(Twi) Twilight XI: School Days

[doliest]

Panty
Hmmm...two pairs on the table, she could shove guns in both Jacks and be done with it. On the other hand, she had an itch to scratch. Well, not like he was going to put those back on.

She grins, shrugging. She'd fix this after some fun. Hell, she'd probably only need the gun for icy when she was done. Humans, just couldn't keep up.

Sebastian
Sebastian, quickly running out of options, and doubtful of its ability to hear him from down here, just goes for running. He was fast. Very fast. Hopefully, he moved faster than this thing did.

Stocking
Blade in hand, stripper clothes unfortunately still all she had, she dashes over to the 'Librarians,' Stocking Anarchy. Angel. Need your ride.

[Cracklord]

Panty
He takes you behind the tree, paws you a bit, then kisses you and gets to it. It's a bit degrading, but a lot better then you figured it would be. Whatever Jack is, he's not particularly human.
And he hasn't noticed you've stolen his underwear, and now have a gun you can use at the right moment.

Beast, Smedry
Jack Frost takes the pile of clothes, and dumps them to the side. He doesn't notice that Jack's Y-Fronts are missing. Nor would he care if he did, having no idea how Panty's powers work. He does not, however, give Smedry back his clothes. Now that they had him prisoner, they certainly didn't intend to give him any weapons. Not that he could use them if he had them, breaking deals in the worlds owned by the librarians often had dire consequences.

Stocking
No sooner have the words come out of your mouth, then Priscilla sticks and MK-7 in your face. It's not often you meeet girls taller, prettier and more curvaceous then you, and it has the odd effect of making you self-conscious, and even angrier. You almost wish it was Archer. "That's the one, alright. I'm sure of it." Says Hillary, after giving her a look. Priscilla and Robin look at each other a moment, then Priscilla turns the glare she uses to break lions onto you. "They really do need us, don't they. It's all fallen to pieces." Priscilla says then places the barrel of her MK7 between your eyes. The grenade launcher slung beneath it seems to dare you to move.
"Where's Atticus? His really screwed the pooch now, and his bosses want a word with him." She all but growls.
And true to form, it seems you've stumbled into yet another tangled strand of this whole interconnected mess.

Sebastien
You have to contort your body, and you pull something in your shoulder that takes a long moment to heal, but you manage to get out from beneath his heel. Making a break for it? It's got a stride that puts it ahead of you by the time you've taken three steps. You're not outrunning Sam now. Looks like you're stuck fighting Apache Chief.
Fifty foot tall if he was an inch, but like they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall when you slice through their Achilles tendon.

[Draxx]

Beast
Hank has had better days. "Well, that's not good." He understates. "And I suppose now, since he legitimately beat us, we're just going to go along with whatever happens next since we did give him our word."

It doesn't take an operative of your skill and daring to guess that agreeing with these events would probably be a bad, bad idea. He's very, very annoyed.

Archer
Archer gets his feet under him, and skids a bit, not loosing his footing. He shakes his head to clear it, then runs at Mickey again, the tip of Caladbolg scraping against the floor as he ran to build tension behind his strike. As it moved, it left a rainbow trail behind, that was extremely pretty to look at and suggested powerful magics at work.
Then he leaps, a blade in each outstretched hand, whirling like a helicopter as both blades clash towards Mickey.

[Cracklord]

Beast, Smedry
Strip Poker. Like many things the librarians do, it seems like a joke. Like all the things they do, it is in fact deadly serious. That was a formal duel, and Jack had won. In theory, there was nothing to stop you from resuming the fight where you left off. But the consequences could very well be dire.
Jack Frost, picking his teeth with the small knife he's anxious to use on you, flicks a small, unidentifiable morsel from a molar, then stares at you. "Oh, he'll go easy on you. Drag you into the city and hand you over to Valentine, so that the sorcerer will be distracted and he can fool around with Valentine's wife behind his back." Frost sounds bored about the whole thing. You quickly did, when Jack Horner was your boss. "And Valentine will hand you over to Bookburner. Personally, I'd just kill you now and toss you in the lake, but Jack likes to make a big deal out of things."
Then he stands up. "But, long as you're here, I think I'll tell you a bedtime story. Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Bastille, who had a very important job. This little girl protected the most important man in the Three Kingdoms, and she was very good at it. It was a dangerous job for such a little girl, indeed she almost sacrificed herself protecting this important man's nephew from the librarians no less then three times. But she survived, and when the very important man had to do a job in a school in America, well this little girl named Bastille didn't trust a few things. So she decided to do a little searching, and got very close to discovering a secret that's older then the written word. Can you guess what happened to the little girl? Her job got even more dangerous, and she met a man named J. Ripper, who taught her that some secrets are better left forgotten. It was a short lesson, but it stayed with her for the rest of her life." Frost said, his tone is flat and dead, his face carefully blank. He's trying to provoke you, so he can use that little knife on you without breaking his bosses word. You know this. It doesn't make it easier to deal with.
Behind him, mister Ketch stirs, and pulls up his hood, then fumbles around for his axe. Then he stands, and walks over behind Frost, still and silent. He doesn't try to provoke you, or intimidate you, or anything at all. He just watches, silent and still as a statue.
"Well, that killed some time. Would you like me to tell you another story? Once upon a time, there was a little boy named…"

[AnimeKid]

Kidd

Looking at the mirror Kidd raises an eyebrow as he says, "I see you decided to revert to your old form. That or your a split off piece. I can never tell. Anyways..." With that Kid explains the situation to this aspect of his parent. He was really unsure of how to rectify this situation. After all, Light was a crafty one. The fact that he had the rumored resource of a demon at his side just made things worse

Liz and Patti

Liz's perfectly arched eyebrow twitched in annoyance at Souske's clearly flippant response.

Patti thinks for a moment before answering Stephanie, "I think so. I really don't like the guy. He's a real meanie. He took my sis hostage in the dodgeball game and hit someone when they were already out."

Soul and Maka

Maka takes her eyes off of the meeting below not sensing any hostilities as she turns to look at Kitniss. Narrowing her eyes in thought she nods to herself before walking over to her. Soul follows at his own sedate pace. Reaching her first Maka calls out, "Kitniss Evergreen? I have a question if you don't mind me asking. I was wondering if you had saw Edward or Rosalie Cullen while you were up here? I noticed that the seemed scarce and I needed to ask them something."

[Cracklord]

Kid
YES. I CAN SEE THAT WOULD BE DIFFICULT. The Grim Reaper replies thoughtfully. IF YOU USE THE NOTE ON HIM, THE EGG GROWING IN HIM WILL HATCH, AND A NEW EVIL SHALL BE BORN. SO FOR NOW, YOU HAD BEST ACT DEFENSIVELY. IF YOU USE THE NOTE TO GIVE THE SOLDIER A PEACEFUL PASSING AND THEREBY SAVE YOUR FRIENDS, YOU SHALL CEASE TO EXIST YOURSELF. AND IF YOU IGNORE THE NOTE, THEN YOU SHALL LOSE BOTH OF THEM. WHAT YOU NEED, IS SOMEONE TO ACT FOR YOU…
The Mirror fades, and The Grim Reaper vanishes, off to continue collecting the souls of the dead, having given you what advice he can.

Maka
Katniss, last champion of the Hunger Games, turns to stare at you a moment. "You know something? If I don't protect Bella, they'll kill my family." She says, sounding so very, very tired. "I'm telling you this because I'm sick of keeping it all bunched up inside. I can't handle it anymore. I can't handle trying to maintain a facade while President Snow holds an axe over their heads, just to get to me. I can't handle all the blood on my hands. Peeta. Rue. God, Peeta. And by now, I'm half convinced I'd be better to just jump off the edge. Then I think about Prim. And the rest is easy."
She turns, and has an arrow notched on her bow in a single, smooth movement, then releases the string, letting it fly at Maka's throat.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

Leavenworth Smedry takes this in good spirits, relatively speaking...thought it still sucks being plumb naked in a rather cold climate.

"In retrospect, perhaps we shouldn't have trusted our freedom to a poker game run by a nymphomaniac angel..." He replies. "And yes, breaking the exact wording of our agreement would have a direct mystical backlash. We can't resist them, and they can't kick us while we're down. But that's the thing about the Hushlands...there's only the letter, and no spirit of the law. Literally. It was sealed into a warded bottle–"

Then Jack Frost mentions Bastille.

Smedry goes very, very still. His face grows dark.

"Jack, my boy." He says finally, in a voice devoid of all good humor. "You'd best and keep your stories about any other people you might care to mention clasped between your forked tongue. I say this, practically speaking, because you already made the greatest mistake of your life just now."

He turns to face Jack Frost, an old, naked man, with literally nothing on him to us, and not even his Talent. He smiles.

"Did you know that my first-born son's quite the genius? Far too distracted at times: keep losing his trains of thought, but a clever head on his shoulders. Rediscovered so many forms of Silimatic technology, invented a few new ones on his own...collected Lens-forging Sands from places in the world so distant that even you'd shrivel at the thought. Why once, he even forged a set of Foreteller's Lenses. They're hard Lenses to control, but oh, the things he saw about you...a graveyard, an old house, a boy...your death..."

He milks the last few words for all the sweet sickly venom that he can call upon, in his most ingenuous grandfather voice. His expression overrides any natural instincts one might have towards hitting old people.

[Colesign]

Gary

"Right!" Gary says, waving as he runs off.

He gets back to his room, dresses (blessed clothes), and sits down.

Then he frowns. Then he begins to realize how much he's begun to dance to Lelouch's tune in the past several minutes since he's met him.

He accesses the online archive featuring 'Dewey Decimal' and looks up names of local operatives.

And he ponders exactly whether he should be so eager to hand this off to Lelouch...or to anyone, really.

[Cracklord]

Gary
A normal person wouldn't have a chance of finding anything. But to you a computer is not merely some clunky old television with a typewriter in front of it. It is an interface where the mind can connect with the universe, and move bits around. And you want to find the ever so secret Dewey Decimal group, having little more then a name and a few suspicions.
Not going to be easy. Not at all, even with your capabilities. There's no mention of them in any of the military databases (that have grown rather larger, since Souske called backup), and yet Lelouch told you they were all taking orders from a specific general, who claimed to head the group. What was his name again…
There's no mention of him either (Librarians still use index cards). It looks like to find anything out, you're going to have to be more then an armchair detective. Of course, now that you're not in the presence of Lelouch and his over-powering charisma and manipulative abilities, that he admits to having used on you, you're less sure that you want to look, or that you'll like what you find.


Smedry
"… Alcatraz." Frost finishes, with a small smile. It looks off on his face, out of place and wrong. Your almost relieved when it's gone, and his face returns to that expressionless, emotionless and still mask it had been in so far.
"He saw my death? Well, well. I had wondered about that. you get to be as old as me in this game, you start to wonder about whether you'll still be in the running when the last book is closed, which is the only real way of keeping score if your immortal or not." He says, his voice quiet and still and dead as though he was already a corpse, just as it had been when he first spoke. "So that's to be the end of me then, sure enough. Well old man death will have a fight on his hands, if I'm still standing. But there's other ways to go on, Smedry, you have children yourself, you understand that. Part of me will go on. I'll have a son, and he'll pick up the slack in my place. There's always a Frost. We've been Jack's for as long back as years go, and Nobody is going to change that." He says, quite unaware of the irony of his statement, having not seen the future. He finishes picking his teeth, and starts on his fingernails. Ketch stands behind him, quiet and still.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

"Oh, I don't dispute your definition of immortality, Mr. Frost. A legacy is the most important thing a man can leave behind. The mark of a great man, in fact."

Smedry raises an eyebrow. "Based on what my son saw, you aren't a great man."

[Smedry's trying to rile up either Frost or Ketch to get them to attack him and break Horner's poker-geas (not Lelouch related geas). Is this something that fits with the narrative at the moment Cracklord? If so, is there a nice secret Smedry might know that could make these fellows loose their cool?]

[Cracklord]

Jack Frost
(Trying to get Jack Frost to lose his cool? You are a bad, bad man.)
"I'll leave deciding that to history. And since my folks write history and while yours try to stop them, I figure I'll get by as far as reputations go." Frost reples, sounding bored. It would seem that you're not going to rise to the occasion. A shame. But he's apparently much too canny to fall for the trick he's trying to lure you into. Ketch only grunts, still and silent. History has already remembered him, and it's not going to get much worse.
"Speaking of which, we got us a wagon down the road a bit. You want to get up and walk to it in order to make your way to the city of Idris, or do I pick you up like a bundle and lug you along on my shoulders? Not all that fussed, me, but you might have pride left."

[Draxx]

Beast
It is a terrible thing, to realize that the ridiculous is deadly serious. Particularly when it’s this bad. Beast steps in front of Smedry, his voice a low growl. “Apparently I can’t knock you down for the count again, Mister Ketch, due to the downright farcial nature this confrontation has taken. And I haven’t had the chance to do the same to you yet, Mister Frost, for which I am profoundly sorry, but looking to amend. Because, with every word out of your mouths I find my self-control wavering and slipping away, and while there may be consequences for me if I do snap and give you a beating to remember us by, I can assure the both of you that the consequences of me losing my temper will mean you suffer at least as much as me.”

He glares at them both. “And we’ll walk.” He adds, and begins down the path at a great pace, looking firstly for the wagon, but largely for a bit of space to converse with Smedry without being overheard. He understands he doesn’t quite have a grasp on all of the rules, and is eager to have a private moment to establish them before he does something he might regret.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

[It's a long shot, yes. But the accomplishment of such would nicely turn around Smedry's streak of bad luck.

De-powered, accidentally killed an alien kid, nearly drowned, got thoroughly beaten in contest of strip poker...it's been tough.

So is trying to rile Jack Frost a No-Sell situation?]

Leavenworth Smedy follows McCoy, fuming himself.

[Cracklord]

Smedry
(He's pretty emotionally dead. But he does have one button. However, I'm going to let you figure out what it is for yourself. I've given you plenty to work with)
Jack Frost flicks you a lazy wave. "Couple of hundred meters. You can't miss it." He says, then rests with his back against a tree, staring out at the lake.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

Smedry snorts. "Well you know, I'm eyes aren't what they used to be. What do you know about my grandson Alcatraz?" He says suddenly, switching topics a suddenly as you'd switch gears in a car.

He starting to understand Frost: jeers and taunts won't nudge him, petty insults won't rile him. Cold analytical statements are what he reacts too most deeply.

"You were willing to dangle Bastille in front of me to rile my temper, painting horrible pictures in my head of her being slashed at by your beloved RJ. Ripper, who you'd rather have here in place of that incompetent Horner." Smedry states in a calm level voice, it's cadence begining to match Frost's bit by bit. "So why not my missing grandson? Even if you don't know of his whereabouts, you could always make up a lie. Say you sacrificed him on an encyclopedia altar to the dark gods. Surely that would make my blood boil."

Smedry strokes his chin.

"But then again, there are some subjects you can't lie about: not well anyway. You're a competent fellow: the most competent among all the Jacks, and assuredly a greater Jack than Horner: you'd know if a lie couldn't be told well or not. Which means you don't know a thing about Alcatraz's whereabouts at all. Which means he's still free and able to fulfill the prophecy."

He nods.

"Thank you, Frost. Very helpful."

[Draxx]

Beast
"Well, debatable." Beast replies to Alcatraz, having figured it out. "Afterall, it's Horner who beat us. Beat us fair and square at our own game, I might add. While Frost here? Well, He didn't do a thing. All he can do is offer insults and threats."

He cracked his knuckles. "He might be a Jack from a long line of Jacks, but he's just a glorified pet. Horner is the one calling the shots. Telling him when to act, when to hold back, how to behave. And now he's insulting you to assert himself, because it gives him the illusion of entitlement. Some pretense at credit that he hasn't earned."

"Or do you think you could do better on your own?"

[Cracklord]

Beast and Smedry
"Jack's never lie. Simply not done." He replies in answer to your statement about Alcatraaz, calm and inflection-less as always. "But we can speculate. While I admit I don't know his fate, since he's got trapped in 'The Library of Babel', we can speculate if he's in one place or… several." He says, then stops as you keep on speaking. He doesn't change expression, he only has once and that movement was so unnatural you suspect it was a unique moment, but in some difficult to define way he has changed.
You've finally gotten to him. You've finally got yourself a reaction.
"I'd watch that mouth. A man more sensitive then I might begin to take offense. He's not coming back, nobody ever does. He's no threat to us anymore. And you certainly aren't." He says, then to demonstrate lifts up your jacket from the clothes Horner won, and sticks his hand into the pocket up to his elbow. "But apparently you think different. Well you talk fightin' words for a defeated man, but what are you actually bringing to the table? Three lenses." He tosses them on the ground, then crushes them under his heel, the glass shattering beyond repair. "Another sword, a handkerchief, few long bits of string, some dead flowers, and a book 'what to do if you are taken prisoner, have your clothes confiscated and are placed under a geas' - Harry Houdini." He tosses the book in the lake without a thought, then rounds on you, the sword in his hand. "You want to take a shot? Alright then. I'll keep it so fair you can even have this" He says, handing you you're spare sword, handle-first. "You can die here rather than at Bookburner's hands." Then there is a silvery flash as he throws the knife at you overarm. You got that invitation, and all you need. Of course, now you have to actually beat him.
Jack Ketch pulls on his hood, takes his axe and tests the edge with his thumb until a bright bead of blood runs down the suicidally sharp edge.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

[Alas, pockets of holding random useful items vaguely enough defined that I can make them up within certain reasonable limits. Thine time came too soon...]

Smedry internally sighs. Why do they always have to break his Lenses, he wonders.

Still, he gives a thumbs up to McCoy behind his back for catching on...as a side effect, he only gets a gash rather than a stabbed arm as Frost's knife flies past. Blood trickles from it. If he had his Talent, he could've arrived late to the blood and the pain. But he has to show no weakness to his opponent. A fine sentiment, but a mite difficult when you're in your birthday suit, he ponders.

Smedry raises his backup sword to fencing position, ignoring the pains and cramps of combat exacerbated by age and tired old bones. He inhales, and pays mind to his reserves of strength. Now it's time to fight like an old man...and counter Frost's youth with all the treachery he can muster.

"Take Ketch for me, will you, Professor?" He says dryly. "Mr. Frost would prefer a duel to prove his worth. His standing in the order will no doubt finally rise when word of his defeat of an old man reaches their ears."

He thrusts forward with his sword, aiming for the heart, giving Frost the satisfaction of the first parry.

[Cracklord]

Smedry
"Now there's an assumption." Frost replies with a smile. Without his knife, he's more or less unarmed. "Said I'd give you a chance. Never said a word about fighting fair myself, did I?" The air becomes very, very cold, and his skin whitens until he's a crepuscular white, all the color and pigment leached away to leave only a deathly pale. His dark, brushed back hair turns white as though frosted with sugar. Hoarfrost and rime work over him with a snapping and crackling, hard as stone, and his flesh seems to shrivel away as the moisture in it freezes, leaving a mess of angular lines and sharp edges that is only mostly human.
The tip of your sword hits icy flesh as hard as rock, and fails to make much of an impression. He certainly doesn't bleed. The blood in his veins is frozen, til his veins are little tubes of concrete. "I'd go for the eyes. They're still pretty soft." Frost says, then extends a hand towards the lake. So much moisture to work with…
"You know. For next time, in the next life." Dozens of spears snowflakes that put you in mind of ninja stars crystallize around him, and circle, floating seemingly on their own power, then dart towards you, their edges sharp as razors.

[Draxx]

Beast
"Actually, I think I'll take Frost." He says, hooking an arm around Smedry's shoulders and manipulating him around the razor-snowflakes with marvelous dexterity. "If it's all the same to you. I've been losing so many fights recently, I feel like Weapon X. Paying him back for that sucker-punch would do wonders for my self-confidence."
He stares at the cold man, his body covered in crackling frost, and rolls his shoulders. "Besides, when I'm not teaching I keep in shape against a man with very similar capabilities, though not mystically based. It would be nice to know all those hours served a purpose here. Now…" With no more warning he fell onto all fours and sprang, launching himself a dozen feet into the air, arms outstretched, growling like an animal.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

"Oof!"

Smedry grunts in surprise as he swivels about in McCoy's grasp.

"Huh. Well, I can understand the feeling, Professor."

He blinks and looking up at the looming, brooding, faintly growling Jack Ketch, his large executioners axe at the ready.

"My, my...Well then...if it's all the same to you, dear boy, I'd prefer not to be executed at your hands. Dreadful clumsy affair."

He follow's Frost's advice, and with with a whistle of his sword, goes for Ketch's eyes.

[Cracklord]

Panty
You'd been enjoying yourself, when all of a sudden he stops, head cocked, then sighs and lets you go. "Damnit. Fifteen minutes. That's all. Fifteen minutes without my supervision, and I already hear a fight. So much for the artful." Jack's favored weapon is a dirty Harry Magnum, which he left in the hotel he was staying at. He had misters Ketch and Frost, why did he need to be armed as well?
So in lieu of getting armed, he reaches for the clothes he had you pull off him, gropes around for his shirt, and takes the pack of smoke folded up in the sleeve, and lights one. In a rare display of generosity (by his somewhat lackluster standards) he hands you one, and lights it with his old-fashioned lighter (F**k communism is written on the side). He might be getting ready to do something, but he's taking his time about it, blowing a smoke-ring, then leaning his back against the trunk of the tree. At last, he stares at you, winks, and gives you a crooked smile, with just a hint of a smolder.
Jack's the sort of guy who can commit sexual harassment when not even in the room (he gets that from his father), and, in a funny sort of way, his smile is more lecherous and full of condensed cheep romance than the sex had been.
"Well look, we can go back to throwing punches, or we can get on with things. Now I'm sure I'm not your favorite person at the moment, but you aren't going to achieve a lonesome thing keeping on pushing." He fishes out a piece of paper from the back of his jeans. A diabolic contract, guarantying two hundred years of life. Still seventy four to go.
"Let's think it through. Even if you do manage to get by us, then what? Wander 'round this world and hope to stumble onto something? Why not just stop worrying and go along. I'll take you to Idris, I'll even show you where they get all that celestial blood for the bindings and runes and other naughty magic."
"Not sayin' you have to like me, or even trust me, but fact is you aren't gonna get through those gates on your own. So how 'bout it then? We finish up in here, then continue as though nothing changed?"

Beast
Jagged shards of ice hung down from his arms and long fingers. A ragged, frosty formation suggested hair and ears. The silvery sheen of ice around, compiled with the sunlight reflecting off it, made Frost look as though he was carved from diamond. As you leap, he cracks.
Large shards split off from his huge form like splinters carving from an iceberg. his hands turned to talons, and his mouth was full of something white and sharp. Then he throws himself at you with the ferocity of a lion.

Leavenworth
Jack Ketch is not an elegant man. He was a Lord High Executioner under five of the bloodiest kings in any of the Territories, and made an end to tens of thousands with his heavy axe which swung with the regularity of a pendulum. He hasn't been in 'the trade' for a long time, The Jack's find him too useful, but even now his name is synonymous with death by decapitation.
Ketch hefted the huge weapon. It was clumsy, but he held it with ease and familiarity. Then he stepped forward, leaning in his weight and swinging the axe in a brutal arc.

Magician's Duel (Shirou, Harry, Alex, Salem, Mickey)
For the last ten minutes (yet it feels like so much longer), since Harry threw down the gauntlet in a rather dramatic way, the two of you have been testing each others defenses and preparing yourselves for the coming ordeal.
Alex did not major in combat magic. And what she knew was mostly the showy sort, rather then the practicalities of using magic to end a life, which had not prepared her for this. Harry was an Auror standard wizard, who hadn't won countless duels on luck alone. She was defending herself using animated furniture, chairs, tables, desks and anything else handy whirling through the corridor in a parody of motion, acting as maneuverable shields by imposing themselves between her and the spells, and increasing the density of them in order to make them more durable, and able to survive damages.
Then she decides to stop being reactive, and to retaliate with her own brand of skills. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders, then blurs, and an identical duplicate materializes beside her. Then a third, then a sixth, then there are ten of her, all acting as puppeteers to the crude magical constructs. Now that's a trick. But are they reflections with her conscious split between them, or autonomous clones?

Mickey is engaged in a rather one-sided conflict with Archer, weaving his way through the forest of projectiles (all swords) without so much as a scratch from one of the stray blades, and retaliating with far more powerful magic then a saber should know. He's a very, very powerful servant. It'll probably take both of you to take him down.

Shiki
You have been asked to locate a girl, and protect her. It's easy enough to remember her, she's on the student council and Lelouch gave you a photo. She's on the student council.
Which makes it even easier. Your best bet is to go and talk to Mily Ashford, who seems to run the group with a gentle but iron hand. She's easy enough to locate. The principle's office, explaining to the former navy seal what's to be expected of him and his soldiers, now that Souske has been debriefed.

Gary
A normal person wouldn't have a chance of finding anything. But to you a computer is not merely some clunky old television with a typewriter in front of it. It is an interface where the mind can connect with the universe, and move bits around. And you want to find the ever so secret Dewey Decimal group, having little more then a name and a few suspicions.
Not going to be easy. Not at all, even with your capabilities. There's no mention of them in any of the local military databases (that have grown rather larger, since Souske called backup, though they fortunately have not changed their encryption), and yet Lelouch told you they were all taking orders from a specific general, who claimed to head the group. What was his name again…
There's no mention of him either (Librarians still use index cards). It looks like to find anything out, you're going to have to be more then an armchair detective. Of course, now that you're not in the presence of Lelouch and his over-powering charisma and manipulative abilities, that he admits to having used on you, you're less sure that you want to look, or that you'll like what you find. Your first step seems to be finding someone who knows a bit more about the situation, and asking them. You can think of a few off the top of your head. The coach, for starters. Cassie. The crazy history teacher.

Kid
An hour has passed. It shouldn't have been so long. "Well, you seem to have missed your window of opportunity. My turn to strike next. See you soon." Comes the hollow, electronically modulated voice of Kira, and the monitor switches off.
You have to figure out how to keep Souske from going on a sleep-deprivation driven rampage and find a way to deal with Light before he takes his shot. No pressure.

Sebastien
You have to contort your body, and you pull something in your shoulder that takes a long moment to heal, but you manage to get out from beneath his heel. Making a break for it? It's got a stride that puts it ahead of you by the time you've taken three steps. You're not outrunning Sam now. Looks like you're stuck fighting Apache Chief.
Fifty foot tall if he was an inch, but like they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall when you slice through their Achilles tendon.

[Colesign]

Leavenworth Smedry

Leavenworth judges the axe's ark, and leaps out of the wap...and forward.

If there's one advantage to losing his Talent, it's that he can now finally arrive on time to things, and he most certainly arrives to the location where the axe is not in the nick of time.

Given how closely a Smedry Talent is bound with a person's life and soul, it's even possible that by Rule-breaking Leavenworth, Archer has not only broken his power, but his ability to be late to anything.

...well, that would be nice, Leavenworth thought. He leaned and thrust forward with the tip of his backup sword, going for a thigh wound at the major arteries. Not a lethal wound, but a wound that would readily bleed out over time. A weakening wound.

Gary

Shiki. Then the history teacher's assistant. He looked like he'd known just as much about the secret history of the world as the teddy-bear enthusiast had.

He stops by his dresser, looking for a new jacket (dear Varsity Jacket, thine time had come too soon).

He frowns. He should pick something appropriate–Oh! Here's something! He pulls out velvet lined smoking jacket. Mom had bought it for him one year as part of a Sherlock Holmes Halloween costume. She'd gotten a deer stalker, but Gary had bluntly informed her that the cap hadn't been worn in the stories, and had in fact made it's first appearance in play dramatizations in the early 1910s...

...but it was a good Halloween. He had a pipe he never lit, he'd consulted Project Gutenburg and quoted all the lines from the stories while tricker treating, and actually managed a good Brittanian accent. He liked that memory because he knew Mom liked it as well, because it was a day...

...where he wasn't weird. Wasn't bad weird, that is. More cool weird.

He put on the smoking jacket, unplugged his modified smart phone from the charged, and stuck it in his coat pocket.

...he felt smooth wood. He drew out the old corncob pipe, stuck it in his mouth and nodded to himself.

"The Game's afoot!"

With that, he strode outward and went looking for either his roommate or the teacher assistant...Mr. Raoden, that was his name.

He also ran several deep trawling searches on people named Lelouch who grew up in the Britannian isles, as well as (on a hunch) the public face and figures of the Britannian National Library.

And he watched some streamings of that BBC Moffat show on the side.

(I was thinking that by doing relatively public searches on the British National Library, we could bring up the Read Or Die tv series as part of the Librarian canon.)

[AnimeKid]

Kid

He grits his teeth as he walks out of the building and into the sunlight. He had to find a way to stop Sagara and take care of Light. If he really did have demon assistance then he would have to take Light while Maka took on the demon. Still of the two problems Sagara was the most troubling. Still it would be the death of Light which would prevent anymore problems from popping up. Sagara was too able bodied of a human to bet anything on trying to knock him out. So that was out, plus as he had no standing as a commanding officer he couldn't order him to take a nap or order his superiors to let him take one. They would probably have to deal with Light tonight. With those last thoughts Kid heads back to where his weapon partners were. He stop this, no matter what.

Maka and Soul

Maka's eyes widen as the arrow flies towards her. Inches before it would reach her it is blocked by the broad side of a scythe blade. Soul grits his teeth as he brandishes his transformed arm as he says, "You know...that was really not cool. Just so you know, when uncool people like you face cool guys like me I always win. Maka you ready to go?"

Maka snaps out of her shock and nods as Soul transforms fully into his weapon form, appearing in her hands. She twirls the scythe rapidly as she says, Remember Soul, we can't absorb human souls. That being said, I hope that we don't have to kill her. However if it comes down to it we can as long as we don't take her soul and let it pass on. It's operating inside technicalities but it is something we can do. Considering the danger to our lives and mission I think Lord Death will understand.

Kitness Evergreen! I'm sorry it had to come to this, but we can't stop here!" With that Maka charges forward towards Kitness, spinning her scythe to block any arrows that come near her as she closes in to try and hit Kitness with the back of her scythe.

[Cracklord]

Maka and Soul
(In this world, Peeta didn't survive. When they attempted their mutual suicide, a screen flickered on showing Prim with a gun to her head, and the order to finish things was repeated. That time, she obeyed it, and it left her extremely traumatized)
Damn. Where was Souske and his thousands of guns when you needed them? She could really use someone on her side right now. Anyone, really. She notched another arrow, backing away slowly until she's got her feet at the edge of the roof, and the pit drops out of her stomach. She doesn't take her shot, after the ease in which you dealt with the first one it had occurred to her that you weren't going down easily. So she was saving it for the right moment.
"I never asked for much. Just one... would it have been too much to ask that I'd just… saved…one?" She mutters quietly as you advance, the point of the arrow wavering a little in tiny figure of eights, as she tries to use a trembling hand to hold it steady. You wonder if she's about to go into shock, she's certainly not looking all that healthy.

Death the Kidd
As you exit the drama rooms, you spot Stocking confronting the three bizarrely militant-looking librarian types brandishing big guns. Yet another tangled strand of this whole interconnected mess, it looks like. It would be easier not to get involved, however you have a feeling they have something to do with Bella, and you're sure Maka would appreciate the help on that front.
Besides, you find yourself very curious, in a way that you know is distracting and could easily get you into trouble. Smedry warned you about librarians, and here are three…

Steph, Liz and Patti
King Boomer is pale and drawn, but no longer in critical condition, and his brother helps him limp back to his room. That's resolved then. Now to deal with the wider concerns.

Gary
Lelouch Vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire is dead. There's the obituary, the day of morning and the reshufflement of line of succession to prove it. Either your new ally has secretly assumed his identity for his own, possibly nefarious purposes, the government is trying to hide his survival, or they honestly do believe him to be dead. You're not sure which of these possibilities would be more cause for concern.
As for the library, it is managed by the curator 'Mr. Gentleman' (an obvious alias), who is apparently one hundred and thirty years old, and has an official position on the council of elders. Very prestigious for a glorified book sorter. Occasionally he is the British Government, the most indispensable man in the country. You sort through a few more, then start noticing titles that have no place in even the most rambunctious library. Something very strange really is going on there, but it appears to resist your efforts to dig deeper, effortlessly redirecting you to less interesting subjects, seemingly of it's own accord.
It takes a while for you to realize that this is because the database has a slow and primitive adaptive intelligence and sentience, capable of sensing your interference as a slumbering animal might notice someone prodding it and reshuffling itself as it happens to try and get comfortable again.
You don't see any of the people you thought of. You do, however, see the Guidance councilor doing his best to sneak out of the school. Something about that seems extremely suspicious.

[Corvond]

Tim Drake
Batman turned to face him, standing upright in acknowledgment of his presence for the briefest of moments. Most people, if they were to see the sight, would either wet their pants, freeze, or stare in awe. Intimidating, cold, unforgiving, calculated, dangerous, powerful. Batman is a mystery, an idea or concept who does things that are for the most part, but not always, manifestly good, but he never explains himself and is accountable to no one. He wasn't human. That's what they saw. That's what everyone else saw.

It wasn't what Robin saw.

He saw a man trying to make the lives of others better. He saw a man, an extraordinary man, who was indeed powerful and dangerous, but there as a refuge, a safe zone to those who followed the law. There was something sad in the truth, too. He also saw that there was no face underneath the cowl. It was how Batman had always thought of Bruce Wayne, the mask. The only hope that Robin saw was that he could still see Bruce, even if it was only by tragedy.

"You're trying to protect me." He said simply, in his piercing way. Tim Drake was far too smart for his own good. "Trying to keep me from pursuing a line you know to be dangerous. You wouldn't do that unless you thought it was too much for me to handle, or you felt you had a responsibility to deal with it yourself. Which is it?"

Cassandra Cain
Batgirl seems to almost appear soundlessly behind Katniss, although you couldn't say where she came from. One moment she wasn't there, the next moment there she was. How, you couldn't say. You blinked and you missed it.

Before the archer can react and adapt to her changed circumstances, there's a blur, and Batgitl rests her hand, almost gently, against Katniss' neck, and the archer slumps over, quite unconscious. Then she turns to look at the pair of you.

"Bella?" she asks in her soft, raspy voice, coarse from disuse. Raised to fight and do little else, Cassandra Cain had a very limited understanding of social relationships. She'd made some progress since she assumed the mantle of the new Batgirl. She was acquiring a limited vocabulary that sufficed to echo Spoiler's opinion on whatever was being discussed. But she wasn't so far along that she would say more then the bare necessities to a stranger.

Souske
It's important to stress that Souske wasn't himself. Wasn't completely in control of his actions. Unfortunately, there was a lot there that could be magnified. While Souske had a habit of brandishing his guns at the wrong time, he hadn't had any accidents with them yet, and likely never would. Unfortunately, it was out of his hands by this point.

Sosuke drew a combat shotgun from his jacket (how the hell did he fit it in there without a bulge?) and pointed it at Steph. "Out of my way. Now. I'm going to bed. Just try and stop me." A muscle above his eye twitched, as deep down he tried to tell himself to calm down and drop the gun, this was in contravention of his orders. But, perhaps for the first time in his life, the soldier ignored his programming. It had been over-written. Trumped.

It should be stated once more that Souske Sagara was always as good a man as the world would let him be. Perhaps he might have been successfully deprogrammed and been allowed to live an actual life, had fate been more kind.

Raven Roth
The empath starts, shocked by the soldiers outburst, then attempts to meld her mind with this and calm his emotions. She is horrified by what she finds. He has no emotions. He has nothing of the sort, bar a certain slowly building imperative that will lead him to kill a lot of people.

He has done some things that are horrifying, and he is not haunted by what he has done. Not even guilty. Her simply did these things because it was explained to him that Brittania would not remain safe otherwise. And so he will go to his grave with a clean conscience. But he is not a monster because he kills. To him, killing is easy. He's a victim. He doesn't see that his actions in the service of those he serves will cause nothing but terror and pain. It's been said that no one should know exactly what someone else is thinking. And sometimes, a mind is a terrible thing to read.

Zhuge Liang
"Perhaps I should handle this?" The shade of Kongming says softly, but makes no further action as Raven reels in horror from her findings. Kongming shrugs and leans back, unconcerned by it all.

Stephanie Brown
Stehpanie was mostly in costume, though without her mask and hood. She looked at Souske, at all his gins, and took a deep breath. “I can do this. I can totally do this.” She pauses as he twitches, looks at the gun again, and falters a bit. “I can’t do this” She slaps the side of her head. "Courage, Stephanie. You got this."

She steps forward, as though going to confront the soldier, hands on her hips. "Look, put the gun down, and lets act like we are all reasonable people."

[Colesign]

Gary Bell

That's...that's honestly cool.

Gary ponders all the implications, even as he backs off from the database for a moment. If the online pool of information could respond and change when prodded like that...could it grow smarter? More independent-minded. Curious? Could Gary have a conversation with it? A friend who actually thinks and perceives things like he does?

As Gary imagines future possibilities, he spies the guidance counselor.

What would Sherlock Holmes do? He thinks. He reviews a scene from a Robert Downey Jr. movie.

Gary nods. He'll construct a random disguise from random objects and clothing from passers-by while following the counseler, put on a fake accent, and spy on him close up!

Gary begins walking casually after the counseler.

[Cracklord]

Gary
Atticus does not look like a together guy. He looks like he's about to jump out of his skin, twitching at everything, and giving the impression of a rat looking for somewhere to hide. Yet somehow he doesn't notice you tailing. This disguise thing is even easier then he made it look (actually, he's too panicked to pay much attention to his surroundings). He gets to his office, and steps over to his desk. Then he lets out something that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and starts pulling at his hair. He pulls open the drawers, and starts rooting through papers, then he starts knocking things off the shelves, pulling the cushion off his seat, rifling through filing cabinets and generally making a mess. He's obviously desperately looking for something, but it seems unlikely to find it.
Finally, he collapses to the ground, muttering 'no, no, no' under his breath, rocking back and forth. The very testament to a man who has lost all hope and has nowhere to run.
The Book of Pure Evil has vanished.

Cass, Maka and Soul
Katniss sways, then collapses, quite unconscious. Nerve pinches. Works every time. There's no sign of Bella on the ground bellow. Wherever she went, she's been well hidden.

Tim Drake
He stares at you a moment, gauging your commitment, then inclines his head. It's a respect thing, and some of the tension leaves both of you. You've just risen in his estimation.
Batman didn't like magic. He's a scientist; he has a rational mind. And he respects natural law even more, if possible, than man made ones. He was a scientist - a rational, logical being. He believed in the rules and laws of science, and that everything had a logical and reasonable explanation. Fundamentally, nature existed and abided by those rules and everything adhered to those laws. The scientific guidelines of physics, biology, chemistry - they were all deeply rooted in proven laws of nature. Magic was a perversion of those rules. Magic broke those laws and circumvented those guidelines. Magic was a shortcut. Magic was… cheating. His rational mind railed against that perversion, but more than that he understood the one unbreakable rule all magic-users acknowledged but the significance of which none liked to admit…
In the metaphysical world, as much as the real one, there was no such thing as a free lunch. There was always a price.
"My involvement of it is… complicated. As you are aware, the Brittanian Noble Houses are all descended from magicians. It's what they based their entire society on, that and 'Might Makes Right'. And every fifty years, the most powerful seven come to one place, and try to kill each other. Essentially, it's a battle for power, held every fifty years. It's formal, and official, and the emperor usually makes the champion a head of state." He growled. Bruce had spent his entire life fighting against them.
"It's the wish that counts. At the end of the war, whoever is left standing will get to make a wish that defines the next fifty years. And sixty years ago, it was won by two men. Their names were Kent Nelson and Steven Strange. And unlike the others, they didn't care for the empire." Batman allowed himself the luxury of a savage grimace. "They had their reasons. Strange was forcibly inducted into the order, costing him the destiny he wanted as a surgeon. Kent was more an idealist. Instead of perpetuating the empires power, they wished for a way to topple it. And from that, they began their revolutionary army. It was always underground, always subversive. We did a lot of good. After my parents were executed, I was recruited. I'm the only one left free now that Oliver is gone. They say Kent's still held in the heart of the Empire."

[Cracklord]

Touga
Lelouch walks over to you. Now that you're dressed again, and feeling a little more your self, you feel your confidence returning. "I have a favor to ask. I wish you to teach me how to fight. How to handle a sword. I have something of a premonition that I will need to know soon." He says quietly. "Can you help me?" An unusual request from a noble born. Any Noble who can't at least fence can expect either a short life, or a subordinate one. And you had read Lelouch as being noble indeed, despite his clear Asian extraction.

Alex Delarge
Rivalz leads you across the grounds. You see the soldiers running back and forth, and you frown. Doing their best to squeeze all the fun our of life. Still, all those weapons, an accident or two is to be expected, isn't it? Put the edge back onto a dull day and all that.
You pass the red-haired groundskeeper, and make your way off the school grounds and into town, where you can catch a bus to the reservation and all the fun is. Then a book falls into your lap. Quite literally.
Carved in twisted flesh the cover portrays a clawed human hand making devil horns in the middle of a pentagram. Formerly the property (or at least in the possession and keeping of) Guidance Counselor Atticus Murphy, the book had decided it was time to spice things up. And your mind suited it just fine.

Library of Elba
Mr Revise was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp mackintosh suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. He looked like a bank manager far more then anything, and the effect was compounded with him sitting at his desk, going over page after page of manuscript.
Madly, he erased. Madly, yes, for what editor erases so fervently the words an author has written? What editor allows his author to write a hundred thousand words only to erase ten thousand of them? Only an editor desperate to get history right.
Mr Revise feverishly applied the massive eraser to the history of Idris. There went a sentence about the death of Valentine. Just after, he was no longer dead, and claiming to have gone to school with Dumbledore. And what about this paragraph where Valentine claims to be Jace's father? Revise didn’t even erase that bit, but crumpled up the whole page and threw it into the lava that seeped from a nearby crack in the floor. What else had to go to make this goddamned trilogy work out? How about the legal material, and the dedication and acknowledgments? After all, who gives a goat’s droppings for the author of an epic? Revise hurled those pages aside and saw them catch fire. He threw out the teaser too. It had given away the destruction of the city anyway, something that was completely undecided about at this point.
The old man turned his face from the ravaged book in his hand and looked at the library behind him. “What is my brother doing? This would never have happened when I was in charge of continuity.” It's about then he notices the man, who has arrived to speak to him. "Yes?" He snapped irritably, looking up at Randall Dowling with clear frustration. "What is it?"
Dowling was a tall, spare man, with a singular face, perpetually animated and mobile. All his features were unusually expressive, so much that when he was still he seems almost flat and dead. His dark brown hair had begun to recede from his forehead, and his nose was slightly hooked.
"Just the matter of the book." He replied smoothly. "If it is everything you promised, I cannot help but be concerned you leaving it in the hands of a fool."
Revise sniffed, his lips curving down to indicate disdain. "A fool he may be, but one has remained hidden and unobserved. As long as he can do that, I have no reason to be concerned, and you don't either. Now if you have anything constructive to add, might I ask you to get it over with? I am a very busy man, and can only patronize you for so long."
Randall's eyes narrowed, but he shook his head, turned and walked away. This was a multiverse snowflake he could come to like, and he was glad to have reconstituted here. The worldspinner, the head of this branch of the franchise as he preferred to think of them, had been pushed aside, and the being now running things taken over by a being given over to the obsessive need to alter every event to his specifics. Such interesting potential. Indeed, with the right nudging, he could find himself quite happy here.
Patience was the key. Patience, and applying pressure to the right points.
Patience.

[AnimeKid]

Kidd

Kidd nods to himself as he steps forward following his instincts. His eyes wash over Stocking and register her as a supernatural/celestial being. He was running into to many odd things at this school. He walks forward towards them holding his arms out as what appear to be large skulls made of purple energy cover his entire arms like bucklers and then extend beyond that"Now now gentlemen, I don't think it is quite proper to accost a lady in such a way. If you gentlemen would answer a few questions of mine I would be happy to let you go unscathed."

Skull Shields

Spoiler

Show

Liz and Patti

Liz holds her hands up defensively as she says, "Whoa there soldier boy! You can't just go around pointing guns at people like that no matter how tired you are!"

Patti punches the air as she says, "YEAH! You better stop being a big meanie or my sis is gonna pulverize you!

Liz yells loudly at her sister as she says, "DON'T PUT WORDS IN MY MOUTH PATTI!"

Maka and Soul

Maka blinks as Cass appears. She had almost missed it since she wasn't focusing on her, but she did see a blur move from a hiding space to her current location. This girl was fast, not as fast as BlackStar but still fast. Plus she was much quieter. If she was an assassin she was doing right unlike that doofus she called a friend. She grips Soul a little tighter in her hands just in case she need to defend herself as she says, "Yes? Are you looking for Bella too? Have you seen her or Edward Cullen?"