[center][h3]Brewing Storm[/h3]
[@krayzikk][@sho minazuki][@herecomesthesnow][@kaithas][@plank Sinatra][@suku][@narayank][/center]

Obediently the deadbolt gave way, giving Amy and Ben free access to the formerly-secure room.  A short cry of “Ah!” gave away the room’s contents before their eyes could adjust to the darkness.  When they did, however, they beheld a thin man with wild, poofy hair, whose dull brown tufts extended in a myriad of directions.  It did not seem feasible that this fellow could see the two of them through a squint so severe as to make his eyes seem closed, but behold them he did, well enough to discover their humanity and realize that he’d been saved.  “Thanks be!”  Leaping up from the bunk, he moved into the light, revealing a stylish white turtleneck and wool jacket combo.  A spurt of laughter forced its way up from his throat, and his joy seemed palpable.  “I had feared that I would have starved in there.  Imagine that: the Grimm attack, and how does poor Ivor die?  Withered away in his own room playing games on his laptop.  Actually, my sister always told me that’d be the way I went.”

He held out his hands in placation.  “Sorry, sorry, I’m talking nonsense.  Just excited to be alive!  I’m good to go or do whatever you need.  Don’t want to be dead weight.”  The old scar on his lower lip made his mouth look longer on the right side when he smiled, as he gratuitously did now.  Ivor clapped his hands together, attentive as a man with his eyes practically shut could be.

[center][i]-meanwhile-[/i][/center]

As JCL’s leader approached the door, the clawed drum across the room rattled again.  This time, however, there issued from it a sound utterly human in nature: a muffled plea for help.  Her call came too late, however, to prevent Jack from taking decisive action against the obstacle in his path.  While the hider could not be accessed now, for fear of ignoring whatever foul things might lay in the next room, she would hardly be going anywhere.

Just beyond the threshold of the door Jack kicked in –which, for the good of his appearance, hadn’t been locked- lay a worrisome sight.  Despite the passage of busy weeks since any of these students last saw Priscilla, they recognized her pink hair instantly, even when matted with blood.  The girl lay on the floor, splayed as if she had been tossed there, heavily wounded but deprived of the mercy of unconsciousness.  Only a split second allowed the hunters-in-training to see their fallen ally before her assailants swarmed forth through the door.  The two harpies, battered and deprived of a few feathers, nevertheless attacked with fearsomely vicious speed and tenacity.  The hooked claws of the first surged toward Jack’s eyes, while the other swooped low to knock him off his feet.