Futuristic 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚄𝙿𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙶 -- 𝙸𝙲

[cablebelly]

✃​

Careful the things you say,
Children will listen​

The wretched sound of sneakers against linoleum echoes throughout the halls. In a hollow hour of the night, where everything is still and every dorm should be silent, the noise lingers as it travels past each room. A student might feel daring enough to press their ear to the door, but opening it would sentence them to a worse fate than whoever’s footsteps are squealing outside. As the sound comes close, it becomes clear that this is not the gait of a student rushing to bed. The rubber sole against flooring is one continuous line, one teeth-tightening sound. This is no walk. This is someone being dragged.

Careful the things you do,
Children will see and learn​

“Willy… what’d I say about picking them up? You’ll get dirt on the fucking floor and I’m the one cleaning it up.”

A huff of complacency. “S’heavy.”

“You’re an oaf! Pick him up!”

The squeaking-dragging stops. There are only quiet footsteps, and a slightly labored breath. The footsteps travel, and diminish, and disappear with a click of a door or hatch. The hall is quiet again. Whoever has just been lost, there may be no one who will ever know.

Children may not obey,
But children will listen.​

VIOLENT UPBRINGING​

October 24th, 2079

Louis Bauver-Caldwell was losing his grip.

His muggy summer had bled into crisp autumn too quickly. Minutes went to hours went to days and living in this body felt like time traveling. Memories were fragmented, his own limbs felt foreign, and he swore that it felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Nightmares haunted his sleep and woke him at odd hours, stifling yelps to avoid bothering his surprisingly even tempered roommate. Visions of losing limbs, becoming pieces rather than a whole, being fully dismembered to be inspected more easily by sharp tools and prying eyes. He didn’t sleep, but he assumed he must be resting, or at least whatever recuperation his body could manage in the drug induced haze he was surely swimming in. If they weren’t going to kill him, they were going to drown him.

Louis could imagine the thing that clawed to get out from inside him laughing. Eagerly, it lived at the edge of his psyche and allowed Vochertepp to promise its freedom, day by day. He wasn’t sure if it had a voice of its own or if he had given it one, but he knew the way it bubbled and broiled and gleamed with a sharp toothed smile every time another lowly staff member came to collect him from class. He knew it lay waiting, and it was only a matter of time before they broke his spirit and left only the inhuman pieces.

Some days, he went quietly. His head was too cloudy to resist and the beast too tired to roar. He’d be led out and his memory would fog and then he’d be back in front of a droning teacher in an oddly quick amount of time. Or deposited on the dorm lounge couch. Did no one notice the odd bouts of time he disappeared and came back? Louis didn’t have the energy to keep up appearances anymore. When people spoke to him, he assumed it was to ask questions about his failures and to try to pick up where he’d left off. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to send anyone else on a damned path. And besides all that, his tongue always felt dry in his mouth, eyes too heavy to maintain eye contact. They spoke, but however hard he tried, he found that he couldn’t listen.

It was at this moment he had a dim sense of clarity between his looping, miserable monologue, and Louis realized he was supposed to be listening to something. He lifted his head up from where it was resting between his arms atop a desk, and found his own tired eyes staring into the livid blue-grey of the infamous Mr. Jefferson.

“Oh, fuck me.” He mumbled.

It was well into the hour of ten o’clock when the students found themselves in Mr. Jefferson’s classroom. Louis had walked into his normal seat in a routine daze and just about slept through the lecture on “How Metahumans Come Into Their Powers and How It Later Affects Their Control.” It was an aggravating topic to him, one that Louis figured every metahuman was tired of hearing about by now, but Mr. Jefferson loved to rattle on about the effects on a person’s mental stability when they came into their powers, and how it eventually affected their ability to control them. His favorite bad examples were most everyone in this classroom.

It seemed that in the midst of a powerpoint about unfortunate metahuman explosions, Jefferson had realized that Louis was head-down on the desk three rows back. He weaved through the rest of the class with a strange amount of contained delight, and reared back to make an example of Louis now that he had peeled his eyes open.

“Oh?” Jefferson scoffed, mocking Louis’ tone with extra sneer, though leaving out the cuss. “Mr. Bauver has suddenly decided to come to? What a treat!” He clasped his hands together sarcastically as Louis dragged a hand over his features, trying to take in the rest of the classroom. Around him a crowd of fellow students who Louis had to assume were allowing the veil of utopia to melt away. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in class with them, and they wouldn’t be sitting poised in front of Mr. Jefferson. He cringed slightly at the sight of Wesley and Edith, but turned his gaze away quickly. Living in a haze didn’t leave much time for friends.

“Do you think I teach this class for you to doze off?” Mr. Jefferson snarled, standing up to survey the class. If Louis had attempted to answer, he wouldn’t have had the time. “No, scratch that. Do you even recall what class you’re in, Mr. Bauver? Or have you entered this room in a daze and expected me to put some semblance of intelligence back in your brain?”

Louis took this with a surprising lack of reaction. Instead, his gaze was now trained on his hand, which twitched on the wood top attached to his chair. Classroom layout depended on the audience. For a more together-y feel, welcoming to the newcomers, they’d often be sat in desks that housed two or more. For classes containing supposed problem children, singular desks were employed, and spaced out eerily far, making each student feel distant from one another. This was a classroom that had singular desks, and Louis felt oceans away from any one of his fellow students.

He knew what Jefferson was doing. He was waiting for him to snap. The teacher seemed to get off on it, especially for someone teaching a class about power discipline. But an outburst meant too much trouble in so many ways, none of them Louis could afford. He sat tight lipped, concentrating on anything but the shouting teacher in front of him. Mr. Jefferson didn’t like that.

“You’d think someone here as long as you would have learned that insolence gets them nowhere.” Now, Mr. Jefferson turned his attention to the rest of the class, looking for his next victim like predator stalking prey, since Louis wasn’t responsive enough. There were a great many rejects to choose from in his eyes, but his gaze settled rather eagerly on Jude. She was another student prone to vicious outbursts, and Mr. Jefferson seemed to be fiending for an accompanying example to his lecture on less fortunate metahuman circumstances.

“What say you, Ms. Rivera?” Mr. Jefferson leered uncomfortably close towards the girl, placing a hand on her desk and glowering down at her from his lanky height. “How would you say your insolence has contributed to your control over your powers?” He smiled hungrily. “Not well, if I’m correct?”

He turned to the rest of the class once again, arms crossed. “A great deal of you suffer from a lack of discipline, is what it is. A lack of discipline from birth will saddle you with a power that will never be controlled or used for proper good, save for a spare few who have it lucky.” His gaze flitted to Edith, then to Stas, and accidentally he looked to Gian, whom he shuddered visibly at the sight of. “But luckiness doesn’t excuse you from discipline. And discipline starts with paying attention.”

Louis found his breathing heavy as the last bit of Jefferson’s sentence ended with a beady stare directed his way. His own gaze was trained on his hand, the very tips of his fingers turning a gruesome shade of black. Slow breaths. He could reign it back in. He could.

Mr. Jefferson cleared his throat and allowed a pleasantly academic tone to return to his voice, looking back to his holographic power point. “Now, it usually starts with the parents' blatant lack of emotional intelligence.”

birth of venus Flutz Maverick. ravensunset stellamaris idiot

✃​

Across the hall from Mr. Jefferson’s instigation lay the classroom of the mathematics teacher, Mrs. Lyet. Compared to the trying testament that was spending any second in the vicinity of the power discipline teacher, Mrs. Lyet was a welcome breeze of fresh air. A long time faculty member who seemed to be feeling the full throes of her age, those that knew her well spoke highly of her glory days, while most incoming students knew her only as a fragile old lady. If she had any power, it was rarely seen, and she often ended lectures short in favor of free study or quiet self revision.

Aside from teaching a few periods of math, Mrs. Lyet presided over many study hall blocks. Seats in these study halls were quietly coveted, because Mrs. Lyet’s sleepiness, nearing narcolepsy, allowed students to do whatever they wanted with this time, rather than be watched like a hawk and forced to do schoolwork. Her classroom was homier than others; desks sat two students at a time, perhaps three if they so desired to bunch together. The outermost wall held large windows, giving view to the cool autumn atmosphere of the forest surrounding the school. The room had little decoration, but even the desks and chairs seemed a little warmer than those in other classrooms. On her desk, only one item of memorabilia, a picture frame encapsulating a young gentleman, reminiscent of photos taken in the 2010s. Clearly, well loved.

In this classroom sat mostly fresh faces to the school, enjoying their second period rest to perhaps catch up on assignments or appreciate the social hour. Among them, only a spare few had over a year under their belt, namely, Germaine Pinchon and Delano Morales. Usually, newbies found themselves with other newbies, but there were often one or two veterans sprinkled into transfer student classes to help show them the ropes. A free period such as this usually served as a perfect place to intermingle, so while Germ and Del might have found themselves away from their usual group of older friends, there were plenty of new faces to meet.

Shortly after taking attendance, Mrs. Lyet slumped in her chair, and had been snoring softly the whole way through. It would seem the time is yours, save for the entry of one TA.

Study periods often served as mailcall in Vochertepp. Communication is a tense thing within the school, monitored like a hawk, and teachers check mail that goes both in and out of the school. To send a letter, it needs to be approved with a quick once over and bear a stamp that most teachers hold in their desk. Mrs. Lyet’s lies in her second drawer. Normally, a TA would bring in the mail and students would be allowed to read and write under their study hall teacher’s supervision. Today, this task was assigned to Matthew Posada.

As he reported for duty in the morning to Mr. Ahuja’s class, he would have been met with an apologetic smile, one he knew at this point to mean he wouldn’t be sticking with the teacher for the day’s papers and tests. “Sorry, Matt. Mail duty today.” The ever present sky blue glow emanated from Mr. Ahuja’s eyes as he hovered around his own desk, rifling through the day’s homework to be graded. Mr. Ahuja practiced what he preached. His methods of concentration were sound, enough so that it allowed the teacher to employ a very subtle version of his powers at almost all times. He was very comfortable in his hovering, and it took him little to no exertion. “I know you must be sorry to miss all this,” A sarcastic wave of the hand and a smirk, “But you know the drill. Today Mrs. Lyet is supposed to check mail first, so give her my regards.” With that, Matthew was waved off.

At the very end of the first floor hall Matt would pick up the mail. A sizable bundle of letters would be placed in his hands, to then take to Mrs. Lyet’s classroom. It would take a little while for the mail worker to organize it all and instruct him on each delivery point. There were plenty of letters, not just for the people in this class period, but for all the day’s study halls. For anyone who still remembered what life outside Vochertepp looked like, a bundle of letters was an archaic prospect. To find an old blue postbox was like finding an artifact of another time, but strangely enough, the postal service had yet to die. In an age of rapid technological developments, using the mail was quite clever on Vochertepp’s end. So simple it was overlooked, and so slow that it kept the communication at a pace they felt comfortable monitoring. A day of mail duty usually meant starting with one teacher and bouncing to the next to make sure all mail was sufficiently delivered.

There were two things that would stand out to Matthew in this bundle.

One, a manilla envelope addressed to Mrs. Lyet, or rather, Arlene Lyet. Teacher mail wasn’t often included in TA delivery bundles. It held no return address and seemed thin, but important, her name sprawled out in typewriter lettering. Official. It was the type that could easily be open and closed with no trace.

Two, a letter addressed to Matthew himself, with his dorm number and residency at Vochertepp. The corner for a return address held only a name: Lazarus Tanzer. The handwriting would be equally familiar.

Otherwise, the bundle seemed routine. Messages to many of the students in Mrs. Lyet’s classroom were held in his hands, and the room was filled with quiet but buzzing energy, the students keeping themselves entertained as Mrs. Lyet snoozed away. Someone as by-the-book as Matthew would preferably wait for the teacher to examine each letter before handing it out to the students, but at his entry, a girl from the back shot up eagerly.

Her name was Tiffany, and she had a decent reputation for being something of a trouble maker. Her plume of blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her green eyes bright and searching, glimmering with mischief. Tiffany was something of a lone wolf. Her haughty attitude usually kept others away, as she thought a little too highly of herself to enjoy the company of her peers, save for a few. Her powers gave way to this superiority complex, and the freshman she bullied usually felt the full force of it; she was able to manifest psionic energy into powerful red and green blasts that left a painful sting.

“Mail’s here!” She announced, pushing out of her seat and sneering up at Matthew. “Though I bet Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass won't give it to us ‘till he wakes the beast. Buzzkill.”

Luckily enough, for any mail dilemmas that involved tightly wound teachers' pets, there were plenty of students poised to get right around it. A girl with lovesick eyes, or a girl with paper manipulation. Maybe a trick of the light or an out of place sound would fit the bill. Or perhaps the TA would be too busy with the letter from his long lost friend to pay any mind to the bunch, especially the one manilla envelope that just didn’t seem to fit in.

nh1 calypso blue-jay listener fin boo. erzulie mikaluvkitties

∴​

 

[nh1]

Bob Strassman

Mrs. Lyet's Class

Slightly Before Matt walks in

​

As the time ticked by, Bob studied carefully his math book as he struggled to complete the problems. He could get Cs if he put in the regular effort but he wanted to try and improve his grades. It had been a few years since he really had the time looking back. For a few years now, ever since he was 15, he had been working. He could still remember those old days when he was young. It was clear in most aptitude tests, he would never be the next Einstein but he could still remember his mother talking about a particular test when he was very young. "Bob, I know the test doesn't look good. But that doesn't mean you're not smart. It just means you have to put in the work to develop what you've got. It's like your father, Bob. Decades ago you couldn't walk ten feet and stick a shovel in the ground and you'd hit coal. Now, your father has to dig real deep to get the ore out. It's like that Bob. You've got to dig deep."

It was something he had always thought made sense. You have to work hard for what you got. It was clear in books too. As he read, more and more about the work of great figures of old. It could take years of dedication and work to see results in their field. He understood that fairly early on. Especially seeing some of the kids in his class. Likely they would go off to Pittsburgh, the largest city for miles around, and get a big job there. The city had done a lot to move past its heritage of Steel City and had developed quite a few jobs in lots of areas. It was a city that drew a lot of the smarter folks from the area or served as a jumping off point to those going to New York City, a massive place where the smart people often went. Not that it meant much to him, his family had never moved within 50 miles of where they were now.

Of course, that almost changed. He could also remember the day his father came up to him after school. It was a weird thing. His father often worked into the late evening so for him to pick him up after school was rare. He drove down the street towards the mines. He had seen the route before as occasionally his mother had sent him to give his dad his lunch when he was younger. He hopped out of the truck as his dad walked up to a group of men standing around. His father talked heatedly with the men for a minute before everyone turned and looked at him. He shuffled and looked aside as his father walked up. Within thirty minutes he was running carts of tools from one end of the site to the other. This would start his long decent into the mines whereby all of his free time and friends would slowly melt away.

Instead, his time was taken up with eating casserole from a tin during dinner break as his workmates tried to lean into Dad's old radio to hear the score of the Pittsburgh Pirates that evening. They never could quite get the volume to work properly. It was scenes like that that got him out of bed every morning. Even though his world changed with his powers and Joe the manager kept giving him odd glances and Chuck his supervisor wouldn't look too long at him. Even with all that, deep down, the people he really cared about, his family and the few close friends he had made during those dark nights hundreds of feet below the earth digging coal and later iron, they were what mattered.

And so, when Matt walked in, the time had come for something a bit different. It was something he had picked up on in those mines. You see, not everyone who works mining is the most stable. Chuck sometimes came in drunk and it was important not to let him operate machinery when he was. Percy liked to talk and sometimes wasn't watching where he was driving the backhoe. Iris had a penchant for showing up and berating Larry at around 11 on Mondays. The Yalton brothers enjoyed getting slightly tipsy around noon on Fridays and had a habit of starting large brawls. Working with these sorts of things was sometimes a balancing act. No one wanted these folks fired. Heaven knows if they were, they'd just be wasted and passed out in the town square. No, they needed the work, it's what kept them somewhat stable. They just had.....issues....issues that meant the team sometimes had to step in. When the manager just had to see someone, or when a friend just happened to show up or when someone forgot something and just had to tell them. Everyone had a sense for these things. You don't work 40-60 hour weeks around people otherwise. He had picked up a nose for when things on the job site were about to get dicey, and it looked like something was about to go down. Let it not be said Bob couldn't take one for the team.

So, putting aside his notes he hopped up and threw a smile on his face. This would be something else. He began speaking just below room volume...

"Matt! Matt, hey. Just who I was looking for. Hey, I had a few questions if you wouldn't mind? See, I was fiddling with this device you see? Brand new from the school. Isn't it amazing? You know I'd never seen anything like this myself. Dad just had an old radio you see? Anyway, I was wondering how you get the Pittsburgh Pirates on here? You know MLB? Just my Dad, you know big sports fan. I promised him I would keep up with the games, and knowing my friends back home are listening to the same stuff miles away makes us all seem closer you know?

Also, I was wondering what we do with our uniforms? I've never owned pants before you know. Never really had brand new clothes either. Goodwill all the way you feel me? Anyway, I was wondering where we report to for laundry duty? My mom, she would kill me if I didn't help with the chores around here. You folks sure have a big school you know. And my mom, you know. She had me mopping and stuff since I was a kid, and I have some experience with cleaning up coal dust which I'm sure is much worse than whatever dirt you guys have around, so I was wondering if you guys have some kind of cleaning service application? I know you guys are big on paper work. I just want to pay my way you know. You folks are doing a lot to help me and my family out, so I'm good to do some work around here to pay it back. My Dad would kill me if all my time here was spent lollygagging around you know?

Plus I'm pretty sure my backpack is tracking coal dust hehe. Did I tell you about the time Joe parked his truck right near me? I was just walking back from school and he dumped like a ton of dust right on me. I was cleaning my shoes for weeks. Anyway, I was wondering if you guys had like a school store or something? I mean I'm looking around here and everyones got like shoes not on loan you know? Forget three easy payments right? I've got some cash from my em Dad, you know savings? I was just wondering if I could buy some shoes or a new bag or something. I'm pretty sure those custodian guys don't like how I'm tracking coal dust everywhere I go. I'm pretty sure one of those guys was glaring at me y'know? But then I would too if I had to sweep up after me.

I was also wondering where the library was? I think I got a map somewhere but I just get a little turned around you know? I'm used to those mining maps you know? Where's the shaft? North Cave, South Cave? You know, cave dweller stuff hehe, Am I right? Anyway, ahem, I appreciate the help you know. I know its a lot but this is really appreciated. You're a big help man. I really, really appreciate this. I know I'm new and all but you're really doing a good job man. You seem to really know your stuff and you've got a great gig here helping out."

He patted him on the back a few times just to extend the moment a bit. He could only pray that whatever was going on had happened and he could stop talking and sit down. Not that he hated talking, sure he disliked it a lot and had to recharge a fair bit afterwards. But he hated emotional turmoil more, and whatever Tiffany was it? was planning it looked like it wasn't going to turn out good. He hoped whatever crisis had been averted......

calypso , blue-jay , listener , fin , boo. , erzulie , mikaluvkitties

 

[boo.]

scroll

spitfire.

germ.

mood

try me bitch

outfit

vochertepp's blue and yellow uniform

location

mrs. lyet's classroom

interactions

tiffany

tags

nh1 calypso blue-jay listener fin erzulie mikaluvkitties cablebelly

Mrs. Lyet's class presented Germ with a unique opportunity. For one, free, unsupervised time was a commodity at Vochertepp; just the fact that there was no one staring between your shoulders made you breathe a little easier. In addition, it gave her the chance, although she never took opportunity of it, to drop her little "living the Vochertepp dream" façade. If she so desired, she could show what she really thought of this place.

"If she desired" was an entirely different story, because for Germ, her entire image was built upon not only the faculty's opinion of her, but the students' as well. She knew that if she ever bent, ever broke through the shell she'd crafted around herself, she'd lose everything she'd worked so hard for: a perfect reputation, the countless benefits of being on Vochertepp's good side, and, more than all that, the pride of being number one. Well, probably number one. She was still working on that.

Needless to say, Germ was taking the time between periods to do exactly what Vochertepp expected her to do: homework. Fascinating. She'd found out a while ago that hating homework didn't make it go away, so there was no point making herself more miserable by renewing her hate for it every time she did it. Instead, she'd made it into more of a game: get the best grades so she could rub it in Del's face. Problem was, every time she thought she might have beaten him, he'd quietly show her his own report card, and she'd be back to square one. Dammit.

Picking at the crusted scar on the corner of her mouth, Germ stared at a block of text and slid her highlighter over a particularly captivating line about metahuman genome sequencing. The dull hum of student chatter fell on her ears like white noise, easy to block out and ignore. Her eyes glanced up to where Mrs. Lyet was snoozing away, and had decided a while ago that it wasn't worth the effort to try and wake her up. Germ wasn't sure if she had the physical strength to wake someone like her up, anyway. This kind of thing happened so frequently, and it was clear that it wasn't really an issue, so Germ saw no need to expend any effort. As long as the rest of the class didn't do anything stupid—and besides, it wasn't her job to take care of them all—Germ could just sit back and do what she needed to do.

She suddenly hunched her shoulders and stared daggers at the pamphlet she was reading. What I need to do. That was too close. Germ knew the moment she started really giving in, not just to what Vochertepp wanted, but to what her parents wanted, was the moment she would lose. None of this is for them. Her eyes glazed over, not focusing on any word in particular, and she let her highlighter roll onto the desk when she realized her knuckles had turned white from gripping it. These little instances, when she would internally hover over the pit Vochertepp had placed before her, were becoming far too frequent.

Although Germ would have liked very much to return to her fascinating paragraph about recent biological studies, her attention was shattered when a new presence entered the room, accompanied by a bundle of letters. Mail day. Matt, a TA, seemed to have been the lucky one picked to do deliveries. Germ grazed her eyes over him for only an instant, entirely apathetic. Usually, on mail days like today, she would have turned her eyes down and pretended that nothing was happening, because her parents weren't exactly communicative. Usually, she would have grown only slightly jealous as voices would begin to sparkle with excitement upon receiving one of those little white envelopes. Usually, she would have reminded herself that she didn't care.

Except today. Because Tiffany.

Germ hadn't known the name or the face very long, but she already knew everything about her that she needed to. She was one of the trouble students, a textbook bully. Probably with self-esteem issues that she hid under a bitchy attitude. She was loud and obnoxious and Germ was sick of her shit. Tiffany obviously had something to prove, because she had no issue announcing, in that high-pitched squeal of hers, that Matt was a killjoy.

Did Germ agree? It didn't matter, because she'd never gotten a letter anyway, so she didn't care if there was someone like Mrs. Lyet reading over her shoulder, because it never happened. Her nails dug into the desk as she pushed her seat back and twisted around to fix Tiffany with a fearless glare. This was the perfect excuse to wipe that snarky look off her pinch-nosed face.

"No one here ordered a bitch supreme. Shut the fuck up."

Germ's voice was husky and somewhat gravelly, like a cigarette growl. She didn't smoke, because the paper usually turned to ashes between her lips, but firebreath does that to you. Her hair was black and coily and wild, and it hung around her face like a cloud of smoke. Everything else about her appearance was stiff and pristine; no wrinkles in the pleated blue skirt, no spots on the perfectly-tied tie, and her sleeves were rolled up so immaculately that they must have been ironed that way. Everything about her, except her eyes, said "perfect student." Her eyes, on the other hand, burned black with an annoyance bordering on ire, ire that Tiffany probably deserved but that had stemmed from a history long before her.

Germ could have, should have left it at that. But she knew Tiffany probably wouldn't back down, even if she was intimidated by the veteran. A wisp of smoke trickled out of the corner of Germ's mouth, and she slid out from her desk to position herself in the middle of the row, facing toward Tiffany and away from the door.

"Your shit today has been beyond believable. You think you're gonna get a letter today? Who'd waste their precious time writing to a cow like you?"

That's when the detachment that usually thinned her lips split apart, and a leering grin took its place. The scar at the corner of her mouth broke open, and a drop of blood swelled out. Not taking her eyes off Tiffany, not even to blink, she raised her voice a little.

"No one's going to read anything until Lyet wakes up."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[listener]

clover leah
|||2nd period, sitting beside bob in mrs. lyet's class

Mrs. Lyet was perhaps the best figure model Clover had ever encountered. Once settled into a position, the woman didn't move, save for minute twitches and the slight rise and fall of her chest. Dragging the graphite pencil across the toothy page, Clover managed to capture the likeness of Lyet at long last. Since roll call, she'd been attempting to capture the aged yet graceful face of her teacher. Wiping away the eraser debris, Clover realized why the woman seemed so familiar after all this; she looked like one of the superheroes on those old non-holo news clips her dad and Nanny Price would show her.

Non-holo kinda sucks, but I can't believe they both recorded clips of their favorite superheroes and kept em all this time.

Clover felt a familiar pang, one that almost made her cry. She figured the sharp throb in her heart was nothing more than homesickness, but sometimes it rang so deep it threatened to double her over in pain. Though a part of her wondered if there was something else, something hidden within that ball of fear deep in her gut. After all, Vochertepp wasn't exactly what she and her father had envisioned. And even though the halls were full of people, Clover always felt alone. With a sigh and a conscious effort to push the uncomfortable thoughts away, Clover flipped to a fresh page in her sketchbook and got to work.

She felt another familiar pang shortly thereafter, just as she finished outlining the silhouette of Mrs. Lyet's wispy grey hair— though this time it was one of shame. She should be doing her math homework and finishing her essay for Dr. Howell. But Clover wasn't like Bob or Del or Germ, her drive was curiously missing. And that's why, without a shred of doubt, Mrs. Lyet was her favorite teacher at Vochertepp, and every morning she looked forward to second period. It was devoid of the usual pressure and expectations, and it gave her a reprieve in which she could just be herself.

For some reason, Clover figured such commodities here at Vochertepp were rare and coveted.

Clover was still sketching when a voice, sharp and cruel, cut through her inner monologue, and it was perhaps the only thing (save for the bell to go to lunch) that could have shaken Clover out of her sketching reverie.

"Mails here!"

With a slightly startled expression, she glanced around the room, noticed who spoke and who had entered— both elicited a subtle cringe from Clover in turn —and was thoroughly taken off guard by both Bob's sudden departure from the seat beside her and Germ's fiery retort.

Bitch supreme? Ouch. I better stay out of this one—

Clover cocked her head in sudden thought. Her eyes, not so hazy now that she was actually paying attention, turned focus onto Bob and what lied in front of him: the TA, Matt, and more importantly, the stack of letters in his hands. Clover's eyes flitted back over to Mrs. Lyet, still in a deep sleep if the subtle twitch in her eye was any indicator. She'd never liked the rule of teachers going through her personal mail, but it was a rule, so Clover had always bit her tongue. But with a quick glance around the room, despite the growing tension, Clover deduced that she wasn't the only one waiting anxiously for a letter from home.

And perhaps Bob's string of questions and the snappy comments was a way for them to step around that. If so... well, Matt wouldn't even have to know.

If I can somehow duplicate them quick enough, no one but me has to know. At least right now. No one has to get in trouble.

She glanced over at Matt and Bob at the front of the classroom, judging the distance. He was definitely in her proximity range, and Clover bit down on her lip, face a mask of utter concentration. She put her head down and her hands in the hollow of her desk, ready and waiting for the familiar thump of paper in her hands. And slowly, her eyes started to glow.

♧

mentioned !!! bob, germ, tiffany, and del

 

[blue-jay]

Whenever Sylvie was having a bad day, some time in Mrs. Lyet's class always seemed to help her cheer up. What was it about this period that she loved so much? Perhaps it was the soft buzz of everyone finding ways to occupy themselves. Sylvie believed that to appreciate work, one must appreciate leisure, so she gladly accepted the free time. It also may have been the prime reading and writing environment the room provided. The desks seemed to become like couches when a book was in her hand. Any discomfort just melted away. Or maybe it was the warm sunlight that spilled through the window of the classroom and struck Sylvie with the most pleasant wavelengths. She happily soaked it in, even radiating slightly. Sylvie figured most of her classmates had gotten used to her tendency to glow a little; it was a healthy way to make sure she wasn't holding in too much light. Someone who didn't know about her power might think the subtle glimmer was simply the result of a good skincare regimen, however.

Whatever it was about Mrs. Lyet's class, it was helping this day to look brighter after its rough start--a rough start that involved Sylvie sleeping through her alarm. The night before, Sylvie had stayed up late trying to finish a pile of homework assignments. This task had bled into the later hours of the night because Sylvie hadn't just been working on things that were due the next day--she had been trying to work significantly ahead.

The idea to work ahead had come to her yesterday after ranting to her friend Edith about some built-up frustrations and self-criticism. "I'm too inconsistent!" she had said as she released soft sunlight onto the plants around Edith's room. Sylvie knew her friend didn't care quite as much about academics as she did, but she was always willing to let Sylvie rant, which was appreciated. "I do all my work, but I do it at different times. If I had a more solid schedule, I could keep up better with Germ and Delano!" Then she had had a lightbulb moment. She glowed a little more intensely as the plan presented itself in her mind. "I got it! I'll just work super far ahead every week. That way, no whims or distractions can curb my productivity! Edith, you're a genius!" The compliment was genuine; Sylvie found that the presence of a friend was conducive to good ideas, even if the ideas didn't necessarily come from the friend.

Like most plans, however, this was easier said than done. Last night, after working diligently, Sylvie had actually finished all of the work at a somewhat reasonable hour. The problem arose when Sylvie had been struck by the urge to stay up just a little later to read another chapter of the book she was currently into, a gripping fantasy novel. "A little later" turned into "much later." The next thing Sylvie knew, she was being woken up by Stas--she had overslept. And Sylvie hated oversleeping. Thanks to her roommate, she had been able to get ready quickly, messily spritzing perfume onto herself after a quick shower, and narrowly avoid being late to her first class. It had been too close for comfort, however, and a cloud of anxiety hung over Sylvie's head throughout the day up until this point--Mrs. Lyet's class.

Now, Sylvie was immersing herself in the world of her book, forgetting all about how her irrational, competitive spirit had nearly made her late and gotten her into a funk. She was mollified, although a little tired and also a little worried that she had put on enough perfume to olfactorily annoy her deskmate, Lyric Black. Lyric was composed--cool in a way that Sylvie couldn't even begin to imagine being. She really didn't want to annoy her, especially with a mistake like putting on too much perfume, so she occasionally glanced over at the other girl, looking to detect any displeasure.

Sylvie's reading was interrupted when Matt entered the classroom with their letters. Sylvie basically never got letters, so she didn't pay mind to the stack and prepared to greet Matt. Before she could, however, Tiffany decided to speak, calling him "Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass" straight to his face. Sylvie internally bristled. What kind of person does it take to be so shitty to Matt? she thought. Her anger gathered in her chest and shot up, looking to leave through her mouth. Sylvie stopped it quickly, though. She opted to hold her tongue and take her time before trying to say something in defense of Matt, lest she say something stupid that she would regret. And then there was Germ, who apparently didn't need to take such time. Sylvie watched, shocked and a little envious, as the spitfire told Tiffany off viciously and quickly. She's so... fluent with stuff like that. How does she do it?

When Germ finished speaking, Sylvie brought herself to set down her book, turn around, and add in a tone that was surprisingly sharp for her, "We know you like picking on freshmen, Tiff, but Matt is a TA. It's not very smart to provoke your seniors, because, believe it or not, you might end up getting into it with someone your own size!" The sharpness, airy and only a little shaky, vanished almost as soon as it came and Sylvie promptly turned back around in her seat. She hadn't realized it, but she had been glowing a little brighter while speaking, though whether this was out of anger or anxiety was up to the interpretation of witnesses. To shake off the rush that came with that moment of boldness, Sylvie directed her attention towards Matt, whom Bob was speaking to. She glanced over the stack of letters, not expecting much--but then she caught sight of the stamp of the Millennium City Home for Metahuman Children on one of the letters.

Sylvie's heart jumped. That one had to be for her. The last time she had gotten a letter was three months ago and it had just been fan mail (fanatic mail?) from a self-proclaimed follower of The Bastion, making for an awkward experience when a teacher read over it in front of Sylvie. But this one, judging by the stamp, was potentially from someone who actually gave a damn about her--not ThE bEaCoN, but Sylvie Destine. Mrs. Lyet wasn't waking up anytime soon, yet anticipation buzzed around Sylvie's heart like a swarm of insects. I know the rules... but I really wanna see that letter. But I know the rules... But I need to see that letter! Sylvie took a deep breath. If I get permission from Matt, it wouldn't be that big of a deal, right? Mrs. Lyet doesn't have to know--she's enjoying her nap! Still anxious, Sylvie got up and made her way over to Matt and Bob.

Sylvie hovered around them for a second, looking from Bob to Matt. She listened to Bob speak about Goodwill and dust with a slight smile, finding it endearing. After letting Bob finish speaking and giving Matt time to respond, Sylvie leaned in and said earnestly, "Matt, I kind of like never get mail unless it's from lunatics who think I'm a demigod. I know Mrs. Lyet is sleeping right now, buuuut maybe we can just show them to her when she wakes up?" Sylvie didn't realize, but her face had softened into what could be described as puppy-dog eyes. A second after speaking, Sylvie quickly added, "If not, that's totally okay and I'm sorry for asking! But it's from my children's home...." Sylvie pointed out the seal using her index finger without touching the letter. Internally, Sylvie was screaming, a little scandalized from watching herself try to find ways around a rule. She usually wouldn't try something like this, but since no conscious teachers were around and she had been stirred by the sight of the seal, she was willing to push a boundary. Plus, she was still riding the wave of boldness she had used to snap at Tiffany just moments before.

the beacon

sylvie.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[fin]

DELANO​

tempest​

in control

mrs. lyet's classroom

vochertepp uniform

sylvie, germ, tiffany, matt, bob, clover

mrs. lyet's classroom

nh1 boo. listener blue-jay cablebelly

Delano Morales was no fan of Mrs. Lyet’s second period class.

Much to the surprise of his peers, he didn’t outright despise Lyet for her inattentiveness in their second period class. She was an old woman, boisterous and loud. Unfitting of somebody with her head of white hair. She had a life to her that Delano admired, and a tendency to poke out the more recreational side of Delano. The informal side of him he didn’t know that he had. He might not have always reciprocated her cheery attitude, but Delano enjoyed her presence- or lack thereof when she was asleep too. Much of Vochertepp felt the same when it came to Lyet.

Equally so, he did not despise the abundance of unsupervised time to spend in her slumber. In fact, as much as he was perfectly timely with his schedule and duties, Delano enjoyed the temporary liberty offered here. The small breath of air tucked within Vochertepp’s mass of rules and regulations. His muscles didn’t quite ache the same past the doors of Lyet’s classroom, and the tension in his figure melted down to normalcy. He didn’t have to be on edge, or wary of criticism here. Delano didn’t have to stifle his breathing to appear unbothered before Ivachoka, nor was he constantly at the helm of the classroom doing demonstrations for Mr. Jefferson’s power discipline course.

No, this wasn’t why he hated this. It was part of why he admired it.

With a sigh of cool air, Delano took to his holo-monitor. Although several generations behind the facilities at Rosepoint Manor, Del managed the appliance well enough to get work done. He set up the dark, ceramic keyboard over his desk; placing the paired hologram modem a couple inches after it. The photographic image stemmed from the small modem and as Delano typed, his paper blossomed to life. Words quickly filled the page as the pleasant hum of his fingers clicking keys filled his ears.

“The Significance of the Four Point Star,” he’d titled it. His family never particularly fancied the Starteam, in actuality, there’d been a bit of a rivalry back in the early Superhero Age. Woe, there was something poetic about giving credit where it was due, even generations later. Sure, he had no genuine love for Millennium City’s home team, but it was these sorts of Shakespearean reconciliation tales that Dr. Howell guffawed over. A profound letter of appreciation of his family’s unofficial rivals (an unspoken title), the written appreciation for a history he truly couldn’t care less about was what he busied himself with today. Literature must have been the most difficult class for Delano because of the uncomfortably intimate aspect of it. Extreme discipline simply wouldn’t cut it the same way it’d aided him in other courses. Here, the story outside of the story seemed captivating enough for a good grade. Kudos to Matt for the inspiration.

He got much of his difficult Literature assignments done in his corner seat in the back of Lyet’s classroom, but “much” simply wasn’t enough. He would have finished much more if it wasn't for his deskmate, Tiffany Markham.

A volatile meta, Tiffany Markham was a student at Vochertepp notorious for all the wrong things. Truly a firecracker, she housed explosively powerful abilities that were simply wasted in the hands of that restless juvenile delinquent. A title he could only imagine Jude Rivera-Carvajal battled her for. The sound of smacking gum beside him constantly caused Delano’s stomach to fold in disgust as the dirty blond girl peeked over his work as per usual. There wasn’t much about his work Delano believed she could comprehend anyways. She shouted most everything, and probably only spoke in slang and other shortened modifications. It wasn’t that Delano cared for her shameless cheating, but more so how little she tried to hide it. How little she respected him, or anyone for that matter. No matter how qualified.

Another day it’d be Tiffany spitballing chewed up balls of paper at his dome, another she’d interject in his thought process and offer up another useless piece of advice. Delano shot icy daggers in her direction, and she laughed that boisterous hyena howl that made his eyebrows twitch frustratedly. Maybe she muttered something that he couldn’t hear, but she eventually busied herself elsewhere. Delano continued his typing with an angry huff, clacking louder than before against the keys.

It was kids like her that made it difficult to stay in a classroom like this. Like a pack of sardines, Delano was tucked into this room with students either unserious or inexperienced. Asides from Germaine, and perhaps Sylvie in another area of the room, Del found the other occupants awfully irritating. Where there lacked a goal, there lacked ambition. That could only foster mediocrity. To say some of these people harbored that sort of ideology would even be an understatement. Kids came here to draw pictures, read fiction, and ultimately leave those doors just as unexceptionally as they’d arrived. It blew Delano’s mind, truly.

Already annoyed, Delano kept his head down and eyes focused when Matthew arrived with the mail. All of them unremarkable for Delano who didn’t usually receive any on Mail Day. He’d learned not to look forward to the occasion a little after his first year at Vochertepp- he wasn’t quite sure what a younger Delano had been looking forward to anyways. Cyrus Morales had only ever been around long enough to whip at his belt and then escape the manor. His old man wouldn’t change his absence simply because he was several hundred miles away from home. He’d actually grown better at being an estranged father if that was even possible.

Alas, there was a hope for his father’s approval that every child, old or young, smart or dumb, exceptional or mediocre, would always foster. With feigned disinterest, Delano glanced up at the mail. He couldn’t read any of the names the letters were addressed to but there was something else in Matthew’s bunch that piqued his brow. Not before all eyes were suddenly on him though, or more specifically, his deskmate.

Tiffany slunk out of her seat like a conniving raccoon, fed up eyes followed the rascal as she shouted up at Matthew. Delano clenched at the inside of his jaw. There was no reining in a wild animal, no taming this beast. Or so he thought.

Germaine’s voice carried its usual authority when she chewed out Tiffany. He couldn’t help but chuckle in his seat as it all unfolded, a somewhat prideful smirk as somebody took to the task of Ms. Markham. Germ spoke with a conviction worthy only of the second-ranked student, one that silenced the classroom for that moment and drew attention away from Vochertepp’s premier attention-seeker. At Germaine’s final profession, Del’s lips twisted into a frown, his holo-monitor blinking off with a tap at the modem.

There was some fact missing in her statement, variables not considered, pieces not in play. Everybody was so focused on Mrs. Lyet’s slumber and the opening it gave them to have in their mail that none could see the true puzzlement in their classroom that day. Of all institutions, Vochertepp was one of the most feared. The most powerful. Organized. It had to be in order to lay down an iron fist over that many powered young adults. That’s why it was so interesting for Delano to find an error in the indefectible, a wrong where only rights sufficed.

Delano had seen student mail before, and this one was unlike it. It was official, unmistakably so. It was the only one in that thick, orange package, but it seemed too thin to be carrying much weight. It was encased uniquely enough to realize that this was no student mail, unlikely so. Wherever Matt had gotten today’s envelopes from, he’d been given another by mistake. With students each giving confessions as to why they should each receive their mail early, eyes glued to the pile like a hawk spotting its prey, Delano wouldn’t sit here and be just another voice in the mess of overlapping sounds. He wouldn’t risk somebody swiping at it first either.

Delano pushed his feet into the ground, his chair grinding backwards and providing enough room for him to properly stand up. After doing the first button of his blazer, he simply stepped into the aisle and neared his friend. Timeless Oxfords clapped against the tiles as he moved to the front. Matthew would understand. Of all people, Delano didn’t break rules. He wouldn’t be breaking one now. He’d simply be protecting Vochertepp’s order, fixing a mistake, and hopefully would be praised for it at the next assembly.

“Bob?” Delano stood near-motionless, completely still as his eyes watched over the former miner. The only man that stood between himself, and Matthew. Delano couldn’t quite decipher what Bob had planned with that lengthy fibbergist with Matthew, but he hoped that this stare made it excruciatingly clear that he wouldn’t be touching those letters. “Maybe you should return to your seat.” His words were much less like a suggestion, and sounded something like one of the orders his father, and fighting coaches gave him.

Delano offered Matthew a serious look, one that may have even asked him to trust him, before dropping his gaze to the pile. It was here, upon closer inspection, that Delano could see it. Mrs. Lyet’s name- entire legal name, labeled on the package. Was it purposefully sent here today? What could be of such importance? Why would they gamble on a lack of student interference, especially with a professor like Lyet?

He clenched his jaw and took it. Whatever was tucked into that parcel, it was safer in his hands with Lyet still unconscious. If it were any other teacher, he’d have woken her up, but she needed her rest. She was an aged woman, and they were old enough to sort things out like a group of civilized adults. The others would understand his compromise, or perhaps he’d have to make them.

Then he cleared his throat and turned to the masses.

“Germaine is right,” Delano spoke up when he found the noise was at its lowest. “Nobody’s touching these letters. Rules are in place for a reason and it's our duty to follow them,” Delano’s voice was a controlled version of loud. His chin naturally tilted upwards, his chest raised, and filled with air as he spoke. Del’s voice was smooth and articulate like a bachelor greeting guests at the helm of a yacht, he’d done that before at one of his father’s charities. He was good at speaking, he was able to make people listen. “If we didn’t have rules, we’d have chaos.” Delano added, meeting Tiffany’s emerald green eyes with his own brown chestnuts. “Mr. Jefferson has made that excruciatingly clear in his lectures. Might want to try practicing that, some of you.”

“I believe there was some sort of clerical error with the mail because this is an important faculty envelope.” He raised the thick envelope before the class before tucking it back underneath his armpit. “This isn’t supposed to be here. I’ll hold onto it for safe-keeping. Matt can keep the others so we can all get back to work.”

Situation diffused, Delano thought to himself.

º º ... code by ditto ... º º

 

[Maverick.]

Wesley Campbell

irritated — Mr. Jefferson's classroom — mentions: Louis/Jude

Wesley Campbell wasn’t a superhero.

His cheek rested against the cool surface of his desk, and his face was beginning to ache where his bone pressed against the wood. He wondered how long it would take for the pressure to reach his brain, and he could imagine how the heavy weight of his own bones would create cracks beneath his skin as his skull crumbled in on itself. Five years at Vochertepp’s School for the Enhanced had taught him to develop a rather thick skin, and while a hard head tended to serve him well in such an environment, it certainly didn’t make it any easier to hold up.

Some days, all he felt was the weight, and he wouldn’t need anyone to pull him down because he could do it just fine all by himself.

He was studying the eraser on the bottom of his pencil as he dragged it across the page. He’d scribbled harsh slashes like knife wounds on the surface of the piece of paper before him, and his eyes followed the eraser as it worked to clean up the damage. It left small, shriveled bits of itself in its wake, sacrificing its own skin to mend another’s. Soon, the eraser would grind itself into a pulp, and there would be nothing left after its job was done.

Wesley wasn’t interested enough to pay close attention to anything at that moment, but had he been given the choice to listen to either Mr. Jefferson’s lecture or the ballad of his eraser, it was likely that his pencil would’ve taught him a more valuable lesson.

Mr. Jefferson’s change in tone drew Wesley’s gaze, and his eyes rolled upward lazily to settle on the teacher. Wesley had a long list of least-favorite teachers, and Mr. Jefferson had earned himself a particularly distinguished spot early on. The man had a merciless agenda and a condescending attitude, and Wesley didn’t care for it at all.

Mr. Jefferson had a habit of playing with his prey, and his piercing stare was generally enough to send most students scurrying for cover in an attempt to dodge his talons. Right now, he was glaring down at Louis over his hooked nose with beady eyes that flashed hungrily. It appeared as though Louis had been playing dead, and Mr. Jefferson was determined to make him squirm.

Wesley had watched Louis sink deeper and deeper during the last six months, and he’d seen how his friend seemed to grow paler with each passing day that he spent shrinking away from the sun. Louis had become like a fossil after his escape attempt. Wesley knew the staff well enough, and he knew that they meant to drill into Louis until he burst forth and bled as much as they could drink. Wesley knew just how exploitable the kids at the school were. Some of the more elite staff had no qualms about draining the students until they were empty.

Wesley raised his head, letting his pencil fall loose from his grip and clatter onto his desk. Mr. Jefferson continued his mocking, and his head swiveled around to leer at the class as though he were circling the room in search of his next victim.

Wesley clenched his jaw, and he could hear a steady ring begin to sound behind his eyes. Waves of heat radiated from his skin, and he felt his ears flush like his face had turned into a microwave. He was generally a laid-back guy, and he had many more friends than he had enemies. A good way to become his enemy, however, was to mess with his friends. This was why the staff had a habit of bringing out the worst in him.

Mr. Jefferson had moved onto Jude, and if Wesley had begun to heat up, he knew that she must be steaming. The teacher was enjoying this, no doubt. The classroom was his stage, and it was clear that Mr. Jefferson liked to bask in the attention that he got from placing himself above those around him. It was a lecture and a monologue, one that would definitely spark a reaction from the audience.

Wesley had grown tired of Mr. Jefferson’s spotlight. A little flashing should bring him back down to earth. If nothing else, maybe that tiny little bird brain of his would become distracted enough to lose his train of thought and take the heat off some of the students.

Wesley knew that his eyes were going to glow, so he shut them, and he did his best to focus on the electricity that pulsed through the wires behind the walls. It flowed through him like the blood in his own veins, and he could find his way through the boards of the ceiling just as easily as he could prick through his own skin.

When Mr. Jefferson mentioned parents, Wesley got a jolt of his own. It didn’t matter how long he’d gone without thinking of his mother. Whether it was a pinch or a stab, he felt it every time she knocked on the door behind his eyes. It was as though she were trying to wake him from a lucid dream, as if she hadn’t orchestrated the nightmare herself. Not even a lightning strike could find someone in a place that dark. Sometimes, he couldn’t use his powers without thinking of how he’d found them for the very first time.

Wesley Campbell wasn’t a superhero. Superheroes saved people.

He felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck, and he heard the faintest zapping noise like a bee had buzzed past his ear. It took him a moment to realize that he’d opened his eyes, because even when he did, the room remained dark. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for the lights to come back on. When they didn’t, his stomach dropped.

“Fucking shit,” he muttered, raising a hand to tug on the hair just above his forehead. He pulled his palm down his face to stifle a groan, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose as he cringed. “Okay. Guess it’s naptime, then.”


birth of venus Flutz ravensunset stellamaris idiot cablebelly

 

[mikaluvkitties]

When Matthew came to Vochertepp, it was a dream come true. He soared through that first year or so with a lightness he hadn't felt in years. Then the second began, and it became clear that his choices were to die or to change. So he set rules that could be simplified to ‘If you can’t be perfect, be invisible.’

Even now, he lived by them. His shirt and slacks were well-pressed, sweater neat, tie done and redone obsessively as he prepared for the day. He’d kept an ear out for Alex, knowing that the chances of him dying in his sleep were low but not able to shake the feeling that he had.

He arrived at Mr. Ahuja’s room right on time, reliable as always. As soon as he saw his smile he slowed, well aware a change in plans was coming. Mail duty was a little dull, but that’s what some people thought of Mr. Ahuja’s class, wasn’t it?

He smiled back to him, already preparing to leave. “How will I ever cope. I’ll be sure to tell her you said hello. See you tomorrow, Mr. Ahuja.”

He tried not to think on his way to pick up the mail. Not about time moving fast, not about people disappearing, not about people dying. Once he had it and was heading to Mrs. Lyet’s classroom, he looked down at it. The manila envelope immediately drew his attention and, with it, the treacherous thought of how easy it would be… He could open it and close it again and no one would have to know. His throat dried up. It wouldn’t be worth it. The chances of something useful were so slim, and even if Mrs. Lyet probably wouldn’t realize- He forced his eyes down and away from it.

He needed a distraction and a distraction is what he found in the envelope with his name across it. When was the last time his mom had sent him a letter? His eyes rolled over the name and he stopped in his tracks.

Lazarus Tanzer was supposed to be dead. For a moment, that was all that was there as his breath sped up—And then the rest of his brain caught up with him and he reminded himself that no, there’d never been any proof that Lazarus was dead. The disappearances were weird, yes, and maybe even alarming, but the school wouldn’t kill people. You can’t help someone who’s dead, and the school was here to help, even if their methods sometimes sucked.

How would he even know Matt’s dorm room? He reread the name, checked it in all the ways he could in five seconds, but that was his name. That was his handwriting. And with a certainty he couldn’t understand, he knew that if he handed over this letter he’d never get it back.

He was no longer thinking, or maybe he was thinking too hard for it to sound like anything other than white noise, as he lifted his head, checking for anyone else in the hallway as subtly as he could, a skill long neglected. As soon as he was sure he was alone, he slipped the letter with shaking hands from the bundle and put it in his pocket. His hand smoothed it over again and again, ensuring that it lay flat.

For a long second he stood there, eyes glued ahead, steadying his breathing so that even with his heart beating through his throat he looked normal, then continued ahead. He was still thinking fast, but he could parse it now: Mainly a stream of ‘this is so stupid,’ yes, but at least it assured him he hadn’t lost his mind.

As he entered the classroom, all he could think about was that he broke a rule. It was necessary—At least, it had felt necessary. He kept any turmoil carefully off his face, instead settling into a ‘pleasant neutral’ that he’d spent hours practicing in the mirror right alongside options such as, especially for Mr. Jefferson, ‘neutral neutral’.

Any goals of in and out without incident were smashed within the first five seconds of entering the classroom.

At first, it was just Tiffany. He wasn’t an idiot: He knew that if she tried, she could kick his ass, and that’s why instead of engaging he continued on his path to Mrs. Lyet’s desk with a polite enough, “Hi, Tiffany.”

But then it was, of all people, Bob, and there was no way he could have prepared himself this morning for a conversation like this. At least it momentarily distracted him from the pure distress of what he’d done. His brow crinkled, but he answered his questions as well as he could, nodding along to the parts he could only keep track of. “I can help you with the radio after school. There should be a laundry room on your dorm floor. If you ever need another uniform set, you can send in a request with Ms. Lilac. She can also hook you up with a job. There should be stuff to clean your shoes in the laundry room. You can probably talk to Ms. Lilac about a new backpack, too. At the very least, she'd be able to point you in the right direction-” Past that point, he was answering on rote, trying and failing to see what was going on past Bob with Tiffany and Germaine.

As if that wasn’t already more attention than he usually got, Sylvie was hovering and as soon as there was an opening, she was asking if he could just give her her mail and let Ms. Lyet see it after and even if he’d already broken protocol, he wasn’t about to call more attention to this pile of mail than he already had. He gave her a sad smile not unlike Mr. Ahuja’s. “You’ll be getting it super soon. I’m just about to wake-”

And now Del was here, one part soothing, one part anxiety-inducing. There was no way him taking his letter would fly with Del, but maybe he could calm this whole mess down. He took Ms. Lyet’s mail, something Matt was embarrassed to admit he’d forgotten about, and with almost anyone else he’d already be saying something. As it was, he simply pursed his lips, waiting to see where he was going with this.

Watching him speak, there was one thing Matt was certain of, and that was that Del knew how to speak and that counted for something. His heart squeezed as he defended the very rule Matt had broken, unable to deny the truth of his words. ‘If we didn’t have rules, we’d have chaos.’ He might not have liked Mr. Jefferson, but sometimes, through the weird mind games he was playing, he had a point. He just kept telling himself he had a good reason.

He held his hand out for the envelope. “I was just about to wake Mrs. Lyet.”

nh1 calypso blue-jay listener fin boo. erzulie​

 

[erzulie]

mood

reserved

location

mrs.lyet’s class

outfit

vochertepp uniform

tags

interactions: matthew mikaluvkitties
mentions: germ ( boo. ), del ( fin ), slyvie ( blue-jay ) bob ( nh1 )

lyric

”silence speaks and truth shrieks.”

“Damn, these flies annoying as fuck.”

Lyet’s class was probably the closest thing to freedom that they’d achieve here, or it seemed so at least. She could even admit that the elderly lady was similar to a teacher she’d find in a normal classroom setting. That wasn’t to day that she could be trusted or anything. There could be something darker lurking behind her frail image, something waiting to strike when their guards were down. There was nothing to convince her that she was truly good, not after seeing how the majority of the staff had switched up. How they made Heaven into Hell in such a short amount of time. Nah, Papa Ernest hadn’t raised a fool. Vigilance had been trained into her for years. And though her body seemed relaxed and her general disposition was one of calmness, she was coiled like a spring and ready to pop off when it was time.

Her legs were propped up on her desk and crossed at the ankle. With Lyet sleeping she didn’t have to worry about being told to sit properly. With her arms crossed over her chest, she was a picture of tranquility. The noise in the classroom didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. Though a mind-reader would know better. Had she been anyone else, Lyric would have probably used her power to silence those in the classroom. It would have been too easy to adjust her hearing so their little scuffle didn’t bother her.

Unfortunately for her ears, she didn’t like to be unaware. Being in tune with her surroundings was second nature to her. Lyric was fully aware of what was happening. She mentally scoffed at the voices of Germaine and Delano. They were two of the biggest boot-lickers that she knew. Clearly they were blinded by their need for praise, to be seen as better to really understand that the staff here didn’t give a single fuck about them. Or that’s how she saw it at least. Lyric knew people like them back at her old school too. But for some reason, they weren’t as annoying. It was probably due to the fact that her old school wasn’t filled with sadistic staff members who made students fear for their lives. Yeah that was probably it.

Now Matthew wasn’t someone that she knew personally and she couldn’t say that she wanted to. The fact that he was a TA was enough to put her off. What good was he if he was so far under the school’s thumb? It was just her luck that she’d been placed in a class with three teacher’s pets. Lyric would be damned if they’d get in the way of this opportunity. There was no telling when it would present itself again and she felt that the chances were slim to none.

There was no sound as she moved and it was entirely intentional. Lyric glided over to where Matthew and the other student stood. It was easy, taking the letters from his hands. Lyric would have expected some type of death grip on the paper but she wasn’t complaining in the slightest. Swiftly she turned on her heel and began going through them until she reached her name. The rest of the letter were placed on Mrs.Lyret’s desk. Lyric then walked back to her own desk, kicking her legs up once more.

As she opened her letter she looked to Matthew, her gaze almost searching, accusing even. “You didn’t get a letter this time?” She raised a brow before looking down at her own letter. With those few words she began reading. Her face remained nonchalant throughout but as she read on, her eyes semed to get darker.

​

​

​

​

nine lives

 

[ravensunset]

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  frustrated, uncomfortable.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  the school uniform, just like everyone.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Mr. Jefferson's classroom.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  cablebelly birth of venus Flutz Maverick. stellamaris idiot
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

edith.

It wasn’t that Edith didn’t like classes, necessarily. She was here at school to learn, after all. It was just that she didn’t find them interesting, or applicable, or that she was a bad note-taker, or that she was better at daydreaming than paying attention. It wasn’t that Edith wasn’t trying, necessarily. It was just that, why listen to “How Metahumans Come Into Their Powers and How It Later Affects Their Control” when all of them already had come into their powers?

She’d tried, at first, really tried. At 14, when she was young and excited to learn everything she could about the gift she’d been given. Even then, she wasn’t much good at sitting and listening, but she’d tried. Written down at least some of what the teachers were saying. Picked front seats instead of almost exclusively middle or back ones. The three years at Vochertepp had worn her patience thin, until she came to every class with almost no motivation to really try. Besides, a lecture about control? It was one she’d heard before, a topic the school absolutely loved to drill into them. Edith didn’t care much for hearing again and again how much better they all had to be, but it wasn’t like they had much choice in the matter.

In any case, Edith had joined class that morning just a minute early and gotten out an old notebook and a pencil. To doodle flowers in the corners, of course, never notes or words. If any of the drawn plants turned out nice she’d ask Clover to turn the whole paper into a model of it later. She’d waited as the class filtered in along with her, taking seats in a room with seats seeming to be designed to leave them all as alone as possible, too far apart for offering a hand passing notes or whispering remarks or even really lending a pencil without catching attention. It wasn’t that Edith wasn’t used to being alone, necessarily.

Edith had seen Louis walk in, had done her best to catch his eye, the way she still tried to even several months after, well, everything with him had happened. She’d almost thought he was going to meet her gaze, too, but instead he’d looked away and taken his seat. It wasn’t that she missed his friendship, but. Well. No. She did. Almost every day. It was a shift in her life, her regime, her emotions that she hadn’t been able to settle into place with. And he had larger worries, she had no doubt the faculty was giving him hell after the escape attempt, probably, larger worries than being ignored by a friend, and yet it was all she could think about when she saw him.

Mr. Jefferson was presenting about something or other, about powers, times they went out of control, and Edith was again caught in too many thoughts to be listening. Sylvie had been in her room just the other day, talking about strategies for academic success, something that Edith was happy to converse around but couldn’t quite offer advice for, something Edith had never had. She was a passable student, sure, quiet, and clever enough to not completely fail, but not something that had ever captured her interest. So Edith was drawing flowers and thinking, always thinking, until she noticed Mr. Jefferson’s step forward from the front of the class, down the rows right in her direction. She looked up, a hand pushing loose strands of hair out of her face, until she realized Mr. Jefferson wasn’t approaching her at all.

He stopped in front of Louis, and Edith didn’t quite get her moment of relief at not being noticed, as this was worse.

Leave him alone

, the words came out of the tight feeling in her chest, lodged in her throat, pushed up to her lips,

it’s not his fault he doesn’t need this

, but as her lips parted for them they failed her and she stayed silent, unable to force the words out. She spent a moment in consideration, brows furrowed together, wanting both to speak up and melt away from any conflict. As usual, by the time she’d figured she’d worked up the nerves to speak up, Mr. Jefferson had moved onto another target and Louis felt further than ever. Edith slouched back, sinking into her chair and avoiding Mr. Jefferson’s gaze as it landed on her. As he continued she looked over at Louis in an attempt to catch his eyes, at very least mouth

I’m sorry

at him, but he wasn’t looking at her.

Edith wouldn’t have really minded disappearing in that moment. Instead, she picked up her pencil again, pressing it to her page, waiting for class to end. Mr. Jefferson refused to stop the attacks, moving onto their parents as a whole, and Edith wished she could shut him up, and then.

Then the room went dark. Edith shouldn’t have been surprised, with how hard Mr. Jefferson was pushing of course someone was going to snap, and yet the darkness had been completely unexpected. Her eyes moved in the direction of Wesley’s voice, guess it’s naptime. She would’ve given him a smile had it not been for the suddenly dark room. The pencil had dropped from her grip, making a soft ping as it rolled off her desk and onto the floor.

Edith didn’t like the dark. The dark was pinpricks on her skin, a quiet uncomfortableness, an adjustment her eyes hated having to make. The dark was loneliness, pressing in on her, a house empty of feeling or comfort, and Edith was a young child buying lamps to bring light into it. Her heart felt as though it was beating a little louder, and she closed her eyes and felt her chest burst with warmth from within, power coursing through her body, filling her veins with warm sunlight.

Her eyes glowed when she opened them, and so did her fingertips. The pale yellow light bounced between them, wondering why it was summoned with no plants in range, seeming to spill from her fingers into nothingness. She wasn’t Sylvie, who glowed like the sun and Edith didn’t doubt would be able to illuminate the room effortlessly. Edith was a drop envious of the strength of her friend’s powers, as Edith’s own light left her hands clearly glowing with only enough light to reflect from part of her desk and her face, like a child at a sleepover lighting a poorly made flashlight under her chin. It wasn’t enough to combat the loss of the room’s lights, yet Edith kept the small glow going, deciding the small amount of light and the comfort using it brought her was worth the inevitable attention from using it.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[stellamaris]

stas.

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  outfit

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  vochertepp's uniform
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
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  jefferson's classroom
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
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  cablebelly Maverick. idiot ravensunset Flutz birth of venus
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

All of Anastasia Bolton's life, she had been controlled, manipulated, and made to believe she was less-than.

Upon arriving at Vochertepp's three years ago, she had been hopeful that her life would change despite the circumstances of her enrollment. Just like many of the new students, she was astonished. Years of isolation and self-hatred only to find that she wasn't actually alone in the world and that these people would help her, really help her. A community of metahumans dedicated to helping each other to learn and establish themselves. Stas would finally have a family.

As the years went by she watched more and more newcomers arrive with the same optimistic looks in their eyes that would eventually fade as time went on. The glimmer of hope would dim out, cloud over. Some students disappeared like they had never existed whilst others were pushed to become a broken shell of a person, a shadow of who they used to be. Students like Louis.

Despite the way the school treated him, he remained a good person. Someone Stas considered a friend. They both shared a quiet demeanor and the same love for nature, only Louis seemed to be a favorite amongst the staff to pick on whilst she blended into the background. It never occurred to her why they did it – he was just like all the rest of them aside from his attempt to escape. Which, really, was this a prison?

Stas used to pay great attention during all of her classes when she first arrived, but her motivation to succeed dwindled as Vochertepp's revealed their true nature. Now she merely got by, spending a majority of her time studying other things that could expand her abilities. She was a ghost in most classrooms save for the few she actually enjoyed (art, english, any of the sciences) and was treated as such; teachers rarely called on her and fewer still looked her way.

Except for Jefferson, who seemed to get off on antagonizing everyone.

So she sat near the door, gave the board an occasional glance, and busied herself with her sketchbook and her current fascination: great horned owls. Stas frequented the library not only to find books to read and pass her time with, but also to study new creatures in the hopes of mimicking them. She didn't often bother with birds because most of their abilities required too much effort to mimic. Wings for flight, altered brain cells for magnetic field detection, hollowed bones. But owls had caught her eye due to their unique skillset, plus they were fun to draw.

The class continued like any other with Jefferson droning on and occasionally making a remark or two with the accompanying glare. Stas was only mildly surprised when she heard Louis' voice, drawing her attention back to the world around her and away from her sketching. The scene unfolded quicker than she expected, her eyes flickering from Jefferson, to Louis, to Wes, Edith, Jude, then back to Louis. Panic rose up within her as she barely noticed the tips of his fingers turning black, and her lips parted to speak up – and say who knew what – when the room suddenly went dark.

It was pitch black save for the glow of Edith's hands a couple desks away. Wes' voice met her ears on the other side of the classroom, then the sound of Edith's pencil dropping. Stas' left hand was cramped from how long she'd been sketching for, and her thoughts went back to her subject matter. Owls had some of the best eyesight in the entire animal kingdom, not to mention their ability to see at night. And just like that, her eyes began to glow. The room around her slowly became visible again with minimal effort – a success. As she took in her surroundings with a new set of eyes, she noticed hers weren't the only ones glowing. And if she noticed, Jefferson would too.

Shit. This isn't going to end well.

Knowing Jefferson, he would find a way to pin this on Louis. If she'd seen correctly before the lights had gone out, she couldn't let that happen. Not if he was one push away from losing control.

Frantically she began looking for a way to take the attention off of Louis or Wes – or anyone except for her. Punishment at Vochertepp's was rare for Stas, so she could probably get off lightly. Probably. Louis though? Not a chance.

Then something occurred to her; she was sitting near the door, near the light switch, and if she made it look like she'd turned them off...

Stas was on her feet in an instant, unsure of when the lights would come back on, if she had enough time, or if this half-baked plan would even work. But she did know it was better than nothing.

If Louis is going to get punished, at least he won't be alone.

Blinding light caught her off guard, causing her to wince and squeeze her eyes shut to block it out. When she opened them, no longer glowing, the lights were back on and the room looked exactly how it did before they'd gone out.

Except she was standing with her hand on the switch, squinting her eyes at Jefferson as her pupils dilated to accommodate the light. This wouldn't be enough.

"Leave him alone."

she called in the teacher's direction, voice surprisingly firm despite the racing of her heart and the warmth rising to her face.

Oh she'd done it now.

freaks

surf curse

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[idiot]

gian su-yun.

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  mr jefferson's classroom.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  observing everyone.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Leather, black gloves adorned the decaying teenager's hands, yet her handwriting was something to marvel. Each letter effortlessly flowed together in complete harmony against the lined paper.

Her desk was purposely shoved in the furthest corner away from Mr Jefferson, considering the smell of rotting decay that surrounded her. The teacher had made it incredibly clear from the day she moved here of his disdain for having her in his classroom. Gian was a competent, diligent student but not many could get past her power and the physical affects it had on her.

A lone fly sat on her desk, seemingly not bothered by the teenager's smell. Flies were considered a pest - a disgusting annoyance that plagued everyone's existence. Maybe that is why Gian enjoyed the company of flies. We have that in common, don't we?

Per usual in Mr Jefferson's class, the PowerPoint halted and disrupted Gian's flow. She placed the pen down, supressing a sigh. It was common for Mr Jefferson to go on tangents about his obvious hatred for youth and their subsequent powers. It was equally common for him to bother and antagonise his students. Luckily Gian was exempt from this harassment since the adult could barely look her in the eye. Was he afraid of what I could do to him? She would be lying to say she hadn't entertained the thought.

The student to face his wrath was poor Louis. The seventeen-year-old rivalled Gian's equally pale, sickly complexion. His jaw jutted out, skin merely stretched over his bones, which gave him a hauntingly beautiful appearance that Gian found herself getting lost in. Often equipped with headphones, Gian wondered, what did he listen to? She felt a sense of relatability to Louis; the two were both held prisoners of their powers. Part of her wanted to ask why he was constantly carted out of class with that look of defeat in his eyes that Gian knew too well. The other students seemed to avoid him because of all these reasons but if anything it made Gian want to be closer to him.

Mr Jefferson seemingly got bored of Louis' lack of retaliation and moved to a target that would give him exactly what he wanted - Jude. A literal firecracker, Jude was one of her roommates and someone that Gian envied in multiple ways. Firstly her hair, it radiated life with her unruly curls and the vibrant ginger-red colour. Gian's hair was the complete opposite; her hair was well, dead, with split ends, a lack of shine and putrid, green sprouted throughout the dull black. Then there was Jude's disposition for defiance which Gian admired, even if it meant she usually stayed out of her way in the dorms.

Lost in her own thoughts, Gian's eyes didn't flicker towards Mr Jefferson until the mention of 'parents'. Instantly her mother came to mind and a pang of guilt followed. Before she could pick at those memories like a stubborn scab, the room went dark. She swore she could hear Wes' voice in the darkness. The fly must of moved, the buzzing near her ear.

Darkness was something Gian loved. No one could see her which was comforting. Usually she layered on baggy clothes to hide her appearance, skulking around the halls with her hood up. Unfortunately the darkness didn't last long as the familiar glow radiated from Edith's desk. It wasn't long before another glow came from the other side of the room, near the exit. Anastasia's?

The room lit up shortly after, causing Gian to blink excessively until the dark spots disappeared in her eyes. Anastasia was standing near the doorway, finger on the light switch. Gian couldn't hide the surprise from her face to see her of all people. Her eyes only widened when Anastasia spoke. This isn't going to end well for any of us.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Flutz]

Alex sat at his desk at the edge of the room, opposite the door and equidistant from Mr. Jefferson's desk and the back wall. The lecture's topic, recited by a man whose cruel dominion stretched much wider than his frame, was common, though the title often changed. Alex could easily flip through his thorough notes--they were expected of him, even if his test scores rarely exceeded average--and pinpoint twice more in recent weeks when the topic made an appearance. Unfortunately, this subject was one Alex held particular contempt for. He had never 'come into' his powers. They were just there. They were always there. The power discipline teacher rarely paid attention to that fact. But Mr. Jefferson's propensity for the topic and those similar brought with it a bright side: he didn't have to listen. Alex was able to focus on the figure spanning the bottom right corner of every page in his notebook, and despite allowing his mind (and pencil) to wander, he was confident that each line in his notes would closely echo the teacher's words.

The figure had started with wings, a faceless man who somehow represented goodness solely because of feathers adorning his back. What was once an angel, a representation of purity and a harbinger of disaster to mortals and demons alike, had now lost its luster. The form, still faceless, was now skeletal. Muscles vanished and were replaced with sagging skin. The focal point of the drawing, the wings, were now also corrupted. They dripped like wax onto the ground, leaving viscous, melted muscles and tendons to slough off the bones.

With each progressive sketch, the creature's facade slipped further and further away. And though it always remained faceless, there was a stark variation in some of the drawings: the hair. Some frames featured hair mirroring Alex's own; in others, Howell's; and on the scarce occasion, the curled hair of Matthew Posada. Alex always felt guilty after those drawings. Matt was always trying to help Alex, to let Alex know what was expected of him, and to tell him it was worth it. So what if Matt led him astray? Yeah... So what.

Alex slammed his open palm against his forehead--the leather of his ever-present gloves softening the blow--trying to physically wipe away those thoughts. He didn't want to think about that now. Instead, he pushed to cool leather deeper into his forehead. And then a distraction came.

Mr. Jefferson had smelled blood in the water. It was evident by his gleefully damning tone and the elated glint in his eyes. He stalked to Louis' desk to interrogate and disparage the other student. Alex forced himself to return to his drawing, but his pencil only ever touched down on already drawn lines. Mr. Jefferson's aggression was impossible to ignore. The man wanted it that way, but that didn't mean Alex didn't make a deliberate attempt every time Mr. Jefferson's hostility reared its head. Alex wouldn't intervene.

Despite his complicated view of the hot-headed teacher, Alex didn't move. On one hand, the man clearly took joy from any damage he could inflict on his students. But, as Howell was always sure to tell him, good people had to do bad things to create the most good. Clearly, Mr. Jefferson's methods worked if he was still employed as the teacher of such a high profile class, and Alex couldn't argue with results. Besides, Louis was a student of whom Howell had been quite openly disdainful. He was a 'troublemaker,' 'disaster,' an 'all-consuming shadow that, if left to his own devices would devour all light, leaving not even a dissipating particle of ash to illuminate dark times.' Howell got a bit wordy sometimes. That wasn't important. Point is, Lous was clearly a boy beyond saving. Except... wasn't that what heroes did? They reached out a hand and saved those the grim reaper had already marked for death. Right? Maybe...

"Fuck, just stop it, Alex," he whisper-scorned. "You're not a hero."

Alex once again willfully turned his eyes to his notebook, even as his pencil sat unmoving in his grip. He used his own thoughts to drown out Mr. Jefferson's words; he quoted movies, poems, whatever it took, nearly screaming in his mind to silence the insults. He was successful enough until the lights went out.

He whipped his head up and around. What happened? Had Mr. Jefferson finally blown his fuse? Had Louis lashed out? His eyes eventually caught sight of a small glow in the room. The desk's location was one he knew well, both hyperfocused on its occupant and obstinately ignorant of her. He couldn't deal with Edith and every time he looked at her it was like an exposed nerve being poked and prodded. She represented a mistake he'd never be able to fix. Except she also represented joy. Even just observing his sister from outside his family's 3-person clan meant joy. It meant laughter, even if it had dimmed from what was once a toddler's raucous giggles.

Then, Alex heard movement around the room. He felt his panic return like a shock and felt his pulse speed up as the shuffling continued. Where was Mr. Jefferson? What was Alex supposed to do in this situation? Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and, standing like a valkyrie ready to head into a possibly deadly battle, was Anastasia--Stas, though Alex always hesitated to call her that.

"Leave him alone."

The words caused tension to hemorrhage into the room, but Alex only felt relief. Whatever was going to happen was taken out of his hands. He didn't have to speak up now, nor did he have to be complicit by inaction. Anastasia was taking the lead; it wasn't Alex's battle. It wasn't.

 

[cablebelly]

✃​

VIOLENT UPBRINGING​

October 24th, 2079

The blackness that engulfed Louis' fingertips grew. There was a growl that escaped him at Jefferson's last quip, low and furious. How dare that piece of shit put any hint of his family's name in his mouth. Anger grew within Louis, an anger that started as something of his own, but began to be twisted by the beast inside. It was always eager to watch him become volatile, because that was when freedom was close. Prying at Louis' fears, his vulnerabilities, was the best way to get Louis going. Hell, it was the best way to get any metahuman going. Jefferson knew that. He always knew that. With Mr. Jefferson's back turned, Louis gripped the edge of his desk tightly, darkened hands painting the corners of the wood black. He began to stand, but the lights flickered, and suddenly his own darkness wasn't the only lack of light in the room.

In the darkness, Louis found himself conscious again. He blinked, feeling the way his body had lurched out of its seat, almost like a puppet master had pulled his strings. In another few seconds, he would have lunged. The pale skin of his forearms was visible even in blackness, but his hands blended completely into the dark. Strangely, this moment of darkness gave him clarity, and while the thing inside him hissed, trying to beckon him forth, it was a bout of tender sunlight beside him and a disgruntled voice on the other that reminded him where he was. In class... with people who wanted to call him friends.

The fog began to lift from his clouded mind, and the ink that swallowed his palms receded beneath his fingernails. Before the lights came on, Louis slunk back into his seat, and any evidence of what terrible thing he could have done was erased. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he searched for the silhouettes of his friends. Edith, holding the sun in her hands. Wes, muttering something about nap time. Stas, glowy eyed and inching to the wall. He couldn't help it; the tiniest tinge of a smile lifted the corner of his lips. There was good at this school, and he'd been so wounded that he'd forgotten where it lay. Right in front of him.

"Leave him alone."

Louis wasn't sure there was a way to describe the feeling that punched him the gut at those words. Both exhilarated and devastated all at once, Louis knew that switching off the lights, or pretending to, was just a small blip on Jefferson's radar. But openly defying him? It would bring her nothing good, and just as quickly as Louis had tried to settle himself back in his seat, he stood up abruptly to rush to her defense. Then, almost violently, it looked like something forced Louis down. His body hit the edge of his desk with a small thump, teeth bared in a snarl as he seemed to be held unnaturally in his place.

Mr. Jefferson's eyes were alight. Sunset orange, a color deceptively calm for a man so high strung. With the slightest twitch of his head, he'd forced Louis to sit still and pretty, and it seemed to take him no effort to keep the boy there. Instead, with his glow radiating, he turned towards Anastasia. There was something unreadable in his visage, buried by the cool determination and concentration that allowed him to work his power with such minimal display. His jaw turned and tensed as he looked at her, like he was making some sort of decision.

"Good, Ms. Bolton." He said calmly, lacking the prior grievance that quickly returned in his next words. "Very good. Noble of you. But I'm not stupid." Without turning his attention elsewhere, he raised his hand, and curled a finger towards himself in a come hither motion.

From the back of the class, Wesley's desk lurched forward. It screeched unkindly between the rows and planted itself at the front of the class, directly before Jefferson's desk, all with Wesley dragged along for the ride. Mr. Jefferson smiled down at Wesley, pupils invisible behind a sea of orange, and clicked his tongue. "Mr. Campbell, dear boy. You're in a power discipline class, are you not? Care to tell me what that sorry excuse for a display of power that was?" A laugh escaped him, one of pity. "Can't even make the lights flicker without blowing the power? Really, do none of you pay attention?"

With an unimpressed scoff, Mr. Jefferson waved his hand, and Wesley's desk was brutally flung backwards, skidding across the floor and only stopping once the back of his chair hit the wall. "A nice little show, though. Everyone sticking up for their pals." He waved his hands jeeringly, and with this, Louis' puppet strings were cut. Mr. Jefferson's glow stopped, and Louis slumped in his chair, gasping for a full breath that looked to have been stolen from him. Now, the teacher looked impatient as he spoke again, jaw tightening as he surveyed the room. "But it is not enough. It will not be enough..."

There was something suddenly grim about the way that Jefferson spoke, and in the moment that he faltered, Louis tried to stand again. As Wesley was flung to and fro, the dark that bled from his fingertips had climbed up his arms as far as his sleeves could show, turning his veins a sickly shade of black. He stood again, and Mr. Jefferson turned to face him, eyebrows raised almost as if to say, go on, give it your best shot.

"F-fuck... you." Louis stuttered.

Jefferson sighed. "Typical."

Orange burst forth again, but to Louis, it seemed more like the sky after a fire. There was an unnatural sound, a condensing of bones, and Louis, arms tucked and legs tight together, was lifted ever so slightly out of his seat. There were sounds of sputtering and choking, and his eyes fritzed between radiance and dimness as his ability tried to protect him from the invisible hand on his neck to no avail. But before Louis could be lifted any higher, a message came over the intercom.

"Mr. Jefferson to report to room #11.6837. Mr. Jefferson to room #11.6837."

Louis was once again dropped back into his chair. This message seemed to startle Jefferson, and a strange lack of color had taken his visage. His glow disappeared almost instantaneously and as Louis gasped for air once more, before he left, Mr. Jefferson cleared his throat and reached into his pocket for a very familiar pink pad of paper.

He scribbled three names. Anastasia's, Wesley's, and Louis'. He made his way to each one of their desks, pinning them each with a glare. Nearing Anastasia, a flicker of his orange glow emerged as he forced her back into her seat with a push of telekinetic energy, away from the light switch, placing the pink slip on the wood top. Louis outstretched his own hand to take the slip, though seeing as his fingertips still held darkness, Mr. Jefferson sneered and dropped the note on his desk as well. Mr. Jefferson did glance at Edith, but it seemed that somehow, she had escaped his wrath. Finally, he made the walk all the way to Wesley's desk, which was pressed up against the back wall unkindly, and handed him the slip directly with a burning fire in his eyes. "I hope you find some way to remedy your weakness, Mr. Campbell."

Briskly, he walked back down the row, and disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him, accompanied by a clicking of locks.

Louis turned around the moment the sound of his footsteps had faded, a redness on his neck, like an imprint of a hand, and eyes wide. "Holy shit." He said breathlessly, voice still a little bit hoarse. "Th...thank you. Thank you guys. Holy fuck." It seemed that in this moment, despite the scary scene that had just played out before them, there was a bit of life in Louis' eyes again as he gushed thanks to all those surrounding him. A hand came up to drag through his hair, and the blackness was nearly gone, though his fingers quivered. "Jeez... Wesley, Stas, are you okay? E-Edith? Sick bastard..."

The storm had calmed, for now.

birth of venus Flutz Maverick. ravensunset stellamaris idiot

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Mrs. Lyet's second period class became a little more lively than expected. With a combination of green faces, teacher's pets, and a couple hotter-than-expected personalities, the room buzzed with disagreement and energy. Letters tossed from hand to hand. All the distraction that surrounded one poor TA allowed quite a bit to get away from him. Whether it be one coal-dusted newbie, a bright eyed and glowy skinned ex cult idol, or a haughty boy of ice undermining and reprimanding him at all once, there was a great amount of distraction surrounding him. Not to mention the suspicious letter that he'd tucked away in his sleeve, which, unbeknownst to the paper manipulator, was being duplicated in her hands.

Clover had bowed her head just so that the chaos of the room ignored her smart play, leaving her unbothered as she worked to create paper from paper. Characters jutted out to her as her power allowed to roam the contents of each letter. Picking up the indentations of personal writing was like waving a hand over smooth lead, and most of the mail in this bundle was easy enough for Clover to glean, including the contents of the letter in the TA's sleeve. But the contents of the manila envelope held no such ease, rather, a harshness of scientific stamped writing, impressed almost cruelly and aggressively onto the paper inside.

Voices flew across the room, some spiteful, some collected, and miraculously, through it all, Mrs. Lyet snored. She occasionally twitched, sniffed, stuttered, but not any of the ruckus in the classroom seemed to move her. As the battle for mail call waged, each student trying something of their own to reign in the chaos, there sat a girl in the back who had no desire to do anything of the sort.

Tiffany Markham did not like Vochertepp. And it was her goal to make sure everyone knew it.

Not many knew much about Tiffany, aside from the attitude she displayed to the world. She played rough against everything, against the school, against her peers, and picked on little kids to satisfy her own aching ego, as well as fill her pockets with the vouchers that she would never earn of her own merit. There was little place for brutes in Vochertepp, who oiled its cogs with the blood and sweat of boot lickers. Tiffany hadn't really considered herself outnumbered until the chorus of insults was thrown back her way tenfold. She had it made in this class, really. A seat next to any one of them would get her homework done for the week, these pansies worked so far ahead of schedule that she wasn't even sure what assignment she was getting done.

Didn't they feel wrong about it all? Tiffany didn't understand it. How they could build their world around letters and numbers, stacked on the approval of teachers that didn't care about them. She lived on shaky ground but theirs had to be much more primed to crumble than she. At least at the end of the day, when Vochertepp would bleed away, she had her grit. They'd run looking for the next authority figure to please.

Chumps.

Germaine's insults seemed to breeze by Tiffany like a gentle rustle of the wind. An unbothered smile quirked the edge of her lip, and she chewed the gum in her mouth obnoxiously loud, beginning to blow a monstrous bubble as Germ continued her assault. Half out of her seat, she rose further and further, as crackles of green and red began to bounce between her fingertips. Even the little glowy girl piped up with a quip of her own, and with every crude word, Tiffany's smile only grew. She spared Delano just a glance as he tried to catch her gaze, allowing their cries of laid down defiance to fuel the fire brewing in her gut, yet she stayed surprisingly silent through it all, letting the pink bubble in her mouth grow, and grow, and grow.

When it popped, a ball of red energy had formed in her hands. She let it dance between her fingers as she stared Germaine down, but then the edge of her mouth quirked mischievously. "Hey, if we didn't have rules, we'd have chaos, right?" Tiffany purred. Then, with a snap of her fingers, the red energy flew. Except, not towards Germaine. It made a whirling beeline for the pile of mail Lyric left on the desk, and when it hit, the room was suddenly decorated in the snowfall of letters.

The blast hadn't been strong enough to rip the paper to shreds; just to send everything flying across the room. Pleasantly, a letter addressed to Tiffany Markham slid all the way to the back of the class, and as she slumped back in her seat triumphantly, she picked it up with a gleaming grin. To add insult to injury, she conjured another blast of red, and flicked it just as dexterously at the manilla envelope held in Del's hands. Tiffany waved her letter around, beginning to rip it open. "Looks like this cow's got mail."

The manilla envelope twirled into the air like it had been waiting for its grand performance. It floated daintily around the room, out of reach of any of the students who stood near the door, dashed tauntingly right in front of Mrs. Lyet's nose, and the breath from her great snore had it change its trajectory and slide onto the floor a few feet away from the foot of Mrs. Lyet's desk, poised in the center of the classroom and right at the beginning of the walkway between rows.

Play ball.

nh1 calypso blue-jay listener fin boo. erzulie mikaluvkitties

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[fin]

DELANO

in control

mrs. lyet's classroom

vochertepp uniform

sylvie, germ, tiffany, matt, bob, clover

mrs. lyet's classroom

nh1 boo. listener blue-jay cablebelly

To be fair, Matthew Posada was a well-meaning teaching assistant with several qualifications to support his abilities. The son of a former metahuman hero, his friend understood the importance of morality, justice, and all due diligence. Delano commended his ability to speak out when he could see that things were awry, and his willingness to intervene in situations like such. Alas, Matthew never quite had the ability to rein in scenarios like this by himself. His patience was adored, but his thought process was sometimes too strewn in on passing the action-making onto somebody else.

When Matt suggested that they wake up Lyet, Delano stiffened ahead of the class. He only contemplated his friend's idea for a moment before shaking his head. As said previously, they should be able to address the situation like young adults prepped to enter civilization. If they couldn’t handle the damned mail, how would they protect themselves and others from their threatening abilities? Not to talk of the fact that Lyet was fast asleep with no need to burden herself anymore either. Delano glanced over to the peacefully sleeping old woman, her room of work a stark contrast to the quiet, graceful snores that escaped her lips and nose.

Chaos boiled within Mrs. Lyet’s classroom, an unhealthy combination of outspoken delinquents and disorderliness. Brown orbs ahead of the room swallowed it all, absorbing it, dissecting it, plotting an adequate reaction to it all. This noise was enough to make anybody tense, that unorthodox frenzy in one of the more relaxed classrooms. Hot enough to melt the crust of repression over Delano Morales’ ice-hardened heart, the beat of that cardiac organ quickened where he stood. He needed to put a stop to the blood escaping from this classroom’s wound.

“There’s no need for any of that-” He tried to answer Matthew, but there she was in front of him.

Hair clad with bright pink dye and punk-rock makeup painted over her face. Cool was what Lyric Black thought herself to be. Some sort of trendsetter at Vochertepp Academy. Delano huffed, and tightened his arm over the envelope under his grip. Delano was cool, both literally and figuratively. He was a star student both academically and athletically, a legacy in the world of superherodom, and likely had more money in his piggybank than Lyric had ever seen in her baseless life. She was just a cheap act at the fair- one of the smarter troublemakers with a pretty voice. She took an envelope from Matthew like he was just another student at the facility and Delano made him cringe where he stood. Look at how the TA had just allowed that to happen.

Delano didn’t like to doubt the few meaningful friends that he had, but a sub-zero glare rested over Matthew whilst she sauntered back over to her desk. The specks of blue in his brown eyes grew more than halfway over his irises, but receded when Del did the ABC’s in his head. Ample way to keep one’s power in check was to develop a sort of cooldown mechanism in the body, a learned instinct that kicked the oneself into a reset when emotions wanted to take over the mechanics of the body. Mr. Ahuja had taught him that, and with time, Del only needed to spell to the letter G before the ice in his veins back melted into warm blood. Pulling him right back down to Earth, giving man control over its evolution.

A sigh escaped his lips. At least she’d arranged some of the letters over on Lyet’s desk, Del rationalized. She seemed to tease Matthew with a joke Delano knew nothing about. Not that he needed to anyways. Still-faced, Delano was going to ask her to return the envelope, albeit unfortunately opened, back to the teacher’s desk. That’s when the blast erupted. There were two of them. The first forced the envelopes over on Mrs. Lyet’s desk haphazardly into the air. He tensed at the idea that she’d wake up to this mess that he, nor Matthew, or any other student reinforcement could clean up. He snapped his neck over to the source of this mayhem and met Tiffany’s sly grin. A flare of the nostril hinted at his stark disapproval. With a wave of the hand, she snapped her fingers again. This time, the wisps of red energy were racing over towards him.

Delano was trained to be the fastest, to stay on his toes, to be in complete control of any and all situations. He’d dropped the ball with this one, and the orange-brown envelope dancing through the air said as much. Tiffany had always been unpredictable, difficult to calculate even for the most prepared.

“Tiffany.. You-” He itched to swear at her. To curse her out and relieve himself of the emotions she riled up within him. Delano was taught better than that. “Profanity is the crutch of the conversationally retarded,” his father had always said. Vincent’s howls of pain in his father’s study often followed suit, the steady stroke of the belt making a beat behind his brother’s agony. Cyrus Morales disciplined his children whenever it was needed, straightened them out and gave their home order. This classroom needed order.

His eyes glew a soft blue when they turned to the manilla envelope sliding onto the floor of the classroom, then up at any who dared touch the confidential information. Sick and tired of Tiffany Markham’s chuckling and monkey business, Delano waved his hand in her direction. Reining in the horse that Matthew simply couldn’t, Delano’s powers were quickly at his behest. The ice crawled from one corner of her cheek to the other, binding the moisture in the air around her into an icy muzzle over the bitch’s lips.

“Enjoy your letter, Tiffany. I would suggest against ripping off the ice. A trip to the nurse would much better suffice, and I would be excited to explain the reasoning behind my actions.” It was either she tore off the ice and likely her skin with it, allowing it to melt naturally, or a trip to Nurse Tufton for specialized care. Delano offered a sarcastic smile… Or perhaps there was genuine pleasure in watching her so uncomfortable. Eyes still illuminated as he set his sights on the next task at hand, the manilla envelope that lay at the centre of the classroom.

º º ... code by ditto ... º º

 

[idiot]

gian su-yun.

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The rotting teenager tried to recall a time she hadn't seen the familiar sunset-orange glow in Mr Jefferson's class. She couldn't. Jefferson had a habit of punishing students with his powers it seemed. Hypocrite, Gian thought. Imagining preaching control and lashing out whenever someone disobeyed you. Then again it wasn't surprising to Gian, she had learnt young that this world was full of imbalances and contradictions. Jefferson was a prime example of that.

Desensitised to the teacher's antics, Gian watched in the corner of her eye as Jefferson made a glorified display of his powers, punishing the students who used their powers. He begun with Wes. The eighteen-year-old seemed nice enough, always cracking jokes and seemingly got along with everyone. Yet, he made it clear he hated the school and the staff. The flickering lights only reinforced that.

An excruciating screech made Gian shudder, pale skin pinpricking. The source belonged to Wes' desk and chair, sliding across the classroom and towards Mr Jefferson. Gian was rather uninterested in the display, even as Wes' desk flew back against the wall. Yet, among Jefferson's incessant preaching, he said something that made Gian perk up. But it is not enough. It will not be enough...what does that mean? Jefferson lost his cool in that moment. Not enough for what? It was enough to get Gian's brain buzzing.

Gian's gloved hand gripped the pencil once more, jotting down the words in her notebook. The teenager loved a challenging puzzle or problem. It sparked a memory of her mother and the daily crossword she would place on the table with her cereal. She never missed a day. Gian half expected to wake up to a crossword placed on her bedside table in the first few weeks of attending Vochertepp.

Thankfully the guilt that followed when reminiscing about her mother was cut short by Louis' choking. Gian's head snapped towards the desperate sounds as Louis was unwillingly lifted from his seat. She watched with intrigue as Louis' arms were slowly swallowed up by the mesmerising darkness. It seemed to scare most students but Gian found herself drawn to it.

Part of her felt the need to stand up, wrap her bare, rotting hands around Jefferson's throat. Watch the life leave his scrutinising eyes. Yet, it made her think...why? Why would she go out of her way to help Louis? It wasn't like Jefferson was going to kill him. Too much paperwork for that, Gian thought. It was an odd feeling that made Gian feel uncomfortable. A feeling she quickly shovelled down into the pit of her stomach.

Luckily for Louis, a voice over the intercom called for Jefferson. After handing out several slips for what Gian assumed was for detention, he headed for the exit. Anastasia was the last to face his wrath, an invisible force sending her back into her seat.

A gasping Louis began to thank the others who came to his aid. That was when Gian realised why Wes flickered the lights with his powers and why Anastasia appeared to have turned the lights off...for those handful of words. They weren't empty alike most words people spoke. They were full of gratitude and brimming with an essence that could quench the insatiable thirst that Gian craved.

A wave of envy hit her. She wished those words were aimed at her.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[blue-jay]

It is true that, whenever Sylvie was having a bad day, some time in Mrs. Lyet's class usually helped her cheer up. However, today was the exception. It had started with her oversleeping—Sylvie hated oversleeping—and, right when it seemed like it was going to get better, it only became more of a mess.

Sylvie deflated a little when Matt gave her a sad smile and began rejecting her request: “You’ll be getting it super soon. I’m just about to wake—”. Before the TA could finish, Del appeared, cold as ever. Sylvie tensed. Although he was about the same height as Bob and only a little taller than Matt, Sylvie got the impression that he was towering over her in a way that the other two weren't. He tended to have that effect on her, as well as a plethora of other intimidating effects. Sylvie watched in awe as he addressed Bob in a not-so-friendly tone, suggesting that the former miner return to his seat. Sylvie's heart jumped off the walls of her chest and she stepped back as she prepared for Del to turn on her with the same sternness, but to her surprise, the cryokinetic turned his attention to Matt next. She was a little relieved that she had avoided admonishment but also a little offended that she hadn't been acknowledged. She took a few steps forward to subtly establish her presence and listen to the interaction that followed.

Sylvie nodded slowly when Del said, “Nobody’s touching these letters. Rules are in place for a reason and it's our duty to follow them." She couldn't say she was surprised that Del made it his job to preserve the order, but she was a little relieved. She hadn't actually had any business trying to sneak around the rules and read her letter like that anyway, had she? As if saving her from herself, Matt had declined and Del had made his stance clear. It's probably for the best, she thought. I just got a little emotional because of the seal, but I can't just break the rules whenever something unexpected happens. I have to remember that getting in trouble here is something serious.

Sylvie figured this was just another example of Del being ahead of her as a star student—even in a class with a sleeping teacher, he maintained his dedication to order. She rationalized her earlier actions: I just... got in my head and got ahead of myself. Get it together, Sylvie! I guess I can just read this super important... and probably super personal letter once Mrs. Lyet wakes up...

And then Del said: "I believe there was some sort of clerical error with the mail because this is an important faculty envelope.” Sylvie watched, very displeased (but hiding it as to not draw his attention), as Del took the manila envelope from Matt and tucked it under his arm. Sylvie's mind boomed with protesting thoughts: Huh?! Why—! That—!... What gives him the right to handle the mail like that? Especially when a perfectly capable TA is here to take care of it?? He's a student just like the rest of us! He can't hold the mail hostage just because he feels like it! 'iMpOrTaNt FaCuLtY eNvElOpE.' Yeah, an important faculty envelope for MRS. LYET, who's literally sitting right there! Well... sleeping right there. But still! The words swirled around in her brain but didn't dare to leave her mouth. She wasn't quite bold enough to attempt contesting anything that Del said or did. In her mind, there was a good chance she might find it turning around on her rather quickly.

“I was just about to wake Mrs. Lyet.”

“There’s no need for any of that-”

Sylvie's head was turning from Matt to Del when her deskmate Lyric appeared, seemingly with no sound, and took the stack of letters from Matt without much effort. She watched as the pink-haired girl put the stack down save for her own letter, went to her desk, and began reading nonchalantly. Sylvie felt something like admiration but tried not to let it show in her face. She noticed the icy glare Del gave to Matt and cringed even though she knew the look wasn't intended for her. She looked from Matt to Del to Lyric, lingering on Lyric with envy as she watched the girl get to scan her letter. Sylvie knew that Lyric wasn't the most obedient student and that many people wouldn't expect someone as studious as Sylvie to want to be like her. Perhaps it was her straightforwardness? Or the way she seemed so in control of whatever emotions were going on behind her cool exterior?

Sylvie’s pondering was interrupted by a flash of red that came from the back of the room. She yelped as an energy ball made contact with the pile of letters and caused them to begin raining down around the room. She seethed and glowed intensely for a moment. I cannot BELIEVE that TIffany has made such a mess out of this cla—! Another ball of red energy came flying and knocked the manila envelope out of Del’s hand. Hm. This time, Sylvie pursed her lips and shrugged, considerably less disapproving of this event. It would give Matt a chance to get the envelope back and give it to the teacher, which was how things should be handled.

Sylvie tuned out the commotion of the class for a moment and turned to Matt. Matt was a reliable TA. He gave her great advice about the school whenever she needed it and answered any questions she had. This had been especially crucial when she had first arrived at Vochertepp and had nearly worried herself to death. On top of being a good TA, he was a decent person, friendly and willing to talk about books with Sylvie whenever there was time. He didn’t deserve to be harassed by the bane of the freshmen nor stormed by a group of students while just trying to drop off the mail. And he certainly didn’t deserve to have to clean up this mess all by himself.

“Sorry about… all of this. I’ll help you pick up the letters!” Sylvie reassured the TA, trying to keep her voice light. ”Once we’ve gotten them all gathered, you can wake up Mrs. Lyet, give her the mail, and tell her what Tiffany did.” Sylvie began turning around to look at the delinquent she was speaking of. “Which was totally against the rules, by the w—!” She was cut short as she took in the sight of Tiffany’s mouth frozen over with a layer of ice. The photokinetic girl looked from Tiffany to Matt, to Del, to the sleeping Mrs. Lyet, to Del again. He can’t just... Sylvie took a deep breath and shook her head, resolving to simply begin her task of helping pick up the letters before she lost her mind. She bent over and picked up one of the letters just as the room went dark.

“What the heck!” Temporary power outages weren’t uncommon at Vochertepp. Sylvie was just astonished that one had decided to happen right now—at a time when there was already a lot to worry about. She held out her hand and focused for a second, causing a ball of sunlight to appear in her hand. The ball was small yet brilliant and warm, bathing and illuminating the room almost as well as the ceiling lights had. “Just until the power comes back,” Sylvie uttered, anticipating that some of her classmates’ attention may be drawn to the light she had released. She would’ve tried to have it float upwards to better light the room, but it was sunlight (radiant but volatile) and she wasn’t certain that she could hold it in a steady sphere from a distance.

Light in hand, Sylvie began walking around and picking up letters. It didn’t take long for her to stumble upon her own. Seeing the seal, she thought: I won’t open it. Even if I really want to, I won’t. She picked it up and examined it, finding that being thrown around by Tiffany’s blast had weakened the latex holding the envelope shut, which had likely already been a bit loose. Now the envelope was practically open, with the letter peeking out enough for Sylvie to catch a few words: ‘Dear Sylvie Angelique Destine… The Millennium City Home for Metahuman Children is sending you this letter to notify you…’

Sylvie’s cheeks burned as looked around, checking to see if anyone was paying her mind. It’s only really breaking the rules if I get caught, right? Besides, I’m sure the actions of Tiff the destroyer over there would eclipse me reading a letter that’s practically already been opened.

The lights came back on just as Sylvie made her decision, so she dissipated the ball of light she had released. Shifting her back towards her classmates, she began walking around as if to just pick up more letters. She read the letter quickly, pulling it out of the envelope just enough to glean the contents. When she finished, she slowly stuffed the letter back into the envelope and turned around. Her stare was directionless. Her face was red. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare to cry in front of all these people.

No. Fucking. Way. Sylvie thought back to her eleventh birthday. Well, she was really thinking about all of her birthdays, but the eleventh stood out because that's when it was became clear to the adults of the Bastion just how powerful she could be. That's when they started calling her 'the Beacon' instead of 'Sylvie.' That's when they became stricter with her access to the outside world. And that's when they made it clear that the Bastion would be her only home. And with the Bastion as her only home, little Sylvie was as good as homeless. Now, judging by the contents of the letter, Sylvie really was homeless except for Vochertepp. A school that she told herself she loved but often found herself questioning.

the beacon

sylvie.

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Maverick.]

Wesley Campbell

relieved — Mr. Jefferson's classroom — interactions: Louis/Stas/Edith/Alex/Gian

Wesley could feel that the lights were going to turn back on just before they did, and his heart jumped along with the generators as they pumped power back into the classroom with a sudden jolt.

His head whipped toward Anastasia when she spoke, and it seemed as though some of the power had transferred directly to her voice from where her fingers touched the light switch. Wesley’s brain, however, was still trying to kick itself back on, and all he could do was stare at her stupidly while he tried to recover from whatever had caused him to short-circuit and blow his attempt at using his powers correctly. It wasn’t until Mr. Jefferson began to speak that he realized what she had been doing, and before he could form any sort of reaction, he was ripped away.

He gripped the edges of his desk, back pressed rigid against his chair as he tried to dig his heels into the floor to anchor himself to the ground. But he was no match for the current that pulled him forward, and instead, his feet slid across the floor like he was slipping on mossy river rocks. His eyes widened like he was staring over the edge of a waterfall, and all he could do was brace himself as his desk skidded to a halt in front of Mr. Jefferson.

The teacher glared down at Wesley, and despite his tepid demeanor, his eyes boiled with orange fire that rolled over the student like waves. Now that he was done being tossed around, Wesley felt his heart sink all the way down to his stomach, and it sat there like a lump of ice as Mr. Jefferson berated him in front of the class.

Once the teacher was done chewing him out, he spit the student backward, and Wesley was flung to the back of the room. He hit the wall with a crash, and his desk clattered sharply from the impact like a ship against a rock cliff. The collision left him gasping, and although his back would no doubt remember the blow for a while, he’d survived the wreck.

While he was still struggling to get his bearings back, Wesley heard his friend begin to drown. He whipped his head in the direction of the noise, and he watched as Louis began to rise from the ground. Something invisible was wrapped around the neck of the other student, and Wesley felt his bones lock into place as his mouth sealed itself shut. He felt like a kid watching a horror movie, and no matter how many times he had played situations like this over and over again in his mind, he could never seem to find a way to protect people from things that he couldn’t see.

Louis was saved by the intercom, and when the student was dropped back to the ground, Wesley let out a breath of relief. He felt his sweat begin to cool against his skin, and his chest relaxed as Mr. Jefferson stalked toward the back of the classroom. Wesley didn’t have to read the pink slip to know what it meant. As the teacher placed one on his desk, his eyes met those of the man in front of him, and his irises remained cool like a glacier in front of a wildfire that refused to melt.

"I hope you find some way to remedy your weakness, Mr. Campbell."

If Wesley were to write up a list of the things that he couldn’t fix, it would start where he signed his own name at the top.

He didn’t realize that Louis was speaking until the other student was finished. At first there was dead silence. It was the kind that Wesley wasn’t a fan of, and so he broke it with a long sigh as he pulled himself to his feet, shoving his pink slip into his pocket as he did so. His spine protested a bit, but he shook it off. He wiped at his clothes, pretending to give an exaggerated dusting off process, one that would hopefully get the show rolling again.

“Wow. That happened,” he laughed, although it came out shaky. He looked down at his desk, shrugging his shoulders as though it hadn’t barreled into the wall only moments before. “A change in the seating chart, I guess.”

He looked around the room, and besides the angry red mark that branded Louis’ throat, the rest of the class seemed to be unscathed. Wesley could feel the static leave his limbs, and he felt more solid now that the scene was over and he was upright. Now that he was the only one standing, he was suddenly very aware that the students had been left alone in a classroom without a teacher.

“Alright,” Wesley began, clearing his throat. He put his hands out as though he were trying to calm the class as he looked around earnestly. “Mr. J has left the building, but don’t worry. I will take over in his absence. Lucky for you guys, everyone passed this test. We will start with grades.”

He began moving toward the front of the class, and he was glad to find out that his gait didn’t wobble. He found Edith in the sea of students, and a warm smile spread easily over his face. It was as though her signature soft glow had reflected in his eyes, and although she never seemed to take up much space, it always seemed to Wesley that she stuck out like a little lighthouse. “Edith! A-plus for being Edith, you absolute ray of sunshine.”

He had been looking at Edith while he was walking, and so his hip had accidentally bumped into one of the desks beside him. He looked down, and before he could control himself, a grimace spread over his face as he took in the startling image that had been drawn on one of the papers resting atop the desk. It was a picture of some grotesque creature, and when he tore his gaze away from the drawing, he saw that the hand that had brought it to life was Alex’s. Wesley bit his tongue, and his cheek protruded a bit where it slid over his teeth. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve said to the other student, but he swallowed it anyway. He took a moment to lean the heel of his hand onto Alex’s desk before he turned his back and headed for the center of the room.

“Gian,” he said, keeping his tone light. The girl’s dark hair fell across her back like crow’s feathers, and her small, fragile stature sometimes made Wesley wonder if her bones might be hollow like a bird’s. “Pretty sure you just kept on doing homework this entire time, and I don’t know whether to be offended or in awe. Completely unbothered. And you know what? I like your style. A-plus for no effort.”

He swerved by Louis’s desk, and he gave the other boy a light fist-bump on his shoulder as he passed. He made sure not to press too hard. Things had been dicey there for a second, and Wesley wanted to keep Louis in one piece for as long as possible. “Louis. You said ‘fuck you” to a teacher, and your hands turn black. Fucking metal. A-plus.”

When he finally made his way to the front of the room, he turned around to face the class. Mr. Jefferson’s desk was behind him at this point, so he hopped up to take a seat on the edge of it. His legs dangled, and he leaned back on his hands as though he were getting comfortable.

Anastasia was still at her desk at the back of the room, and Wesley felt a surge of gratitude well up inside him. It was quickly followed by a pang of guilt. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen her step out of line, and he couldn’t help but feel like her detention slip might as well have been given to her by his own hand. If he hadn’t messed up and blown out the lights, maybe she wouldn’t have stood up at all. But she had.

“Stas,” he called, and he raised a finger to point at her. “Student of the hour. Excellent work and exemplary behavior. A-plus honor roll. Everyone, take notes.”

He leaned forward again and placed his hands in his lap. His eyes drifted down toward his feet, and he kicked them back and forth slightly as the tips of his shoes hovered over the ground. Now that he had propped himself up at the front of the class, he suddenly felt like he was stuck there. He was tired, and he was out of jokes.

If Wesley were to give himself a grade, it would’ve been an F. Just like Mr. Jefferson had said. Regardless of how things had turned out, he had still failed.


birth of venus Flutz ravensunset stellamaris idiot cablebelly

 

[ravensunset]

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  a mess of emotions-- scared, relieved, thankful, upset?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Mr. Jefferson's classroom.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  cablebelly birth of venus Flutz Maverick. stellamaris idiot
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

edith.

The room was dark and Edith’s fingers were glowing, itching, yearning for something to control. The room was dark and Edith’s eyes were closed, focusing on the feeling of the sun under her skin, on the spreading awareness of the dead wood of the desk under her fingertips, Edith’s eyes were closed and shutting out the dark.

The room didn’t stay quiet for long, Stas’ voice cutting through the dark, echoing what Edith only wished she had the bravery to have done. When Edith’s eyes opened, the room was again light. A breath escaped her lips as her hands squeezed into fists, crushing the glow between them and sending Edith’s eyes into their usual warm brown. The rushing warmth in her veins faded away, absorbing into her and into nothing at all.

Edith didn’t like the dark. And yet, taking in the situation in front of her, she wished the lights had stayed off. There was a squirming, crawling feeling inside of her she didn’t quite know how to untangle. Gratefulness for Stas standing up for Louis? Fear for Mr. Jefferson’s inevitable retribution? Jealousy of Stas’ bravery, ability to stand up when she couldn’t, or shame at having done just about nothing to help? Edith had no problem thinking up the possibilities, sorting into easy words assigned to emotion, but whatever was inside of her wouldn’t be so easily labelled. She looked up at Stas, and then at Mr. Jefferson, and,

oh.

The room was full of light, and Edith’s eyes weren’t glowing, but Mr. Jefferson’s were. There was a small thump right next to her, and it took nearly all of Edith’s willpower to make herself look over at Louis. It was subtle, the way he was being held in place, but between the unnatural position and Mr. Jefferson’s glowing eyes, it wasn’t all that hard to tell. The room was full of light, and all of it was malevolent, cruel, yearning for their hurt, the way that light, at least as Edith knew it, should never be.

Mr. Jefferson kept going, turning to Stas, to Wes, cruel as ever, but more than that, dangerous. Ready to hurt. The room was full of light yet everything was happening too quickly to truly see despite that. Wes, being pulled forward, then launched back with a slam against the wall, Louis’ arms crawling with darkness, him being yanked upwards, choking.

Oh, if only Edith had been born with the power to hurt. If only she’d been gifted something powerful instead.

The crackle of the intercom was a blessing, the unembodied voice being something Mr. Jefferson couldn’t touch, or hurt, and had to obey. He left, the door clicking shut behind him, yet not before Louis, Stas, and Wes were given pink slips, and the same pang in Edith’s chest that had accompanied Stas’ words returned. Sympathy for her friends? Hope they’d be okay, anger at Mr. Jefferson for doing it? Or, perhaps, jealousy at getting left out of it. No, that--

come on, Edith. Really. You can’t seriously be jealous of getting written up. Not that.

Everything inside her felt off, wrong, out of order, but Mr. Jefferson had left the room and the light returned to a quiet neutral, simply watching the remaining students. For the first time that day, she managed to catch Louis’ eyes as he spoke, his words,

holy fuck,

echoing her own thoughts.

“I’m so sorry,”

she blurted out, as though her voice had returned when the room became just them, she couldn’t quite say what the apology was for but she could at least say it,

“I’m so sorry that was--- Stas, that was amazing you were---”

the words were as uncontrolled as Louis’ had seemed, spilling out of her without being thought through first,

“Are you okay? Did that--- hurt--- I’m sorry--- he’s gone at least,”

Her eyes moved between her classmates, taking everything in, aiming the words at everyone around her, but most of all her eyes stayed on Louis. She might’ve continued talking, moving on to Wes, but when she looked around the class for him she found his chair at the back of the room, him getting up out of it, and the words again became stuck in her throat at the sight. She sucked in another breath at the realization of just how strongly Mr. Jefferson must’ve thrown him.

A moment of quiet hung over the room, and then Wesley stood up, somehow with a laugh.

That happened.

And then he kept talking, and the traces of Mr. Jefferson seemed to melt away with his voice, addressing the students. Addressing her.

For being Edith.

He might as well have said for having done nothing at all, but the genuity in his voice made her smile, actually smile, something she wasn’t expecting to have done so quickly after the whole display. She watched him turn to Gian, to Louis, to Stas, and he was right about all of them. He made it to the front of the room and for a moment it felt like that silence would return. No, Edith wouldn’t let it.

“What now?”

Edith said, quietly but able to be heard, raising her hand in the air in the mockery of asking a teacher a question,

“What if we all just leave? Or barricade the door so Mr. Jefferson can’t get back in? What’s our assignment, Mr. Wesley?”

Both suggestions were nowhere near serious, of course, both would cause more trouble than they’d solve, and she hoped the joking way she’d added a title to Wes’ name conveyed that. But with Wesley at the front of the classroom it was almost like the danger was gone, like they had full reign. Everyone was alive, momentarily safe, and wasn’t that enough? The room was full of light, and it was light Edith knew, calming and helpful and good.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[stellamaris]

stas.

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  cablebelly Flutz birth of venus Maverick. idiot ravensunset
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

It was a pretty color. Deceptive when associated with a man like Jefferson.

Stas couldn't tear her gaze away from it as he advanced on her, only looking away when he turned his attention to Wesley. Quiet horror enveloped her as she watched his desk skid across the room only to almost slam back against the wall. Her eyes widened further as Jefferson's wrath turned to Louis, fingers twitching as she thought about stepping in and turning his focus onto her once more. But she was frozen in place. Not even because of the teacher, merely by her own fear. Pathetic.

And she stayed that way until the intercom sounded and she was forced back into her seat, air pushed out of her lungs at the abrupt meeting of her back against the chair.

Vaguely she was aware of the pink slip placed on her desk and then the others speaking around her, some even to her, but her eyes were focused on the door that Jefferson had left out of, half expecting him to come thundering back in with a vengeance.

What have I done? It didn't even work, it wasn't enough.

The image of Louis floating in the air with shadows licking up his skin was plastered at the forefront of her mind, accompanied with Wesley's desk sliding across the room. Despite having never been on the receiving end of punishment at Vochertepp's she had known what was in store for students who acted out of line. The only difference now was that she had witnessed it happening to those she cared about most.

Anastasia blinked at the sound of her name in a familiar voice. Wes' voice. When she started to come back to her surroundings, Stas seemed to look through those that were speaking to her. Looking at them but not seeing them. Clammy hands smudged with graphite clenched into fists, nails digging into the palms of her hands hard enough that the pain anchored her to reality.

Student of the hour.

Her brows furrowed in confusion at that. Why was everyone so impressed? She had failed. Louis could've been killed and it would've been her f-

Edith's question interrupted her train of thought. Probably a good thing.

Her voice sounded foreign to her when she spoke,

"Leaving won't help, he'll find us either way."

she shook her head.

"Barricades won't work either."

she added, void of emotion, crossing her arms on her desk so she could lean onto them.

It had been a new sensation – having the attention of everyone in the room. One she didn't enjoy in the slightest. Her skin crawled with the itch to hide and blend into the background, make herself as small as possible. Stas hadn't felt this way in years, but she supposed this change in routine behavior was the reason for her unresolved trauma rearing its ugly head. Regardless, she refocused herself on the sketchbook in front of her. The owl was unfinished and the lines had gotten smudged in her hurry to get to the light switch, but it was enough to capture her attention. She absently traced it with her finger as she took a deep, shaking breath. They were safe for now. Jefferson was gone. Louis was okay despite being a little bruised. So was Wes. She could breathe.

Still shaken but more present, she allowed herself to grow silent. Part of her had admired how Gian had kept her composure throughout the ordeal, seemingly unaffected by the violence around her. Absently, she wondered if things would have turned out better for her friends had she done the same thing.

Stas picked up her pencil and continued her drawing to soothe herself, gaze flickering up to Wesley at the front of the room and then back to her owl. Someone else could take charge and decide what to do. Stas would do what she did best.

Taking action had only seemed to backfire anyway.

He seemed afraid, what if he doesn't come back? Will they send someone else?

She started on the details of the feathers, leaning closer to her paper as she mentally went back over the situation. There weren't many things she assumed could scare Jefferson, and Vochertepp certainly didn't seem like the kind of school that cared about teachers that punished their students. He had mentioned that it would never be enough. Stas pressed her pencil harder into the paper with the lines she drew.

What will never be enough? What was he so afraid of?

The snapping of her graphite breaking startled her, and she frowned. So much for distracting herself.

Sighing, she closed her sketchbook and leaned back in her seat, eyes resting on Louis and the splotchy redness on his neck. Then Wesley who suddenly seemed at a loss for words. Edith, who was asking Wes for direction. Gian, who never said much of anything, and then Alex. They had studied together on occasion but she knew next to nothing about him. Jefferson hadn't even looked in his direction, she thought. Odd, considering Jefferson usually picked on everyone – even Gian.

Her gaze went back to Louis, concerned now.

"Louis, your neck – does it hurt? Wes I- "

she stopped short as she looked to Wes, suddenly unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry it wasn't enough."

freaks

surf curse

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[erzulie]

mood

tense, ready

location

mrs.lyet’s class

outfit

vochertepp uniform

tags

interactions: del ( fin )

lyric

”silence speaks and truth shrieks.”

Lyric had only been attending Vochertepp for a year but the wound her parents had left was still fresh. The bitterness in her heart had only festered as time passed, though she kept it under lock and key. She didn’t need anything distracting her from her goals. Lyric refused to let her emotions cloud her judgment, not with the school watching her like a hawk. They were no doubt looking for weaknesses, something to hold over her head. Though her expression was neutral there was no mistaking the way her jaw had clenched, it was easy to see how hard she gripped the paper in her hands. Lyric was unaware of the world around her for the first time in a long time.

Dear Songbird,

I’m sorry that I haven’t had the chance to write to you, I know that you’re wondering what’s been going on at home. Knowing you, you haven’t been responding to any of her parents' letters. Ever since you left I never stopped letting your parents know that sending you away was a mistake, that they shouldn’t have blindly trusted that school by taking everything at face value. Well, they got tired of it I’m guessing. Songbird, they sent me away. They stuck me in some damn nursing home without so much as a warning. I would have never guessed that my own blood would treat me like this. I’ll keep this short though because I don’t know whether this school goes through your mail or not. Just remember what I’ve told you, remember it's not the song, it is the singin’, it’s the heaven of the human spirit ringin', it is the bringin' of the line, it is the bearin' of the rhyme, it’s not the wakin', it's the risin'.”

Love, Papa Ernest

Quietly, she whispered the words to the song. She could read in between the lines of the lyrics, she had never been more grateful for their code. The way the talked to each other through lyrics. She closed her eye, taking a deep breath. Lyric let that feeling of apathy wash over her once again. Like a fire her determination had been lit anew. And all at once, she was aware of what was going on around there once again. Lyric looked up as she balled up her letter. So much for letting the teacher read over it. If they wanted, they could retrieve it from the trash like the dogs they were.

Her eyes went to Tiffany, her gazing dropping to the layer of ice over her mouth. Lyric then turned her attention to Delano. Her eyes narrowed in challenge. He was another that jumped through hoops for the school’s approval, talking to others in that tone suggested he was better than others. It annoyed her, how he was trying to run things. It was cute how he tried to gain control of the situation, only to lash out. He really was no better than the rest of them here. Despite his power, poking his buttons was easy. The thought caused her to smirk slightly.

Lyric could only shake her head at Sylvie, the look on her face had changed. She had a red tint to her face now, she looked as if she was holding something back as she picked up letters. Lyric stood from her desk once again, glancing at Del once more before looking to the milia folder on the floor. She knew that whatever was inside had to be important. But then again, why place it in a room full of students, knowing that the teacher fell asleep often. Lyric didn’t have the answers but she would find out. Anything to help her get closer to her goal.

She didn’t hesitate, once she was close enough she grabbed the folder and quickly turned so her back wasn’t to Delano. The girl was tense as she began opening the letter. Clearly he was brave enough to use his powers on fellow students, Lyric wouldn’t give him an opening. She continued to back up, tense, eyes trained on him intensely.

​

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​

nine lives

 

[calypso]

mirabelle.

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  fin erzulie cablebelly listener nh1 boo. blue-jay mikaluvkitties
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Every morning, Mirabelle awoke with her eyes glued shut.

At first, it seemed like an impossible task. How does one actually know they're awake if they don't open their eyes? Perhaps they just dreamed they woke up, and soon they'd actually open their eyes to the world.

Not Mirabelle, however. She didn't get the luxury of morning sunlight tickling her eyes open, whispering for her to get ready for the day. Instead, she woke with a cold start that caused her breathing to become labored and heavy for only a few moments. Thankfully, her roommate never seemed to mention her troubling mornings, whether she noticed it or not. It was a silent gesture that Mirabelle appreciated, even if she never mentioned it.

Once she was actually awake, her morning routine was rather easy. Fumble her right hand to the side blindly, trying to reach the exact same place every morning. Although the desk next to her bed featured many different items, such as lotions and magazines, Mirabelle only pawed for one every morning. A neatly folded pair of glasses, with a hinted pink hue. High-quality and highly expensive, these glasses were the last thing she bought with her money. Before, you know, her mother locked her accounts and took every last penny she had earned.

It didn't matter, however.

By the time Mirabella finally grabbed the glasses off her desk, it was only a matter of seconds before she unfolded the pair and slid them over her eyes. It was only then that she'd actually open her eyes up to the world, and let out a sigh of relief. It was odd how quickly she came to rely on the weight of the glasses for comfort. Odd enough that she couldn't even remember what comforted her before.

It didn't matter now, however. The rest of her routine was rather mundane, including locking herself in the bathroom so she could wash her face without the worry of someone making eye-contact. Truthfully, she avoided making eye contact with herself in the mirror. Although her eyes would always give off a soft glow, nothing exciting would happen. Her own powers didn't work on her thankfully, though she was always reminded of its constant presence when she peaked at herself.

That's why she was here. So she could turn off this stupid power for once. So she could remove these damn glasses and look at the world without a tinge of pink to it all. Maybe then she'd be able to find comfort in more than just a pair of shades.

---

Mrs. Lyet's class was a welcomed rest to the hectic world of Vochertepp. The older woman often found herself dozing off, which left the students to (mostly) their own devices. Mostly, since there was a TA in the class. Although she hadn't spoken to Matthew before, Mirabelle would often peek at him through her shades. While the glasses primarily stopped her power from going off on every single person, they also blocked her eyes from view. This allowed for far too much subtle staring on her end, a habit she didn't exactly mean to start. At first, she stole quick glances at her fellow classmates, afraid they'd somehow notice her fleeting looks.

However, it soon became obvious that no one knew what was going on beneath her glasses. When she had first arrived at the school, it felt like every single minute someone would ask what her deal was, and if she'd take her glasses off. After a polite smile and a shake of her head, most gave up. There were far more interesting people at the school, so it wasn't exactly worth it to linger on some random chick who probably couldn't see well indoors. (She really couldn't truly. Her navigation abilities were slowly improving, but it wasn't uncommon to see Mirabelle directly walk into a trashcan or even a wall.)

It was that gentle aloofness that helped Mirabelle avoid most people who would recognize her. It was unavoidable that some fans would seek her out, but her reluctance to discuss anything about herself slowly drove them away. A couple still stuck around in an attempt to break down that hard exterior, but they were slowly starting to realize it was futile. Mirabelle was as locked up as one could be.

The classroom of Mrs. Lyet was free of those pushy fans, which allowed Mirabelle to silently sit and contemplate the majority of the time. It wasn't great to let the mind wander, but it was far better than letting herself speak. The last thing she needed to do was make a fool of herself in front of some of the strongest students at this school, especially when it came to the power department.

'Hi, yes. I'm Mirabelle, and I just simply can't control my powers. I'm also known for being a bitch on T.V, and honestly a little bit around the school. Can't catch a break, can I? So how about that lunch?'

Yeah, no thanks.

Stuck deep in her own thoughts, Mirabelle hadn't even realized the series of events going on around her until a letter shot past her face with a burst of energy. Involuntarily leaping back in her seat, one hand shot up to push her glasses back into place as they nearly slid right off. A bit bewildered, her head turned to stare at the commotion that had been going on behind her. Her pink hair bobbed in its ponytail, a bit stuck to the lip-gloss she had delicately put on that morning.

To no surprise, it was Tiffany causing issues in the classroom. Tiffany...Tiffany was one of those girls Mirabelle was supposed to hate. She caused trouble on purpose and relished in the chaos that happened soon after. Those types of students were always bad news, and never truly got anywhere in life. At least, that's what Mirabelle had been told all her life. Causing trouble got you nowhere, no matter how hard you tried after.

Yet Mirabelle didn't hate her. In fact, she secretly admired her chaotic classmate. She'd never tell her that, but she couldn't help it. How amazing would it be to just do whatever the hell you wanted without the fear of repercussions? Mira would never do anything violent or hurt anyone, but this sort of low level chaos was something she secretly desired. A few letters flying around was fun!

What wasn't fun, however, was the ice that slowly crept across the blonde troublemaker's mouth. Widening her eyes under her glasses, it was becoming clear Mirabelle had misjudged the seriousness of the situation. What the hell was so important about mail? She used to get mail all the time from fans, most of it was just...junk. Her eyes snapped from Tiffany over to Delano, the cause of the ice.

Delano was...something else. As icy as his own powers, she had made sure to avoid the model student for some time. He was just too much for poor Mirabelle, at least the moment. Especially right now, as he was clearly not above using his powers. If he already used them on Tiffany, then his next victim was...

Swallowing thickly, Mirabelle said nothing as her roommate, Lyric, rose from her seat to pick up a far fancier letter that was positioned near her. Compared to Del, Lyric was someone Mirabelle actually liked. Especially since she had to live with her. Yet at the moment, she couldn't help but cringe at her decision. It was clear Del wanted that letter, so why risk it? Were they really going to fight?

No, no fights. There was already too much going on right now, and the last thing she wanted to do was heat up Lyric with her hairdryer later in the room. Something also told her Lyric wouldn't go down without an equal fight, based on the fire in her gaze. Nothing good was going to come from these two.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Mirabelle suddenly pushed her chair back with a loud scrap. Cringing instantly, the pink-haired girl scrambled between Lyric and Del, her glasses trained on the icy-powered student while her back faced Lyric.

It was impossible to see the pleading look in her eyes at the moment due to her glasses, but she could only hope that her voice conveyed the message well enough.

"It's not worth it, Del. I-I mean," she quickly stuttered out, glancing back at Lyric for only a moment before she returned her attention to Del.

"It's just a letter, I'm sure Tiffany has had her fun too. It's not like she's objecting, right?" She said with a nervous laughter, making sure to not look at Tiffany while she said that. Even if her lips were sealed shut with ice, that girl could still blast her across the classroom.

"W-What I mean to say," she continued, coughing slightly. Oh, this was going so well. Everyone probably thought she was an idiot for trying to mediate this, but if she could just...

"Just don't do anything you'll regret, Del. You know we aren't supposed to be using our powers, and the only evidence of powers being used here right now is stuck to Tiffany's lips. I-If you ask me, it's pretty obvious who did that. So why don't we just...all look at the letter. It's already opened at this point, and you don't want another student to report you for what you did to Tiffany, right?"

Ohthiswasuchabadideawhywasshethreatningdelanojesuschrist-

She then meekly smiled at him, though without her eyes visible, it was hard to tell the intention.

cry for love

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[nh1]

Bob Strassman

Mrs. Lyet's Class
​

His plan had failed. That much was clear. Whatever he hoped to achieve by cooling off the situation had utterly and disasterously failed. That was the only thought that kept repeating itself in his head as he watched the various students become more and more emotional. He stood stock still as the blast blew the letters around. He reached instictively for his helmet. It was one of those things you never really forget. They drilled it into him for as long as he could remember. He clutched his yellow jacket close to him. He felt the belt hold his flashlight. It wasn't there, must have dropped somewhere. He needed to call the manager. Explosions on this side of the mountain aren't scheduled till ten. He smelled the air. Didn't smell any chemicals. So it wasn't an accident. Didn't smell any poweder either. The demolition crew shouldn't be here yet....

His eyes opened. When had he closed them? He glanced around at the mass of people weaving and dodging their way to collect the letters. His hands stopped shaking. When had that started?

Then just as he breathed a sigh. Darkness. Immediately he dropped to the ground. His hands covered his head. His body crouched. The rocks would hit his back soon. Remember.....Remember....protocol. When a mineshaft collapses, One. drop into the crouched position. Let the rocks fall into your back. Your head mouth heart and lungs are the vital organs. Protect those first. Then you wait. Rocks fall at such speed you don't have time to do anything but try to breathe. You take deep breaths. Wait for the tremors....wait.....a light is peaking through.....thats good. Breathable air is hear. Most dangerous part of a cave in is the slow depletion of breathable air. He opens his bleary eyes...

Hope. If he could just keep crawling forward towards the light...maybe.....he could make it out....see his dad....his mom....


As he crawled on his hands and knees forward in the dark, he kept his head down. If any stray rocks fall you need to protect your eyes from shrapnel. If the shaft struts have collapsed the metal could be falling....

He began breathing as he made his way forward. Maybe.....maybe.....his head his a pole. what? are those.....shoes.....what.....he looked up.....

People were walking around. Looks like they found him. He kept crawling. He had read the manual. It took him awhile to get through the 45 page manual miners were given. But he had read it. Passed the safety inspection. Was able to answer the questions. He kept crawling. It saved his life once. It would save it again. Keep calm. Breathe if possible. If you smell chemicals, try to avoid breathing them in. If possible dig yourself out. It was good that his arms still worked. And his legs.

The lights came back on right then. The lights flashed and his eye closed again before he slowly opened them....

A few of the students were staring at him. Somehow, he had made it into the center of the pathway between the two rows of desks......

He slowly stood up avoiding everyones gaze. That.....that was embarrassing.......

He walked to the desk he and clover shared. He stared down at his hands for a bit as he collected himself. It was just his luck. Ever since the mine collapse and the subsequent use of his powers, the mine had invested a lot more in safety. The old shafts were closed down as the mine shifted to mining iron. Better struts were purchased and the safety of the mine was higher as the company could actually afford the safety equipment it needed.

But he hadn't faced a real shaft collapse since that day. When the electrical lights that lit up the dark cavern went dark, when the mountain shook and his father cried out after getting knocked down by falling rocks faster than he could run over. He hadn't ever forgotten the dark tunnels. With no light, as his power first came through. He had picked up his father and placed him on his back as he dragged himself a good mile and a half, crawling through tight spaces, following his power's mental map of the shaft to carry his dad out. All he could focus on was keeping his dad safe. It was what kept him from not thinking about the broken leg he had. But that feeling. That drive to make sure those around him were safe. He could never forget it...

He took a deep breath and turned too Clover. He was sure his ashen white face covered with sweat and dripping was obvious. He hoped it didn't seem to bad to everyone.....when had he gotten that sweaty....he could only do what he always did when stressed out...try to take care of other people to avoid his own issues.

He gave a small smile. "Ehehehe........letters am I right? Who knew they would be so important......ummm....you doing ok? That was something there when the power went out. You holding up ok?"


listener

 

[mikaluvkitties]

Delano hadn’t even finished speaking before his hands were quite suddenly empty. For a second, he was simply frozen, weighing the emptiness in his hands. Before even thinking of looking to the perpetrator, he looked to Del. And Del… Del was pissed. In his defense, it was only right to be pissed. Matt had fucked this entire thing up from the start. A lump sat in his throat as he held back the urge to say he obviously hadn’t meant for her to take the letters like that—That he hadn’t planned on anyone being that brazen about it. That didn’t matter here. Only results. God, what was Mr. Ahuja going to say?

He forced himself to look at Lyric as she spoke to him. He knew she was a bit of a troublemaker, but to take the letters from him like that? He never should’ve taken his letter. He’d ignored due process and these were the consequences. If none of the students had touched the letters, no one would have been able to think anything of the fact he didn’t have one. And honestly, the fact the only one he had was from Lazarus hurt. He opened his mouth to respond only because he’d already been silent too long, not quite sure of anything except whatever came out of his mouth wouldn’t be believable—

The letters went flying. His head whipped back to Tiffany, face doing something complicated as he tried to keep from anything more than a frown. What a mess. What a god damned mess. And on his watch, in front of him. If he couldn’t even handle this, how could he expect to succeed in anything else? And a part of him, the part still thinking about the letter, wondered what Lazarus would think that he was even thinking like that in the first place. He had to know what the letter said—

The envelope in Delano’s soared to the center of the room. Shitty as it was, it did make him feel a little better. Mrs. Lyet’s mail was much more important than the general population’s and if Delano could lose it… Granted, he shouldn’t have even had it in the first place. Oh God, he was going to get in so much trouble for this. He had to get this back under control.

Thank God for Sylvie. He was still staring at the manila envelope in the middle of the floor, willing himself to move for it when she spoke. At least someone wasn’t trying to make things even more difficult than they already were. All he said was, “Please.” With the word, he was finally able to move into action… until he heard Del. He frowned, looking back at Tiffany.

Oh. Oh no. He turned to Delano slowly, again frozen in indecision. That was… that was majorly against the rules. He has to say something. As much as he hates it, he’s the only authority in the room who can. But it’s Delano and Delano’s already mad at him. Telling him he’s out of line… What if that only makes it worse? What if he hates him after? He already doesn’t think Matthew can manage something a simple as a classroom. This still happened on his watch, though. He can’t just ignore it because they’re friends.

The lights went out and the flood of relief was instant. Maybe, just maybe, something worse was happening somewhere else in the school, something that’d dwarf this. Guilt eats at him. How could he think that? He’s just wishing bad things on people now.

When the lights come back on, Lyric had the manila envelope. Of course. Of course it’s Lyric. It’s just going to be her all damned day, isn’t it? His lips purse as she backs up, frozen by just how fed up with this he’s getting.

Before anyone can do anything else, one of the few students Matthew didn’t know stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation which, given Del had just frozen someone’s lips shut, might not have been…

She was voting they all read Ms. Lyet’s letter together.

And that, well, that was it.

“Absolutely not.” He unstuck himself from the ground, walking up to Lyric calmly enough, addressing the class as a whole. “I am done with this. Hounding me at the door, using our powers in class, disobeying the proper order of these things. What is up with you guys today? Is it really that hard to behave in Mrs. Lyet of all people’s class? You know Mr. Jefferson’s right across the hall, right? He is right there. This gets out of hand enough—You don’t want that. Hell, I’m not even a student and I don’t want that. Just give me the damned envelope and help clean up the letters.”

erzulie fin calypso​

 

[listener]

clover leah | mrs. lyet's 2nd period class

Paper was paper and Clover was Clover, but with her eyes aglow, sage green pools stared into her waiting hands and yet all she saw were the minute strokes of ink on paper and lettering harshly stamped. Attempting not to pry was counterintuitive, as letters formed words and words formed sentences, and her powers deemed it necessary to see in order to duplicate.

Names, written in penmanships that Clover swore spoke in personalities, jumped out to her; the return address for Markham Residence was scratched in a messy hand, barely readable, but the strokes against paper were soft. Jason Bauver's hand was unusually potent, the cursive indentations strong and precise, similarly to her father's, though his hand bore into the page much more than who she assumed was lonely Louis' dad. Papa Earnest's shaky scrawl sent a shiver down her spine, it's undulated pressure upon the page something she had never seen before.

With a sharp inhale, Clover felt the rush of information flow through her and with it, a sudden realization that she could feel the fibers of every paper in the room. Frowning, she set aside the realization for now, and forced herself to focus only on the ones surrounding Matt. She wasn't sure how long it took, as Clover had a tendency to get hazy when her concentration was pushed to its limits, but she knew it was finished when she felt the familiar thump of weight in her hands.

And in that instant, three things happened. Her heart began to race, the light fluttered into non existence, and Clover, heart pounding between her ears, slid the bundle of papers straight into her backpack. This was her first rule breaking at Vochertepp and something within her gut twisted uneasily. Perhaps she shouldn't have done that... but the paranoia the teachers presented with needing to read letters and strict curfews was starting to settle over her as well.

Clover glanced around the room, eyes no longer glowing, and blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the sudden light. It was only then that Clover realized the tension had not only doubled, but tripled, and was bound to end with some pink slips.

That was also when she noticed Bob, doing something like an army crawl down the main aisle of desks, eyes wide with fright— and embarrassment. She looked at him with worried eyes as he made his way back beside her. She must have looked frightened as well, especially after what came out of his mouth first.

Did he see me shove the letters in my bag? Or is he just mentioning... whatever the heck happened while I was busy copying the letters?

Clover let out an uncomfortable giggle, brows still furrowed with worry as she peeked around him and got another good glance of the classroom. "Yeah— yeah, things are getting kind of intense. I promise it's not usually like this. Or at least it hasn't been for me, fighting is usually never worth it." Clover replied softly.

"And yeah, the lights going out and well, you know," she said with a gesture to the room. "Just kinda took me off guard. How about you," Clover asked tentatively, almost whispering, "You kinda look like you saw a ghost. Everything ok?"

nh1