"You want to bring hall-passes back?" he asks, confused at her suggested method of actually overseeing and policing this proposal. Mily tended to be like that, she was everyone's big sister and always was ready with a new big idea, but desperately relied on him and Shirley to actually make the logistics and suggestions happen.
Of course, this was very inconvenient to him as well. If he wants to keep his ability to come and go as he pleases without someone else watching him, it's pretty clear he only has one option.
"Well, I suppose taking on a little more responsibility won't hurt." He says. "I'll go about selecting a group of prefects today. How are organizations for the dance proceeding?"
Light listens, but is inwardly fairly listless. He's only executed thirty people today, far below his average, and next to that this all seems so shallow, so mundane.
Last edited by Cracklord : 03-21-2012 at 10:02 PM.
"I'm afraid not. I did try to identify them, but with only a sketch of the two of them I have little to work with." He replies, quite honestly. Zim was dealt with, but the Irken had always been an insignificant problem, while the two metahumans had both demonstrated themselves capable of just as much destruction as him, and worse direct it with some semblance of intelligence.
Emiya wakes up in his room, blinking away sleep. It takes him a few minutes to convince himself to get up, and stagger over to the bathroom, where he cleans himself up, shaves away the orange fluff that's grown on his cheeks, and stretches out his stiffness. Feeling a little better, he makes note of the jobs he needs to do, then packs his bag for school.
Unlike most people born (or rather, adopted) to privilege, Shirou aspires to something resembling self-reliance. He takes care of his own house as much as he can, cooks his own meals, and fixes his own appliances. Of a naturally remarkably selfless and practical nature, he seems ill-suited to the cut-throat life he is soon to enter.
Dressed and presentable, he leaves his mansion to catch a bus. As an informal resident handyman on campus, students often want his help, and he's too generous of disposition to ever say no.
"I'm Gary Bell. I like whole-grain cereal and criminal investigation."
The obligatory bit of small talk done with, he checks his watch. "I get to bed at 10:00 and wake up at 8:00: we should go to bed, lights out in 30 minutes. And don't make any noises while you're sleeping. I don't like that. And don't touch my toothbrush. "
He will brook no complaints.
"My dear fellow," He begins. "It appeared to be a Demon Butler fighting the Mana-based Reincarnation of a Long-Dead Hero..."
He pauses and ponders the issue. What would a Hushlander say in this situation?
"But the most likely explanation is...a Swamp Gas Balloon."
As you arrive on the school grounds you can't help but feel as though you are being watched but you can't see anyone around.
"I want each of you to go out when we finish here and find one student to be appointed as a volunteer security force. I'm having my Father draw up the paper work to authorize it now." Milly says.
"Those students will be responsible for patrolling the grounds on their off periods and aiding the regular security force in dealing with intruders." She legitimately doesn't seem to see how sending students to confront things like what attacked you yesterday is a bad idea.
"So no one knows anything?" He asks again, all the other faculty members shake their heads solemnly.
"Very well but if I find any of you have anything to do with this there will be consequences. Now we lost too much class time yesterday so I am imposing a new rule. Unless your classroom is personally in the crossfire of an attack there will be no further modifications to the schedule. I will not let a pair of mutant terrorist get in the way of my student's education."
She's just jealous... Touga thinks, waving his flowing red locks behind him. The school dance. Ah, to have his little sister around for this. She was always the one planning balls and galas and masquerades. Such trivialities were beneath him. But part of growing up was learning self-reliance, and that Kiryuu would have to rely on his own impeccable tastes for this celebration. Milly's announcement for a security force catches Touga off-guard, however. For a moment, he considers the possibility of this being problematic for him, but the doubt is soon gone. Calmly, Kiryuu asks, "And what requirements would a student need to be part of this task-force? Will they require an endorsement from the student council?"
Another bright and god-forsaken morning for Alex DeLarge. The Brittanian snuck into Kiryuu's room about an hour after Touga left and changed back into his normal attire. Idly, Alex finishes his cigarette and stomps it out on his associate's carpet before leaving the room. Normal face, normal Alex. He's going to have to find a room sooner or later, though. His Majesty needs his own space, apparently, and Alex is inclined to agree. Hrm. Maybe he really should go check out the Room 234 that pompous ass from last night was talking about...
"Very well. I can think of a few students who'd be very suited to this." Lelouch taps his chin. "We should probably make it worth extra credit or something similar as well, that they can use to flesh out their academic record."
Sagara Souske would be perfect, he was already the militant right hand of Milly, and would put him somewhere where his talents would be somewhat constructive. Perhaps overly forceful, but nonetheless, positively redirected.
There are reasons aplenty to tell Milly that this was a bad idea, but Lelouch wouldn't do it. In this school, Milly's whims were as absolute as his Lord Fathers were, and she was used to getting her own way. Besides, it's not an entirely bad idea.
She calmly sits as if Mikala's complicated exercises don't bother her in the least. She gets up out of the bed as she says, "I had a rather exhausting day yesterday. Though I'm surprised that your up so early after arriving so late last night."
She then gets up and goes to the bathroom to change into her school uniform. From the bathroom she says, "You'll probably be with me through most of your classes. Don't worry, Kidd is at a student council meeting at the moment but I'll make sure nothing happens."
"I should think that goes without saying. Speaking of which, did you get my recommendations about Smedry?" It seems he means to carry out his threats to force him to learn some basic responsibility. And if he doesn't chances are he'll have the man investigated.
He's been paranoid ever since he unexpectedly found himself participating in the Holy Grail War. But that doesn't mean he's wrong. He takes a deep breath, and focuses his magic.
Shirou is an amateur. But he's also able to intuitively grasp the structure of things, then understand and improve it. This means he can conjure something out of nothing if it comes to it, or better still, improve something that already exists.
Shirou improves his eyesight, magnifying it to the point he can count the bricks on every building in the school, then looks about, trying to see who is looking at him.
"That will do." He didn't have to add 'for now'. He didn't need to, it was written all over his face. The idea that he's going to just learn to live with Smedry's almost terminal irresponsibility seems unlikely. "I'll draw up a more comprehensive list by the end of the week."
With that he stands up. "Well gentlemen, if that's all I have a lesson to prepare."
He'd investigate further, except he has archery club practice, and he owes it to his average to give it priority. So with a little confusion, and perhaps just a smidgen of paranoia, he makes his way to the school sport center.
"Lovely morning." He's leaning against a wall arms folded, crimson eyes mild, though a vagrant gleam within them makes him dangerous. The cloaked figure didn't hear him arrive, or sense his view.
"Perfect morning for an exchange of ideologies." He holds out his hands, palm up to show he isn't hiding anything. "I want to say that my master sent me here to surrender. We won't oppose you, or get in your way."
The Cunning Man
Blood ran down the child's chin, sparkling in the candlelight. The dark clad figure watched it trickle. His dark apparel, black as a crypt, is practical and functional, void of any trim or lace that could impede the draw of a blade. He smiles about as regularly as an atheist gives confession, and the harsh lines of his grim countenance speak of the graves he has filled.
He took no pleasure in the spilled blood, for it indicated only damage, not what he'd hoped to gain. He gave a thin sigh and straightened, flexing his broken knuckles. He felt tired and his shoulders ached. The chamber had long since fallen completely silent, and now his only company was his victim, his third since coming here. The dead boy sat slumped in his chair, his chest unmoving.
He ran an expert eye over the bruises on the boy's face. They were purple and yellow and black, like rain-heavy storm clouds before a winters sky, if one had the necessary perspective to imagine when confronted by his blotched, swollen, bleeding face, gaping obscenely with all it's teeth missing. His eyelids were crusted with blood, and his missing teeth lay all about, like pearls lost from a string.
The figure felt no pride. He felt no savage satisfaction in the elimination of another tainted by the dark ways and those that preyed on the souls of all that lived. The body before him was just another lump of gristle and bone, held together by rolls of fat, coupled with a head full of stupid, naive ideas.
He didn't even blame the boy. The world was a hard place, however soft people may have become as a collective. The powers of corruption were subtle and old, whereas boys were simple and inexperienced and possessed of crude tastes.
He turned away from the boy (what was his name?), absentmindedly brushing some dried body fluids from his long, leather coat. They left no stain, no marking, the coat was as clean as it had ever been. But his legs ached from the long hours hunching, head low, listening to the garbled, confused confessions of this particular heretic.
"Well, haven't you left a bloody trail. More of a highway, one could scarcely miss it." The voice has a pleasant lilt to it. It is smooth, even kind, but something in it makes the hairs on the back of it's chosen victim's neck stand on end. It's a little too smooth, and little too kind to be genuine.
"The ways of the enemy lend themselves to every perversion imaginable. It is the mark of the righteous to meet them with steel and fire." The dark figure replied, not turning, the long hat shadowing his features, grooving them with shadow and exaggerating every wrinkle and crease.
"Well, whatever it is, if you didn't move around so much, I'd have had you already. At least a dozen in every town across this nation, though only a handful you intended on. The Lord Shaper wants you recovered. Not brought home, just dealt with." The figure has a smile that shows too many teeth, and dark glasses like a blind man. His hair is white, though strong and healthy, his features are a little too wide to be conventionally handsome, and his his shirt and slacks are the same, though he is lean and sinewy. He looks like a man, but he's about as human as the man in black.
"The lord of dreams will have to do without me. I lived once, long ago, and I am content to watch no longer." The man in black replied, a hand sheathed in black leather falling to a blade sheathed at his side, a curved cavalry saber ideal for hacking. Not the blade of a skilled swordsman, but an even mix of offensive power, lightness and balance.
The man in white twists his hand, and suddenly he has a flick knife. But whether it was there all along, he made it appear or something else is entirely a mystery. "You misunderstand. Right now we don't need loose-canons like you about. You're more trouble then your worth. Don't worry, if you're really important to the human condition something much like you should be around shortly.
The man in white shakes his head, and for a moment, just a moment, he endeavors to almost look regretful. But it's as false as his voice. Only the toothy smile of the predator betrays his intent. "It's almost a shame. I would have liked you, if there was a bit more honesty to you. You're too cold, all duty and misery and contempt and the rest. We're not complicated, beings like us. You should really learn to glorify in yourself a little bit, take some pleasure in your purpose."
"I have no use for your advice. You came for a reason, nightmare, and we both understand it. If you would halt my glorious work, then have-at-thee."
He very nearly clapped his hands. "If that's how you want it, sly little malice, I have no issue obliging you." The sword clears it's scabbard as fast as thought (the intent to harm, if you want to be precise), but the man in white is far faster, and the knife slashes his upper arm. The fabric and flesh both part, and the saber clatters tot eh ground as it slips from nerveless fingers, but there is no blood.
The man in white smiles, then slams the man in black against the wall, handling him as easily as a child despite his struggles. "None of that. I know who I am, you can't get into my head." He said cheerfully, clenching harder, grinding bone against bone, until the struggling stopped. Smile widening further, he reached up with his free hand and removed his sunglasses, with the air of one to which this is almost a ritual, like a samurai arranging flowers. But he had no eyes. Where they should be was a gleam, of two sets of teeth set in his eyesockets, rattling and clacking as he moved his mouth. "You're to die, and I'm the man to do it. But first I will take your eyes. An indulgence of mine. I shiver to think, what they must have seen, what they must have experienced... I almost - "
He knocked off the hat to get at them, and hen froze, his almost human face gaping with alarm. It was almost comical, this deadly thing confused and disoriented, three mouths gaping. But the man in Black didn't see it that way. He might be pinned, but hesitation was always fatal. "Yes. I'm a complicated one." He replied, with a curious twitch of his shoulder, and the man in white falls to the ground, dissolving back into the raw firmament he was built from, leaving only his hideous skull.
The Cunning Man replaced the unidentifiable sharpened metal, and looked at the corpse of the wizard he'd finished with again, irritated at the situation he was caught in. He'd escaped the dreaming, and his absence had been noted. They were after him, the Corinthian had tracked him being the only one equipped to find the Cunning Man, but no doubt he was complete enough to have left a trail for others to follow. The man in black, who was always so careful, rigorous and complete about his own work couldn't imagine otherwise. He estimated that he had maybe a month left before he had no chance to move on and the longer he remained, the shorter his lead would get.
But he could he leave this place in such a state. He had a list of names he'd ripped from the flesh of his victims, a purpose to be fulfilled and a burning righteousness in his heart. There was too much work to do. He snarled, then turned and stalked out of the room, leaving the bodies behind. The shadows would hold him no more. If he was to deal with this den of sin and inequity, he would have to take a more direct hand in matters.
As you prepare to leave the room a thin envelope is slid under the door. The seal is a rose mark, much like the one Touga has on his ring.
Draxx's Mysterious Murderer
A small child you were almost certain was not there a moment ago stands in your path. "This is no world for Fables, we've done a lot to crush them whenever they rear their ugly little heads. Filling the minds of masses with flights of fancy and thoughts of freedom. So pray tell me what you are doing here?"
((I don't know who he is talking too))
Smedry and Beast
As you take your argument to the hallway you notice another member of the faculty following you. Dr. Cassabi, one of the guidance councillors stands behind you. "Is there a problem sirs?"
For some reason you both feel less desire to argue while he is present.
As you approach the archery field now free of your pursuer you are approached by a younger blonde girl. "Hi, my name is Katniss, you're Shirou right?"
((You have any idea how few non-superhero teenage archers there are in fiction? I'm reduced to pulling someone from a very inappropriate setting.))
He has yet to replace his hat, and for a moment she sees the holes where his eyes should be. Holes that stretched all the way to the back of his head and out the other side, black because of the shadows around both of them. Once, people had known that eyes were windows into the soul. Which says all you need to know about the Cunning Man.
"Have you ever read Kipling?" He asks, hand brushing the leather bound book that has been tied to his belt. It's nothing Kipling write. It's an original copy of the Malleus Maleficarum. "I'm sure you have some familiarity, we all worked with him at some point or another, and I was the inspiration for exactly one line. 'Fairytales exist not to tell us that dragons can exist, but to remind us that dragons can be killed'."
He replaces his hat, then begins to look at the little girl in a vaguely predatory fashion. But he makes no aggressive move yet, though his slow, liquid advance is quite menacing. With his free hand, he begins to ease the black leather glove from his right hand. "Does that answer your question?"
As the Corinthian had pointed out, the fables were not complicated, defined entirely by their natures. And this one was even less complicated then the rest.
"No. No problem we were discussing." He replied after a moment. "Just a friendly disagreement between colleagues." About the safety of children and our duty to act in a somewhat responsible manner to set an example. He doesn't add that last part, he's plenty tactful when he has reason to be.
Archery was normally a very private pastime for him. But then, normally nobody approached him at all. Ignoring her a moment, he fires another bullseye, then turns, all smiles.
"That is correct." He replies. She sticks out in an academy like this like a sore thumb. She's certainly not an aristocrat, or a member of the merchant class looking to become one, and that alone would leave her as something of a pariah. He extends his hand anyway, because he's naturally generous and welcoming.
Archer ((He was tailing Shirou to keep him safe. He made his way around to whoever was watching him from the past from afar, assuming said person was a rival master.))
You find the rodent from before. "Our truce isn't over yet, I must confess it is odd that there are so few other Servants. Aren't the Grail Wars supposed to grand events on unparalleled scale?"
Her accent gives her away, Area 12. A section of the Americas that once belonged to the EU until recently. The only way for someone like her to be here would mean a military scholarship and honorary citizenship. "I can't quite get the hang of these compound bows, you have to hold the shot too long, they'd be useless for hunting."
Beast and Smedry
"I see...well do try to keep it out of the halls then. No need to let the students see this." Dr. Cassabi warns.
"To kill something you must acknowledge that it exists. Better to make everyone think it was never there to begin with." The child explains.
"To have a Witchkiller and an eyeless monster so publicly murder the remnants of a dwindling people only draws people in to see the magic."
She nods at Mikala as she says, "Sure thing, it's probably a good idea too. No offense to the guy, but he seems the type to get in trouble pretty easily and usually by his own stupid decisions. I have a friend back home who is a lot like that actually." With that Maka leads Mikala over to the boys dorms where Kidd resides. When they get there Soul is there and he says, "Yo, Kidd asked me to watch to guy in here because he had to go to a student council meeting."
Looking at Mily he raises his hand as he says, "Um, President? Has a theme been decided for the dance? If not was there a particular one that you had in mind?"
Kiryuu's eyes widen a little. It's just a startled moment; it passes quickly. But an opportunity like this is too good to pass up. Smoothly, Touga says, "Quite a spectacular idea, Ms. Ashford. But maybe we should go farther; not just a revolution, but a revolution for a happier, more hopeful world. A world where every girl is a princess, and every man her knight. Where roses bloom eternal, and chivalry never dies. A fairy tale, for lack of better words. I would, of course, be willing to contribute my own resources to the cause."
"Hello, hellohellohello... what's all this, then?" Alex murmurs to himself. A rose seal. Honestly. Touga's ego was massive enough that he needed his own personal seal. Alex inspects the envelope as he cracks open the door, trying to sneak a peek of whoever delivered the letter.
????? "I care nothing for that." he replied, now almost in reach. Long dormant parts of the brain are firing neurons, and radical ideas are beginning to form as his pressence begins it's work. Hate was infective, to shame even the greatest of the plagues.
But The Cunning Man is not one meant to be in the shadows, unlike most of the primal fears and nightmares to which he was kin. He prefered to work in the open, and if not for the fact he was effectively on the run he would have changed tactics long ago. But he'd been found. Now, hooding his actions would do little good.
It was time to begin spreading the Good Word.
"Well, it depends on a few things, but yes, that's the crux of it." He replies. "I can only assume they haven't got around to summoning their servents yet. Though perhaps it's something more sinister. The only other master I've identified is Light Yagami." A easy lie, one that an inexperienced servant would most likely never see through, unless he had considerable experience with demons.
He looks at her stance. She's taunt as a whip, the lines of her body hard to draw the weapon, which is too big for her. "These aren't practical for that." He replied. "But you want to punch through something, it's nearly as good as a small gun."
His step-father took him fox-hunting once, but he's fairly sure that's not what she is getting at. "And they make you strong."
Leavenworth settles on a great oak tree in full bloom, a latticework of branches and fat green leaves that reaches high up. Smedry climbs slowly but smoothly, and sets himself on a large, wide branch, high up enough that it would be hard for anyone to hear anything from the ground.
"Now then." Smedry says quietly. "Speak your fill, and don't you dare hold back."
The Cunning man neither doubted or hesitated. Either were equally beyond him, much as was the ability to fly or choose. He was not an individual in the strictest sense, although unlike most of his kind he had been at one point and remembered what it was like. Shouldering his satchel that he had so recently put to use, he turns and walks through the catacombs, where early settlers were buried, and he had made his home, although nest might be a more accurate term.
Rooting about, he dug out a bag of gold. It was time to arrange matters the way he was intended to do so.
He was honestly a nice guy, but he'd be a far better person if everything wasn't so easy for him. He was so talented, in almost every area of his life, that skill and intelligence barely came into what he did. For him, hitting a bullseye was simply a matter of pointing a weapon at it, understanding an object was just a matter of looking hard, and intuitively understanding. Even school work was done with him rarely having to engage his brain.
In answer, he picked up an arrow, weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, then, without even bothering to use a bow, tossed it overhead, in a slightly exaggerated manner. He doesn't even have to look. Bullseye.
He's a bit of a show-off as well, as many born to privilege are.
"I am sure you find you own bow more familiar and reliable. But you should try and get familiar with different types as well." He said. "Personally, I learned with a recurve bow, rather then a compound, but now I'm fairly good with both." Then he looks down at hers. "Of course, I've never actually tried with a handcrafted bow. My house has a few on display for ornamental purposes, but I've never actually used one."
He raised his eyebrows, affecting surprise. "Signs of a powerful magus, two separate entities bound to his will at once. Furthermore, have you observed anyone else in the state with the power to pull it off and control a servant? No, either the other master's aren't here, or they haven't revealed themselves yet. Thereby, by process of elimination, he's the most likely candidate to e your enemy."
Somehow he looks graceful, hunkered down on a branch, perfectly balanced. Like he was designed to fit there. "Well, I find you overly reckless and willing to endanger your students. Therefore, I think you should either find a job where you aren't given responsibility you cannot handle, or try and act as a role-model. But I feel we've gone over this."
"I do not see how the two contradict." He replies, quite reasnobly. He actually quite likes the fairytale idea, since the 'so-you-want-a-revolution' idea was probably not going to go down well in this environment.
"Simply give the starring roles, that of characters with individual costumes for instance, to those who show particular excellence, and those who don't manage to distinguish themselves dress in black robes. We can even work in modern legends, as that is generally held to be a form of mythology anyway. Besides, it will encourage healthy competition among the students." In a sort of Darwinian way. But it will direct their energies in a way useful to people like Lelouch, which suits him. If the school is distracted by something harmless, he's safer to act.
There is the tell tale flicker of magic as Alex summons herself a change of clothes and zaps her dirty ones back to her room.
"Well it was fun but I think I outta be going now. See you around." She says giving you a wink as she makes her way towards your door.
"I like it...can you work with these themes Kidd?" Milly asks turning towards Death's own child.
Floating unseen above the meeting Ryuk starts to chuckle. "So it's him after all...interesting."
Katniss doesn't believe that and pulls out one of her own arrows and tries to replicate the trick, it finds it's way to the edge of the target. She scowls at it slightly before turning back to Shirou. "Impressive..."
She goes back to the compound bow and prepares to take another shot. "You don't see many nobles taking up such a primitive hobby. What brought you to archery?"
"No, someone as meticulous as him would no doubt be better prepared for the Grail War. He'd have a servant summoned the moment he knew where it was." Mickey said shaking his head.
"Personally I suspect Lelouch Lamperouge. He is hiding something, and his sister gives him an obvious wish."