Something's very wrong in this school. You can feel it in your bones.
But honestly, right now...
But honestly, right now...
The Curious Case of Diligence University
- Thread starter Fletcher
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Personal Log [1A]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
Something's very wrong in this school. You can feel it in your bones.
But honestly, right now, you don't really mind. Because the Science Club's just sent you an invitation, and all you have to do to join is demonstrate a possible affinity for their work.
To be honest, you've always wanted to join this club. It's not just any science club; it's Diligence University's Science Club, the best and brightest in the entire country. It's led by none other than Michel Hallow, someone who you're sure is going to do great things despite the black mark this university will lend to his name, a brilliant young man with a truly ridiculous wealth of scientific information. And he's all too willing to share it with his club. Even with the exclusivity of the club limiting any chances of being privy to that knowledge, you can dream. God, can you dream.
And- And your letter is so personal. Diligence Academy requires that each of its students submit an essay on any subject the student deems appropriate to the clubs they wish to join. The essays will be accessible to the club leaders, who can read any that they seem fit to and gauge whether they want a certain student in their club. You put a lot of work into yours, and it seems to have paid off. It's only your first year here, and you already have an invitation! The letter goes on about the club's interest in your work, focusing most especially on your evident fluency in...
. . [ ]Biological manipulation and modification. You've always been interested in biology, most especially in mutating the bodies of living organisms, and you'd chosen to write about that for your school essay.
. . [ ]Inventing. You've always been enamored with steampunk and the like, especially building grand machines that do what society deemed impossible. It seems your essay's topic has peaked their interest.
. . [ ]Computer technology and virtual realities. The idea of AIs and building realities with nothing but code is intellectually stimulating on multiple levels, and theoretically, it's a field you take great interest in.
. . [ ]Possible recreation of mythical creatures through experiments. You've always found yourself trying to rationalize how exactly creatures such as werewolves and vampires could exist, and the idea of making them is an area of study you like the sound of.
. . [ ]Time travel. The possibility of paradoxes, how time and its passing affects the universe, the possible repercussions of such a thing- all of those are risks you are willing to take to fix mistakes after they have been made, and you've taken to theorizing about whether it's possible.
. . [ ]Thaumaturgy. Or, as most people would refer to it, magic. You're sure that magic is just a series of reactions created by a fulfilling specific set of requirements, and with enough research... well, you've always hoped to wield that sort of power.
You feel like dancing. Or, well, maybe not dancing. But receiving a letter fills your body with an excited energy, and you want to just run for the club room and ask to join.
But...
That spark of excitement dulls a little when you recall your... circumstances. Something is very wrong in this school, and... well, you're pretty sure it's affecting you. Your world's started to falter a little around the edges. Odd things have been happening around you, things just a little bit off when compared to baseline reality. And it begun a few months back, when you first joined school.
. . [ ]You've been losing time. Blackouts, little blank spaces of memory- you can blink and find yourself rooms away from where you were a second before. And no-one seems to know where you are after your mind shuts off. Not the cameras, not the people you talk to, and not even you.
. . [ ]Someone's been watching you. You don't know exactly who he is, and every question leads to students feigning ignorance or outright running from you. He never seems to speak to anyone, and you can only identify him by the pins on his blazer: a tiny white thing in the shape of a human heart and the coded ID badge of a certified member of the Science Club.
. . [ ]You've nearly died multiple times since you came to school. It's all been plausible, nothing as obvious as an assassination, but at this point you know the school nurse better than you know your lessons and there's a bed in the infirmiary sectioned off just for you.
. . [ ]Something's been trashing any extracurricular experiments you make. Simple machines are shattered, chemical compounds are spilled from high roofs, any animal test subjects are found dead- everything you try to start is sabotaged before it even begins. And you don't know why.
Still... this is the Science Club. The wealth of information and equipment they could provide, the projects they run and the people who could help you within... You can't say no. Not to them.
You'll just have to keep your hardships private. You can't give up this opportunity.
You take the form that came with the letter and start to fill it out.
. . [ ]Name?
. . [ ]Age?
. . [ ]Gender?
. . [ ]What do you consider your greatest strength?
. . [ ]What do you consider your greatest weakness?
. . [ ]Why are you interested in being a part of this club?
. . [ ]What would you give up your life for?
.
To anyone reading this quest: this will probably have as much scientific accuracy as your average sci-fi anime. The results of any scientific endeavours are going to be focused on much more than the specifics.
With that disclaimer out of the way, hi! Hopefully this quest turns out okay.
But honestly, right now, you don't really mind. Because the Science Club's just sent you an invitation, and all you have to do to join is demonstrate a possible affinity for their work.
To be honest, you've always wanted to join this club. It's not just any science club; it's Diligence University's Science Club, the best and brightest in the entire country. It's led by none other than Michel Hallow, someone who you're sure is going to do great things despite the black mark this university will lend to his name, a brilliant young man with a truly ridiculous wealth of scientific information. And he's all too willing to share it with his club. Even with the exclusivity of the club limiting any chances of being privy to that knowledge, you can dream. God, can you dream.
And- And your letter is so personal. Diligence Academy requires that each of its students submit an essay on any subject the student deems appropriate to the clubs they wish to join. The essays will be accessible to the club leaders, who can read any that they seem fit to and gauge whether they want a certain student in their club. You put a lot of work into yours, and it seems to have paid off. It's only your first year here, and you already have an invitation! The letter goes on about the club's interest in your work, focusing most especially on your evident fluency in...
. . [ ]Biological manipulation and modification. You've always been interested in biology, most especially in mutating the bodies of living organisms, and you'd chosen to write about that for your school essay.
. . [ ]Inventing. You've always been enamored with steampunk and the like, especially building grand machines that do what society deemed impossible. It seems your essay's topic has peaked their interest.
. . [ ]Computer technology and virtual realities. The idea of AIs and building realities with nothing but code is intellectually stimulating on multiple levels, and theoretically, it's a field you take great interest in.
. . [ ]Possible recreation of mythical creatures through experiments. You've always found yourself trying to rationalize how exactly creatures such as werewolves and vampires could exist, and the idea of making them is an area of study you like the sound of.
. . [ ]Time travel. The possibility of paradoxes, how time and its passing affects the universe, the possible repercussions of such a thing- all of those are risks you are willing to take to fix mistakes after they have been made, and you've taken to theorizing about whether it's possible.
. . [ ]Thaumaturgy. Or, as most people would refer to it, magic. You're sure that magic is just a series of reactions created by a fulfilling specific set of requirements, and with enough research... well, you've always hoped to wield that sort of power.
You feel like dancing. Or, well, maybe not dancing. But receiving a letter fills your body with an excited energy, and you want to just run for the club room and ask to join.
But...
That spark of excitement dulls a little when you recall your... circumstances. Something is very wrong in this school, and... well, you're pretty sure it's affecting you. Your world's started to falter a little around the edges. Odd things have been happening around you, things just a little bit off when compared to baseline reality. And it begun a few months back, when you first joined school.
. . [ ]You've been losing time. Blackouts, little blank spaces of memory- you can blink and find yourself rooms away from where you were a second before. And no-one seems to know where you are after your mind shuts off. Not the cameras, not the people you talk to, and not even you.
. . [ ]Someone's been watching you. You don't know exactly who he is, and every question leads to students feigning ignorance or outright running from you. He never seems to speak to anyone, and you can only identify him by the pins on his blazer: a tiny white thing in the shape of a human heart and the coded ID badge of a certified member of the Science Club.
. . [ ]You've nearly died multiple times since you came to school. It's all been plausible, nothing as obvious as an assassination, but at this point you know the school nurse better than you know your lessons and there's a bed in the infirmiary sectioned off just for you.
. . [ ]Something's been trashing any extracurricular experiments you make. Simple machines are shattered, chemical compounds are spilled from high roofs, any animal test subjects are found dead- everything you try to start is sabotaged before it even begins. And you don't know why.
Still... this is the Science Club. The wealth of information and equipment they could provide, the projects they run and the people who could help you within... You can't say no. Not to them.
You'll just have to keep your hardships private. You can't give up this opportunity.
You take the form that came with the letter and start to fill it out.
. . [ ]Name?
. . [ ]Age?
. . [ ]Gender?
. . [ ]What do you consider your greatest strength?
. . [ ]What do you consider your greatest weakness?
. . [ ]Why are you interested in being a part of this club?
. . [ ]What would you give up your life for?
.
To anyone reading this quest: this will probably have as much scientific accuracy as your average sci-fi anime. The results of any scientific endeavours are going to be focused on much more than the specifics.
With that disclaimer out of the way, hi! Hopefully this quest turns out okay.
Last edited:
Personal Log [1B]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X]Possible recreation of mythical creatures through experiments. You've always found yourself trying to rationalize how exactly creatures such as werewolves and vampires could exist, and the idea of making them is an area of study you like the sound of.
[X]You've been losing time. Blackouts, little blank spaces of memory- you can blink and find yourself rooms away from where you were a second before. And no-one seems to know where you are after your mind shuts off. Not the cameras, not the people you talk to, and not even you.
[X] Name: Sophia Blackfields
[X] Age: <Whichever is the norm for a first year at this school?> If none, 14
[X] Gender: Female
[X] Greatest Strength: Creativity
[X] Greatest Weakness: Impulsive
[X] Interest: To have the best and brightest working with you on your projects, and to see what they are interested in.
[X] Life: To create a whole new, viable sapient species.
.
You fill out the form with no problem, adding all the details they ask for needlessly. Honestly, most of this is just a formality, isn't it? Name, Sophia Blackfields; they'd know that from the essay you submitted. Age, 14; a little younger than expected for high school, but Diligence University's never really had a lowest or highest age range, allowing people of all ages to start and finish their education. Female; that was on your file too, wasn't it? And they have to have read your file to figure out your basic information.
The others, though... that's a little less routine. You push down the urge to add in a false weakness like "works too hard"- it's never really been your thing, lying about yourself so obviously. They'd appreciate truth more. Creativity is something you find comes easy, the unconventional and the beautiful everything you've ever dreamed of. And it's manifested in an impulsiveness you're not too stupid to dismiss; you go for your solutions first and do as you wish, which has resulted both in a variety of works in progress and in a tendency to ignore consequences in favour of fleeting ideas.
You're interested in the Science Club because of the possibility it offers you. There are so many people there, brilliant and intelligent and clever enough to excel with the guidance Hallow offers. You'd like to meet them, to work with them and receive both their advice and their assistance. Maybe... Maybe, if you succeed in your dream, in creating an entirely new and sapient species, it will be under the club's tutelage.
You check your watch. The letter asked that you come to the club at five-thirty, listing a specific area on the school map. You expected them to meet in a science classroom or something of the like, but... no, it's not there. Instead, the meeting appears to be taking place at what used to be the school's gym, a large, paved square of land with a roof that was clearly newly built and a few tables set up for unknown reasons.
The reasons don't seem so unknown now, you think to yourself. It's to be the club room. Well, at least it leaves a lot of open space for your experiments. Fires would be much easier to contain there.
Today should just be an introduction day. Which makes the request that you change into gym clothes and that you bring some sort of... escape item? Well, it's far more worrying, knowing that. You don't have much- biological engineering is generally far slower than just making some kind of grappling hook- but it'd probably be best to bring along something related to your work, just for extra credit. You mull over your options.
You'll bring...
[ ]An experiment of yours: a living tentacle, one that feeds off of your body heat and can stretch up to ten metres before risking physical damage. It's mutating a little, but you don't think that's going to hinder you in using it as an escape item, however you're going to use it.
[ ]A clumsily made invention, a flashbang that tests have revealed can blind someone for up to a minute without eye protection. It's not as precise as you hoped it would be, but it'll buy you a bit of time should you need to break free of something.
[ ]Write-in.
You pick up your chosen item, slipping it into a satchel and changing quickly into your gym uniform. Eight o'clock. You have thirty minutes.
You steel your nerves and throw the door open, ready to start your journey...
...and accidentally slam the wood into someone passing by, a short-ish boy with messy brown hair and a letter in his hands. He curses loudly, falling to the ground and subsequently banging his elbow against the concrete floor. Even more cursing follows.
"Oh, shit! I am so, so sorry!" You did not mean to do that. At all.
"No, no, it's fine!" He stands, rubbing the bump on his head. A second later, he pulls his hand away with a hiss. "Or, ah.. not that fine. But I'll live." He opens his eyes, revealing an unnatural, almost reflective shimmer to his brown eyes. "Ignore it. Althorn Sinnar, nice to meetcha."
"... Sophia Blackfields. Likewise." You don't mean to pause, either, but... you catch sight of the text on his letter. It's in the same meticulous handwriting as your own invitation letter, and it's stamped with the same official-looking seal of the Diligence Science Club.
[ ]Ask if he's heading for the introduction ceremony.
. . [ ]Walk with him if he is.
. . [ ]Go there alone even if he's headed the same way.
[ ]Leave it be. He might have just picked the letter up.
[ ]Write-in.
[X]You've been losing time. Blackouts, little blank spaces of memory- you can blink and find yourself rooms away from where you were a second before. And no-one seems to know where you are after your mind shuts off. Not the cameras, not the people you talk to, and not even you.
[X] Name: Sophia Blackfields
[X] Age: <Whichever is the norm for a first year at this school?> If none, 14
[X] Gender: Female
[X] Greatest Strength: Creativity
[X] Greatest Weakness: Impulsive
[X] Interest: To have the best and brightest working with you on your projects, and to see what they are interested in.
[X] Life: To create a whole new, viable sapient species.
.
You fill out the form with no problem, adding all the details they ask for needlessly. Honestly, most of this is just a formality, isn't it? Name, Sophia Blackfields; they'd know that from the essay you submitted. Age, 14; a little younger than expected for high school, but Diligence University's never really had a lowest or highest age range, allowing people of all ages to start and finish their education. Female; that was on your file too, wasn't it? And they have to have read your file to figure out your basic information.
The others, though... that's a little less routine. You push down the urge to add in a false weakness like "works too hard"- it's never really been your thing, lying about yourself so obviously. They'd appreciate truth more. Creativity is something you find comes easy, the unconventional and the beautiful everything you've ever dreamed of. And it's manifested in an impulsiveness you're not too stupid to dismiss; you go for your solutions first and do as you wish, which has resulted both in a variety of works in progress and in a tendency to ignore consequences in favour of fleeting ideas.
You're interested in the Science Club because of the possibility it offers you. There are so many people there, brilliant and intelligent and clever enough to excel with the guidance Hallow offers. You'd like to meet them, to work with them and receive both their advice and their assistance. Maybe... Maybe, if you succeed in your dream, in creating an entirely new and sapient species, it will be under the club's tutelage.
You check your watch. The letter asked that you come to the club at five-thirty, listing a specific area on the school map. You expected them to meet in a science classroom or something of the like, but... no, it's not there. Instead, the meeting appears to be taking place at what used to be the school's gym, a large, paved square of land with a roof that was clearly newly built and a few tables set up for unknown reasons.
The reasons don't seem so unknown now, you think to yourself. It's to be the club room. Well, at least it leaves a lot of open space for your experiments. Fires would be much easier to contain there.
Today should just be an introduction day. Which makes the request that you change into gym clothes and that you bring some sort of... escape item? Well, it's far more worrying, knowing that. You don't have much- biological engineering is generally far slower than just making some kind of grappling hook- but it'd probably be best to bring along something related to your work, just for extra credit. You mull over your options.
You'll bring...
[ ]An experiment of yours: a living tentacle, one that feeds off of your body heat and can stretch up to ten metres before risking physical damage. It's mutating a little, but you don't think that's going to hinder you in using it as an escape item, however you're going to use it.
[ ]A clumsily made invention, a flashbang that tests have revealed can blind someone for up to a minute without eye protection. It's not as precise as you hoped it would be, but it'll buy you a bit of time should you need to break free of something.
[ ]Write-in.
You pick up your chosen item, slipping it into a satchel and changing quickly into your gym uniform. Eight o'clock. You have thirty minutes.
You steel your nerves and throw the door open, ready to start your journey...
...and accidentally slam the wood into someone passing by, a short-ish boy with messy brown hair and a letter in his hands. He curses loudly, falling to the ground and subsequently banging his elbow against the concrete floor. Even more cursing follows.
"Oh, shit! I am so, so sorry!" You did not mean to do that. At all.
"No, no, it's fine!" He stands, rubbing the bump on his head. A second later, he pulls his hand away with a hiss. "Or, ah.. not that fine. But I'll live." He opens his eyes, revealing an unnatural, almost reflective shimmer to his brown eyes. "Ignore it. Althorn Sinnar, nice to meetcha."
"... Sophia Blackfields. Likewise." You don't mean to pause, either, but... you catch sight of the text on his letter. It's in the same meticulous handwriting as your own invitation letter, and it's stamped with the same official-looking seal of the Diligence Science Club.
[ ]Ask if he's heading for the introduction ceremony.
. . [ ]Walk with him if he is.
. . [ ]Go there alone even if he's headed the same way.
[ ]Leave it be. He might have just picked the letter up.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1C]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
Wow, was this one long. A quick note; my exams are coming up, so I might not be able to post until next week, about Tuesday or Wednesday. Sorry for the delay!
[X]An experiment of yours: a living tentacle, one that feeds off of your body heat and can stretch up to ten metres before risking physical damage. It's mutating a little, but you don't think that's going to hinder you in using it as an escape item, however you're going to use it.
You're very proud of the tentacle! It's doing its best! And it seems to really like cuddles.
[X]Ask if he's heading for the introduction ceremony.
- [X]Walk with him if he is.
.
"Are you going to the Science Club meeting, too?" you ask, the pride that had welled up within you at the letter dimming in intensity just a little. You hoped you'd be the only one... But that doesn't matter! It just means you'll have more allies! Or, more interestingly, some extra competition. Althorn looks so careless that he's got to either be a genius or very, very good at information theft, and both would certainly be a way to spice up your day.
With the oddly artificial shine to his eyes, you'd bet on genius. No thief would be stupid enough to parade what must be technologically advanced eye contacts out in the open.
"That thing? Oh, yeah." He eyes the way your satchel bulges apprehensively, a hand slipping into an equally distended pocket. Some kind of weapon, you'd assume. "Seems fun and all. Honestly, though, I'm just going to see what all the fuss is about. If a club's elite enough to have some sort of elaborate membership filtering, it's got to be something."
You feel something in your brain snap, like a car being pulled to too sudden a stop. The world smells like sickness, the cloying, sharp scent of iron and blood, and you find yourself irrationally, unnaturally angry. "... Oh? So you're just here for the hell of it?" How in hell did he get into the club?
"I was bound to get into something. Applying for all the clubs at once means a lot of failsafes." The brunette grins smugly at you, as if he doesn't know exactly how wrong this sheer audacity is. You take back everything you said about him. Except the bad things. "What about you, Blackfields? How'd they pick you up?"
"I applied," you say sharply, "and they accepted."
"Oh, neat! Weird; no-one else I've asked seems to have a letter. Ah, well; maybe I just haven't asked enough people."
"Indeed." You get the words out through gritted teeth. "After all, the club seems to be less exclusive than it's made out to be. As far as I can tell, it'll let a whole lot of idiots in. You'd know, wouldn't you?"
The silence in the hallway is almost deafening.
"... Hey." Althnorn's voice is unnervingly cold, and his contacts light up in a dangerous shade of purple. "What the hell did you just say about me?"
"I'd say it again," you snap. "You don't seem to have too much appreciation for what this kind of club could mean."
Faster than you can retaliate, the boy is pinning you to the wall, something that feels suspiciously like the barrel of a gun pressed deadly serious against your stomach. Despite yourself, you feel a slightly mad grin forming on your face. It's been a while since you've been in a proper hallway fight. And one with stakes as high as this... oh, this is new. Beautifully, intoxicatingly new.
"Do you find baking soda volcanoes very interesting, Blackfields? Making chemicals go kaboom in an Erlenmeyer flask?" The gun starts to glow a little against the cloth of your school blazer, the same shade of purple as Althorn's augmented eyes. "You really think pulling shit for some high school club is worth it?"
You don't answer him. Instead, you glare right into the brightness of his eyes and laugh.
The tentacle you brought with you snaps his hand to the side with almost bone-breaking speed, sending the slightly smaller boy crashing into the ground. You pet your creation as a reward, staring down at the student you've defeated victoriously. "If I didn't think it was worth it, your hand would still be fine."
It's quiet. Too quiet. And suddenly, you're deathly aware of the camera at the end of the hall.
Your senses return to you in an instant, leaving you with a realization and horror creeping up on you. Althorn seems to feel the same, the hostile glow gone and replaced with primal terror.
What the hell was that?
You shake it off quickly, feeling the blood rushing out of your head. "Shit! I-"
"What the-"
"I don't know either!" You most definitely did not mean to do that. At all. But the evidence is righht in front of you: a student injured, an unused gun tossed aside, and the camera watching, watching, watching.
Althorn responds first, somehow, snapping out of his surprise. "I pulled a gun on you."
"I nearly broke your wrist!"
"... You have a tentacle in your bag?"
"Leave it be! It had nothing to do with this." Well, a little. But it responds swiftly when you're angry, and- and you were so, so very angry. "I- fuck, I'm sorry."
"Sorry? That was- That was insane!" Althorn laughs, looking concerningly pleased. "Maybe this school wasn't such a bad choice, after all."
... You literally almost broke his wrist.
"Come on! The Science Club meets in a few minutes." He takes your arm with his uninjured hand, pulling you to the club room without so much as a glance behind.
Yeah, you have no idea what's going on.
You don't care that much about the Science Club. Really. You don't. So what the actual, godforsaken heck was that all about?
You don't get answers even when you've arrived.
The club room isn't what you'd imagined it to be- for one, it's outdoors rather than in a nice covered space- but it's beautiful all the same. The space on every table but one has been filled almost completely with the results of experiments and with dozens of different inventions, from a fish flashing thousands of colours to a cloak that blinks in and out of invisibility. Machines you don't know the purpose of send smoke wafting into the air, and sets of coloured chemicals are arranged in what looks to be random order near the back.
The only table that's clear is the one with three people sitting at it. One is tall, broad, with dark skin and darker hair and tiny scars all over his flesh, the most striking of which is a pale one just under his green eyes. One has a similar complexion, but instead has a more lean frame and is splattered with oil and paint both. And the last...
The last, with a long black braid and a welcoming smile, is the club leader, Michel Hallow. He stands, and practically the whole room falls silent.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Do have a seat; the main event's about to start, and being uncomfortable then really would be terrible, wouldn't it?" He smiles beatifically. "As most of you probably know or guessed, my name is Michel, and I've been elected the president of this amazing club. Thank you all for coming."
You aren't blind to how the paint-covered student is decidedly not looking at him, nor do you not see the way the scarred student looks at him like he hung the moon. You store the information away for later.
"For now... well, this is a welcoming ceremony, after all. Would any new additions like to introduce themselves?"
[ ]Stand up and introduce yourself.
[ ]Wait for someone else to start before introducing yourself.
[ ]Don't speak.
[X]An experiment of yours: a living tentacle, one that feeds off of your body heat and can stretch up to ten metres before risking physical damage. It's mutating a little, but you don't think that's going to hinder you in using it as an escape item, however you're going to use it.
You're very proud of the tentacle! It's doing its best! And it seems to really like cuddles.
[X]Ask if he's heading for the introduction ceremony.
- [X]Walk with him if he is.
.
"Are you going to the Science Club meeting, too?" you ask, the pride that had welled up within you at the letter dimming in intensity just a little. You hoped you'd be the only one... But that doesn't matter! It just means you'll have more allies! Or, more interestingly, some extra competition. Althorn looks so careless that he's got to either be a genius or very, very good at information theft, and both would certainly be a way to spice up your day.
With the oddly artificial shine to his eyes, you'd bet on genius. No thief would be stupid enough to parade what must be technologically advanced eye contacts out in the open.
"That thing? Oh, yeah." He eyes the way your satchel bulges apprehensively, a hand slipping into an equally distended pocket. Some kind of weapon, you'd assume. "Seems fun and all. Honestly, though, I'm just going to see what all the fuss is about. If a club's elite enough to have some sort of elaborate membership filtering, it's got to be something."
You feel something in your brain snap, like a car being pulled to too sudden a stop. The world smells like sickness, the cloying, sharp scent of iron and blood, and you find yourself irrationally, unnaturally angry. "... Oh? So you're just here for the hell of it?" How in hell did he get into the club?
"I was bound to get into something. Applying for all the clubs at once means a lot of failsafes." The brunette grins smugly at you, as if he doesn't know exactly how wrong this sheer audacity is. You take back everything you said about him. Except the bad things. "What about you, Blackfields? How'd they pick you up?"
"I applied," you say sharply, "and they accepted."
"Oh, neat! Weird; no-one else I've asked seems to have a letter. Ah, well; maybe I just haven't asked enough people."
"Indeed." You get the words out through gritted teeth. "After all, the club seems to be less exclusive than it's made out to be. As far as I can tell, it'll let a whole lot of idiots in. You'd know, wouldn't you?"
The silence in the hallway is almost deafening.
"... Hey." Althnorn's voice is unnervingly cold, and his contacts light up in a dangerous shade of purple. "What the hell did you just say about me?"
"I'd say it again," you snap. "You don't seem to have too much appreciation for what this kind of club could mean."
Faster than you can retaliate, the boy is pinning you to the wall, something that feels suspiciously like the barrel of a gun pressed deadly serious against your stomach. Despite yourself, you feel a slightly mad grin forming on your face. It's been a while since you've been in a proper hallway fight. And one with stakes as high as this... oh, this is new. Beautifully, intoxicatingly new.
"Do you find baking soda volcanoes very interesting, Blackfields? Making chemicals go kaboom in an Erlenmeyer flask?" The gun starts to glow a little against the cloth of your school blazer, the same shade of purple as Althorn's augmented eyes. "You really think pulling shit for some high school club is worth it?"
You don't answer him. Instead, you glare right into the brightness of his eyes and laugh.
The tentacle you brought with you snaps his hand to the side with almost bone-breaking speed, sending the slightly smaller boy crashing into the ground. You pet your creation as a reward, staring down at the student you've defeated victoriously. "If I didn't think it was worth it, your hand would still be fine."
It's quiet. Too quiet. And suddenly, you're deathly aware of the camera at the end of the hall.
Your senses return to you in an instant, leaving you with a realization and horror creeping up on you. Althorn seems to feel the same, the hostile glow gone and replaced with primal terror.
What the hell was that?
You shake it off quickly, feeling the blood rushing out of your head. "Shit! I-"
"What the-"
"I don't know either!" You most definitely did not mean to do that. At all. But the evidence is righht in front of you: a student injured, an unused gun tossed aside, and the camera watching, watching, watching.
Althorn responds first, somehow, snapping out of his surprise. "I pulled a gun on you."
"I nearly broke your wrist!"
"... You have a tentacle in your bag?"
"Leave it be! It had nothing to do with this." Well, a little. But it responds swiftly when you're angry, and- and you were so, so very angry. "I- fuck, I'm sorry."
"Sorry? That was- That was insane!" Althorn laughs, looking concerningly pleased. "Maybe this school wasn't such a bad choice, after all."
... You literally almost broke his wrist.
"Come on! The Science Club meets in a few minutes." He takes your arm with his uninjured hand, pulling you to the club room without so much as a glance behind.
Yeah, you have no idea what's going on.
You don't care that much about the Science Club. Really. You don't. So what the actual, godforsaken heck was that all about?
You don't get answers even when you've arrived.
The club room isn't what you'd imagined it to be- for one, it's outdoors rather than in a nice covered space- but it's beautiful all the same. The space on every table but one has been filled almost completely with the results of experiments and with dozens of different inventions, from a fish flashing thousands of colours to a cloak that blinks in and out of invisibility. Machines you don't know the purpose of send smoke wafting into the air, and sets of coloured chemicals are arranged in what looks to be random order near the back.
The only table that's clear is the one with three people sitting at it. One is tall, broad, with dark skin and darker hair and tiny scars all over his flesh, the most striking of which is a pale one just under his green eyes. One has a similar complexion, but instead has a more lean frame and is splattered with oil and paint both. And the last...
The last, with a long black braid and a welcoming smile, is the club leader, Michel Hallow. He stands, and practically the whole room falls silent.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Do have a seat; the main event's about to start, and being uncomfortable then really would be terrible, wouldn't it?" He smiles beatifically. "As most of you probably know or guessed, my name is Michel, and I've been elected the president of this amazing club. Thank you all for coming."
You aren't blind to how the paint-covered student is decidedly not looking at him, nor do you not see the way the scarred student looks at him like he hung the moon. You store the information away for later.
"For now... well, this is a welcoming ceremony, after all. Would any new additions like to introduce themselves?"
[ ]Stand up and introduce yourself.
[ ]Wait for someone else to start before introducing yourself.
[ ]Don't speak.
Last edited:
Personal Log [1D]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X]Stand up and introduce yourself.
.
You're up before you can register it, raising your hand high as you move. Althorn, who's found a seat somewhere to the side, is staring at you warily, but you shut him out easily. You're the only one who dared.
"Yes?" Michel gestures to you, his pleasant smile widening slightly. Must be the enthusiasm. "Your name and specialty, please."
"Sophia Blackfields!" you say proudly, stance going a bit straighter. "I'm studying biology, mutation, and biological engineering, sir!"
"Oh, that sounds amazing." His eyes fall shut, a slightly dreamy look on his face. "I'm a biologist myself. Or, rather, I'm training to be. Perhaps we could create something together? You'll have to show me your work sometime, Sophia. I'd love to study it in full detail."
You frown slightly at the response. Full sounded weird being emphasized. And something in how he said it must have made the scarred student angry, because he's glaring at you for some reason. You think that look's been called possessive, but you can't really be sure.
"Yes," Michel mutters almost to himself, "it'll be amazing to make your acquaintance."
You sneak a glance beside Michel. His companion is still looking at you. The anger in his glare is worse.
[ ]Flip that student off.
[ ]Do not flip him off.
The student growls- outright growls, like a dragon or a guard dog- and is promptly cut off by Michel reaching over and holding his hand. The club leader opens his eyes. "Why did you join this club, Sophia?"
"To have geniuses work with me to fulfill our goals and achieve true scientific advancement, sir! All preferably before the age of eighteen, just to rub it in the government's face." You pause to think about it. "And also to make friends or something."
Your response results in multiple people giggling to themselves, some whispering to their seatmates about something that was probably you.
Great! People are noticing you already!
"Would anyone else like to introduce themselves?" Michel asks when you're done. His fond smile is slightly faded. You wonder why.
A few students look around nervously, but that nervousness is pretty much evaporated when a girl with a tired, polite smile raises her hand. "My name is Marry Ambrose, sir. My current focus is on theoretical temporal manipulation and potential physical or mental transportation of individuals and collectives both through the timestream, and I believe I am closer to achieving my objective as I was the year before. My goal here is to invent, innovate, and create new possibilities with the best present within this club."
The speed and sheer familiarity with which she says that makes you frown. You take a seat beside Althorn- he looks pretty damn lonely, of course, it's the only reason you'd ever consider doing that- and whisper to him. "You think she's introduced herself like this before?"
"... What?" He raises an eyebrow. "Sorry- did you get any of that? I have no idea what she said."
"Short answer, time travel." He had better be a veritable genius, you swear to god. "Marry Ambrose. Wannabe time traveller. So you think she's said these exact words before?"
"Oh. Like- time travelled every time she messed up the speech?" Althorn peeks over your head. It's kind of funny- he's barely taller than you, and he has to push your head down a little. "Well, it'd explain how done she looks with all of us."
You nod, turning in time to see her sit down and to see a creepily tall man stand up, introduced as Basil Veritae and as a thaumaturgical practicioner. Marry meets your eye, her face scrunches up, and she looks away from you. You hope you don't fuck too much up in the future. It's concerning when the time traveller avoids you.
"You want to introduce yourself?" you ask Althorn. "People'll be really interested to know how you built that gun you almost shot me with."
"Gun?" He blinks innocently at you. You don't believe a second of it. "What gun?"
"You know what I'm talking about," you say, a hand straying down to pet your pet. The tentacle makes a happy, slightly gurgly noise, like someone choking on watery jelly, and the student beside you scoots her chair away from your bag surreptitiously. "Introduce them to your tech."
He pauses, something contemplative coming over his face, and then grins. "What if I say no?"
[ ]Tell him to do it anyway.
[ ]Leave him be.
[ ]Leave him be. While snarking about his cowardice and how pathetic it is that he's not even brave enough to introduce himself.
[ ]Introduce him yourself.
[ ]Write-in.
.
You're up before you can register it, raising your hand high as you move. Althorn, who's found a seat somewhere to the side, is staring at you warily, but you shut him out easily. You're the only one who dared.
"Yes?" Michel gestures to you, his pleasant smile widening slightly. Must be the enthusiasm. "Your name and specialty, please."
"Sophia Blackfields!" you say proudly, stance going a bit straighter. "I'm studying biology, mutation, and biological engineering, sir!"
"Oh, that sounds amazing." His eyes fall shut, a slightly dreamy look on his face. "I'm a biologist myself. Or, rather, I'm training to be. Perhaps we could create something together? You'll have to show me your work sometime, Sophia. I'd love to study it in full detail."
You frown slightly at the response. Full sounded weird being emphasized. And something in how he said it must have made the scarred student angry, because he's glaring at you for some reason. You think that look's been called possessive, but you can't really be sure.
"Yes," Michel mutters almost to himself, "it'll be amazing to make your acquaintance."
You sneak a glance beside Michel. His companion is still looking at you. The anger in his glare is worse.
[ ]Flip that student off.
[ ]Do not flip him off.
The student growls- outright growls, like a dragon or a guard dog- and is promptly cut off by Michel reaching over and holding his hand. The club leader opens his eyes. "Why did you join this club, Sophia?"
"To have geniuses work with me to fulfill our goals and achieve true scientific advancement, sir! All preferably before the age of eighteen, just to rub it in the government's face." You pause to think about it. "And also to make friends or something."
Your response results in multiple people giggling to themselves, some whispering to their seatmates about something that was probably you.
Great! People are noticing you already!
"Would anyone else like to introduce themselves?" Michel asks when you're done. His fond smile is slightly faded. You wonder why.
A few students look around nervously, but that nervousness is pretty much evaporated when a girl with a tired, polite smile raises her hand. "My name is Marry Ambrose, sir. My current focus is on theoretical temporal manipulation and potential physical or mental transportation of individuals and collectives both through the timestream, and I believe I am closer to achieving my objective as I was the year before. My goal here is to invent, innovate, and create new possibilities with the best present within this club."
The speed and sheer familiarity with which she says that makes you frown. You take a seat beside Althorn- he looks pretty damn lonely, of course, it's the only reason you'd ever consider doing that- and whisper to him. "You think she's introduced herself like this before?"
"... What?" He raises an eyebrow. "Sorry- did you get any of that? I have no idea what she said."
"Short answer, time travel." He had better be a veritable genius, you swear to god. "Marry Ambrose. Wannabe time traveller. So you think she's said these exact words before?"
"Oh. Like- time travelled every time she messed up the speech?" Althorn peeks over your head. It's kind of funny- he's barely taller than you, and he has to push your head down a little. "Well, it'd explain how done she looks with all of us."
You nod, turning in time to see her sit down and to see a creepily tall man stand up, introduced as Basil Veritae and as a thaumaturgical practicioner. Marry meets your eye, her face scrunches up, and she looks away from you. You hope you don't fuck too much up in the future. It's concerning when the time traveller avoids you.
"You want to introduce yourself?" you ask Althorn. "People'll be really interested to know how you built that gun you almost shot me with."
"Gun?" He blinks innocently at you. You don't believe a second of it. "What gun?"
"You know what I'm talking about," you say, a hand straying down to pet your pet. The tentacle makes a happy, slightly gurgly noise, like someone choking on watery jelly, and the student beside you scoots her chair away from your bag surreptitiously. "Introduce them to your tech."
He pauses, something contemplative coming over his face, and then grins. "What if I say no?"
[ ]Tell him to do it anyway.
[ ]Leave him be.
[ ]Leave him be. While snarking about his cowardice and how pathetic it is that he's not even brave enough to introduce himself.
[ ]Introduce him yourself.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1E]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X]Do not flip him off.
-[X] Make sure the tentacle does not do so either.
[X]Leave him be.
.
"Then fine. You said no." You sigh disappointedly, continuing your conversation in lower tones. "But it would be kind of cool, you know? Like- "Hello, everyone! My name is Althorn and I'm an attempted murderer! I'm a tech nerd and here just for the hell of it!" You know, that kind of stuff."
"You're not getting over that, are you." Althorn's face falls slightly. "Why is this club so goddamn important to you?"
"I've aimed to be in it since I was a kid. But it's not that important." You've just heard so many stories about it. Alumni of the school were in your family, after all. For example, there was...
There was...
You pause. You can't remember. You can't-
The world starts to go black around the edges.
"No!" You catch some people's attention at the outburst, but in general people are focusing on a very energetic new member's introduction, which makes them a little less likely to notice some girl to the side. Althorn reaches out, but you shove his hand away, covering your ears quickly. Loud. It's too loud.
But that's fine. You're in the Science Club. They have to have medical science practicioners somewhere. This has happened before. You'll be fine. You'll be fine.
"Blackfields!" Althorn grabs you by your shoulders, shaking you hard. "Hey. Snap out of it!"
"Don't- don't touch me." You push him away again. No contact. Contact makes whatever this is worse.
You hate your blackouts. They come so- so randomly. You feel too happy, you feel too sad, you feel too angry- then a few minutes, and black. Nothing. You have to calm down. Excess of emotion leads to losing your consciousness and apparently disappearing from the public eye. Fine then. You're fine.
You count numbers under your breath. "One, four, six, two. Three, seven-"
Out of order. Your brain starts to calm slightly, your mind clearing. But not enough. "Sinnar. Recite numbers. Out of order."
"Two," he begins, obviously confused when you start repeating after him. "Four, twelve, seven, three, three, one. What's happening?"
"Blackout," you explain quickly. "It's fine. Keep going."
You're not going to go incognito in the middle of a meeting room with this many people. And god knows you're not going to cause a scene to do whatever the hell it is you do when you're like this. You focus on the numbers, whispering them one by one and letting the rest of the world fade away.
Finally, finally, you're home free. The darkness is gone, replaced with glorious clarity. You sigh in relief, looking up. "Thanks, Sinnar."
"No problem, Blackfields. But, ah..." The boy fidgets slightly. "Do you have a medical condition or something? Cause you should probably head over to the nurse."
"I'm alright." Honestly, you do feel better. The recent events seem a little clearer now. Which makes you wish you'd flipped off the boy who's obviously Michel's right-hand man, but hey, the past is the past.
At the thought, your little tentacle raises as if to make a gesture roughly equivalent to giving him the finger. You push it back down reluctantly. "Bad boy. Don't tell the guy he's shit. Wait until we're alone."
"... I have several questions."
"No comment." Your good boy is not going to be mocked in front of you.
Thankfully, Althorn lets it go quickly. Nice to know he actually has self-preservation. "So, uh... guess your name being Blackfields really fits, huh?"
"What?"
"Blackfields. Blackouts." He shrugs like that's something everyone with half a brain would think of. Less than half, if he's any indication. "Duh."
"Stop being a three-year old and listen to the introductions."
When you both look back up, though, everyone's stopped talking. Michel takes out his phone, pressing a few buttons before smiling angelically out at the crowd.
"Alright, that concludes it.To everyone who introduced themselves on this fine day, thank you so much. It is an honour to have all of you here."
The oil-splattered student grins. It stretches across their face unnaturally, leaving a chill running down your spine. "We're always happy to have new test subjects!"
And before you can react, a set of large, almost spiderlike metal appendages shoot from the student's back, grabbing everyone who'd made their introductions. Including, of course, you.
[ ]Write-in.
-[X] Make sure the tentacle does not do so either.
[X]Leave him be.
.
"Then fine. You said no." You sigh disappointedly, continuing your conversation in lower tones. "But it would be kind of cool, you know? Like- "Hello, everyone! My name is Althorn and I'm an attempted murderer! I'm a tech nerd and here just for the hell of it!" You know, that kind of stuff."
"You're not getting over that, are you." Althorn's face falls slightly. "Why is this club so goddamn important to you?"
"I've aimed to be in it since I was a kid. But it's not that important." You've just heard so many stories about it. Alumni of the school were in your family, after all. For example, there was...
There was...
You pause. You can't remember. You can't-
The world starts to go black around the edges.
"No!" You catch some people's attention at the outburst, but in general people are focusing on a very energetic new member's introduction, which makes them a little less likely to notice some girl to the side. Althorn reaches out, but you shove his hand away, covering your ears quickly. Loud. It's too loud.
But that's fine. You're in the Science Club. They have to have medical science practicioners somewhere. This has happened before. You'll be fine. You'll be fine.
"Blackfields!" Althorn grabs you by your shoulders, shaking you hard. "Hey. Snap out of it!"
"Don't- don't touch me." You push him away again. No contact. Contact makes whatever this is worse.
You hate your blackouts. They come so- so randomly. You feel too happy, you feel too sad, you feel too angry- then a few minutes, and black. Nothing. You have to calm down. Excess of emotion leads to losing your consciousness and apparently disappearing from the public eye. Fine then. You're fine.
You count numbers under your breath. "One, four, six, two. Three, seven-"
Out of order. Your brain starts to calm slightly, your mind clearing. But not enough. "Sinnar. Recite numbers. Out of order."
"Two," he begins, obviously confused when you start repeating after him. "Four, twelve, seven, three, three, one. What's happening?"
"Blackout," you explain quickly. "It's fine. Keep going."
You're not going to go incognito in the middle of a meeting room with this many people. And god knows you're not going to cause a scene to do whatever the hell it is you do when you're like this. You focus on the numbers, whispering them one by one and letting the rest of the world fade away.
Finally, finally, you're home free. The darkness is gone, replaced with glorious clarity. You sigh in relief, looking up. "Thanks, Sinnar."
"No problem, Blackfields. But, ah..." The boy fidgets slightly. "Do you have a medical condition or something? Cause you should probably head over to the nurse."
"I'm alright." Honestly, you do feel better. The recent events seem a little clearer now. Which makes you wish you'd flipped off the boy who's obviously Michel's right-hand man, but hey, the past is the past.
At the thought, your little tentacle raises as if to make a gesture roughly equivalent to giving him the finger. You push it back down reluctantly. "Bad boy. Don't tell the guy he's shit. Wait until we're alone."
"... I have several questions."
"No comment." Your good boy is not going to be mocked in front of you.
Thankfully, Althorn lets it go quickly. Nice to know he actually has self-preservation. "So, uh... guess your name being Blackfields really fits, huh?"
"What?"
"Blackfields. Blackouts." He shrugs like that's something everyone with half a brain would think of. Less than half, if he's any indication. "Duh."
"Stop being a three-year old and listen to the introductions."
When you both look back up, though, everyone's stopped talking. Michel takes out his phone, pressing a few buttons before smiling angelically out at the crowd.
"Alright, that concludes it.To everyone who introduced themselves on this fine day, thank you so much. It is an honour to have all of you here."
The oil-splattered student grins. It stretches across their face unnaturally, leaving a chill running down your spine. "We're always happy to have new test subjects!"
And before you can react, a set of large, almost spiderlike metal appendages shoot from the student's back, grabbing everyone who'd made their introductions. Including, of course, you.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1F]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X] Command tentacle to protect you.
.
Your scream at being pulled up is entirely justified. Obviously.
You grab uselessly for the seats, but the mechanism pulls you up anyway, dragging you feet-first into the air. Your bag almost falls at the sudden movement. It would have if it wasn't for your tentacle's efforts- it wraps around your arm quickly, grabbing on to your satchel with the other end.
You shoot a terrified look towards Michel Hallow. The club president's eyes are open, revealing a pale blue just on the edge of white. His smile hasn't faltered, not one bit. It almost makes you want to hurl.
"Be not afraid," he says dreamily, almost like several people aren't hanging from spider legs. You think the time travel girl might be having a panic attack. "This is but a test, nothing more. All you are required to do is escape."
"Should we keep the mechanisms intact?" Basil, the thaumaturgy boy, looks impressively calm even suspended in the air. "That would be more of a challenge, wouldn't it?"
"If you break my creations..." Your impromptu captor trails off. It's a wonder how much threat they can pack into a single ellipsis.
You gulp down the fear rising in your throat. Or maybe it's bile. You can't be sure. Right, then! No damaging the machines. Or else you're probably going to get skewered or something, and wouldn't that be a terrible way to start a club meeting?
"Tentacle!"
Your sharp order sends your creation into quick, decisive action. The tentacle lets go of both the bag and you, latching onto the clawlike end of the leg that grabbed you and- secreting slime? You did not mutate that in.
Either way, the slime quickly makes its grip more slippery, which leaves you with the confusing problem of getting the hell down. Dropping is not an option, not when you'll break your legs from this high. Maybe...
Your pet can stretch to about ten feet. And a drop of about three feet from there will sprain your ankle at best...
"Stretch!" you order, and almost instantly it wraps around your waist and stretches to its longest possible height. There are a few audible gasps. Great; you like a bit of fame as much as the next person, after all! You grin smugly as you descend, dropping the last few feet and landing in a clumsily executed forward roll. You're pretty sure someone's clapping at this point.
You reach out, catching your slippery pet as it drops down to join you. "Good boy. You did so well for big sis!"
The tentacle... purrs? You didn't add that part to its repertoire, either. Fucking squids and their ridiculous rate of genetic mutation.
Ah, well. A little purring's fine by you. After all, you've pretty much pulled off an action movie stunt, your tentacle's gained a few new abilities, and you're the first to get down! All's well that ends well.
You turn to see the council of three staring at you. The student who's still growing metal spider legs out of their goddamn back is giving you an unreadable look. Michel's violent fanboy is somewhere between impressed and envious. And Michel...
You don't like how his gaze has narrowed onto you.
You look away from them, your attention instead going to the students who were once trapped with you. Marry's starting to breathe normally again, and she's rewinding a pocket watch frantically while resolutely not looking at the ground. Basil's starting to glow with blood red light, chanting fuck knows what at the delicate electronics he's going to presumably glitch out. There are a few students you hadn't noticed hanging too, some girl who's grown about seventeen wings and is swinging a sword of glowing holy light at the legs and a boy who's trying to hack the obviously not computer-based tech.
They don't look to be getting too far. The pocket watch is doing nothing. The glow of magic keeps flickering and dying. The girl with the sword clearly doesn't know a thing about using it and the legs can't be hacked for obvious reasons. It's... kind of pathetic, actually.
These are the kind of people you'll be spending valuable club time with? Pass. You'll take Althorn any day. He had the balls to actually try and shoot you.
Still... it'd be pretty mean to just leave them there...
.
[ ]Help one of them down.
. . [ ]Who?
[ ]Leave them be and go back to your seat.
[ ]Break the machine suspending them all.
[ ]Write-in.
.
Your scream at being pulled up is entirely justified. Obviously.
You grab uselessly for the seats, but the mechanism pulls you up anyway, dragging you feet-first into the air. Your bag almost falls at the sudden movement. It would have if it wasn't for your tentacle's efforts- it wraps around your arm quickly, grabbing on to your satchel with the other end.
You shoot a terrified look towards Michel Hallow. The club president's eyes are open, revealing a pale blue just on the edge of white. His smile hasn't faltered, not one bit. It almost makes you want to hurl.
"Be not afraid," he says dreamily, almost like several people aren't hanging from spider legs. You think the time travel girl might be having a panic attack. "This is but a test, nothing more. All you are required to do is escape."
"Should we keep the mechanisms intact?" Basil, the thaumaturgy boy, looks impressively calm even suspended in the air. "That would be more of a challenge, wouldn't it?"
"If you break my creations..." Your impromptu captor trails off. It's a wonder how much threat they can pack into a single ellipsis.
You gulp down the fear rising in your throat. Or maybe it's bile. You can't be sure. Right, then! No damaging the machines. Or else you're probably going to get skewered or something, and wouldn't that be a terrible way to start a club meeting?
"Tentacle!"
Your sharp order sends your creation into quick, decisive action. The tentacle lets go of both the bag and you, latching onto the clawlike end of the leg that grabbed you and- secreting slime? You did not mutate that in.
Either way, the slime quickly makes its grip more slippery, which leaves you with the confusing problem of getting the hell down. Dropping is not an option, not when you'll break your legs from this high. Maybe...
Your pet can stretch to about ten feet. And a drop of about three feet from there will sprain your ankle at best...
"Stretch!" you order, and almost instantly it wraps around your waist and stretches to its longest possible height. There are a few audible gasps. Great; you like a bit of fame as much as the next person, after all! You grin smugly as you descend, dropping the last few feet and landing in a clumsily executed forward roll. You're pretty sure someone's clapping at this point.
You reach out, catching your slippery pet as it drops down to join you. "Good boy. You did so well for big sis!"
The tentacle... purrs? You didn't add that part to its repertoire, either. Fucking squids and their ridiculous rate of genetic mutation.
Ah, well. A little purring's fine by you. After all, you've pretty much pulled off an action movie stunt, your tentacle's gained a few new abilities, and you're the first to get down! All's well that ends well.
You turn to see the council of three staring at you. The student who's still growing metal spider legs out of their goddamn back is giving you an unreadable look. Michel's violent fanboy is somewhere between impressed and envious. And Michel...
You don't like how his gaze has narrowed onto you.
You look away from them, your attention instead going to the students who were once trapped with you. Marry's starting to breathe normally again, and she's rewinding a pocket watch frantically while resolutely not looking at the ground. Basil's starting to glow with blood red light, chanting fuck knows what at the delicate electronics he's going to presumably glitch out. There are a few students you hadn't noticed hanging too, some girl who's grown about seventeen wings and is swinging a sword of glowing holy light at the legs and a boy who's trying to hack the obviously not computer-based tech.
They don't look to be getting too far. The pocket watch is doing nothing. The glow of magic keeps flickering and dying. The girl with the sword clearly doesn't know a thing about using it and the legs can't be hacked for obvious reasons. It's... kind of pathetic, actually.
These are the kind of people you'll be spending valuable club time with? Pass. You'll take Althorn any day. He had the balls to actually try and shoot you.
Still... it'd be pretty mean to just leave them there...
.
[ ]Help one of them down.
. . [ ]Who?
[ ]Leave them be and go back to your seat.
[ ]Break the machine suspending them all.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1G]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X]Help one of them down.
-[X] Winged Swordsgirl
.
Feeling pretty sure you're probably going to regret this, you nod to your cute little tentacle. "Okay, sweetie, you think you can do the same for the nice girl with the bright lights? Can't get up there all on my own, you know."
You're not entirely sure if it understands you, but you're going to take the little bob of its tail end as a nod.
And so it is with great ceremony that you get your pet to shorten again, take aim, and fire. "Ready-set-go!"
Your baby goes flying, wrapping instantly around the metal of the winged girl's capture machine and looping one end around a part of her waist between the sets of wings. She doesn't scream, her eyes only widening as she turns to your pet. And you hear a bright laugh from her, and she grips the slippery loop tight. "Alright! Let's get out of here."
"Not so fast." The oil-splattered student flicks their wrist, and she is swung suddenly against the wall. It doesn't hit, but it's close enough that there are gasps, and someone in the crowd screams. "Speed isn't going to save another one of you."
"Lucian! What have we said about unnecessary violence?"
"Must 'ave forgotten," Lucian drawls. "Sorry, boss. I won't pull that trick again."
"And what other tricks are you willing to play?" Basil asks. A smile is stretching across his tired face, and you wonder to yourself just how many of these students have sadomasochistic urges so you can avoid them. Althorn's enough. "Surely that's not all your appendages can do."
"Not even close." Lucian grins. Three, then. Sadomasochism, you've decided, is the worst kink. "I'm playing a bit of a game myself. For every person who gets out, the difficulty is upped for anyone still caught. Best get out fast, boys and girls, 'cause this is not going to be a fun ride."
"Right. I've had it." The magician slams a palm against the metal, which gives off red sparks and is quickly covered in runes the shade of blood. "Release!"
Whatever mechanism is suspending him lets him go, and Basil drops, landing on his feet. You're pretty sure he's broken a leg with that stunt. But to be honest, he looks like he's broken bones before. You figure you can leave him be.
The winged girl whacks your tentacle immediately, and it begins secreting that slippery fluid you did not make it make. The spider leg angles upward quickly, to keep her from falling, but she- okay, that's wrong on multiple levels- tears off a wing and slices the metal apart. A good portion is pulled clean off, enough to send her crashing down. You're not imagining the way Lucian zeroes in on her, or the way their almost instinctual smile grows predatory at the action. She just made an enemy.
The tentacle elongates as she drops, wrapping completely around her and acting as a living buffer when she hits the hard floor. You rush towards them quickly, pulling flesh away to free her face. "Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Jesus, what the hell is this thing?" She carefully frees herself from your baby's hold.
She's still holding the wing she ripped off. At a closer look, its feathers are made of a ridiculously sharp metal, and with a strong enough swing, you don't doubt it could take someone's head off. You pull your tentacle completely off of her quickly. The cuts on it amount in the thousands, each thin and sharp and probably, definitely caused by her excess of wings.
"It's okay, sweetie! Big sis has you." You stroke the unharmed portion softly, watching the cuts dribble little bits of green blood. You must not have heard any pained noises when it was that high up. "I'll get you fixed right up, okay?"
The winged girl shoots you a confused look before sending her broken wing flying. It slices cleanly through computer boy's mechanism despite Lucian's effort to pull him away, and she catches him by flying up there. You watch as the club president's companion curses, quickly pulling their metal legs back. "Alright, just one of you... left..."
You follow their gaze to where one of the legs has been messily separated, and where Marry stands, sheepishly cleaning herself and that pocket watch off. She's where she was sitting earlier, and there's a mass of students that are somehow suddenly displaced. "Damn. I really need to reconfigurate that."
You look at your injured tentacle, and at the remains of metal appendages, and you feel a pang of slight pity. You all really need to work on less destructive escapes.
.
[ ]Apologize to Lucian.
[ ]Go back to your seat.
[ ]Talk to the others.
. . [ ]To who?
[ ]Write-in.
-[X] Winged Swordsgirl
.
Feeling pretty sure you're probably going to regret this, you nod to your cute little tentacle. "Okay, sweetie, you think you can do the same for the nice girl with the bright lights? Can't get up there all on my own, you know."
You're not entirely sure if it understands you, but you're going to take the little bob of its tail end as a nod.
And so it is with great ceremony that you get your pet to shorten again, take aim, and fire. "Ready-set-go!"
Your baby goes flying, wrapping instantly around the metal of the winged girl's capture machine and looping one end around a part of her waist between the sets of wings. She doesn't scream, her eyes only widening as she turns to your pet. And you hear a bright laugh from her, and she grips the slippery loop tight. "Alright! Let's get out of here."
"Not so fast." The oil-splattered student flicks their wrist, and she is swung suddenly against the wall. It doesn't hit, but it's close enough that there are gasps, and someone in the crowd screams. "Speed isn't going to save another one of you."
"Lucian! What have we said about unnecessary violence?"
"Must 'ave forgotten," Lucian drawls. "Sorry, boss. I won't pull that trick again."
"And what other tricks are you willing to play?" Basil asks. A smile is stretching across his tired face, and you wonder to yourself just how many of these students have sadomasochistic urges so you can avoid them. Althorn's enough. "Surely that's not all your appendages can do."
"Not even close." Lucian grins. Three, then. Sadomasochism, you've decided, is the worst kink. "I'm playing a bit of a game myself. For every person who gets out, the difficulty is upped for anyone still caught. Best get out fast, boys and girls, 'cause this is not going to be a fun ride."
"Right. I've had it." The magician slams a palm against the metal, which gives off red sparks and is quickly covered in runes the shade of blood. "Release!"
Whatever mechanism is suspending him lets him go, and Basil drops, landing on his feet. You're pretty sure he's broken a leg with that stunt. But to be honest, he looks like he's broken bones before. You figure you can leave him be.
The winged girl whacks your tentacle immediately, and it begins secreting that slippery fluid you did not make it make. The spider leg angles upward quickly, to keep her from falling, but she- okay, that's wrong on multiple levels- tears off a wing and slices the metal apart. A good portion is pulled clean off, enough to send her crashing down. You're not imagining the way Lucian zeroes in on her, or the way their almost instinctual smile grows predatory at the action. She just made an enemy.
The tentacle elongates as she drops, wrapping completely around her and acting as a living buffer when she hits the hard floor. You rush towards them quickly, pulling flesh away to free her face. "Are you okay?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Jesus, what the hell is this thing?" She carefully frees herself from your baby's hold.
She's still holding the wing she ripped off. At a closer look, its feathers are made of a ridiculously sharp metal, and with a strong enough swing, you don't doubt it could take someone's head off. You pull your tentacle completely off of her quickly. The cuts on it amount in the thousands, each thin and sharp and probably, definitely caused by her excess of wings.
"It's okay, sweetie! Big sis has you." You stroke the unharmed portion softly, watching the cuts dribble little bits of green blood. You must not have heard any pained noises when it was that high up. "I'll get you fixed right up, okay?"
The winged girl shoots you a confused look before sending her broken wing flying. It slices cleanly through computer boy's mechanism despite Lucian's effort to pull him away, and she catches him by flying up there. You watch as the club president's companion curses, quickly pulling their metal legs back. "Alright, just one of you... left..."
You follow their gaze to where one of the legs has been messily separated, and where Marry stands, sheepishly cleaning herself and that pocket watch off. She's where she was sitting earlier, and there's a mass of students that are somehow suddenly displaced. "Damn. I really need to reconfigurate that."
You look at your injured tentacle, and at the remains of metal appendages, and you feel a pang of slight pity. You all really need to work on less destructive escapes.
.
[ ]Apologize to Lucian.
[ ]Go back to your seat.
[ ]Talk to the others.
. . [ ]To who?
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1H]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X]Immediately focus on treating and soothing tentacle.
[X]Talk to the others.
--[X] Winged girl. Introductions.
.
Doesn't really matter. They can fix it. For now, you have your creation to take care of. And then after that, introductions.
You check the injuries gingerly. The cuts aren't swelling or leaking anything they shouldn't, which is goo. Infection is less likely, then. Your main issue will have to be cleaning everything and making sure there isn't excess blood loss. The tentacle didn't somehow eradicate its healing factor in the midst of its risky genetic rearranging, did it? You've always been wary of messing with genes so recklessly. There's a reason it's a trait only squids really have, and that reason is survival.
One of the club members, an older one by the looks of it, takes one look at the wounds and winces. "God, what happened to that thing? We have a first-aid kit in the back, if you need it. Though it's a lot more specialized for burns and stuff, after the kind of shit Ingrid gets up to. Do you need anything more than basic cleaning and bandages?"
"I shouldn't," you respond, "at least if my tentacle can still perform mitosis. Can you, sweetheart? Because I'm frying you if you can't."
Your creation doesn't respond. The girl talking to you nods silently, heading off to get the first-aid kit. She looks confused at your speaking to the tentacle, but there isn't any verbal comment, so you let it slide.
She comes back quickly enough, with a kit that you start using swiftly, and in no time your tentacle friend is all cleaned and wrapped up. You'll put it through some tests later to see if it got infected from god knows what was in those feathers, but for now, you think it will be fine. Despite your doubt and threatening words, you can trust the wounds to heal.
With that done, there is the matter of everyone else who had been caught in those spider legs. You'd like to talk to the winged girl. A good part of it is to threaten her and let her know exactly what will happen if she cuts your baby again. The rest...
To be honest, you just want to meet her. There isn't any mechanism on her back, as far as you can tell, just a series of apparently removable wings, and somehow she was moving all seventeen of them at once. Is it bioengineering? You'd like to know if she's somehow merged her weapons with her DNA. That's a pretty grand feat.
"Hey!" You run up to the girl, who's just finished up a conversation with computer boy. The tall boy blinks down at you and takes the opportunity to make a run for it. You wonder why. "You with the wings!"
"Oh, hey. Blackfields, right?" She waves calmly. Her wings are still speckled with drops of blood. The way the green stands out against the white of it makes your stomach turn. "Nice to meet you. The name's Hale, though you probably already heard that. Annie Hale."
"Nice to meet you, Hale." You didn't exactly consider creating mythical creatures technologically, being more of a biologist yourself, but... if it'll work, you'll find a way. Your tentacle curls sluggishly around your arm and waist, shying away from the mass of wings. "Hey, uh, could I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Put a cap on the feathers." You stroke the top of your tentacle protectively. "You could seriously hurt someone with those things, you know! You have seventeen wings, and they can slice through metal, and you fly by moving each of them with enough power to propel a human being into the air, don't you? Consider: you'll cut someone's head clean off. Or someone's tentacle."
She blinks, your response not at all expected. Still, you meet her blank stare. Your anger is warranted.
"I'll do that," she concedes. "Do you need anything else?"
.
[ ]Write-in.
[X]Talk to the others.
--[X] Winged girl. Introductions.
.
Doesn't really matter. They can fix it. For now, you have your creation to take care of. And then after that, introductions.
You check the injuries gingerly. The cuts aren't swelling or leaking anything they shouldn't, which is goo. Infection is less likely, then. Your main issue will have to be cleaning everything and making sure there isn't excess blood loss. The tentacle didn't somehow eradicate its healing factor in the midst of its risky genetic rearranging, did it? You've always been wary of messing with genes so recklessly. There's a reason it's a trait only squids really have, and that reason is survival.
One of the club members, an older one by the looks of it, takes one look at the wounds and winces. "God, what happened to that thing? We have a first-aid kit in the back, if you need it. Though it's a lot more specialized for burns and stuff, after the kind of shit Ingrid gets up to. Do you need anything more than basic cleaning and bandages?"
"I shouldn't," you respond, "at least if my tentacle can still perform mitosis. Can you, sweetheart? Because I'm frying you if you can't."
Your creation doesn't respond. The girl talking to you nods silently, heading off to get the first-aid kit. She looks confused at your speaking to the tentacle, but there isn't any verbal comment, so you let it slide.
She comes back quickly enough, with a kit that you start using swiftly, and in no time your tentacle friend is all cleaned and wrapped up. You'll put it through some tests later to see if it got infected from god knows what was in those feathers, but for now, you think it will be fine. Despite your doubt and threatening words, you can trust the wounds to heal.
With that done, there is the matter of everyone else who had been caught in those spider legs. You'd like to talk to the winged girl. A good part of it is to threaten her and let her know exactly what will happen if she cuts your baby again. The rest...
To be honest, you just want to meet her. There isn't any mechanism on her back, as far as you can tell, just a series of apparently removable wings, and somehow she was moving all seventeen of them at once. Is it bioengineering? You'd like to know if she's somehow merged her weapons with her DNA. That's a pretty grand feat.
"Hey!" You run up to the girl, who's just finished up a conversation with computer boy. The tall boy blinks down at you and takes the opportunity to make a run for it. You wonder why. "You with the wings!"
"Oh, hey. Blackfields, right?" She waves calmly. Her wings are still speckled with drops of blood. The way the green stands out against the white of it makes your stomach turn. "Nice to meet you. The name's Hale, though you probably already heard that. Annie Hale."
"Nice to meet you, Hale." You didn't exactly consider creating mythical creatures technologically, being more of a biologist yourself, but... if it'll work, you'll find a way. Your tentacle curls sluggishly around your arm and waist, shying away from the mass of wings. "Hey, uh, could I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Put a cap on the feathers." You stroke the top of your tentacle protectively. "You could seriously hurt someone with those things, you know! You have seventeen wings, and they can slice through metal, and you fly by moving each of them with enough power to propel a human being into the air, don't you? Consider: you'll cut someone's head clean off. Or someone's tentacle."
She blinks, your response not at all expected. Still, you meet her blank stare. Your anger is warranted.
"I'll do that," she concedes. "Do you need anything else?"
.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1I]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X] Talk shop. How does she control them anyway? Whats the motive mechanism? How did she get them this sharp without losing durability?
-[X] Why this particular number of wings?
.
"Well... I don't really need anything." You shrug. "But! I want something. Specifically, I want to know more about your wings."
"My... wings?" Annie glances back at them, as if she forgot they were there of something- which is stupid, and probably impossible, but hey. "What do you want to know about them? I just... well, I saw a description of an angel- one of the actual, biblical angels, with a thousand flaming wings and eyes on every bit of skin and all that- and I decided that I wanted to see if it worked. That's pretty much it."
"That's... cool?" You did not know that biblical angels looked like that. You think of creating something like that, a holy abomination from a realm outside our own, and a delightful shudder runs up your spine. "Never mind, actually, that's really cool! I need to make that. How would all the eyes even work?"
"Presumably divine intervention." The curly-haired girl shrugs. "If god's involved and all, there's probably a whole lot of divine intervention keeping it held together."
Oh, the biological possibilities. "I'll research that!" you promise excitedly. "Tentacle's probably going to grow into a good little eldritch abomination soon, and I'm going to make it a a nice little brother. Angels are generally male, right? Or are they genderless? They're probably genderless, being frequencies or waves of celestial intent or whatever they are. Yes, my tentacle's going to have a good little sibling."
"Tentacle?" Something in Annie's face scrunches up. "Isn't there a better name? Like, I don't know, Cthulhu? R'lyeh? Yog-Sothoth? Shub-Niggurath? The Great Old One?"
"R'lyeh is that underwater city that had a Cthulhu statue, right?" You look down at your tentacle. Even swathed in bandages, it perks up a little at the name. "I don't know. Maybe I'll name it..."
[ ]R'lyeh.
[ ]Cthulhu.
[ ]Shub-Niggurath.
[ ]Write-in.
Annie nods at the suggestion. "Whatever you like. It's your creation anyway."
"Creation! Right!" You snap back to attention. "How did you create your wings? How do you control them? They're obviously tech-based, but there isn't an obvious mechanism. Is there a mechanism? Are you controlling it with your brain waves or something? How the hell are they staying attached to your back? Wouldn't having feathers this sharp lessen durability? How is everything staying together? What is-"
"Alright, that's... a few too many questions. Calm down a bit, 'kay?" Annie laughs. "Um, they're hollow, but I crafted them from as strong and lightweight a metal as I could find, which is pretty much the only reason it's durable. I've got magnets under my skin-"
"You what?!"
"Yeah. My boyfriend and I... well, just between the both of us, we've got a self-experimentation thing going on. Either way, they stay attached that way. And there's this thing here, in my head-"
At that, she lifts a few locks of black hair, revealing a ring of metal by her temple.
"- that lets me control the way the wings move using my brainwaves. Not each individual wing, that would take inhuman levels of concentration, but I can set them all into a general set of motions to be repeated at certain intervals at the same time. The magnet's strong enough to keep them all stuck, but if I pull hard enough, I can get one off. And the feathers are fairly fragile. I mean, not glass levels of fragile, but- well, about as fragile as a fork. I can bend them if I try individually, but they're all packed together, so it's harder to break them. It's like tying a bunch of sticks together. United we stand and all."
"Oh!" So the wings themselves aren't integrated into her system, but there is something in her head that... emits a signal? Probably. And there has to be something in each wing that takes in the signal. Cool!
.
[ ]Ask her if you two can make something together.
. . [ ]What will you make?
. . [ ]Would you like anyone else to make something with you?
[ ]Talk to someone else.
. . [ ]Who?
. . [ ]What is there to talk about?
[ ]Check out the other inventions here.
. . [ ]Write-in an invention.
[ ]Write-in.
-[X] Why this particular number of wings?
.
"Well... I don't really need anything." You shrug. "But! I want something. Specifically, I want to know more about your wings."
"My... wings?" Annie glances back at them, as if she forgot they were there of something- which is stupid, and probably impossible, but hey. "What do you want to know about them? I just... well, I saw a description of an angel- one of the actual, biblical angels, with a thousand flaming wings and eyes on every bit of skin and all that- and I decided that I wanted to see if it worked. That's pretty much it."
"That's... cool?" You did not know that biblical angels looked like that. You think of creating something like that, a holy abomination from a realm outside our own, and a delightful shudder runs up your spine. "Never mind, actually, that's really cool! I need to make that. How would all the eyes even work?"
"Presumably divine intervention." The curly-haired girl shrugs. "If god's involved and all, there's probably a whole lot of divine intervention keeping it held together."
Oh, the biological possibilities. "I'll research that!" you promise excitedly. "Tentacle's probably going to grow into a good little eldritch abomination soon, and I'm going to make it a a nice little brother. Angels are generally male, right? Or are they genderless? They're probably genderless, being frequencies or waves of celestial intent or whatever they are. Yes, my tentacle's going to have a good little sibling."
"Tentacle?" Something in Annie's face scrunches up. "Isn't there a better name? Like, I don't know, Cthulhu? R'lyeh? Yog-Sothoth? Shub-Niggurath? The Great Old One?"
"R'lyeh is that underwater city that had a Cthulhu statue, right?" You look down at your tentacle. Even swathed in bandages, it perks up a little at the name. "I don't know. Maybe I'll name it..."
[ ]R'lyeh.
[ ]Cthulhu.
[ ]Shub-Niggurath.
[ ]Write-in.
Annie nods at the suggestion. "Whatever you like. It's your creation anyway."
"Creation! Right!" You snap back to attention. "How did you create your wings? How do you control them? They're obviously tech-based, but there isn't an obvious mechanism. Is there a mechanism? Are you controlling it with your brain waves or something? How the hell are they staying attached to your back? Wouldn't having feathers this sharp lessen durability? How is everything staying together? What is-"
"Alright, that's... a few too many questions. Calm down a bit, 'kay?" Annie laughs. "Um, they're hollow, but I crafted them from as strong and lightweight a metal as I could find, which is pretty much the only reason it's durable. I've got magnets under my skin-"
"You what?!"
"Yeah. My boyfriend and I... well, just between the both of us, we've got a self-experimentation thing going on. Either way, they stay attached that way. And there's this thing here, in my head-"
At that, she lifts a few locks of black hair, revealing a ring of metal by her temple.
"- that lets me control the way the wings move using my brainwaves. Not each individual wing, that would take inhuman levels of concentration, but I can set them all into a general set of motions to be repeated at certain intervals at the same time. The magnet's strong enough to keep them all stuck, but if I pull hard enough, I can get one off. And the feathers are fairly fragile. I mean, not glass levels of fragile, but- well, about as fragile as a fork. I can bend them if I try individually, but they're all packed together, so it's harder to break them. It's like tying a bunch of sticks together. United we stand and all."
"Oh!" So the wings themselves aren't integrated into her system, but there is something in her head that... emits a signal? Probably. And there has to be something in each wing that takes in the signal. Cool!
.
[ ]Ask her if you two can make something together.
. . [ ]What will you make?
. . [ ]Would you like anyone else to make something with you?
[ ]Talk to someone else.
. . [ ]Who?
. . [ ]What is there to talk about?
[ ]Check out the other inventions here.
. . [ ]Write-in an invention.
[ ]Write-in.
Personal Log [1J]
Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
[X] Wriggles
[X] Ask her if you two can make something together
-[X] Stymphalian Birds.
.
"Maybe we could make something together!" you venture, your hear spinning at the ideas that start flooding in at the thought of it. Making an angel would be amazing, but it seems pretty organic. Annie's got a technological slant, you can tell at a glance, and you're pretty sure she'd be next to useless in something like observing living organisms. Something sort of technological would be way better.
"What would me make?" Annie asks, her eyes meeting yours. "I don't know too many things we could try out, really. Maybe some kind of dinosaur or something?"
"Hmm, that's pretty big. I don't have enough reptilian DNA samples, and it'd need a pretty large oxygen intake." You shrug. "Maybe later, when we've got enough funding and a Jurassic Park to work for. Something smaller, maybe. Like Stymphalian birds?"
"Stymphalian... what?"
"Stymphalian birds!" you respond excitedly. "They're kind of obscure if you don't know the Trials of Heracles, but the gist of it is that they're sort of like ibises as big as cranes with bronze beaks sharper than swords. I could handle the biology, and we could integrate some sort of technological system to let them control the beaks even with lessened brain power!"
"Or you could just strap metal covers to their beaks. Easier for some extracurricular science club, am I right?"
The voice behind you- more specifically, the words- make black spots dance in your vision. It's hard to care with the boundless anger starting to well up in you. "Althorn Sinnar," you start sharply, "would you please start suggesting useful things? It's got to be hard doing anything but proving how little you think before you talk, but please. Try."
"Got a bone to pick, Blackfields?" he responds, and god help you, you can already sense the uncaring drawl in his tone. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"I'll rip that sleeve off with your arm still in it."
"Hey! Hey. Cool it a little, come on." Annie gets between you quickly, her voice just a bit strained. "It's the first day. You don't want to get into a fight in front of the club president on the first day."
"Who's to say we don't?" Althorn asks. You open your mouth to retort, but-
- but your vision's going black again. Jesus. You try to focus past the heat haze of hatred. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight. "She's right. This- This is stupid."
It's that thing again, in the hallway, where your anger and his anger were ripped up and shot to the forefront. You wonder why. Still, you shove aside the blood pounding in your ears and the way the room smells like iron and try your best to be nice. "Seriously, though, you have any suggestions? I'm... not too good with technological integration."
"... Some kind of automatic defence system would be cool," Althorn concedes. "But it'd be way easier to add durability. Maybe iron-plated bones?"
"How would the bird grow with armour around its bones?"
"It doesn't have to grow." The suggestion is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, but Althorn's still suggesting it boldly. "It can stay at one size."
"But- !"
"The boy's got a point," Annie notes despite your sputtering disbelief. "This is just a prototype, isn't it? We can plan things out and make updates as needed."
"Updates. Jesus." What have you gotten yourself into?
"Are you okay with that?" Annie asks. "I'm not entirely sure what Stymphalian birds are yet, but so far they seem cool. It'd be worth getting my hands on some bronze."
"I'd like to play around with other qualities, too." You turn to see Althorn grin, looking altogether too disrespectful to be creating a species only spoken of in myths. "Maybe we could add some kind of retractible claws to their feet? Oh, and we can use them to carry messages or something."
... Actually, you like that bit. Messengers of death as carrier pigeons. It'll scare the balls off of any teacher for at least a week straight.
"We can give them laser beam eyes, too," Annie adds. You feel your heart skip a beat. Laser eyes, retractible claws, beaks sharp enough to stab straight through armour- oh, could you poison the metal, too? Make them secrete some sort of toxin? This bird is going to be as much of a masterpiece as the newly dubbed Wriggles! "Sounds good."
"Alright!" you exclaim. This is going to be amazing!
.
[ ]Try and get started on making it today.
. . [ ]Enlist other club members' help.
. . . . [ ]Who do you ask for help?
[ ]Plan to make it at the next club meeting.
. . [ ]What do you do for this meeting, then?
[ ]Write-in.
[X] Ask her if you two can make something together
-[X] Stymphalian Birds.
.
"Maybe we could make something together!" you venture, your hear spinning at the ideas that start flooding in at the thought of it. Making an angel would be amazing, but it seems pretty organic. Annie's got a technological slant, you can tell at a glance, and you're pretty sure she'd be next to useless in something like observing living organisms. Something sort of technological would be way better.
"What would me make?" Annie asks, her eyes meeting yours. "I don't know too many things we could try out, really. Maybe some kind of dinosaur or something?"
"Hmm, that's pretty big. I don't have enough reptilian DNA samples, and it'd need a pretty large oxygen intake." You shrug. "Maybe later, when we've got enough funding and a Jurassic Park to work for. Something smaller, maybe. Like Stymphalian birds?"
"Stymphalian... what?"
"Stymphalian birds!" you respond excitedly. "They're kind of obscure if you don't know the Trials of Heracles, but the gist of it is that they're sort of like ibises as big as cranes with bronze beaks sharper than swords. I could handle the biology, and we could integrate some sort of technological system to let them control the beaks even with lessened brain power!"
"Or you could just strap metal covers to their beaks. Easier for some extracurricular science club, am I right?"
The voice behind you- more specifically, the words- make black spots dance in your vision. It's hard to care with the boundless anger starting to well up in you. "Althorn Sinnar," you start sharply, "would you please start suggesting useful things? It's got to be hard doing anything but proving how little you think before you talk, but please. Try."
"Got a bone to pick, Blackfields?" he responds, and god help you, you can already sense the uncaring drawl in his tone. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"I'll rip that sleeve off with your arm still in it."
"Hey! Hey. Cool it a little, come on." Annie gets between you quickly, her voice just a bit strained. "It's the first day. You don't want to get into a fight in front of the club president on the first day."
"Who's to say we don't?" Althorn asks. You open your mouth to retort, but-
- but your vision's going black again. Jesus. You try to focus past the heat haze of hatred. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight. "She's right. This- This is stupid."
It's that thing again, in the hallway, where your anger and his anger were ripped up and shot to the forefront. You wonder why. Still, you shove aside the blood pounding in your ears and the way the room smells like iron and try your best to be nice. "Seriously, though, you have any suggestions? I'm... not too good with technological integration."
"... Some kind of automatic defence system would be cool," Althorn concedes. "But it'd be way easier to add durability. Maybe iron-plated bones?"
"How would the bird grow with armour around its bones?"
"It doesn't have to grow." The suggestion is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, but Althorn's still suggesting it boldly. "It can stay at one size."
"But- !"
"The boy's got a point," Annie notes despite your sputtering disbelief. "This is just a prototype, isn't it? We can plan things out and make updates as needed."
"Updates. Jesus." What have you gotten yourself into?
"Are you okay with that?" Annie asks. "I'm not entirely sure what Stymphalian birds are yet, but so far they seem cool. It'd be worth getting my hands on some bronze."
"I'd like to play around with other qualities, too." You turn to see Althorn grin, looking altogether too disrespectful to be creating a species only spoken of in myths. "Maybe we could add some kind of retractible claws to their feet? Oh, and we can use them to carry messages or something."
... Actually, you like that bit. Messengers of death as carrier pigeons. It'll scare the balls off of any teacher for at least a week straight.
"We can give them laser beam eyes, too," Annie adds. You feel your heart skip a beat. Laser eyes, retractible claws, beaks sharp enough to stab straight through armour- oh, could you poison the metal, too? Make them secrete some sort of toxin? This bird is going to be as much of a masterpiece as the newly dubbed Wriggles! "Sounds good."
"Alright!" you exclaim. This is going to be amazing!
.
[ ]Try and get started on making it today.
. . [ ]Enlist other club members' help.
. . . . [ ]Who do you ask for help?
[ ]Plan to make it at the next club meeting.
. . [ ]What do you do for this meeting, then?
[ ]Write-in.