The Micro-Scenes Thread

with input from our lovely discord
An Artful Competition Between Speedsters:
Imp's ART classroom:
Saturday morning:
Two reinforced Easels stood facing each other in the room, behind them two extremely strong speedsters with very different GSD, one looking like he could star in the Jurassic Park, the other looking like a shoe in for the companion of Peter Pan she chose her code name after. On the chalkboard a theme the contestants are to sketch to: "Larger than Life"


Imp: You two may be wondering why you are here this morning, and not watching classic cartoons. You see it has come to our attention that there has been a prank war going on, normally that just means a bit more cleanup and repair work, and a lot more popcorn, unfortunately security does get a bit concerned when the two parties primarily involved are both Ragers, so they want this resolved pronto. Lucky for you- or perhaps the Sim team, I the marvelous Imp, have an alternative option, a speed sketching competition, you each have 5 minutes to draw someone or something larger than life starting.... Now"


5 minutes later:
Imp: Time.
Razorback eagerly turned his easel around, on it a picture of the other student in the room, though scaled to fit the page- in the bottom left corner "10x" was written...
Tink lifted up her easel and turned it around to show Imp a scene straight out of Manga and Anime, two Kaiju battling over a city- Except that one of them was clearly Dino shaped...

.....


* anyone wishing to continue feel free

Not Canon

First Day of Spring Term
BMA

Miss Abyss sat in the stupid kneeling position, waiting for something interesting to happen. Sure when the old man curb stomped the big brick, it had been cool to watch but it just showed that the class was probably gonna be hella hard. And after that fight it had been rules and talking. Then anyone with some fighting skill had been called up, she'd included herself in the group since she could handle herself in a street fight, and it had been more talking.

Ito, who Abyss knew was nicknamed the evil old man by the politer students, finally shut up. He and the cute teacher, Tolman, stepped off to the side, it finally looked like something interesting was going to happen.

“Just Me and Filler. Come to the ring,” the old man said.

A plain looking girl with short brown hair stepped up. Abyss smirked, it looked almost like she was about to cry, and she kept looking at the ground. When she'd talked about what she could do, she said she was trained in surviving and removing threats, whatever the hell that meant.

Filler on the other hand looked scared. The bulky teen who seemed like he was made mostly out of a few hundred pounds of muscle, looked at the teachers and asked, “Can I fight someone else. Please.”

Looking around there were a few smirks, but most of the class nervously watched the girl, and there were some whispered words that sounded like psycho, combat final, Counterpoint, and scary. Maybe Just Me really was dangerous, Amalgam had said she was one of the best shifters at Whateley.

“What the fuck is up with everyone? She doesn't look like much,” she told her friend and roommate Amalgam.

All she got in response was a shrug.

“You will spar with no powers,” Ito said, ignoring the whispers and Filler's fear.

Stepping into the ring, Filler stood as far back from Just Me as possible. “Please don't rip my eyes out or anything. I'm just here to learn to fight, OK?” he said.

The girl nodded, not saying anything. They got into position and bowed.

“Hajime,” Ito said.

Abyss's eyes widened in shock as the girl exploded into motion. Filler didn't know what was happening as she bolted past him, grabbed his sleeve and tossed herself onto his back, grabbing his ear with her left hand to hold herself in place and drove her fingers up his nose wrenching it to the side.

Filler howled and lurched around the ring, following his nose. A moment later he stepped out of bounds, and Just Me jumped off his back wiping her fingers on her pants. The boy knelt down clutching his nose and ear, cursing mostly to himself.

“What the fuck!” Abyss said, unable to believe what had just happened. Similar outbursts and gasps kept her from getting glared at by the teachers.

“Point to Just Me,” Ito said. “Again, this time with powers.”

The pair got into position. Now Filler looked pissed and scared, while Just Me was watching him with a blank expression. Bowing again, the fight started.

The girl seemed to increase in size, her arms and shoulders became thick and muscular, her breasts shrank to nothing, and her legs grew longer in just a second or two. Filler stayed back, protecting his face, watching her shift and getting ready to react.

They circled each other, Filler finally threw some quick punches, more to keep Just Me away than to hurt her. Then the girl grinned in a way that would make a shark look friendly, reaching for her waist.

“Don't poison me!” Filler shouted, jumping away.

“Point to Just Me,” Ito said.

The entire class saw that his heel was out of the circle. Just Me had stopped grinning, instead she was holding her empty hands out for him see, and had already shrank back down to her usual size.

“Don't be so afraid,” she said in a quiet voice. “You could kill me with a punch, and I can only hurt you unless I'm armed. Come at me next time, force me back and out, or get me in a corner where you can grab me.” Then she went and took her seat again, head down looking like someone had killed her dog.

Turning to Amalgam, she and her roommate shared a confused look. They really had to watch that combat final they'd heard of.

Even by Whateley Standards ...

Ms Carson was uncharacteristically the last to arrive at the small conference room where her security team had assembled. And waited for 5 minutes.

"Sorry for the delay," she said as she sat down "the board had some questions about this situation that I really wish I could have answered."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table that made it plain that nobody present had the answers she had all but demanded.

"Well, gentlemen?" the headmistress broke the silence before it could grow from uncomfortable into awkward. "Chief, what do you know about the improvised campsite with hundreds of cosplayers we seen to have suddenly acquired at our front gate?"

Chief Delarose was equally unhappy about the situation as the headmistress of the school. Which was understandable for the chief of security for said school. "I am afraid I have been unable to find out much information at such short notice. At 11:41 this morning approximately two hundred riders in accurate replicas of ancient horse nomad armor came riding up the road. On reaching the gate the column split and moved several hundred yard to either side and set up improvised camp, taking great care not to damage trees or undergrowth and they stayed at a safe distance from the wall and its protection."

Headmistress Carson nodded and gestured him to continue, "that much was known two hours ago?"

"Yes. Since then those who finished creating their hidden sleeping spots changed out of their apparently ceremonial armor and into an odd, and unfamiliar, design of tactical gear. They are armed with more than horse bows and a variety of spears and javelins. We have seen modern weapons, with devisor modifications, and they have started light drills with those, rather than with the replicas."

"Any conclusion?"

"At second glance this appears to be a highly trained special forces, but no country that I know of will claim this unit."

Ms Hartford spoke up without being prompted as the chief of security fell silent, "I ran some of the photographs through a database search. There were no facial matches out of 38 pictures. I felt it unneccesary to continue on that avenue of research as it is statistically unlikely to find a significant number of facial matches in the rest. The quality of available pictures is decreasing sharply from here on and getting better pictures is going to be harder now they have begun to actively conceal themselves. Almost as if that inital walking up to the front gate in ceremonial armor and with unconcealed faces was a courtesy call. Whoever made the pictures either was slow on the uptake or did not understand the importance of these pictures to identify these riders."

"So ..." Mrs Carson mused "It is likely not a known villain group?"

The school's head of cybersecurity shook her head, "Unlikley. There are few criminal organisations in the world who can afford to to develop and field operatives at this level and number. We know all of their top agents and none of those is present."

"Anything else?"

"I ran the ceremonial armor through our databases as well. It is a remake of lamellar armor in a style suited for horseback fighting. Due to its relatively poor performance this style of armor was most prevalent in ancient eras. Sumerians and Assyrians made extensive use of it for their upper ranks as metal at the time was relatively expensive and primarily used for tools and weapons instead of stitching hundreds of plates of it to leather coats."
She glanced at her handheld to scan the rest of her notes. "There is no army in the world that has ceremonical historical armor that comes close to resemble this. If they use any, it is either based on 18th century uniforms or very loosely inspired by roman centurion or hoplite armor. There is no Assyrian themed villain group in existence either."

"Thank you. Major?"

Major Burlington-Smythe, commonly called Smythe and even, on rare occasions, Smitty was in an odd position. Technically he was head of the weapons ranges, a semi-independent part of the physics education department. Chief Delarose was responsible for the school security, but that was primarily school cops, albeit heavily armed and hideously effective special forces masquerading as cops. Smythe on the other hand was responsible for training and maintaining the react armor squads and the famous -- incertain circles -- Whateley Reaction Forces. Mixed teams of infiltration, magic and heavy weapons users tasked with protecting studends outside of the school, rescueing them if needed and for sending brutal and final messages to parties who chose to violate Whateley neutratiltiy. As such he oversaw a lot more heavy firepower than the chief of security.

"If that lot decides to come over the wall we will have a fight on our hand. No heavy weapons have been spotted in their kits, so that's to our advantage." He started his presentation. "But ... they are a lot more maneuverable than my boys and girls. I have put everybody on standby on a two team rotation, with the others ready to deploy in five minutes while the active team fight a delaying battle."

"Can we hold the line, should it come to that?"

"Yes, ma'am. This is no larger force than we have held of before, and it has not come prepared for invading the school it seems. No heavy weapons for one thing, and nothing that I can see to overcome magical or psionic defenses. They will have to brute force those and that will slow them down, and cost them. If they are hostile, they are not the main force but a distraction."

"Thank you major. Circe?"

"I have very little to report. There is a distinct magical residue but no active magics. Attempts at scrying have faild as have direct psionic incursions. The lack of active magic suggests at the use of magical amulets to block such attempts."
"Lacking any progress at direct observation I attempted to scry down thair back trail. That fades unusually quickly. Scrying on Dunwhich is difficult but suggested that his group had not been seen in town. This was confirmed by directly questioning the stationmaster."
Looking at the expressions around the table she sighed "By phone."

"So...," the headmistress summarised "We have a large group of highly trained spec ops on our doorstep that nobody will claim and that we cannot find an origin for?"

Ms Hartford spoke up, sounding more hesitant than was her wont, "There is one anomaly that I cannot place and am uneasy to bring up because it may actually give us false information seeing how illogical it is."

Mrs Carson merely raised her eyebrow.

"All of the 38 eight pictures of faces that were clear enough to attempt for facial recognition where of women with ages ranging from late teens to early 30s."

This news visibly confused the rest of the table as much as it clearly did Ms Hartford.

Before anybody could begin to speculate the door opened after a perfunctory knock and one of Mrs Carsons secretraries entered. She made a beeline for the headmistress and whisperes something in her ear, then stepped away respectfully.

"A elven girl says she needs to report to you Major?"

The Major nodded. "Please allow her in."

Mrs Carson nodded and the secretary left the room. A moment after her departure the door opened again and a fairly short raven haired girl entered. Her ethereal beauty and slightly inhuman features marked her as Sidhe which meant that all present immediately recognised her.

"Whisper?" the headmistress asked, the question aimed more at Major Smythe than at the girl.

The girl nodded, and the Major answered the implied criticism of that deceptively mild question. "By sheer coincidence Whisper was almost in place when these forces showed up. I had a telepathic request sent to her to stay in place if it was reasonably safe to do so, try to overhear some communication and then extract herself as soon as possible after she heard enough or it was clear there was no communication."

Mrs Carson's expression made it clear she was not happy with this explanation but would not make a point of it just right now.

"Whisper, report."

"I found a secure hiding spot while the ... they were starting to spread out through the forest. After a while campsites were ready and a handful of conversations were taking place. One of them was close enough for the directional microphone to pick up. After about two minutes the conversation stopped and the two moved away in separate directions. I used the opportunity to retreat towards the wall and slip over it without being seen."

Ms Grimes looked surprised at that last little detail.

"I did not understand the language but the languages department was able to decode it. The full transcript is available but I did not bring that with me because the translation software and expert are still working of further refining the translation. Instead I was instructed to report a summary."

"Go ahead"

"The language they speak is a dialect of a language called Dari. The initial translation contained enough keywords to infer that this group is here because they believe their reincarnated queen is being raised securely in this tower of magic. This queensguard plans to provide additional physical protection until such time as she comes of age and can take her rightful place as ruler of her people. There is one mention of a name that the translation is not yet hundred percent certain refers to this queen."

"And that name would be?" Mrs Carson prodded the nervous Whisper, who clearly had no instruction to repeat speculations.

"Queen Hippolyta"

(This, and some of my older micros, is part of a story I've meant to write for a while now.)

New Hampshire, near Dunwich
2 Sept. 1983
The teen with the waist-length honey-colored hair and matching eyes sat on a window seat, trying to ignore her sister's incessant chatter. OK, so she wanted to hear all of the crazy stuff that went on at the school they were going to, but there was no way she was going to follow an endless stream of gossip about kids she'd never met, spat out at 100 miles an hour without any pauses. I mean, yeah, it was, like, a school for super powered mutants, right? But this was more like a soap opera than a comic book.
She mentally shook her head about that. She actually had always been fond of soap operas. This was more like someone making fun of a soap opera fan who won't shut up about her favorite show.
At least now she could watch them without getting teased by boys about it. A slight smile cross her lips, as she reflected on how much she had already changed, and how much was still to come. Despite how ill she'd become when the changes took hold, the bed-ridden weeks of misery, she couldn't have been happier.
She.
A girl.
The smile grew wider.
It was all she could do to stop from bouncing in her seat in joy. She hadn't known what it was that had held her down before, but as soon as the doctors told her family what was happening, she suddenly knew that this was how it was meant to be, that this was what had been wrong her whole life and that now she could be who she'd been meant to be all along.
The effervescence didn't last very long. Old habits die hard, and a pensive tone overtook her again as she fretted over what would happen if anyone found out. She knew she wouldn't be alone - they wouldn't ask about it on the entrance form if it didn't happen to others, right? - but that didn't mean she wouldn't get taunted or even beaten up by most of the other kids if it got out that Ophelia Candler used to be a boy.
She had already resolved to keep anyone from knowing for as long as she could. But there was a problem with that, and that problem with babbling away right next to her. Could she really trust Sophie not to blab about her being Beauregard? OK, so she'd at least made sure that if Sophie called her 'Bo' she had a cover set up - she'd picked 'Mirabeau' as her middle name, and was ready to tell people that Bo was short for that. But that was just for a slip-up - what if Sophie said something to her friends about her brothers back home, when she'd been here the previous two years? Having her secret come out before she even got the Whateley would be crushing.
Her reflections were interrupted as she felt a tug in her newfound magical senses. Looking out the window, she saw that they were passing through some sort of gate. Had they finally arrived? The question was answered moments later, as the bus came to a stop in front of what she could only assume was one of the dorms.

Appleton, Wisconsin

“I am worried about Vicki,” Hannah Frankenstein said to her husband in her native German.

Jakob sighed. “I am to. She has always been odd, but now.” He sighed again, thinking of their daughter and her growing obsession with the Mary Shelley story of Frankenstein's monster and the past.

The Gothic horror story had been her favourite since she had read it at the age of ten, thrilled at having the same name as the mad doctor. But she had realized it was was fiction, just like the scary and silly monsters she loved. Now... he was no longer sure she could tell it was fake.

“What is she doing now?” he asked.

“She was complaining of her clothes, saying that they weren't suitable for a proper, educated person, she wanted to make her own. Somehow she made patterns of clothes, similar to the 19th century, and then she asked to use my fabric needles and thread. I offered to help her but she said she had all the hands she needs, and took it all into her room. When I tried to go in she told me that it was too crowded and to stay out, she even blocked the door,” Hannah said.

“Was she violent or angry?”

His wife shook her head. “No. She was just very persistent and sure of herself, and she didn't seem to understand why I wouldn't just agree with her. We need to call a therapist for her.”

“If she was violent, I'd think she has Diedrick's. Like that stupid mutant show with the mad inventor.” He worked with a gadgeteer who had the mental illness, a nice enough man who was very good at making new kinds of restraints for police. But when something went wrong, the normally peaceful rotound man would begin screaming and shouting. He also had a habit of entering fugue states and rambling on about his newest interest, something that was becoming all to common with Vicki.

As if thinking about her was enough to make her appear, their small daughter came from the hallway and went into the kitchen. That wasn't odd, what was odd was the baby blue Victorian dress she was wearing. Jakob was not an expert in fashion, much less 19th century dresses, but what he saw looked like it could have come out of one of the historical movies Hannah loved so much.

“Vicki!” Hannah practically shouted in surprise. “How did you make that dress so quickly?”

Their daughter turned to look at them, smiling happily, and adjusted her large, round glasses. “Like I told you mother, I had extra hands helping. They work perfectly, I think Dr. Frankenstein would be proud of me.”

Something about the way the thirteen year old girl said the words set off alarm bells in Jakob and Hannah's head. Jumping to their feet they rushed to Vicki's room, the sound of clicking and and tapping was the first thing they noticed before they even reached the door. Looking in the room, Hannah screamed and fainted, and Jakob wanted to join her.

Inside covering an entire wall was a... machine, for lack of a better word. It wasn't made of steel and wires. It was made of bones, clearly human bones. They were painted in some strange substance with plastic tubes and copper wires connecting them together. In the tubes was a pink fluid that bubbled oddly. Skeletal hands moved in jerky quick motions sewing fabric. A brain sat in a jar of clear fluid with two human eyes connected it. It was seemingly looking at a set of papers, held by still more bones in front of it.

Jakob screamed when Vicki came up behind him, holding a glass of water.

“Isn't it cool, Father? It's only a prototype, but it took all night to build it. I'm certain once I get more material I'll be able to improve the design. I've had to replace the brain three times already,” his little girl said.

***

Fox Cities DPA
Wisconsin

There were days Davis hated his job with the Department of Paranormal Affairs. This was definitely one of them.

In the interrogation room was Viktoria Frankenstein. The thirteen year old girl, dressed up like she was from a Victorian novel, was contentedly writing in a notebook. With her frizzy, curly hair, sharp chin and large forehead, no one would ever call her pretty, but unlike many mutants she looked baseline. She was also quite pleasant if you didn't mind how she nattered on obsessively about her 'ancestor' Dr. Frankenstein, the benefits of proper clothing, and the human body. Taking one look at her macabre devise, and he knew she was a devisor with a particularly tragic focus.

The fact she was almost certainly suffering from Deidrick's, just made her situation worse.

About the only good thing that had happened was that her parents had called the DPA instead of the police or MCO. Robbing a graveyard and using human remains for a devise was not going to be ignored, but the DPA could pull enough strings to keep her from getting prison time or even a permanent record. Her mental state would help there as well.

Sighing he left the monitor and went to talk to the girl.

Knocking on the door, he stepped inside a moment later. Vicki didn't look up, she was too busy writing in her notebook. “Hello Vicki!” he shouted to get her attention.

She looked up, her hand slowly stopped writing. “Hello Mr. Carpenter, how are you?” she asked in pure Wisconsinite, unlike her German born parents.

“I'm going to be honest with you, I'm a little worried, Vicki. We need to know how you got all those bones and body parts,” he said, trying to sound curious with only a hint of concern.

“My pets got them. I'd like to show them to you, they're really cute, but they're hiding in a nice little burrow I had them dig in my backyard. I don't want them getting hurt.”

“Your pets?”

“Uh huh. Rabbits and gophers, and a few moles and a bunch of rats and mice and other things. I found Igor first, he's a big grey rabbit. He'd been hit by a car, but I made him come back to life, and he got me other animals that had died. Now they're all alive and helping me with my great work. They're really cute too,” Vicki said, smiling happily.

“You brought them back to life.”

“Uh huh. I'm not as good as Dr. Frankenstein, but I'm going to learn as much as I can and continue my ancestors work. Eventually I know I'll be able to properly bring a person back from the dead, or make a new person entirely, and vindicate his name. That will prove that the harlot Mary Shelley, was a slanderer who hated my ancestor and dragged his name through the mud.”

Davis shook his head. He'd heard some delusional people before, but this was definitely a new one. At least the only person Vicki seemed to hate was long dead. “All right. How exactly did your pets get the bones and bodies?”

“I had them dig a tunnel to the cemetery and sniff out the proper materials that I needed. Then they broke them into parts and dragged them back. Getting the brains was hard, especially with intact eyes. But I was able to fine tune their brains so they could bring the entire skull to my lab more carefully. It would have been easier if I could have just dug up a whole body, but I'm not strong enough to do that.”

Thank god for small blessings, Davis thought to himself.

Out loud he asked, “Do you know that you shouldn't dig up human bodies?”

She blushed and looked down at her hands, looking nervous for the first time. “Yes, Mr. Carpenter,” she said in a soft voice. “But I need them to do my great work! How else can I prove to the world that Dr. Frankenstein wasn't just a fictional mad scientist but a true genius who was trying to do a wondrous thing and succeeded?”

He moved his hands in a calming gesture, managing to stop Vicki before she started down a monologue or strangely polite rant. “OK, Vicki, I'm going to go talk to your parents. Pretty soon a doctor is going to come and talk to you, do you mind waiting here a little while longer?”

Frowning, Vicki sighed an shook her head. “I would like to return to my machine, I need to break it down for parts to make a better model. But I'll stay here. Maybe the doctor will have some advice on how to deal with the embalming fluids, they interact badly with my own chemicals.”

“Thank you Vicki, I'll try to have this done as quickly as possible.” Leaving the room, Davis felt very sorry for the psychiatrist who would have to diagnose Vicki, that would not be a pleasant conversation.

Going to his office, he got a pamphlet for Whateley. Getting the girl out of town before her grave robbing became big news would be for the best. And if she was at Whateley, she wouldn't be near any graveyards, which should help keep her out of trouble until they could drill it into her head that grave robbing was bad.

Fall, 2019
Whateley Weapons Faire
Thulia looked around at what she knew to be the calm before the inevitable storm. In a way, she was disappointed that the organizers wouldn't let her have a table. However, they had made a good point about being able to hawk her wares at the magic faire later in the term. Besides, as the Chief Engineer had noted, they needed someone to keep Stark in check after the way he'd ended the previous year's faire. She just hoped it wouldn't result in her experiencing one of her leman's notorious clothing malfunctions.

Prior to the doors opening to the general public, she took a moment to stop by Laura's table. As usual, her fellow M3 member was looking a bit frazzled, but she figured the not-a-Na'vi would settled down once the event was under way. The fact that there was actually a betting pool on how long the event would last still boggled her mind.

2016 Fall Combat Finals
Whateley Arena
The two freshmen took a quick glance at each other. One was a nondescript girl wearing jeans and a light hoodie. The other was boy wearing a pair of blue coveralls. Unlike his classmate's feathers, his canine-like GSD was harder to hide. A moment later, a member of the simulator team began her briefing. "Ok, here's the deal. You lucked out and get a scenario that's a bit different than the norm." Both students groaned at the revelation, as she continued speaking. "As with all the scenarios, it's a package delivery mission. However, we're doing it a bit different for this one."

She paused, and picked up a pair of bracers from the table. Each of the bracers had a screen the size of a smart phone built into the top surface. "These are your navigators. Use the compass feature to know where to go."  She then picked up a metallic object the size of a large coin. "This is the package. Your job is to deliver it." With a casual flip, she tossed the object to Dodo. "Dodo will start off with the package. Her job is to follow the marker on her navigator to reach her destination. Dogmeat, your mission is to intercept the delivery. Get the package from her, then follow your maker to make your own delivery. Your navigator will point you to the site selected for the ambush. Any questions?"

Both students gave a shake of the head in response. The duo split, each being led to a different entrance to the arena. On the far side of the entrance, the students found themselves in an environment resembling the deserts of the southwestern united states. Dodo stared at the dusty trail and the blowing tumbleweed for only a moment before taking off at a light jog. No sense in giving her opponent more time than necessary to prepare. For his part, Dogmeat found himself in a small cabin, stuffed to the gills with wooden crates. All of the crates had the name 'ACME' printed on them in large lettering.

Up in the simulator control room, one of the techs shook his head. "Who had the brilliant idea of letting the Imp come up with this crash scenario?"

(Inspired in part by whateley.academy/index.php/forum/enginee...thread?start=45#3521)

Tuesday after Christmas break, 2017
Crystal Hall
Two rather full trays of food were being carried towards the escalator to the second floor by two very similar looking young ladies. The fact that they were not in fact related was fairly well known, though the exact relationship wasn't. Forward progress was halted when a familiar face from the Bad Seeds table approached. "Morgana! Thulia! A moment, please?"

Morgana was the first to turn to face her lab partner from the previous term. "What's up, AJ?"

Both the laidback wizard and the dracoform riding on his shoulder looked a bit embarrassed. Dragonblade spoke on behalf of both. "How was your break?"

The two dragon girls exchanged a glance. As one, they replied with a single word. "Busy."

AJ nodded. "I was wondering if I might ask a favor from you, Thulia."

Her eyebrows arched before she hesitantly responded. "Ok...."

He took a deep breath before expounding. "Morgana commented that you'd be teaching her the draconic tongue this term."

Thulia nodded slightly and he continued. "I made the mistake of mentioning it to mom, and she insisted that Smokey and I take those lessons as well."

Two more eyebrows arched as the older dragoness enquired, "Why does she think you should learn the language?"

AJ had the decency to blush before answering. "For some reason, she got it in her head that I need to visit the plane of fire to learn more about Smokey here, and that I should have at least a conversational understanding of the language before I go."

Morgana frowned. "You couldn't dissuade her from her idea?"

He ducked his head. "She made some good points. Also, when was the last time you tried to interrupt a supervillain when she was in the middle of a monologue? It never turns out well. Trust me on that."

Both dragon girls winced.

Mule, Slapdash, and Bunker Buster looked around the area where they found themselves upon entering the SIM. They were desert area with large stone mesas in every direction.

“Maybe Arizona or New Mexico, I think,” Bunker Buster thought aloud.

Suddenly, something fell from above and crashed into Mule, smashing him flat into the ground. Slapdash and Bunker Buster leapt back and looked around but didn’t see the source of the attack, nor of any threat.

“What the hell was that?” Slapdash demanded, looking at Mule who was flat on his back, embedded nearly a foot into the ground. Thanks to his PK shell, he was still alive, as proven by his arms and legs twitching. However, the large anvil that had smashed into him was still on his chest.

“An anvil?” Bunker buster exclaimed in disbelief, nervously looking at the sky above her where it had come from. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“And who came up with this SIM?” Slapdash added.

Just then, they noticed a figure standing off to the side. They snapped around and raised their weapons, seeing that the art teacher, the Imp was watching them with a curious expression.

The Imp smirked and said, “Meep meep,” before abruptly turning and running away.

(So I have a minor obsession with dragon girls - is there a problem with that?)

First day of class, Winter Term 2017
Kirby Hall
Eliza Grimes looked over the assembled group of upperclassmen. She waited a moment for the group to settle down before speaking. "Welcome to our special topics course on Portals and Gates for Dimension Travelling and Contacting Entities. For those members of society outside the Mystic Arts community, the act of forming a gate to another location is one of the pinnacle skills for a practitioner. It is also one of the most dangerous skills one can master. Tomes have been written about what can and has gone wrong when a lack of care was taken when performing such acts. Who can name a technique used for conjuring a gate or making a contact?"

A number of hands were raised, and Eliza called on students until the answers petered out. When no more answers to the question were forthcoming, she spoke again. "Very good. However, there is at least one method that nobody covered." As she spoke, she retrieved an item from her desk. Several jaws dropped open as the item was revealed to be a flip phone. She pushed a couple buttons, then flipped it closed. A moment later, the door to the classroom opened. Framed in the entry way was Thulia, carrying a stone bowl in her hands. As the dragon girl strode up to the front of the room, the teacher resumed her lecture. "Rarely, very rarely, you might have something as mundane as a phone number for such an entity. For the duration of this course, Dracaina will be my teaching assistant. We will begin the course by covering the precautions which need to be taken when attempting the creation of a portal or a contact. Students will be allowed to proceed to the practical phase of the course only when we are satisfied that those precautions are understood. At best, failure to take the necessary precautions during the practical phase will be grounds for an automatic failure. At worst, your experience could form the foundation for a new chapter in one of those tomes I mentioned earlier. Do I make myself clear?"

The real reason the students' jaws dropped: they found that in 2017, one of their teachers *still used a flip fone!*

Deborah and Kayda exchanged looks as flecks of plaster fell from the ceiling. The thud which proceeded the plaster shower was sadly familiar the past few days. Kayda sighed and stood up.

Deborah was the first to speak. "Any idea what caused it this time?"

"With those two, who knows?" The buckskin clad exemplar strode the familiar path out of their living room and into the neighboring garage turned stable. Laying on the floor were a familiar white buffalo and the latest addition to the family unit, a dun colored jednorog.

Kayda shook her head. "Ok, which of you started it this time?"

The response from both quadrapedal members was a groggy, "He did."

"Do I want to know what this was about?" Kayda's question was rhetorical. She probably didn't want to know, but understanding the conflict would hopefully lead to a resolution. Not for the first time, she deeply regretted letting Beltane help pick out a familiar for her.

(Inspired by an off-handed comment by Astrodragon)

(A bit rough around the edges, but I had a bit of time to get my bullet notes into a cohesive draft and didn't want to loose the momentum)

Darqueheart slid into her seat at the Shenanigans table in the Crystal Hall. Lying on her tray next to her plate was a gilded hand mirror. Monkeywrench was the first to take note. “What’s that, Darque?”

“It’s a party game that’s been going around Whitman.”

“But it looks like a mirror.”

“It is.”

“So what’s so special about it?”

“It’s a magic mirror. A broken magic mirror. Instead of seeing beings or places, it shows possibilities. Specifically, it supposedly shows the viewer in a parallel dimension.”

Melissa perked up. “And what do you see?”

“That’s the thing. It just reflects back like a normal mirror for me. But it just feels magical. I can’t explain it better than that.”

Amy furrowed her eyebrows. “Mind if I take a look?”

Darqueheart shrugged and passed it over. “Be my guest.”

Roulette looked into the reflection for a minute. She shifted where she was looking a couple times, before visibly shuttering as she set it down.

Sapphire paused in her eating to ask, “Does it work?”

Amy nodded a couple times, before speaking. “It works alright. I was sitting at this table, but everyone around me was different.”

“Who else was here?”

The wince was telling. “Drama Queen, Kraken, Iron and…” She paused and shuttered before continuing. “And Exquisite.”

The recitation of names drew winces from her table mates. Sapphire arched an eyebrow, before extending a hand. “May I?”

The mirror was passed, Amy’s hand shaking slightly. Sapphire accepted it, breaking into a momentary smile as she twisted it to look at the aisle behind her. The smile faded as she panned it across the table.

Nervously, she pulled her cape tight before speaking. “Well… I was, well me. The real me. That was nice, I guess. But the company was strange. There was a blind black girl wearing the strangest outfit. Nothing about it matched. There were a couple blonde haired twin boys, and a metallic skinned boy with green tattoos.”

Aegis tilted his head. “That kinda sounds like Outcast corner.”

Sapphire nodded. “Which would make me Diamondback, kinda.”

“So it would. Mind if I give it a go?”

Once again the mirror was passed from team-member to team-member. In an echo of Amy’s actions, Chris turned the mirror so he could see everyone who was seated at the parallel universe’s table. Looking a bit shaken, he silently passed the mirror back to Darqueheart.

She quirked an eyebrow at the reaction and queried, “What did you see?”

Aegis thought for a moment. “It was bad. Literally. I saw Thrasher, and Dragonrider. And Silver Serpent. And Jobe.”

Melissa spoke up, “The Bad Seeds?”

He nodded. “The Bad Seeds.”

Alyss thought for a moment, before commenting. “You’re missing the silver lining.”

Chris blinked. “What’s that?”

“To be a bad seed, you have to have a parent who's a supervillain. Because that you was a bad seed, he probably knew who his parents were."

Melissa perked up at the idea. "Perhaps his mom was Blue Diamond or the Imp."

Aegis was momentarily taken back. "That's preposterous!"

Alyss shrugged. "It's not that bad having a supervillain in the family. Trust me."

Monkeywrench interjected in the conversation. "I don't like any of those futures."

Sapphire blinked. "Why not? The Outcasts aren't that bad."

Monekywrench shook his head. "It wasn't who you were with. It was who you weren't with. There was no 'us', no team Shenanigans. You were all off doing your own thing."

The momentary quiet of the table was overwhelmed by the general noise of the Crystal Hall.

(Edit: This should have been posted in the non-whateley stories section of this forum. I would move it there if I could)
*** NON-WHATELEY ***

Exodus
Chapter 1 - Hoshni


The tertiary docking promenade was its usual chaotic business. Here was were the small traders docked. Ships that had small, relatively speaking, cargo holds but were just barely capable of independent jumps. The big established traders docked at the primary ring and had separate shops there, usually permanent structures where they conducted their business.
The secondary prominade was for the traders that were not quite so established. Their ships were smaller, and rather than having a permanent embassy they rented office space to receive potential customers and finalise transactions. The actual goods were unloaded through the giant warehouses maintained by the station.
The tertiary promenade was for the lowest rungs of the trader community, short of the in-system traders that clung to the exterior docking arms of course. The small ships that picked up the small cargo orders that were not worth the big ship's time and fuel usage. Most of them operated out of the flexible corridors that connected the promenade to the ship's airlocks. The actual cargo was delivered too and from the holds through vacuum with tugs. This of course was also true for the big cargo haulers, but those did so out of sight of everybody and polite pretence was maintained.
It's disorganised nature also made the tertiary docking promenade the most lively and dangerous part of the station. Everywhere you looked deals of a questionable nature were being negotiated and regardless of station policy, everybody was either armed or had bodyguards.
The station had a name, of course, but as usual it was in some local language that nobody outside this system actually spoke and so was meaningless gibberish to all but a handful of the visitors. Nobody therefor used it. It also had a galactic identifier but that string of 128 seemingly random sigils from galactic standard nobody cared enough about to begin to remember. That was only for the bureaucrats. If it was refered to at all, the station was Arghfhindallh-4-3. With the word the best approximation of the name of the system, 4 the index of the planetary body sorted by average distance to the primary sun and 3 the index of the station circling that body, sorted by size. Most of the spacers though didn't care. They were not involved with navigating and did not really need to know which station they were on. Unless they were returning to one that they recently had left behind some people who might hold a grudge with them for some more rowdy celebrations.

The crew of the 'Midnight Flight' made its way back from shore leave, quite a few credits lighter and freshly treated for whatever communicable diseases they might have caught in this boiling pot of some 50 species that regularly visited this particular sector. They were lightly armed, but their bulk and obvious strength was a weapon in and of itself. At a little over three meters each, and 750kg of mostly muscle, not even the most drug addled would-be cutter would think it a survivable idea to attempt to mug them. While not the most physically imposing species in the greater galaxy, they were among the very high end occasionally found on this particular station. Which was why hardly anybody knew they were herbivores with a considerable disability when it came to violence. They worked best in groups and in groups they were more capable of defending themselves, much like their animalistic ancestors of millions of years back.

They were closer to their berth now, ignoring the groups hanging out on the promenade that looked at them intently. Each of them had studied how to appear calm and confident to the species they were likely to encounter in this sector and they were unfamiliar enough that none would know the subtle signs of fear and nervousness they could not suppress, based as they were in instincts even older than the oldest ancestors that could be found in the fossil records.

As they passed the berth of the 'Jaws of Fortune', one of the biggest local competitors of the Midnight, there was a bit of excitement. The Jaws was owned and crewed entirely by an aggressive species that the Hoshni crew of the Midnight never had bothered to learn to pronounce the name of. They weren't predators, but apparently like to think of themselves as such. Their aesthetics reflected the affectation. It was all menacing angles, black and primary colours and bristling with weapons. The Hoshni certainly were intimidated, though intellectually they understood that such overt aggressiveness. This knowledge allowed them to outwardly project confidence in the presence of this species that they did not feel.

The commotion from the docking tube of the Jaws drew moderate attention. Scuffles were after all not uncommon on the promenade. But they almost never happened at the ship side, only at the darker corners of the core side. So, a smallish creature, not remotely near two meters tall being kicked and whipped out of the tube was of mild interest to those being near. At least until it got fully in the light and it copperish skin and long black hair with white streaks was exposed. It was dressed in faded old spacer cover-alls, at least two sizes too big for it, looking unnaturally thin and frail. It was a member of a species that had no name that they would admit to, no origin to anybody cared to learn about, and that infested every station. Considered by all races as barely sentient pests. They scrounched, took menial jobs for minimal payment and occasionally attempted to find a berth on ships to travel to another station.

Most captains would refuse to let them aboard, but this gross violence against what was essentially a defenseless being, was excessive.
Jon/an, first made of the Midnight, frowned "That ain't right" he told his crew in the obscure dialect that they habitually spoke among themselves, rather than the official Hoshin, never mind the trade language.

The ... whatever it was, Jon/an did not care, did not stop kicking with its spiked boots, and whipping with its barbed belt, until the relatively tiny creature stopped moving entirely. Then it wrapped its bloodied belt around its waist and stomped back into the tunnel leading to its ship.

They looked at the creature bleeding out on the metal of the deck, no fancy carpets on the third promenade, thinking it dead. The faintest of rising of its narrow chest, much easier to see now that its bulky cover-all had been ripped to bloody ribbons, proved them wrong on that account. Still, it would not live much longer. Nobody would come to help it and there was no possible way that it could afford medical treatment, if it even would be admitted in a hospital.

"This ain't right," Jon/an repeated and then surprised himself by moving a little out of the way to pick up the pitifil creature. This definitely drew attention again. Not just from the various creatures hanging out, but also from his own crew.

"Are you sure we should help a rat like that?" the kitchen help Are/Nen/an asked in a whisper.

Jon/an replied in a similar whisper, "I ain't reli and such, but the teaching of the Great Mare, they have a truth to them, do'n they?"

After a brief pause to think about what the first mate could be refering to, the whispered reply from several of the crew was an agreement.

"If it survives to our ship we'll patch it up enough that it can stand on its own and then send it out," Jon/an decided that was the proper thing to do in the face of the excessive violence that the small being had been subjected to. He was going to be on the receiving end of the, justified, anger of the captain, but right now he could not bring himself to care. Not with the pathetic creature bleeding out its life in his arms.

The walk to their berth was not a long one, only a couple hundred paces between each berth, trade ships were huge, and only three ships to pass before their momentary home. And miraculously the being was still clinging to life wit surprising tenacity, though perhaps that should not have been such a surprise. After all, these beings were found in every station, surviving in far more adverse conditions.

The trader vessel might be large, the area assigned to crew was not. As much volume as possible was assigned to various types of cargo holds, with the vast majority of the remainder to the central propulsiun shaft that ran through the vessel. Operations and crew were an afterthought relatively speaking. They were still ample, no need to make the crew unhappy in cramped cabins, but by no means spacious in the way of passenger ships and cruise liners. This meant that, among other things, the on-board hospital was close to the primary airlock.

Jon/an hurried into the room that served as medical and unceremoniously dropped the barely living being on the one treatment table the Midnight boasted.

"Wha did ya do?" Won/Arr/Ce/annh, the ships part-time medic, exclaimed as she entered the room, being alerted as soon as somebody entered.

"Didn't do no thing," Jon/an responded. "Station rat got them kicked out a scarecrow heap. Crow kept him kickin till it thought dead."
After a moment he added, "Didn't feel it right".

"Wha you want me for?" she gestured.

"I figure ye can fuse bones, stop bleedin? Once it is not dyin we set it free."

"Figure I ken do so. Cap will no be happy."

Jon/an exhaled explosively, "Figure he will no be. Best I go tell now."

"You do. I see wha I can do fore cap tells to toss it."

Jon/an made his way to the bridge. This was an armoured room above the crew areas, deeper into the hull and only accessible through two secured bulkheads.

"Cap," he began, only to be silenced by a gesture.

"No time. We got us a hurry cargo. Go check engines then make cables are disconnected. We out in four minute."

"Cap!" he replied, the only thing he could do. Two minutes was ridiculously short for undocking procedures. This must be a very profitable hurry cargo that the cap risked stranding a quarter of his crew. Cursing silently, no point in risking the cap accidentally hearing him, Jon/an ran to the aft of the vessel, sending three possibly idle crew running towards the stern to assist with the disconnection of the umbilicals. The cap would rightly shave him bald if he caused the Midnight to lose those umbilicals as the vessel would and could not trust its stationside connection to questionable maintenance standards of to often delipidated stations that it visited.

Propulsion was the expected beehive of activity. All three of qualified techs were running through an extremely hurried powerup sequence, in coordination with the bridge crew who kept contact with the station side of the operation. He did not have time for more than a cursory check that they were, in fact, still following procedure and not cutting corners. At least not too badly. After that Jon/an galloped through the central corridor to the stern to oversee, actually this time, the disconnection and retrieval of the precious umbilicals. The big countdown above the maintenance airlock was ticking down relentlessly and he had time for only a quick inspection of the state of the connectors, not the deep scan he prefered to make. Still, they looked clean and the seal at least passed visual inspection. Nobody had tampered with them, nor tried to get anything aboard the Midnight that was not supposed to get there. He signed them off as provisionally accepted, pending a deeper inspection while en-route. At the same time the display on his pad showed that the checklist of propulsion was being signed off in good order and more or less on the much, much abbreviated schedule, with station countersigning the relevant points.

Above him the primary airlock clanged shut, and its locks and seals hissed while the gangway retracted back to station side. The clamps had already unlocked but not yet disengaged. They were now the only thing that kept the Midnight in place. Hurriedly he eased out of the cramped maintenance airlock and closed and sealed that behing him as well. As the clock ticked down the last seconds he signaled to the bridge that the ship was now under its own power and fully disconnected from the station. A slight tremble in the floor plating informed him that at the aft a tug had connected and was about to pull the Midnight all the way free. It would not be set free to engage its main engines until it was well away, and off-axis, from the station. A 70.000km long plasma torch would not do station or the ships attached to it any good, even if they would survive it. But the secondary engine was humming softly as it was now generating operational power for the ship. It had started just before the power connectors had been released and the crew was so used to the slight vibration that they would only notice its sudden absence. Like happened with a moment of quiet panic in the crew every time the Midnight docked.

Jon/an hurried to the crew compartiment where his console and cushioned crash seat was located. It would not be needed for hours, but standard procedure was that while the vessel was maneuvering all crew had to be in secured positions. Even under power from a tug, it was still theoretically possible that an unexpected movement created several g's sideways.
Only after he sat down, secured the safety harness and switched on his console for supervision of the other deckhands, did he remember that he never got the chance to tell the captain that they now housed an unplanned, unwelcome and most likely illegal passenger. And that the captain would not have time for him for hours yet, until the Midnight was under its own power and on its way to the jump point.
It would be an hour at least before he could unstrap and set the crew to work on getting the ship fit for jumping. Far too much time to worry about how the captain would take he news. And why they had to hurry in such an unexpected and unholy fast time schedule. They were not planning to undock for several days yet, at the earliest. And that was depending on if they could get a good cargo and destination. There certainly was no cargo loaded as he would have been load master for that operation.
The more Jon/an thought about it, the more concerned he was about that mystery until it drove the fear for the captain's upcoming displeasure right out of his head. They were running with an empty cargo hold, meaning at a staggering loss, and at a vastly accelerated departure schedule. The timing, or the lack thereof, meant they had been squeezed in between other departures, not on a slot that was planned many days in advance. This was something that in his long experience was simply never done.

Had he been able to see the local traffic the way the navigator could, Jon/an would have been even more worried. They were far from the only trader that had suddenly been pulled out of the station. Most the the first promenade traders had abruptly left, and some of the second promenade ones as well. Whether the captain knew what was going on, or if he simply had scented the predator on the wind and decided to bolt ahead of the herd, he was not telling. And that in and of itself woud have been another thing to worry about.