Like any school, normal lessons do not run at the weekend. On these days, the residents are left up to their own devices - and in the case of Geeks and Scientists, the word devices is used in the most literal sense. While it is usual for the girls to be going about their machinations all the time, weekends are a time for real mischief, and rather than attempt to curb the enthusiasm of the pupils, the teachers watch with a rather gleeful anticipation. (The Maths department is known to have a very complex gambling system based around the antics of the pupils, and it is a teachers-only sweepstake. It is the one book in the history of the school that is entirely free of corruption or match fixing; not because teachers are above that sort of thing, but that in order to make the gambling bent, it would be necessary to know about all of the plots and pranks that are being created, and with the best will in the world, nobody on Earth could possibly know about everything going on at the school. As such, the teachers let the sweepstake run without tampering, and the results are sometimes all the more remarkable for the lack of interference.)

At two in the afternoon on a fine spring day, with the debris and casualties of lunch now cleared away, the dining hall is given over to many activities - gambling, social gatherings, and on some occasions, public torture. Out in the grounds, the feral packs of first years roam, looking for victims. The Coquettes are at peak business time for their little webcam sideline, and woe betide anyone who goes near the cellars or the science labs without due caution. It is not certain which would be worse, but coming back from either in the same shaped body as that which one possessed on entering is a very real concern.

And so, the girls have time to spend on their own interests... and homework. It surprises outsiders that the girls are very keen and diligent about their homework. Most pupils hate doing homework. However, homework at St Trinians is usually very enlightening. Indeed, some girls carry it a bit too far. It is not unusual to find the third form extorting "homework insurance" from weaker girls, to ensure that the explosive nature of their science projects, for example, does not lead to an unfortunate and rather exothermic end...

In the distance, the agonised screams of pain suggest that the playing fields are in use by one of the varied sporting teams at the school. In the dining hall, the chess club are setting up for an afternoon's play. The clank of chains and the gentle thwap of a baseball bat bouncing in a player's palm is the traditional accompaniment to their weekend activities.

Finally, the rather low and suggestive laughter - male and female - that comes from the Middle Staffroom suggests that Miss Delasinge is holding another one of her... ahem... educational afternoons, for gentlemen of breeding and wealth... Always open to new ventures that can make her a fast buck, she has embraced both the literal and euphemistic meanings of French Mistress with considerable vigour.

The tension in the air at the side of the dining hall was so powerful it was almost possible to see it. Or it would have been, if not for the thick, roiling cloud of cigarette smoke floating above the table. Five people sat in chairs around the table but many more were gathered around behind them, and the crinkle of notes and rattle of change suggested that a fair amount of money was at stake.

The players had flat emotionless faces. Some may have had tells, but only an experienced eye would be able to discern them. Eustacia sat at the head of the table. Her uniform was, of course, immaculate. She did not smoke. Instead, from the corner of her mouth hung a foot long strand of strawberry bootlace, which danced when she spoke. The others at the table smoked, and the glasses before each of them contained a slightly pinkish liquid - The Fifth Form's infamous cherry tequila, guaranteed to reduce brain cells instantly, or your money back! It was the traditional beverage at the card school, as anyone who could drink it and not flinch had the poker face needed to make it to the Big Game at the end of term.

At the table the other four players were watching Eustacia with flat eyes, each anticipating and awaiting the slightest hint of weakness. Lady Jocasta, needlework and art mistress, kept her cards on the table, her hand covering them carefully. She taught the girls how to filch cards in play - she was not foolish enough to leave herself open. Molly Pierce, smothered with so much black makeup and metal piercings that her true features were lost as a forgotten mystery, simply sat. One of the fifth form's finest players, she had a great deal invested in the game. Smoke rose from the rollup between her teeth, and the crowd of Goths behind her stood in solidarity, not a smile amongst them.

The other two players sat side by side. The Hellman twins, a pair of angelic second years, who showed great promise. Already undisputed heads of the pre-fourth year mafia, they kept their eyes locked on those of the sixth former opposite them, holding the hand of cards they shared with a rock steady grip. They might be young, but they already had experience beyond their years.

Eustacia lifted her glass and drained it with a single flick of her wrist. The burning, yet delightfully fruity, sensation passed quickly. She was more than used to the pain by now. When she spoke, it was backed by a hushed sound, breath being drawn in but not released, as the crowd leaned in to hear.

The bootlace sweet in her mouth jumped sharply, a visual counterpoint to her soft, and ever so slightly smug, words. Without blinking, her gaze upon the twins, she said... "Mr Bun the Baker."

The gasp from the crowd stirred the nicoteine laden haze, eddies swirling above their heads. Molly slammed her cards down with a very graphic curse. The twins lowered their heads, then slid a card from their hand and across to Eustacia, who took it, and laid her hand down for all to see. "Happy families, chicas! Thanks for playing!"

Her hand darted out like a striking snake, scooping up the pile of notes in the middle of the table. Her insufferably smug expression was something that was a common sight at the card table these days. Admittedly, the funds won that afternoon tended to be used to pay for the wild night that would follow, but nobody liked a smug winner.

She gathered the cards up, and began to shuffle. "Who's next? Tenner ante with a fiver per raise. Come on, ladies. There's some Gucci with my name on it!"

Nikki sat in the quad, reclined on elbows, leaning back on the grass and attempting to soak up as much sunshine as England would allow, even at the height of Spring. It was nearly a fruitless attempt. Nearly.

Today, she was exposing a fair bit more skin than she usually would have; she had small ankle socks on, over which she'd pulled her low-top Converse sneakers. Her skirt was hiked up to bared mid-thigh, shirt unbuttoned to just above her cleavage and short sleeves rolled into something approximating a tank top. Her tie was loosened as well, hanging limply down the front of her chest. A pair of nondescript (but somehow official looking) black sunglasses perched on her face, and Joan Jett blared from the earbuds that dangled from her ears.

As the sun "shone" down on her (and, to be fair, it was given a solid run for it's money by the cloud of thick, black, smoke that rolled off the Auto Class' latest "repair" job), she reflected back on her arrival to St. Trinian's.

The girls, as she'd expected, had been terrible. "Right 'orrible." in the local vernacular. As it turned out, there wasn't even a proper spot for Exchange Students at the school. Certainly, there had been one, but it had been taken over (and then subsequently lost in The Noodle Incident of '14) by the Japanese Exchange Students.

So, when Nikki arrived fresh faced from the U.S., she - like many others before her - took the long walk down "Clique Row" only to find that her bed was at the far end, even past the First Forms.

And behind a rather heavy wooden door.

In the attic.

And not even the attic. The antechamber to the attic. The pre-Attic!

In it was a single bed, a smallish window, and something small, fuzzy, and angry living in the corner that hissed at her for the first 3 months of her stay.

The pranks had begun in earnest after that, the last being the "Walk of Shame" - which, of course, Mrs. Carter's School had prepared her to be proud of her body - she strode bare naked into the barracks with hardly a flinch or a tint of embarrassment, wielding a wicked smile and a hockey stick - an American one, mind, signed by several of the '94 Rangers - and demanded her clothing be returned. She beat a few of the girls hanging about just for good measure, and, after that, she'd found her clothes folded up on her bed, and a new-found respect among most of the girls.

Since then, she'd turned her room into something quite habitable - even enviable for the privacy, managed to tame Joffrey (the, she eventually discovered, not-quite rabid squirrel that was her cellmate), and carved out something of a niche for herself within the ravenous mob that was her academic surroundings - teachers most assuredly included.

She chuckled at the thought. Had it really only been six months ago? She couldn't believe that the strangers she'd met then had become the sisters she had now. She could hardly imagine growing as close as she had to this group as quickly as she had. She looked around at the chaos occupying the countryside around her and smiled, singing quietly to herself.

"Until the end, St Trinians,
Defenders of anarchy."

A pack of First Forms roared by - but they gave her a wide berth - and she turned up Joan to drown them out.

Viridia flicked her eyes up from her nails as the second year hit the second creaky floorboard.  She was having problems perfecting the razor edges on the outer curves she preferred and it wsa possible the task had been taking up more of her attention than it strictly should have done.  She certainly hadn't been aware that the second year had entered.

In terms of the second year herself it wasn't a bad showing but the nails on that one board were fairly obviously loose so it shouldn't have been missed but experience was a good teacher.  The second year had frozen at the creak which was something Viridia needed to address before going further with this one.  She turned in her chair drawing the aura of Lady Macbeth around herself and bringing a perfectly flat and emotionless tone to her voice.

"And wat prey can I do fur ya?" The slurred wordss cut across the emotionless tone robbing it of a great deal of its force and the second year twitched as she tried to interpret the contrasting tone and words.  Viridia let her mouth twist into a straight line and watched the girl closely for signs of fear.  None were particularly evident so she mentally ticked at least one box in the girl's favor.

"Tha stuff's ova dere." She continued as she turned back towards the desk and deliberately pulled out a letter closely covered in dense handwriting.

The second year darted for the box of vials and charged out of the room heedless of noise.  Viridia allowed herself a small unseen smirk as she reread the letter.  The stuff was just basic cosmetics for Heather Langby's coquettes but it would be interesting to see how many vials actually reached them and where any missing ones turned up.  This particular second year was still not close to joining a clique so certain tests were appropriate and as her aunt once said, good training.

She stuffed the letter back into her bra and pulled out a near duplicate she'd prepared earlier and locked it inside the small lockbox on her desk.  The forgery would pass with anyone and by now the whole school would know she's had a letter from America.  Of course it could be argued she was ignoring the tacit agreement not to pick on Nikki Hayward by this but the girl was still something of an enigma.  The original letter had been a simple copy of a botany handbook she'd promised one of the scientists.  The duplicate puported to be a report on Nikki that revealed a deep and instant fear of cats.  Anyone reading it would probably try to take advantage of it and anyone who could catch one of the feral cats in the woods would be a natural on one of the sports teams.  She wondered for a split second if she should warn Nikki someone was probably going to drop a cat on her head before instantly dismissing it.  The girl had potential of course or she wouldn't have survived so long and seeing how she dealt with someone dropping a cat on her head would be good training.

Up on the roof (chosen both because it was relatively quiet AND it was a good place to set up a satellite dish) Angharad was curled up with her laptop, reading a stream of raw data as it streamed down from the International Space Station. Idly, she opened another window to check up on what the American spy satellites were looking at - mostly the antics of the unIslamic State in Syria, it seemed. Nothing madly exciting, or at least, nothing new.

One hand scrawled in a notebook, thoughts on a way in to MI6's servers which were proving remarkably intransigent at the moment.

The other hand reached for a cashew nut. The one problem with sitting up here was you had to bring everything with you, so snacks were limited!

"No takers? Shame on you all, I thought you'd have better spirit!" She quickly counted her winnings, and deposited it all down her cleavage with a move that nevertheless managed to remain demure. It had taken her a long time to get that right. She did work hard - if it was to her advantage.

She rose and looked out of the window, the windows facing in on the school, not out over the stretches of wasteland that once claimed to be turf, but now instead had the growth of nettles (and bunkers) that seemed to be the natural result of letting first years to congregate there. No, she looked inwards, and then spotted someone. Well, it was something to do. Her card sharping skills were not going to get as much use as she wanted, and she had a couple of hours to kill before getting ready to head into London for the night. Dinner at Quaglino's, perhaps. Then on to an establishment where card playing was taken more seriously. She had her stake money. Perhaps tonight was going to be lucrative.

In the meantime...

She stepped out of the hall and meandered her way into the quad. She stepped aside as a rabble of first formers rushed past, their high pitched war cry echoing as they raced out to find another war party to attack. Ah, she remembered those days. Not very fondly, as she was not inclined towards that sort of violence.

Her feet carried her to the grass. She stood, allowing her shadow to block out the sun - not on purpose, oh no, she'd never do that ... and spoke. "I hate to bear bad news, but you do know that the fourth years seeded this grass with fire ants last week, don't you? I'd hate it if you got badly bitten. It would ruin all that excessively pasty skin you're exposing."

She sounded polite, and slightly earnest. Clearly, she thought she was helping. (And unless one knew Eustacia well, they might even fall for her charming act. None of the girls who had come up the ranks with her would believe it for a moment. Though they might play along for novelty value.)

Nikki didn't need to shield her eyes to look up at her intruder - Eustacia had been 'thoughtful' enough to ensure that she prevented such an unnecessary action, so, instead, she pulled the other earbud free and smiled as she spoke.

"Well, isn't that the China calling the Ceramic white?" she joked with a small chuckle. Their relationship was one of grudging respect - mainly for the other's capabilities than anything having to do with personality. They'd simply figured they were safer - and infinitely more dangerous - together than at constant odds.

She stood, though, clothes almost naturally falling back into a more modest fashion as she smoothed the grass and any interloping ants off onto the ground.

"And fire ants, really?" she continued. "You'd think they'd be more considerate. They have to walk these grounds, too, after all. We may have to teach them a lesson." She concluded with a wry and wicked smile.

Eustacia considered the response. Well, she had not freaked out. Indeed, she had retained her composure, where a lesser girl might have freaked out. A point in her favour. She produced a paper bag and held it out politely. "Strawberry bootlace? English delicacy. This is a particular favourite. Or I can offer sherbert lemons."

The notion of how to deal with the ants had some thought. "A lesson? Do you have anything in mind? Something appropriate. But not too risky. We do not want an infestiation. Of insects, or the fourth form."

Nikki took a bootlace and slid it into her mouth while she pondered. "Pretty good." she said, after chewing a bite. "And I don't know. Something to let them know that the common areas are here for everyone, themselves included. Maybe we can return the favor in their private area?"

"There's bound to be somewhere in London selling some suitably exotic fauna to unleash in their beds. Perhaps we should look next week." Eustacia considered the options. "Who shall we blame for it? Anyone you can think of who might deserve a little reminder to toe the line?"

She bit the end off her bootlace and came to a decision. "Are you doing anything this evening? I'm taking a small party to the west end. Dinner, casino, club. Perhaps you should join us. It would be a chance to get to know some of the useful people - there are a few excellent bouncers who will share everything they see. And a maitre d' with fingers in a great many pies - metaphorically speaking, of course."

"We've got a whole week for someone to piss us off, no reason to start looking for our scapegoat yet." Nikki laughed, biting off another bite of bootlace with some mock anger.

She considered Eustacia's offer. It could be an excuse to abandon the girl in West End London with nothing but her wits ... but Nikki had plenty of wits, and so the potential threat was really more of a challenge. "Yeah, I'm free, thanks for the offer. It always helps to have people with fingers in pies."

"I always plan well in advance, yet keep several contingency plans. Revenge is a dish best served after marinading in the jus de anticipatione for a week or two." Her innocent expression was probably going to fool nobody this time. "Now, as to tonight - you need to dress the part. We're talking proper cocktail dress. None of your chain store bought rubbish, either. I doubt you'll have what's needed, it isn't the sort of thing that people bring to school when they go abroad, and I am fairly sure that it was not on the list of required equipment for attendance here. I've been lobbying for ages that we need to add haute couture to the list of weapons and torture devices - this is the modern era. A lady with a little application can achieve more with a little black dress and a pair of Jimmy Choos than she ever could with a knuckleduster." She gave Nikki a critical look over. "However, let me see. That hair has got to go. Too easy to remember. On a jaunt like this you want to look like someone special, while fading into the background. Be dazzling in person, and generic after the fact. Two or three tone hair may well be your thing, but you stick in the mind too much with touches like that. And, for some reason, we always need to have reasons to avoid questions or being memorable. No, the hair has to go. The legs - they'll do nicely. At least that place you went to before you came here knew how to sculpt a body without making it muscular. Muscular women are so gauche. And they look like someone shoved a pair of walnuts into a condom. I don't like being seen with something so lacking in style."

She gave a dismissive snort. "Colour - what do you fancy? Black is timeless, but with your colouring I'd suggest something softer. You'd do well in a decent royal blue, or maybe teal. How do you feel about crushed velvet?"

It was rather like being exposed to a gender swapped version of Pygmalion. Or a bizarre version of Frankenstein. Stick a dress on, attach jump leads... It's alive!

Finding that she was out of nuts, Angharad packed up her gear and got ready to go downstairs to see who was around. Peering over the parapet she could see Eustacia and Nikki deep in conversation, so absorbed that they didn't see the first years skulking around in the bushes with... what was that? Hopefully only a water balloon, but they'd been moderately evil of late with waterproof dyes and cheap scent rather than pure Adam's ale.

It was a bit far to shout, anyway Angharad didn't have one of those voices that carried for several fields, so she dug out her cell phone and sent a text to both of them:

WARE 1st YEARS IN BUSHES TO SOUTH YR POSITION

[Private to Eustacia Mink-Critchley; Nikki Hayward: Your mobiles make the appropriate 'text received' noise, respond as you see fit!]

Nikki's phone chirps with the 'Titans Go!' sound from the original Teen Titans - not that many would recognize it here - and she checked the message with little more than a raised eyebrow. She gave no overt sign of acknowledgement, however, continuing to address Staci's statement. "Psht. If Mrs. Carter's hadn't taught me to a) be prepared and b) rock a cocktail dress, I wouldn't be here learning ... " she trails off the thought, glancing down at the ground where a sizable ant hill has sprung. She toes at it with her Converse devilishly, properly agitating the ants therein, and quirking a smile at her partner-in-crime suggesting a suitable thwart of the pending 1st Forms in the bushes. "You know, whatever it is they're teaching here." she concludes matter-of-factly.

Eustacia's reply on the subject of dresses was curtailed when the phones bleeped. She fished hers out of her blazer, and examined it. Her eyebrow raised. She did not remark on the suggestion that Nikki silently made, but her rather vicious smile and nod indicated that she was all for whatever the lady wanted to attempt.

"What we are teaching right now, I think, is an object lesson. You did not come up through the ranks, so to speak. You did not experience the kill or be killed First Year baptism of blood and fire. I feel that someone is about to have one of those seminal moments in their first year at the school. Why don't you show me what you have in mind? There's a bottle of Sauternes in it, if you pull it off."

A test? Maybe. Or just an excuse for some entertainment...

Nikki smiled at Staci's offer, and waited, though not long. Shortly after their conversation reached it's lull, the feral First Years sprung their 'ambush'. Covered in the slap-dash look of masacara, mud and blood, hair wild and knickers firmly twisted, they leapt from the bushes, high-pitched shrieks piercing the air as barely sentient screams. Brandishing hockey sticks, clubs, table legs and ... was that a curling iron? ... they struck.

Ants already well agitated, Nikki calmly smiled, toeing the anthill quickly and deftly booted the mound into the air, creating a screen of dirt, grass and now very angry fire ants that showered the Firsters. She had to sidestep and displace the first few through with well placed kicks to the bottoms. The younglings were caught off guard by the spray of dirt, and stopped, batting eyes as their attack was countered quite unexpectedly.

Then the ants sprung their attack.

It didn't take long for the shrieking to begin anew, this time in terror and pain. The Firsters ran 'round, bumping into each other, falling on the ground (and agitating still more ants) and then sprinted off into the distance, shedding items of clothes (as well as weapons) as they ran.

"Thank the Fourth Years for those ants, ladies!" Nikki called after them, chuckling, before turning to Staci. "Let's get out of here before those ants turn on us, huh?"