Five towers in a wasteland of sandstorms and lightning is all that remains of life in the world. Built before the end. Once owned, then governed—now ruled like kingdoms in the sky.

The floors are counted from the tops down, Floor One being the penthouse and often the last dozen or two buried under the sands. Each Tower drills straight down into a water line and has factories and gardens near the bottom, citizens stacked up a physical hierarchy all the way to the thrones at the top.

Miniature kingdoms. Most of the royals and aristo families have never even been below the twentieth floor. It’s been generations since the world outside was destroyed—history reduced to grim fairytales of monsters and moving darkness swallowing the world. Sandstorms, ash rain and neon lightning often sweep past their plexiglass windows.

Libraries, gardens, cafes and clubs are alive and well and keeping the Upper Five busy. The families owning and ruling each tower consider themselves royalty, their children princes and princesses, and hand out titles to those around them. It’s been a hundred years since the last tower war—a dark decade of bloody betrayal and distrust. Now the Upper Five are at peace, as much as they’ve ever been anyway, and in an effort to promote those connections and good will they send their children to be schooled together in The Garden.

The Garden was originally designed as a meeting place for the Upper Five—a ten story complex of suites, parlors, and ballrooms suspended between the five towers and bridged directly to each. It has been renovated to house the teens and young adults of the aristo families. Sent to live and study there for most of the year, some believe The Garden is just an excuse for the upper families to get rid of their heirs until they’re needed.

Along with royals, the children of the best social climbers have even been admitted, sent to make connections and ensure the elevated status of their families in years to come.
 

-MORE INFO TO COME-

OOC chatter and character sheets to be added below! <3

Margo had been holding her breath from the moment he stuck his face close to hers until he said Dragon Born. She blinked, big brown eyes, fingers flexing against her bundle of knowledge against her chest and plump body wedged into corset, tights, and layers of skirts, actually leaned toward him. “Dragon Born? Really? There have been rumors, of course, but it’s been ages since anyone’s seen one. Have they found any or just victims? Do you think the bodies are still available for examination?”

Emerald grinned wide at that. “Terrified of everything living but not dead things,” he noted about the short woman across from him.

Margo ignored him, her lip curling at the mention of a cult.

Agatha listened carefully, managing to hold back a hunter’s grin at mention of trouble. A guild. It gleamed in her eyes though, meeting his gaze when it slid to her. Her poison? “Traitors,” she said. “My poison is traitors and rooting them out.” Why be coy when she hoped to get information? She had an edict from the capitol, the mark of a Witch Hunter, and the authority to save Florian from itself. “The Capitol has heard about Florian’s Dragon Born and seen fit to send Miss Adden,” she nodded to Margo. “to take a look.” It was the tip of an iceberg. Margo was to document and to testify when it was done—whatever happened next. Witch Hunters were rare, but they had quite the legend—not always heroic but definitely feared and their status aloud them to turn their inquest on even the highest officials of a city.

She doubted the princes of Florian would be happy to see them, though most smiled toothily and tried to direct the investigation. They’d spent four months in Catori only to find that the supposed Dragon Born was a hunter who had lost his mind on the blood, blacking out in the night and savagely murdering people in the streets with a set of false dragon teeth. It had been quite the disappointment.

“More often than not, Dragon Born are just stories,” Agatha assured. “But, as I said, we wouldn’t mind a guide. We’re supposed to be staying with a Prince—”

“Allys,” Margo inserted the name before Agatha even had to falter.

“Heard of him?” Agatha continued.

“Or her…” Margo reminded. Prince was just a title after all, a throwback to fairytales.

Agatha smiled easily when he didn’t recognize her for a witch hunter. They were far from the capitol city and Florian had never undergone a purge. She supposed there had only been a handful of witch hunters to pay it visit over the last century—standing on ceremony mostly. It was considered an honor to aristo families to be greeted by a witch hunter, some source of proof that they’re bloodlines have been looked upon with approval by the capitol.

“I’m afraid I’m new to the area,” she admitted. “I heard stories about this city—taken by the dragons and swarming with them—and thought I’d take a look before going on to Florian.” It was true enough. Most of the stories involved giant beasts setting upon the city long ago. The ones she’d read about though told of the insidious presence of dragons that weren’t completely formed—something between human and dragon—something more dangerous than either.

“I might be able to help get it back to the city, if that’s where you’re going?” she smiled because unless he kept a shed out here in the woods and liked to decorate it with rotting bodies, there wasn’t anywhere else he could be going. “I’m sure you’ll be paid well for that beast, but I’d rather have a guide. As I said, I’ve never been to Florian and wouldn’t mind hearing about it from a local.”

She took the handful of steps left between them and offered her hand. It was gloved, the crest of the capitol city in the palm of soft black leather. “My name is Agatha. I can get your dragon to the city in exchange for some local gossip on the way?”

The carriage jostled under mounting speed, zipping through the deep forest enroute to the grand city of glass and steal. The carriage itself was sleek black metal, sculpted with curling corners and the shapes of faces in the gleaming surface. Air rippled around the large human container, propelled forward, hovering over the ground with a driver sitting at the front, masked and hooded to withstand the winds, gloved hands pushing at levers.

“At this rate we’ll arrive days early…” Emerald said in his usual low voice, lean body leaned into one corner of the carriage seat. He had his arms folded across his chest, head back and eyes closed. If he didn’t speak, he might look like he slept.

“We did leave a day early…” Margo added timidly from the other bench, chewing her lip.

Agatha looked out the window at the smears of forest rushing by. “It wouldn’t be an inquisition if we didn’t surprise them,” she said. There were rumors going around about the grand city of Florian. Rumors of burned bodies, half-eaten. Rumors of sudden heat waves and rumbles but no dragon in sight. No, there had not been a dragon in Florian in a century. But Agatha knew that not all dragons came scaled from birth. That was a rumor too, wasn’t it? Every few centuries humans gave birth to what became new dragons. Every few centuries, they seeded the fall of a city without even realizing it.

Somewhere out here, in the thick of the wild trees, was a city like that—one taken by monsters and abandoned by humanity. They had been sent from the capital to make sure Florian did not meet the same fate—that the last great city in this forest did not fall to fire.

Something loud cracked through the trees. The carriage rocked sideways before the driver brought it to a stop on the rough road.

Margo eeped in her seat, brown eyes going huge and hands clutching her stack of books and tablet to her chest. “Is it a dragon?”

Emerald’s red mouth pulled into a grin, eyes still closed. “How can you be afraid of them still?”

“How can you not be?” she shot back in a seething whisper.

Agatha pushed the carriage door open and stepped out. The driver leaned over to look down at her, his beaked leather mask pointing at her. “It’s the dragon city, Lady. Chasers hunt bounty there.”

She looked off into the trees. A silver light circled the air around one eye, growing into a rune that spun as her vision searched beyond foliage. The witch tech was expensive, subtle and hard to temper. Her parents had been decided on her life path early on. Witch Hunter had sounded like something exciting when she was a child. She’d thought she’d be hunting actual witches—not a witch hunting snakes in human skin.

“Agatha?” Margo whispered, poking her head out of the carriage. Her big brown curls were barely pulled back from her heart-shaped face. Everything about Margo was soft and round. Even her voice. She was a keeper of information, dedicated to logging history and not much else.

“Wait here,” Agatha barely said before vanishing from the road. It looked like vanishing to Margo anyway. She rolled her arm through the air, sparking circles of runes and slipping through them, folding space and popping out further along into the forest. One. Two. Three. She was in the city. Another boom. Clouds of smoke ahead, barreling out of a building half crumbling. Out of the rising smoke came the body of a dragon. Not Immortal but not something to sneer at either. She expected to see the group of Chasers pushing it back, but when she came to a stop, she spotted only one.

She crouched at the edge of a low rooftop, already slanted in decay with a tree growing out one side. He lit up from within and the monster roared, baring toward him in a charge. Agatha touched the curved blade tucked against her ribs, gloved fingers ready to pull it, but hesitating. Was he in trouble? Or was this glory? It was hard to tell with heroes. The best triumph came when death was near. She’d been raised on legends just like everyone else. Her body leaned forward, ready to tip right off the edge and leap that last distance.

Grayson grinned easily when Apollo came upon him, easy delight on his features but bitter contempt in his heart. He turned toward him, looking him over pointedly. “I made friends at the party,” he explained, secretive about his lover though the state of his hair, his lack of a shirt, and the little trail of hickies yet to fade on his long neck were testament to the reality of that lover. “I was looking for a snack… thought not to wake the staff since they’re not my own and that just seems rude,” he continued, moving closer to the other man. “but I fear I’m lost.”

Ebelt rushed past them, not even pausing to take note of who was loitering in his halls. Grayson quirked a brow and turned his gaze to Apollo once more. “Are they still upset? It’s not like someone doesn’t try to kill Wicker every day. I’m sure Hyacinth will get over a couple Roses having a go at it.” A couple, he said, because he liked this rumor of Ebelt throwing poison at the champion. Winners were winners no matter how they got to the top—thrones had taught them all that lesson.

-

The greenhouse was bright, the lights on the plants certain that it was day. It was easy to lie to plants. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Gloria. The winding stone paths lead through lush greenery and brilliant blooms, many rare, a few considered extinct in the world outside Versailles.

She had a spot in the middle she liked most, with a little sitting area for tea and her work table to the side with little pots of almost plants to the side of mortars of powder and jars of dried leaves and, of course, the sheers. She heard the door on the far end open and close, her pale hand stilling over a bloom she’d been tempted to pluck. She listened to the steps until she was sure it was Ebelt. The bloom would live another day. She turned from it to greet her king when he arrived, ducking into the slightest of curtseys still impeccably poised. “I had hoped you would get some sleep.”

Jewl was slouched in one of the metal chairs at her sometimes-teatable. There was no tea today. Blood and saliva dribbled from his mouth, wetting his slacks where it gathered on her knee. “I didn’t need to bind him. I think he wanted to show his loyalty to Rose by not struggling. He was quite remorseful for the trouble he caused.”

She’d pulled up her white hair since the party, in a messy bun atop her head, with round, silver, thin-rimmed glasses on her little nose. She’d abandoned her gown from the ball for a white dress with barely-there straps, probably not wanting to risk Jewl messing up the other. Funny, since it wasn’t like she’d ever wear it again anyway. Still, Gloria was not one for unnecessary stains.

Sometimes Gloria thought, that if she’d had a mother, the woman would have said “waste not, want not” and she would have taken it to heart. Looking at Ebelt, that same heart wondered what she’d wasted to be left so wanting in life now. She’d gone over their time together, his climb to the throne, again and again. She still didn’t know what had gone wrong.

She was white in a sea of deep greens and dark soil and gray flagstones. She was a flower in her garden, but she was the flower wielding the sheers. She sighed like her night had been long and leaned back against her work table. “It seems Jewl thought he could be the one to kill Wicker. Not for any grand scheme or story, but just for the glory of it—the rush.” She sounded pointed unimpressed. “The boy had a bit much to drink, Ebelt.”

She hesitated, watching him. “I hear Hyacinth thinks you poisoned Wicker. Vinnia is quite set on it. Do you want me to do something about it? Put attention elsewhere or maybe find someone else for them to blame?” She looked thoughtfully at Jewl then before wrinkling her nose at the idea. It would still be Rose they pointed their calloused fingers at. Her head turned up to her old friend once more, her king. “Wicker was close with Alios tonight. It would turn some eyes to Jasmine and likely confuse everyone. He probably wouldn’t be punished for it, since Luna wouldn’t be certain,” she offered carefully.

BEAU! I was just thinking about you! How have you been? Time really does move by sometimes. Like how I disappeared for a week (work week, I have crazy shifts). The book is out and hopefully the second will be out this summer. Fingers-crossed. It's turned in anyway, so it's just editing now.

And Krystal! You're so sweet to throw a link out for me! <3<3<3

Wicker found herself leaving the ball, arms slung over shoulders on either side of her. Vinnia was on her right, arm around her waist, while the guy on her left, Marble, was carrying most of her weight. “Are we leaving?” She tried to twist around, to look back. Shit, she felt wasted. Everyone looked really serious and she had a bad feeling she’d somehow fucked up the ball. It wouldn’t be the first time but still, usually she at least knew it.

She caught sight of Alios and started to reach for him, twisting back more but Marble caught her ribs and hoisted her forward again, Vinnia grabbing at her reaching hand. “Stop it. We have to get you out of here,” Vinnia hissed low. She sounded worried, really worried, not just her usually nagging worried. Maybe something really was wrong. Oh yeah, Fern was stabbed. Wicker sunk against Mable’s side and let them steer her out the doors and toward the cars.

---

Idella found Fern’s protests comforting. She was still ordering the newbies to stand upright. “You need to tell me what happened,” he said lowly to the knight in his arms. Someone had already brought his car around. “And if you know why Wicker is a damn mess already. She was dueling just fine twenty minutes ago…”

One of the younger knight-hopefuls opened the passenger door and Idella placed Fern easily in the seat. He paused, looking at the flood of others exiting the party. Vinnia was shouting at people to get out of her way and making a line toward his car. Idella pitched a brow. “Take her home. I’m taking Fern to the infirmary,” he ordered, nudging his chin toward another car. And he didn’t want Wicker puking in his car. It wasn’t often they went to the infirmary but considering all the smashed noses in their house tonight, their own little room of medical supplies would be wiped out.

Vinnia’s lips were pressed, head shaking once. “She has to go to the hospital.”

Idella frowned. It wasn’t like the duchess to overreact when it mattered. “Wh-”

Vinnia hissed at him—at him!—and pulled open Wicker’s jacket now that they were standing beside his car. The cut on her ribs looked bad, not because it was deep or wide, but because it oozed dark blood and seemed to be reaching outward into her body with dark fingers. “What is that?”

“She’s been poisoned,” Vinnia said quietly. Marble waited for their king to nod for him to open the back door and start maneuvering the barely conscious champion onto the backseat. “It was there after her duel with…” Vinnia bit her lip, looking from Idella to Fern in the front seat. She squelched her urge to fuss over the other woman because Fern was still looking very much in command of herself and not at all likely to welcome it.

Idella nodded once and nudged his chin toward the backseat. “Get in then,” he ordered the duchess to climb into the backseat with the two knights already wedged in there, closed Fern’s door and rounded his car for the driver’s seat. How had everything gone so wrong so fast?

-

Jewl had done the only thing he could and taken whatever abuse Ebelt dealt out, not fighting back when pinned to the floor but persisting in his drunken mumbles and complaint. “I didn’t do anything they weren’t doing. Chrysanthemum and Hyacinth are allowed to ruin the party with their brute antics, why can’t we throw in a little Rose thorns to break them up?” He let the whining ramble, hoping it all fed into a look of drunkin foolishness he could pretend not to remember tomorrow.

Ebelt shoved him toward Gloria and he almost winced, back straightening under her gaze but head down and to the side with real shame now. “Of course. Almi can see to the guests making it out and that our own are looked after. You should retire for the night, rest.”

With a sharp jab of her chin in one direction she ordered the suspect knight away from the ball and toward more private Rose quarters. He managed to drop his head further, no longer for show, and walked.

Gloria managed a short curtsy for the king and a duck of her head that was so well practiced, it wouldn’t even look bitter. “Good night, Your Highness.”

Gloria almost stopped breathing when he asked if she’d ever consider being queen. Her pulse quickened and her perfect smile faltered, a little more real, a little more tired. “There was a time when I thought much of it,” she confessed quietly, like the truth of it might shame her, though those pale eyes still watched him. “You know I would do anything to help you.” But the dissatisfaction was there, because she had never wanted to be a queen unless he was the king.

And then ruckus turned into ruin. She turned to the scene when Ebelt rushed for it. Oh, Jewl. Impatient, Jewl.

-

Almi looked around for Phellar but, not finding him, she shot Idella a stern glare before patting Luna’s hand away, lifting her chin, and wading out into the open floor of knights. She was a princess of Rose, after all, and had put efforts into this gathering.

“Enough!” Her voice raised, tone like a mother—nothing any of them were used to. Her arms crossed and her brow pinched, expression full of displeasure and a little sadness behind that anger. “You’re going to startle the newbies, Hadron. You know very well this isn’t how a duel is done and that balls are not the place for brawling. Not before two in the morning, anyway and even then, it’s done outside…”

And then Fern was shouting out Wicker’s name and launching herself at Jewl. Almi sucked back a gasp, eyes flaring at the sight of a dagger and Ebelt and Wicker collapsing. What on Earth was going on? And where was Heiv?

-

Jewl managed to smile, pretty mouth a little laugh when he landed on the floor, pushed hard from the side by Fern. He made no immediate move to rise, not realizing just yet where his dagger had ended up. “What? I thought this was how we started duels now? I’m just following Chrysanthemum’s lead…” He gestured with a roll of his wrist toward Hadron and the other knights.

His eye cut to Ebelt, bravado wavering then, until he looked at Wicker. She was trying to stand but her limbs were too unsteady. He’d hate himself every day for missing this opportunity. The scorn of it became her, and he hated her as though she’d been the one to knock him down.

He pulled his smile back into place, looking a little drunk when he leaned back onto his hands on the floor, and finally looked up at Fern. He’d intended to praise her, or maybe challenge her instead for the showmanship. But it wasn’t the sight he expected and color drained from his cheeks, eyes widening. "I-I didn't mean to... She ran into me and..."

Red was spreading in that pretty white fabric.

Idella slid in behind her, arm hovering at her back, ready to brace her if she wavered and sweep her up if she fell. He looked down at the knife, his red hair mingling with her dark. “It’s shallow and to the side. You’re going to be fine.”
-

Wicker was warm. Too warm. She was on the floor again. Fuck. How many times was she going to be knocked over? She squinted at Ebelt, confusion looking angry and eyes a little foggy. He was groping her all over, but it seemed keenly unpassionate so she tried swatting him away.

She tried to get up but her limbs wobbled, landing her on the floor with him again. Vinnia grabbed at her arms this time, kneeling next to them.

“What did you do?” the duchess hissed at Ebelt, voice still low as she had not yet forgotten his status. She touched Wicker’s cheeks, skin burning, and then pulled at her jacket, dragging it open to expose that little cut on her ribs again. It was still oozing blood. It should have scabbed by now. And dark veins crawled below her pale skin from that razer bite. Vinnia’s eyes widened. “You poisoned her?” Her gaze slashed up, past Ebelt to the would-be assassin. A rose knight. No. But Ebelt had snatched Wicker from the assassin. But that was only after Fern had already exposed the situation. After it was foiled.

Then all thoughts of plots and assassination attempts were forgotten, washed away by the hollowing of shock when her gaze landed on Fern and the little knife in her side. Vinnia stammered before breaking the silence with a scream.

Wicker blinked at the girl, finally pushing her away and forcing her legs to hold her up when she stood. This time it took and she turned to take in the scene everyone else was morbidly inhaling. “Good god, Fern. Did you take a knife for me?” She had to squint to see but that gaze cut angrily to the rose knight still sitting on the floor. She didn’t even know his name. Her teeth clicked and she started for him, vengeance in her heart and the edges of a cruel smile pulling at her lips. And then she gasped, air catching in her throat and body dropping, landing on her hands and knees again, fighting the need to just close her eyes and collapse.

Idella turned to look at her where she landed, his teeth finally mashing. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded, volume of a king. All of Hyacinth was paying attention now, abandoning friends and drinks and light-heartedness to look on at a mess not even they understood.

He finally caught sight of Heiv then, not looking much better than the rest of them. “Care to explain, Rose King?” he spat across that distance between them before shaking his head in disgust and lifting Fern carefully into his arms. “Someone pick up Wicker,” Idella shouted, walking toward the door. “And don’t let the Roses near her,” he added with biting contempt. A growing fleet of Hyacinths moved after him, draining from the room, several keening in worry for Fern.

I feel like it should go without saying, but if I ever forget to respond to a character, you guys can tell me. I keep adding characters! I love it. ^_^

And, Verse, I love the ideas for Gloria. We can kind of makeup/develop their backstory as we go based on that, I think.

And Ven, it seems like Hadron might have derailed their Kingly conversation for a bit... lol

Yeah, everything should be as it was now. It just took them some time to finish transferring it all over.


And Verse, dear patron, NO REFUNDS!

I'm adding Gloria into my mix! Verse, I'm thinking maybe she could have been close with Ebelt and helped him gain the throne back in the day? Then super disappointed when he gave it to Heiv, but always appearing supportive publicly, so as to maintain the unified image of Rose. But now I'm thinking she's a big old schemer! Maybe plotting with Grayson. Planning to pull weeds from the gardens...

Idella maintained that look of polite attention coated in mild boredom. Kingly as fuck. Scarlett offered plenty of entertaining words for the gossips and proved in her responses why he’d rather cut off a finger than put a crown on her head. Already she tried to steer, manipulate and influence his moves with her little opinions, like he cared what she thought would be most delightful or weak. What did a Cereus know of weakness and strength? Mouths that whispered but took no action, made no move, offered no help.

She seemed to think he wanted to make waves. He raised a brow when she suggested he woo another king and then curled a cheek in disinterest at his options.

He glanced at the duel to see Wicker throwing her jacket to Vinnia, rolling her shoulders before lunging into the fight once more. He waved off the girls. “Have at it. I’ll just have to look for a Queen elsewhere,” Idella said with a little smirk and started away from them, toward Luna.

He reached the other king and the rose princess at the ends of a conversation. His smile grew when he came to stand beside them, watching the duel. “I doubt Wicker or Ebelt would win if they did duel Princess Almi on a catwalk. Though, to their credit, they would certainly try their best.”

Almi turned to the side, eyes widening a little before she smiled politely and gave a little dip of a curtsey. “Your highness, bringing entertainment as always.” It managed to sound like a clean compliment passing her lips, and not the clipped jab it would have been from anyone else.

Idella smiled at that, pale blue eyes regarding the princess before landing on the King. “I find that it follows me, aggressively at times. But you don’t seem lacking in entertainment tonight. And I feel like your pretty knight was at the heart of this,” he lied, because he had pierced the heart of this situation the moment he threw Ebelt’s sword.

-

Grayson knew too much. It was his saving grace. Knowing things had kept him alive, highly regarded, and at times feared. He’d done terrible things and walked away—with worse things in mind for the future. He rolled his eyes so hard at Wicker’s duel that his body turned, back to the scene and narrow silhouette drifting away into the crowd.

He was sick of watching Hyacinth’s Champion paraded around like she was the star, like every damned party was for her. He’d watched that fight in the garden, the one that had meant the world to the fate of Hyacinth but had been witnessed by so few. She had been a monster that day. Even the clouds had opened up and poured all the water of the seas down on them in an attempt to bring it to an end. Hayden had been magnificent, cruel and biting down to the his last moment. Wicker had been such a little thing then and she’d taken such a beating in that last fight. Grayson had been sure she would die. But somehow the little beast had stayed on her feet and a king had gone to his knees. In front of her. It still haunted Grayson, the wrongness of it all. That day should have gone differently.

And really, it was all Almi’s fault. Whiny, foolish, damsel. Grayson had no room for damsels.

Speaking of… He caught sight of the Rose King slipping away from the party. And then Phellar in pursuit. Grayson didn’t hesitate to follow, shoes made to be quiet.

He leaned his shoulder into a doorframe, neck craned and temple to the cold wood when he took in the developing scene. His skin heated. You’d have to be dead not to be warm, watching that. A better person might have intervened. A discrete person might have walked away. Grayson slid his phone easily from his pocket, snapping a few pictures before filming.

-

She’d almost had him where she wanted him when instead of leaning back, trapped, he threw himself forward into her attack. Wicker managed to heave out a swear when his weight forced her back. If she’d worn the heels Vinnia had pushed, she might have fallen, but instead it was a twirling, ducking backward swirl that landed her low, sword ready and the lean muscles in her legs eager to launch her up at him again.

The sound of the crowd changed and then so did Ebelt.

Her gaze fixed on the tear in his fine suit. She couldn’t see the wound, though she suddenly wished to lick it. He called the duel and she stood, heaving out a breath that could be nothing but disappointment, before smiling. It was bad form to push a duel when you’d already won. She moved toward him and a few roses inched forward, as though they might come to Ebelt’s aid if Hyacinth went mad. The blade moved through the air, slow enough not to be a true threat and her eyes locked with his. The tip found the hilt at his hip, and she took those last steps in, pushing the sword back into its dark home on his belt.

The Hyacinths in the crowd beat palms to tables, and boots to the floor, rising an melodious throb in the ballroom. Wicker leaned in to Ebelt, still breathing heavily and eyes all his. “Tease,” she whispered, and no one else would hear it over the drumroll of limbs.

She turned from him, giving a man with two weapons her back, and lifted her arms into the air. The Hyacinths in the crowd roared, along with others drawn into the revere.

Oh, he's going to be a monster. I'm going to have him see what happens between Phellar and Heiv, do nothing about it, and then later shame and blackmail Heiv to help him get Hayden awake again....

Could have been told to "teach him a lesson" by Hayden and decided to make it worse, to make a new spot for himself? Unless you want it less intentional?