me. They need me to take a statement."

There's eventually a stir, and she drifts back silently as her fellow Courtier unlocks the door, surprised when it doesn't open for her. Why was everyone being so rude? A small huff as the ice crusts the handle, opening the door as she hovers in the hallway. He was under investigation, after all.

The younger Elemental sits on the edge of his bed, bright blue eyes locked onto her as if she were some kind of haunt. "Hi Fawkes," she says, giving a friendly little wave. A flicker of lighting rolls across his features alongside the assortment of candles, lengthening the shadows in the room. Dead silence as he does the usual, expression not betraying anything useful aside from the moisture that beaded his face. She could only guess it was sweat.

The tar paper has wards from the Witch of the Bitter Wind scratched all over.

Adelaide dusts her skirt out of habit, tilting her head a bit, "Now, the Ministry knows about those parchments that Juniper filched from the library. Don't worry about that," she assures, trying her best to sound reassuring.

Fawkes says nothing, as usual.

The mirror has been taken from the vanity, and she can only assume the bathroom had the same treatment. The nails holding up the boards she could assume was Cold Iron. As much as one could appreciate the aesthetic, all the light bulbs in the immediate area had been tossed.

"We know you're new. We just want to know what happened to your motley, okay? Can I come in?" She holds her little smile, swishing a bit as she waits.

There's a bit of a crackling sound as the Elemental's gaze widens a bit in panic, smooth and pale skin straining with the movement. Poor thing, in another year he probably won't be able to do even that.

"Oh! Don't be afraid," she says, holding up a hand, "We'll get the facts sorted. This must be very upsetting for you." As she takes a step forward, and there's an audible click.

Adelaide freezes as the gun is trained on her.

The other hand goes up, mind racing on where he had been hiding it. She squeaks a bit as the metal moves in the dark, retreating back past the bloated grinning forms of the Lost she couldn't see, crowded and waiting in the hallway.

Sightless blistered hands groped and tapped around the edge of the open door, freezing at the edge of the candle light.

Fawkes keeps the gun trained.