Who: Erran and Marco Where: Erran's room When: Late morning
Erran had very nearly missed seeing the yellow star on his door. He'd spent last night in Gemma's room and had woken up early, as usual, to go take care of his morning routine in his own space. He had still been bleary when the little splash of cheerful yellow had caught his eye, but he definitely wasn't sleepy anymore after he registered what the fuck he was seeing.
After checking the network, it became clear that Cecilia and Pam had been targeted too—points for thoroughness? Erran was pissed off, and also mad that he was reacting exactly the way someone had clearly intended him to. He went through his usual routine with a constant mental commentary: stupid Nazi motherfucker while he held each asana, and stupid Nazi motherfucker while he said the morning blessings, and while he tried to sit through zazen, why do I even bother arguing against violence in this place when somebody needs to get punched this badly?
So he wasn't feeling as peaceful and Buddhist as usual.
He didn't take the star down from the door yet, out of an obscure feeling that if he rushed to whisk it away it would make him seem like he was the one who was ashamed. Later, he thought. He couldn't leave it up there indefinitely because it was gross to make Cecilia and Pam walk past it when they might not share his random psychological association, but for now, he was fine with making everyone else in the house take a good long look. At least he had the option of taking it down easily, unlike the Hathaway-"murderer" situation, so that was something.
By the time he'd had a late breakfast and a chance to talk with an equally outraged Gemma, he felt better—not happy, but able to think clearly and distract himself. While trying to concentrate on a book, he found himself reaching for the little orange calm jar that Marco had made him, shaking it up and watching the glitter swirl and settle.