After doing some homework, you discover that the Wellington School for Gifted Children accepts only the brilliant or troubled, who are often both; the sorts of kids who get so bored that they cause trouble if sent to an average school. Nestled in a small town, the school had been recently bought out by a private company, EduTech. In the privatization, EduTech fired the entire staff and began hiring a whole new faculty and administration.  They called it "restructuring".  The fired teachers called it "union busting". The papers reported some of the old staff wouldn't give up their jobs.  They locked themselves in the building and refused to leave.  Most staff have been hired, but 3 jobs remain open.  You have applied for one, sending in your basic qualifications and any others you were able to scrounge up and you wait by the phone and by your email for word.  Finally it comes, in the form of an old fashioned letter with a wax seal, with your name printed on the front.  It is an invitation for an interview at the school itself with the words, "Arrive promptly at 3.30pm. Dress is neat casual."  The brochure was included as well; on it a picture of the school - picturesque English hedge gardens, fountains and an old neo-gothic style school in orange red brick, all surrounded by a wall and open only through a set of old iron gates with the words "Wellington" printed in iron at the top. The brochure talks about a focus on future careers as well as higher learning with a functioning auto shop and metal works, and higher learning guest instructors each semester with classes such as anthropology, world religions, paranormal studies and a variety of other esoteric subjects.


This message was last edited by the GM at 00:42, Wed 06 Aug 2014.

After a quick googling of "neat casual", and a decision to wear his normal suit anyway, augmented with a private school pin and some Loyola cufflinks, Right arrives at the Wellington School for Gifted Children. He arrives 15 minutes early and waits for ten across the street. Three minutes prior to the meeting, he strolls into the office to announce himself. He greets the receptionist and displays his invitation.

The school seems very much like a place for the God-Machine to do his work. High levels of order and discipline, a place of rapid development and constant churn. Perhaps the God-Machine is behind the human learning model. Or perhaps it's a case of parallel evolution; one right answer being arrived at independently by several sources.

He mentally curses himself as he waits for his interview. He should have called Lucella for backup. The very notion strikes him as entirely unnatural; a byproduct of spending every waking moment as a one man quick response team before he Fell. It's unimportant, he tells himself, no Angel will detect him unless they're looking for him, and he can take anything else. He misses the feel of his blade sinking into flesh.

The calm and polite receptionist smiles and leads you to a large office, exactly the type of office one would imagine a school like this having with imposing statues, bookcases and memorabilia litter the walls, a large oak desk and dark high backed leather chairs. An older gentleman sits in the chair behind the desk with a large red mustache and red frazzled hair wearing an old waistcoat and tweed jacket with leather patches. He smiles at you and nods at the receptionist who heads back out, closing the door behind her.

"Well hello there! Pleasure to meet you. So, you've come to apply for the job, eh?" A thick Canadian accent indicates his origins. He pulls a cigar from a brown wooden box and offers you one.
This message was last updated by the player at 01:26, Wed 06 Aug 2014.

"Why yes. Thank you very much." he says as he pulls a cigar from the wooden box, reimagining it as a spent fuel rod. "I have heard that you are looking for an English teacher, and you will find none more dedicated. This is exactly the kind of institution where I feel at home, the kind where I belong," he says, only half-lying, "The roots of education are bitter, but its fruits are sweet, yes?"

He takes a seat when motioned, and accepts a light when offered one. The Canadian accent is unexpected, but neither too ordinary nor too bizarre, well within the realm of probability. He begins to affect the slightest trace of a Canadian accent, just a slight alteration of the vowels. Nothing enough to notice, just enough to subconsciously influence a sympathetic listener.

"My name is Oscar Poole.  Principal Poole to the children, of course. It is definitely a pleasure. I see here that you are a translator, I suppose this would make you highly qualified to teach English if you can take foreign languages and make them perfectly reasonable English then." He puffs on his cigar and looks as though he is talking about quite a serious thing indeed. "And yes, the roots of education are quite bitter, a bitter pill that must be swallowed! And my my what a pill this one is, eh? This school is quite beautiful, is it not? Now then, what makes you qualified to teach English at this prestigious school do you think?"
This message was last updated by the player at 01:26, Wed 06 Aug 2014.

"Ben Right, and the pleasure is mine. I have indeed worked as a translator, but my passion has always been learning. As I value principles and beliefs above earthly matters, a trait I believe this school would commend, I have never taken the time to reduce my education to formal degrees, but rest assured, I can recite Paradise Lost, perform advanced calculus, play several musical instruments at a graduate level, and reassemble a stripped car, among many other things. To be frank, I can perform almost any task with the degree of competence that you would expect from an average professional. Out of the deepest respect for all that this world has taught me, I would like to give back an equal amount of teaching. That's why I am not merely qualified, but compelled to teach, and where else but at the finest school in the state?"

He takes a pause to blow a smoke ring, "I think that you share my belief that English is not the most important thing to teach these children, though that is what is listed in the job description. You can rely on me to instill the values in them that this school has prided itself on for generations. This is the kind of institution I came from, and this is where I belong."

He carefully watches the man for any reaction, any weak point he can capitalize on. Everyone's got one.

"Well done, my man, well done." Principal Poole smiles brightly. "We have done a thorough background check and we are well satisfied with it." He points to a manila folder on his desk with your name written on the front but doesn't move to open it. "Wait here a moment." He says, resting his cigar on an elaborate stone ashtray on his desk. He heads back out of the room for a moment and then you hear brief whispers outside.  Finally, he returns, "Janet is going to show you to your room. We look forward to working with you, Mr. Right. We will send the contract over in the morning for you to look over and sign.  You can familiarize yourself with the grounds in the meantime, and I will organize a tour of some of the classes for you to get to know our style. Do you have any questions?"

"No sir, I trust that anything I need to know will be in the folder, provided by Janet, or else I shall simply ask you when it occurs to me that it's something I need to know," He goes in to shake the principal's hand, "I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to serving this community in whatever capacity I can"

Principal Poole hands you a few extra cigars with a wink and pats your shoulder. "Welcome to the family." And sits back down, pulling a small brown bag from his desk which seems to contain some kind of sweet pastry, his focus now firmly not on you.

Janet says quietly, "This way sir." And smiling leads you down the maze of corridors, straight to a wing of the regal building and into your room.  It appears there is a men and women's separate teacher's wing. Your room is well appointed, on the 3rd floor of the 5 floors. You have a beautiful view of the grounds below where young children are playing with a soccer ball.  The room itself is sparsely decorated but the bed looks exceptionally comfortable with a large cream duvet and down pillows, and an antique desk and leather chair against the window.

Janet explains, "This is your appointed room, you are of course permitted to live off campus although we encourage any of the single teachers to live on campus in a rotational period.  Regardless, every teachers is assigned a room for emergencies and breaks." She nods politely and starts to leave. Before disappearing out the door she timidly adds, "It's a pleasure, sir.  The kids need good teachers and you seem like a good sort. They are so very troubled at times."

"Thank you, Janet" he says as she sees herself out. The first thing Right does with his privacy is read through the contents of the room and any orientation materials, memorizing in great detail anything related to the map of the school, its history, any new intentions the current administration has, or anything else that seems interesting.

The next thing he does is seek out the teachers' lounge, or anywhere else that the faculty congregates, in order to ask them how they like working there, as an excuse to hear what they think about the school and anything unusual that might be going on.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Wed 06 Aug 2014.

Out in the hallway you find a fire exit map set in framed glass above a hanging fire extinguisher.  You can see there are a few areas clearly labelled and a few that are not: Teacher's quarters, Student quarters, Administration Wing, Primary School Class Wing, High School Class Wing, Laboratories, Cafeteria, Teacher's Lounge, East Library, West Library and a few other names of specific classes here and there.

No other orientation materials are available to you outside of the brochure, but there's a possibility Janet might drop something off in the morning with the contract.

You head towards the teacher's lounge and find yourself in a room with a few plush couches, some tables and a state of the art coffee machine.  A few teachers are milling about, reading books or quietly chatting.

As he appraises the teachers in the lounge, Right tries to pick out one who isn't engaged with anybody else but who doesn't look too busy; the kind of person who'd want to talk, but wouldn't be inhibited by the presence of others from saying what they really thought. He approaches his chosen target and strikes up a conversation, "Hi, I'm Ben Right, I was just hired. How do you like working here?"

You approach a young, 30-something fresh faced teacher who is eating some microwave leftovers on a table on his own. He talks to you in a deep Scottish accent. "Hullo! I'm Angus Nickelby, nice tae meet ya! I wouldna know much about it. I just started meself about a week ago. I teach metalworks an woodworking, y'kno. The kids seem to enjoy it an I cannae tell ye how much I enjoy seeming those littluns smilin'. Especially them troubled ones. What ye been hired for?"