INTRO MINGLE

[whimsicalism]

WELCOME IN

ORIENTATION DAY

(CW: Slight undertones of experiences of unreality.)

It’s a bright Monday afternoon at the Academy. If the sun happened to be visible, it would certainly be shining. The new semester that everyone has been waiting for is about to begin!

All students wake up at exactly the same time–not that you’re aware of this. Even those who don’t normally sleep must have given into slumber at some point; they, too, will jolt awake with the strangest sensation that someone was just whispering in their ears. The beds that you’ll find yourself in are small and unfamiliar, and you wake up wearing a uniform that you don’t recognize even though it fits you like a glove. A red book with black cardstock lining the inner cover sits on each dorm nightstand. Opening the book reveals a strange code of conduct. The following pages list, in alphabetical order, all of the students.

Beyond the handbook and a change of familiar clothes in the closet, there’s little personalization to the rooms, and they lack most homey comforts. As unusual as these surroundings may seem, it’s impossible to shake the subtle, lingering excitement: It’s the first day of school! What a delightful occasion. Shouldn’t everyone want to make the most of the year? The subtle, unshakeable desire to achieve sits in the back of every mind like the story of a happy dream. Perhaps you brush your hair or wash your teeth before going on with your splendid day. Your reflection in your bathroom mirror looks a little off, did you forget to cut your hair before the big day? Perhaps you realize that your nails or claws have been trimmed recently. A little odd but you must have been excited for a brand new school year.

The world outside the dorm room holds a few more answers, but most things are still shrouded in mystery. Today, it seems that some rooms are still locked up tight from summer vacation. Beside the dormitory and hallways, only the cafeteria, kitchen, gym, playground, school store, and A/V room are accessible. Outside the cafeteria, a digital sign titled DAILY SCHEDULE offers little structure, save for one afternoon event: 5PM - PREFECT’S ORIENTATION - AUDITORIUM. There’s a lot of business to take care of on the first day of school, after all. No one can just be expected to start learning without the proper preparation.

With some time to kill before the promised orientation takes place–and, according to that rulebook, everyone is expected to attend–students have only each other and the various robot sheep for company. With such a small class, perhaps working together will bring you newfound and long-lasting partnerships. The robotic staff seem polite, at least, if a bit confused at the sudden flurry of non-scheduled activities.

How will you spend your first day before classes begin?

OOC NOTES

Welcome to the IC intro mingle for Round 2! Your characters have the afternoon to meet one another, get lunch at the school cafeteria, review their student handbooks, harass the Little Brother robots, and prepare for the upcoming school semester in this post. As promised, the Prefect will meet everyone in the auditorium at 5pm and will post their own introductory comment at that time (Eastern).

While we're sure that some people are dying to get a head start on investigating all of the mysteries of the school (we're excited to reveal them), please hold your investigation comment ideas until the weekly post goes up tomorrow. As all ground floor locations should be open for exploration at that time, we invite everyone to scratch all of your investigation itches on tomorrow's post at noon (also Eastern)! In lieu of investigation threads today, characters may speak to/question/accost the Little Brothers, who have an NPC thread down below.

Thank you, and have fun!

Comments

What is this?

[holyironmade]

[Jeanne is taking some time to observe the overwhelmed girl from a safe distance as she's surrounded by, like, gremlins. There's something familiar about the motions, that's easy to empathize with. It finally sinks in... that these are the movements Jeanne wanted to make, that she collected herself thoroughly to avoid making. Combined with the ornate hair... yes, Jeanne has a theory. She'll gently put it out there.]

It's a rather short dress, isn't it?

[curdle]

[ She is struck by the hair before anything else.

Thomasin has seen little enough of beauty, and so she can find it in the most mundane things — the sun shining through glass windows, or the light reflecting off a silver cup. This means that her stare, once directed at something both pretty and unfamiliar, like a younger girl's long silver hair, is particularly obvious. She only dimly registers that she, too, is being observed, though register she does.

She is of an age with Caleb, she thinks, though much smaller... and then the girl speaks! Thomasin looks sufficiently chastened before answering. ]

... Yes. [ The girl's voice rings strange in her ears, it is true, but that is the least of her worries. She can, at least, understand what she's just said, and she can agree with it! ] 'Tis strange. Whence I came, even a shift should not end so high.

[holyironmade]

[Oh, she seems to be struggling quite a bit. Is this genuinely historical reenactment or just a reverence that she's not familiar with?]

It took me a while to get used to wearing outfits like this for battle. ...and the provided trousers seem even worse in their own way, don't they? I won't begrudge the other girls their choice, but I hope we can get sorted out in due time. I'm afraid I've been quite negligent in my own hair...

[In the icons Jeanne has headdresses that she doesn't have right now. Pain.]

[curdle]

Aye, to go bareheaded so feels as if I do a wrong. I found my things, laid out in the small chamber with no basin, [ it's a closet, she's talking about the closet ] but to put them on now... some creature must have dressed us thus for some secret purpose. I fear what might come of defiance.

... It is very pretty, though. Thy hair.

cntuaw

[holyironmade]

I have reason to hope that our garb was simply transformed. Though that is fearsome in its own right. [She does seem genuinely afraid about the alternative, to be convincing herself just as much as the older girl. This unease segues into her flattered affect about the hair thing.]

...I must not be vain, but I am happy to have so much.

[curdle]

[ This appears to be a more frightening option to Thomasin; she drops the topic of hair, her eyes widening slightly. ]

You think they worked a spell upon us.

[holyironmade]

[Oh, perhaps she's pushing too hard. Jeanne spends very little time among humans (as people with her type of magical ability call those who lack them) and has virtually no practice in distinguishing safe topics, particularly in this situation that to her seems obviously magical and moderately dire. She raises her hands to mime what she's talking about.]

Do you feel any marks of rope that bound us so we could be brought here? The scent of a drug? [She's about to say "needle" but then remembers her strange description of the basin room. Let's not mix it up with a sewing needle.] Is there a mark from something sharp that infected your blood?

[curdle]

No. [ She repeats, almost to herself: ] No. I've no new pains, nor marks neither.

[ And she checked! While she's still frightened, and this younger child seems less so, Thomasin can — and must — collect herself. She can clarify what she meant to say. ]

I think you speak aright. 'Tis that what frightened me, and not thy words.

[holyironmade]

Very well then. [At least they are on the same page! Perhaps Thomasin is not even as mundane as she seems.]

Have you encountered such a thing before?

[curdle]

Not as you said, not to clothes. But...

[ She hopes she is not mistaken — not in her story, which she knows to be truth, but in sharing it. ]

The hare I spied in the goat shed, a-driving the nannies to distraction... and then in the wood, the very day next. It was no hare.

[holyironmade]

[She nods sadly.]

It is unfortunate when the natural spirit becomes unnatural. ...was there any way to soothe its soul?

[curdle]

Her soul. [ ... ] Pray pardon me, I did not speak it clear. 'Twas not a hare made something else. It was a woman in the shape of a hare, whose soul belongeth to the Devil.

A witch.