Darren Nichols didn't care that he was holding class on Saturday. He was a genius and the toast of Berlin. Naturally, students would be delighted and honored to learn from him, no matter the day of the week. He hadn't set out drinks or food, either. Either they showed up for the love of theatre or they didn't show up at all.

"I'd wish you all a good morning, but, frankly, as you know by now, I don't care what kind of morning you miscreants and degenerates are having."

He loved adolescents, really.

"Next week, we'll be watching the zombie band at Caritas in their original interpretation of Chekov's The Cherry Orchard, which I'm sure you'll agree will be the likeliest pinnacle of theatrical excellence that you will find in this one-horse bwat of a town. So, be sure to meet there."

No, he wasn't forgetting Geoffrey's theatre company. He wished that he could, as well as forgetting Geoffrey Tennant altogether, as well as his purity of vision. Ugh. Vision.

Oooh, divine inspiration hath struck!

"Today, you will be performing the scenes with your partner, but today you'll do it as if you have no sensory perception. No sight, no hearing, no taste, no touch, no smell will you experience. Because it is only in," dramatic pause, "nothingness that we as performers can find the ultimate truth of the work!"

He made shooing motions. "Go, practice, but feel nothing. You understand? Nothing! Now ACT!"

Darren was so proud as he watched them.

Valentine had known there was a pool in the basement of the dorms; he had, after all, inspected any information regarding the school fairly completely. She just hadn't thought to bother with it until just now. She was starting to feel what she imagined it was that Ender was feeling about this place: cut-off, quiet, like a suspended holding place in time. The only difference was that Ender was more used to it. Sure, he probably never had a lack of things to do in Battle School, but they cut him off from everything that was happening on Earth. Valentine had always been aware, and being aware gave her something to do, but now...

...Well, that was a pretty self-involved pretext just to go for a swim. It felt necessary, though, as if, somewhere in her mind, Peter would show up mid-backstroke and start challenging her as to why she had nothing better to do with her time than float around in a pool. As if he had nothing better to do than to challenge her on the most minute tasks. As if neither of them had anything worth doing unless it was being done in cohesion with the other.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in, Valentine sighed and shook her head, and tried to stop thinking about it. Then she slid in, barely holding back a gasp as the cold water swallowed her up; she drew in a deep breath as she resurfaced, and started to lazily, aimlessly swim around.

...she missed Eliot.

Some part of her wondered why she cared about his absence at all. Considering her unique condition, her hungerless situation, she'd thought that the League's decision to separate them was rather unfortunate but nothing that would trouble her, and yet there was a keen yearning for a game of vocabulary insult that no one here could quite quench. Oh, there were a thousand words that flew through the air around her in this place that she didn't understand, but none of them had Latin roots to puzzle through (well, they did, but nothing worth investigating) or led to interesting medical conditions. No, they were all from stories, songs, comic books. Lies, if pretty lies, but far too unfamiliar to be of any use.

Which was why she was out here sporting the yo yo her Uncle Aaron had given her before she'd been sent off.

She'd thought it silly and had insisted she had her rubber band if anything came up, but Uncle Aaron wouldn't be swayed. The yo yo was of average size and rather plain as those things went, but it was of stainless steel and he'd assured her that it would take, well, more than the average effort to cut the string. Then he'd handed her a book of yo yo tricks and reminded her that knowledge was a resource no one could ever take away from her.

Hence why she was here, glaring at the poor defenseless 'weapon' as it refused to sleep properly.

As students arrived they were pretty sure to notice the big man at the head of the classroom with his feet propped up on his desk. The sunglasses he was wearing made it hard to tell for sure whether or not he was sleeping, but he did look extremely relaxed.

A few minutes after everyone had found seats (or whatever), he sat up abruptly.

"Good morning, and welcome to Introductory Slacking." He pulled off his glasses and looked around the room. "My name is Antillar Maximus, but as this is a class on doing as little work as possible, let's keep things simple and leave it at 'Max'. I'm going to assume that some students expect this class to be easy, and others expect not to have to come at all, but I'm afraid that's a mistake. While slacking itself is about doing as little work as possible, learning to slack off properly can be quite a bit of work."

"Slacking is about more than goofing off. It's about goofing off while appearing to be highly productive. Properly done, slacking allows you to get away with relaxing while those in charge think you're an excellent worker."

"This being our first class, and given that some of you have more experience in this field than others, I want to get a feel for your familiarity with the subject. So everyone talk a little about your experience slacking."

The brunette in the navy lab coat standing at the front of the Danger Shop seemed fascinated by the technology; she couldn't quit poking at buttons, and the skeletons on autopsy tables before small groups of students shifted from human to ape to canine to, briefly, furry badger before going back to human. Once the workshop group was assembled, Dr. Brennan started to talk promptly.

"Welcome to Introductory Forensics; my name is Temperance Brennan. You'll call me Dr. Brennan. A C.V. outlining my qualifications to teach this subject is included as part of your reference packets, so I won't waste time going through that. Today, we're going to dive in by looking at the adult human skeletons in front of you and answering one of the most basic questions you can have when you're looking at a skeleton; is this person male or female."

"To judge this, you want to look at several elements, especially the pelvic bone, but also the skull including the the brow ridge, the neck muscle attachments, and the upper eye orbit margins." She explained what differences to look for, pointing them out on the skeleton on the table in front of her. "And now it's your turn to examine a skeleton and try to conclude if it's male or female. There are enough tables for you to work alone or in groups of two or three, and I can try to answer any questions before you start or while you work."

Her schedule here was hardly as extensive as the ones Valentine was used to and, oddly enough, she found herself devoid of activity merely because Peter wasn't around to try to keep an eye on.  She'd thought of doing some writing; perhaps Demosthenes was not to retire quite yet.  But the restlessness had spread far and thick and she couldn't focus on the voice right now.   So she took her desk....no, <i>laptop</i> with her down to the common room, poking around in the fridge for something to eat before settling on the couch.

After all, it wouldn't make much sense to get on Ender's case about being social if she wasn't getting out there herself.

Jean had ice cream and all the books she needed to study for her test on Monday. Now all she needed was... to actually begin studying. This had been so much easier to do back at the mansion somehow.

Instead she was flipping through the channels for music videos. She'd just watch one and then study. Just one.

Fandom wasn't quite Bristol, but Mitchell had to admit there was a bit of a homey feeling to the place. Might be all the tiny houses, or the big cups of tea they had, or because it smelled strange, like a great lot of monsters had gone there before them. Going by the brochure that had been why he'd told George to come here in the first place.

With any luck, George was making friends.

Mitchell curled up in his chair in a way that managed to take up every single inch of space available, curved his hands around his tea, and took a whiff.

...Chamomile. He shoved it back onto the table.

Should've checked the bag. Oh well.

[[[ open! ]]

"Hope you all made sure to bring you appetites," Jet Black said with a grin. "I'm Jet Black, and I'm going to be your teacher for this workshop."

"This class is about applying what you know, and learning from each other. Now, cooking is something you can't really apply a set standard of rules to. Different things make different tastes, and taste is all about individuals."

He pointed at three kids at random. "You get to be the judges this week. So discuss amongst yourselves, you'll be grading the other people's dishes on a scale of one-to-ten on three factors. I'll explain that later. Everyone else, you get into pairs. Your job is to create one dish, using this week's special ingredient. There's all sorts of other food stuffs and equipment you can use, just no setting the room on fire."

He then smiled. "And today's special ingredient, that has to feature in your meal is..."

He revealed the ingredient, which was a giant pile of mushrooms.

"...shitake mushrooms," Jet said. He blanched a little. He was very glad he wasn't actually eating the food for the class. "Have at it, kids."

Dani had scoured the island, looking for a Starbucks. She didn't find one, but she did find this other place that tried to pass itself off as a coffee shop. It didn't take long for her to get into an argument with the barista.

"You call this a latte? There's way too much espresso and not enough milk. No, you can't just add more milk to it! I demand that you make me a fresh drink because this one is completely unacceptable," yelled Dani, shoving the cup back at the barista. After getting a new drink, she made a big show of dropping a penny in the tip jar. "Thank you so very much for the helpful service."

She got a table in the corner by the window and tried to send Kris a text message to let her know that she was okay. It didn't go through, because apparently Kris had canceled her cell phone. Dani thought about calling her brother, but she was still angry over what had happened. So she stared out the front window, trying to ignore how she felt all alone.

[Open, with attitude]

Perky, as was her wont, was typing away on her laptop as the class filed in. "Swollen, turgid..." Without even looking up, she called out, "What's another word for 'engorged'? Aha! Tumescent! Perfect."

Type, click, save.

"Good morning, everyone!" Perky said. "I hope you're all ready for another fun and exciting class on writing. It's so pleasant to see you all think you have the ability to make it in the publishing world! Let's get started, shall we?

"Today's lesson is on characters. Every story needs characters, after all, or who would we tor-" Pause. "Who would we throw in be-" Another pause. A moment's consideration. "Who would we write about?" Perky had, it seemed, only partly mastered self-censoring in the classroom. "Your assignment for today is to come up with an interesting character to write about! A dashing hero, a sinister villain. Think of your setting from last week. What fits? Will your hero be a pirate prince? A rugged highwayman? Perhaps a bored millionaire who sweeps you- I mean, who sweeps your main character off her feet to live a life of luxury in his mansion while being fed chocolate-dipped strawberries by scantilly clad servants! Your villain could be an evil ninja king, or a dark and murderous robber! He could be a rival millionaire who wants you- I mean, your main character all for himself!"

Perky sat back down at her desk and began typing away. After a moment, she looked up. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work! You have forty minutes."

It was nice outside, nicer than it got in Boston, so Emma had headed to the roof. Clear, sunny, perfect... and she had a wonderful view of the grounds.

She sat down, sunglasses firmly on her face as she flipped through the magazine, theoretically checking out the newest fashions. It was always a good cover, and it gave her the privilege of ignoring people that tried to talk to her.

Closing her eyes, Emma cast her awareness outwards, checking for the fluttery signatures of people she knew. Practice makes perfect and all that, and it wasn't like she was reading them or anything. Just...checking. Testing her own range. Which was totally acceptable.

[open!]

Gibbs breezed into the classroom just as the bell rang. "Sit," he ordered everyone in the classroom. "No talking."

He took a long sip of coffee as he waited for the class to settle in. "Today we talk about interrogation. There's two categories of interrogation. The first category is strictly about gathering information. Here you interview everyone. Friends. Family. Co-workers. If the damn cat can talk you get a statement. When you do this pay attention to their answers. Ignore nothing. Someone uses a funny word choice? Make a note of it. Someone makes an off-hand comment? Note it. After you're done with these interviews? Verify everything. Why? Because people lie and usually they're pretty crappy about covering it up."

He took a breath and another couple of gulps of coffee. "The other type of interrogation is the kind you always see in cop shows. When you have evidence on a person of interest you get him or her and bring him into a room. Then you let that person sit and stew for a bit. Unless the person is a sociopath, this is usually the best way to loosen 'em up. Then you go in and you be intimidating. You're not the friendly guy with notepad taking a statement. You have evidence. You line it up in front of him. You tell him you think he's guilty and you nail him to the wall with it. Doesn't matter if the evidence is shaky. He doesn't know that. Even if that person isn't guilty he or she might let loose a bit of information that'll help with the case. If you make them cry and they are innocent? Too bad. The case is what matters."

Gibbs then gestured at his students. "Pair up. Time to see what you got and if you paid attention."

[Wait for OCD is up]

Claire was bored. Sure, her new school was interesting, if she believed even a fraction of what her school appointed big told her. But she hated being shipped away from the rest of her family 'for her safety'. And hated that her father had strictly forbidden her from trying out for cheerleading here.

Since she was supposed to be acting normal, she toted her basket of mani/pedi supplies down to the common room and settled in to pamper herself a little. She flipped through the channels, settling on a Darkest Night marathon before trying to pick the perfect polish.


[there will be no cutting off of toes in this post, I promise]

A man walks into a bar.

He should have seen that coming.

The newcomer who strode into Caritas was rather a large sort. Six and a half feet of improbably-sculpted muscles (shown to good effect by a tight tshirt) paused and looked around. And smiled.

It was a bar, and they had alcohol in what appeared to be large quantities. He suspected he was going to like this place.

"Bourbon," his voice rumbled as her perched precariously on a stool. "A triple."

Roland looked over the unusual practice area. He had seen many strange sights in his wanderings, but this perfectly clean, and operational relic of the Old Ones was something new. It was like he had actually traveled back in time to an age spoken of mostly in myth.

He stepped up to the firing position and drew his guns. Faster than one might think possible, Roland opened fire, striking every single target (even the ones for the other firing positions) dead center.

Of the many things that Threnody's mother had been able to obtain for her daughter, the permission for an open flame in her private room was not one of them. As such, Threnody (much to her great annoyance) was stuck preparing her plaudamentum in the common room.

She'd honestly never felt so 'common', even while at Winstermill. They'd at least let her have a spot in the kitchens for her business, away from the others. Not here, however.

Fancifully, perhaps for comfort or perhaps just to distract herself from fouling up the work out of irritation, she imagined the things she might tell anyone who would wander out and ask her what it was she was cooking.

Especially as it smelt so noxious once she added the Sugar of Nnun.

Not chicken soup, certainly. Perhaps some other treacle, as might be in a tart. I could simply tell them it's gone sour. As if they could argue! Though she had to admit she might like an argument. She might like company as well, but with the still-bleeding wound of Rossamünd's dismissal from the service and her own re-entry unto her mother's clutches, it wasn't something she was likely to admit out loud.

Launchpad is the sandbox/testing ground community for fandomhigh, giving old and new players a chance to test characters before officially applying them to the game.

All of the previous members of this community except admin journals have been removed as a decluttering move. If you want to pick up with a character you've already tried, drop a comment to this post and they will be reinstated.

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Suzy was booooooored. Sure enough there were things to do, but not enough work by half to keep her occupied. After all, she hardly had to sleep and it's not as if she much cared about her classes. They were just to make Old Primey happy. For all that she was a bit odd in the House, a Piper's Child and never quite a Denizen, she wasn't as used to normal humans as she'd thought she was with Arthur and all.

So she was walking on the edges of the roof, playing trapeze.

Hi there!

We recently changed the comments setting on this community so nonmember comments are screened. Unfortunately, this means that FH characters who want to interact with newbies need to apply for membership. There's no need to fill out the form, just click the "join this community" button and wait for the request to be approved. It shouldn't be a big deal, but we apologize for the extra step.

Thanks for your patience.

Casey did not mess about when scouting a new town. He sat where he could observe all entry points, savoring a rather excellent bear claw.

He totally did not blend in with the regular clientele.

[ooc: Open, open, open!]

Addison settled herself behind the front desk, a medical journal open in front of her. This certainly wasn't what she'd expected when she'd agreed to take the job here, but she'd be the first to admit that it was the absolute furthest she could possibly get from anything resembling Seattle Grace.

Now if only she wasn't going to be so bored.

This place was a bit of oddness, wasn't it? All sorts of places and things she'd never even heard of, some she'd gotten entirely wrong from how Arthur'd talked about them...

She didn't hold it against him, though. They were so strange, after all, how could he have explained? And it wasn't as if they hadn't been a bit busy during their adventures. Not to mention that troublesome frog...

The frog who was now Dame Primus. The frog that'd sent her off to get a bit of education so she would stop being so much trouble to the 'already abysmally disarrayed' Lower House. As if a bit of nipping into the larder ever hurt anyone. Honestly! And it wasn't her fault Sneezer'd gotten her hooked on those sandwich things with the bread and the bit of sauce and the watercress bite.

But just because it was odd didn't mean she wasn't going to explore, walking around the park with her wings in her pocket if she got into any trouble as she'd slipped them out before Dame Primus could object. As well as, er, a few other things? Nothing big. Or expensive.

Relatively, anyway.

Leda sighed, and slouched into the seat in the lounge.  So far the only thing that could be said for this town was that magic <i>always</i> worked.  Not just sometimes.  But there was no night club.  Only a kareoke bar.  On the other hand the school was a castle, and there were zombies on stage.  Also they didn't card .  Okay so maybe this town had promise.

Now if only she could score some Mad River Water, or even some Peca.  Mmmmm...Peca.

Tas was sitting in the incredibly comfey easy chair, cheerfully sorting through all his treasures. There was all sorts of neat things he'd picked up in his adventures.

If anyone recognizes anything of theirs among the pile, he'd appreciate thanks for finding them and keeping them safe till they could be returned. Srsly.