Room C-18 :: Stefan Althaus [St. Mungo’s Mental Illness Ward]

Stefan’s room is rather small, allowing enough space for a twin-size cot, some heating and cooling apparatus and some room to move around. There is a door that leads off from the main portion of the room to a bathroom stall and sink. The walls were once a cream color, though Stefan has graffiti-ed them quite thoroughly with various colors of ink. The floor consists of a cream-and-blue marbled linoleum type tiling.

There is a stockpile of parchment, quills, and ink in various colors, generally used to write letters. The wizard tends to pick out greeting cards a month early since he really has nothing better to do with his time. Occasionally visits are held in his “room” (which honestly looks more like a cell) but admittedly the Visiting Lounge is much more comfortable. Whether he is wearing his straitjacket, hospital clothes, or something a bit darker and more towards his style varies depending on what his attitude towards the Healers happens to be like that given day.

Two Security Wizards guard the door ever since he first escaped from the room. Aside from the small window on the door, there is a plaque that reads:


-- - -- - -- - -- - -- - --
(The wee hours of January 14, 2019... Current timeline)

Stefan sat on his cot, staring at the blank sheet of parchment in front of him. His hair was unkempt, the whitish hospital smock and blue trousers he was dressed in wrinkled. He had fresh clothes at one corner of his cell – technically it was a room – but he hadn’t changed into them yet. The wizard rather liked how the clothes he was already wearing just now fit him comfortably, and the various ink- and potion-stains scattered about the front of them. They were also warm from his own body heat, as opposed to how he knew the fresh clothes would feel against his skin. It had been his assumption for some time now that Saint Mungo’s Mental Ward flash-froze their laundry instead of putting them out to dry or dried them via magic. Not only that, but they starched the hell out of the cloth every single time!

The point of his dusk-plumed quill rested between the first two visible teeth of his lower jaw, not yet dipped into ink. He had so many colors to choose from now: blue, black, purple, red, green... and so many shades! Stefan had been stockpiling the stuff since it wasn’t distributed often. For one thing, the ink could be lethal if ingested... he knew one poor soul that had tried it once, and was the cause of the whole rationing of ink ordeal.

Despite it having happened years ago, Stefan still felt more than ready to strangle the lunatic witch. Time held no meaning to him while stuck in this void...

Sapphire orbs glanced nervously to the door, certain someone was watching, but found none peeking back at him. The walls were actually behaving themselves today, and Stefan could only assume that it was the potion Irene was kind enough to give him at breakfast. Despite having claustrophobia, a potion to help ease his fears to a tolerable level hadn’t been on the list of required ‘meds’. He thought he heard the words ‘odd side-effects when mixed’ uttered by one of the Healers when Irene had inquired about it on Stefan’s behalf. If she hadn’t given it to him he probably would’ve been screaming and flailing and overall creating a massive ruckus until he could see an adjacent open space. One of the Healers assessing his mental health had made a note that time in isolation had only made the fear of enclosed spaces more acute, and with that Stefan would agree. Yet they wouldn’t let him free... wouldn’t let him continue his practice medical researching... wouldn’t let him continue to kill as voices and impulses told him to...

Stefan’s focus immediately jumped back to the parchment. It was so blank... much like his room had been before he first arrived... until he began using the walls as one gigantic chalkboard. It was his room, and for all he knew he was going to be in here forever. That was, until recently. That was why he had the wide open space that was the parchment. He could do whatever he pleased upon it, and no one would care. He could kill it, shred it, eat it, burn it if he had his wand... and no one would care. Blank, like the eyes of his daughter Cheryl. In his mind his little girl was still alive somewhere, the damn aurors likely forcing her to live on the streets with him cooped up in here. Gayle had gone away, flown away to a land of no return, leaving him and his little girl...

Cheryl had been so cold the last time Stefan held her... She had green eyes, just like her mother.

Green eyes, similar to but not matching those of Amaranth Viper...

That’s who he was trying to write a letter to: Amaranth; a former student of sorts, and shortly thereafter a colleague he respected and stood up for on many an occasion. They’d formed a pretty strong alliance before Law Enforcement Wizards and Aurors took him away from everything that meant anything in his world: his experiments, his research, Amaranth, ECHO, Cheryl... everything. Gone away to this little room with little else but silence for a companion when there were no visitors to see or therapies to “participate” in. Therapy never did much of anything for him in his mind’s eye, except perhaps clue him into an easy way out of here...

A green snake lying painted upon the parchment caught his eye. How had that gotten there? Resting an index finger upon his lips, Stefan noticed moisture that should not have been there. The wizard licked at his lips and glanced to the offending finger.

It was green like the snake... he tasted the bitterness of ink. Bitter and metallic... somewhat like blood. Perhaps that was why the witch that was nearly as aggressive as he liked the taste of the ink so much...

But in returning to the snake, Stefan finally decided to focus every bit of his mind on writing. Nothing would distract him this time. Nothing. Not Healers, not potions... not even psycho, ravenous clowns trying to crawl up through the plumbing of his toilet... would be able to distract him from his task.

~ ~ About an Hour Later ~ ~

Stefan read and re-read his letter several times, making sure he’d said all he wanted to say. Or, at least, all that he could get away with saying without the Healers that monitor the mail suspecting another escape attempt. He wanted to get out of here, and was almost victorious... it wouldn’t do to attempt to escape now that he could practically taste his triumph! He would get out, and he and Irene could work on... other more important features of his “therapy”...

Like selecting an engagement ring, for starters...

But for now the only selecting he was going to be doing is to pick out an envelope to put his letter in. Stefan immediately vetoed red, gold, white, off-white, and sky blue. Deft fingers selected a dark emerald envelope that reminded their owner of Amaranth’s eyes, though the envelope was much too dark to send through the owl post. So, he selected a pale green envelope instead. Across the front he wrote the familiar address, then hastily folded his letter and crammed it as gracefully as possible into the envelope.

Now all he needed was a passing Healer to scare the wits out of so the letter could go out in this morning’s mail.