In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 250):

Edlstrum's smile changes.  It looks like she's smiling even though she's tired.

"You're asking several things.  If it's alright with you, let's take them one at a time.

"I was not on the bus ride.  So I can't say for sure.  Ms. Welkes may have been lax or malicious.  But in general, we do not inform everyone of all the specifics of the program because we consider it the student's job to ask questions.  If you asked questions to probe further into whether a monitor holds responsibility for their group's actions, and you were told no, the monitor would not be, then I could see where you had been deliberately misinformed.  If you did not ask, then perhaps some of the onus may be on you.  But again.  I was not on your bus.  I do not know exactly what happened.

"Your second set of questions are a little..."  She seems to hunt for the best way to put it.  "Deeper.  I can give you simple answers, but they won't be quite accurate.  And yes, there is a lesson to be learned.  So I cannot be as straight forward as I would want to be.

"Believe it or not, I do not like being cryptic.  I found such answers highly irritating when I attended Saint George many years ago.  But the purpose is...well.  I at least think it is a good one.

"All this is to say:  do you want me to give you the simple answers?  Or would you like to have a seat and we can discuss things.  I can tell you as much as I can tell.

"Your choice."

I wait until she is done talking, even though I am sorely tempted to interrupt. I feel as if I've struck on something important.

"I have time," I answer. "In more than one sense."

I touch my fingertips together, making a steeple. It is an unconscious gesture of great personal confidence, which is why villains in television use it so often. I don't know that, but a keen observer might.

"I would like the short, simple answers first. Then we can probe more deeply into the issues. Like anyone, I bristle at the imposition of arbitrary, tyrannical, or both rules on myself. I ask for your patience; I will do my best to keep my temper under control."

If Edlestrum has done her research, she knows that I do not have much of a temper, or that much overt emotion at all. There are a few things that will set me off, such as telepaths, but I am far more level-headed than a typical person.

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 252):

Edlestrum nods.  "Very well.  I will assume your first set of questions about the bus trip have been answered.  Or you understand I have told you want I know in regards to that.

"Moving on then.

"The simple answers, which again, are not complete per se.  Your first question.  Why are monitors punished for the behavior of their class.

"Jobs like monitor require the holder to have a proper sense of both the responsibilities and risks of the job.  That is not something that can be communicated upfront.


"Your second question.  What are you to learn from the arrangement.  Whether you are a good fit for the job.

"Those are the simple answers.  Please feel free to ask follow up questions.  I will be happy to communicate what I can."

Are you still enjoying this? I know I am!

Edlestrum's answers about the bus ride were disturbing. Are disturbing. I will be stewing on them for a while, I think. The school's policy appears to be to place the onus of responsibility on the weaker party in any relationship, a fundamentally wicked ideology that infects society from the highest to the lowest echelons. Perhaps it is human nature for the strong to abuse their power, and that is why we need morality. As powerful as I am, I know that no human rules alone, so responsibility and duty of the powerful towards their lessers is a necessary and natural key component of a functioning society.

That isn't what they have here at St. George's, though. They have sabotage, deceit, and rampant selfishness.

"What do you mean 'a good fit?' The world outside the academy does not have anything like monitors, as far as I'm aware; police, judges, and politicians are never held responsible for the actions of their subordinates."

I can't think of anything else to ask Edlestrum, or at least, that I want to ask her. St. George's is starting to make me paranoid in ways I do not like. I am used to being aware of my surroundings and prepared for conflict at any moment, but this kind of conflict is out of my realm of expertise. Unless Edlestrum has anything particularly interesting to say, I thank her for her time and answers, then I leave to scout the locations for my other classes today and the rest of the week.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:15, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 254):

Yep.  Seraphina's POV is refreshing.  It's fun to watch her reactions.

Edlstrum raises an eyebrow.  "You think that?  Sorry, but there are plenty of stories of people in power being held responsible for the actions of their subordinates.  Actions of the foot soldiers always...always...have repercussions for their generals.

"But that's perhaps different than what I was referring to."

She studies you a moment.  "Allow me to make an observation.  And I do not mean this in a critical or confrontational way.  But your understanding of the world may have been shaped by a person or persons who wanted it shaped in some form that suits a purpose.  Again.  Just an uninformed opinion.  After all.  What do I know?

"If you want to understand St. George and it's purpose...the reasons for all the admittedly Machiavellian tactics...I can make this suggestion.  Study its history.  Look at who its sponsors are.  And..."  She purses her lips.  "...look up its alumni.  Yes.  I think I'm allowed to say that much.  Students who graduated in very recent years might be of great interest to you."

---

Moving on

You scout out your classrooms.  With the exceptions of the sciences, most of them are held in buildings quite close to the auditorium where you had Monitor studies.

As you plan out the rest of your day, you notice Gilda from before.  She's seated on a bench under a tree growing by a small parking lot.  She has her head buried in her hands and seems to be massaging her head, like she's got a headache.

Edlstrum's eyebrow-raise maneuver amuses me in the moment. It's very much like my own. She also appears to be naive. Or maybe I am naive; perhaps the punishment she speaks of, for superiors due to the actions of their subordinates, is carried out in secret and I don't know about it. There is much I don't know about the world; that's why I'm in school, after all.

I nod at her statement that my worldview was shaped by someone with an agenda. That is almost certainly true, since everyone has an agenda, benevolent or otherwise. How many philosophers are there other than Aristotle and DuBois? Probably tens of thousands, almost all unknown to me.

---

I make notes to myself as I look around, especially notes to look up the alumni, as Edlstrum suggested. It's a while before my next class, and wandering around is starting to get boring. I am contemplating lunch when I come across Gilda.

I sit next to her, but not too close. "Yo," I say, holding up my hand in greeting. "Edlstrum is something, huh?"

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 256):

Gilda starts, like she expected you were going to punch her.  She settles down, adjusting her bag which had almost fallen off her lap.

"Oh.  Sorry.  You-I was just...Sorry."

She takes her bag off her lap and carefully sets it between her feet.  She gives you a sideways glance and then nods. "You're the Martel girl.  Seraphina right?  They were talking about you. You're kinda a celbrity.  I'm Gilda Rosencrantz.  Hi."

She shrugs her shoulders.  "Edlstrum's a piece of work.  But at least she's upfront about stuff.  Perkins who was doin' it was sooo behind your back."

She gives you another glance.  She hasn't made direct eye contact yet.

"So.  Did you volunteer?  Or were you drafted?"

Her reactions remind me of the way people reacted to me before I came to St. George's. It's a sort of comforting ambience, a familiar situation that sets me at ease.

"That's me. Hello, Gilda. Who was talking about me?"

I look at her, but not at her eyes. I look at her mouth. Looking at a person's mouth communicates attention without being a social challenge, which looking at a stranger's eyes very much is.

"I do prefer that at least she doesn't pretend as if there are no secrets. I volunteered, sort of. Welkes was our bus chaperone and didn't divulge that monitors would be responsible for the rest of the class. The policy of St. George's appears to be that it was my fault for not asking. I wanted a private room, but our gophers got private rooms also, and the room I was assigned is...according to what I've heard, it's much less pleasant than the standard student suites.

What about you?"

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 258):

Gilda waves a hand, as if to indicate the whole campus.  "You're a celeb on the tournament circut.  Or at least you were.  When people like you come in, everyone finds out about it.  Your class has some real notables."

She smiles sadly when she hears your story about the bus ride.  "Almost exactly like yours.  But instead of Welkes it was Foster.

"Yeah, it turns out the Gophers have all the power.  At least they're the ones who can make deals.  If you want me to pick this stuff up for you, I need you to do this for me.  That kinda thing.  Stay tight with your gophers.  And if you have another monitor in your class, stay tight with them too.  You can't trust anyone else."

She sighs.  "I don't envy you.  I bet you're gonna have it ten times rougher than I had it."

"I was? My last match wasn't even two months ago."

Which reminds me; I'm going to need to check up on the circuit scheduling and register for the next arc. I'm the youngest, and prettiest, if I do say so myself (and I do, as do many, many other people), person ever to have 5 championship titles. Plus, I'm undefeated in official matches. I've lost lots of unofficial matches; that's called "training." Anyway, I intend to keep beating my own record.

"I wonder if any of the people in charge actually believe the books they make us read. About how being powerful makes us responsible, that great strength comes with duty, that sort of thing." I grin at Gilda.

"It's funny you would say that gophers have all the power. The students just think they do; it's all an illusion. The administration have the real power. They made the rules."

I take out some Pocky and put a stick in my mouth, then offer the box to Gilda.

"So what happened to you? Seems like you've had it rough."

Gilda laughs.  There's more than a little bit of bitterness to it.

"My group figured out early on what the deal was.  One of the gophers in my group started dealing Twitch."

Twitch.  That's pretty hardcore.  Supposedly made from endorphins taken from metas with speed related powers.  It's like meth turbo charged.  A couple of competitors on the circuit took it.  And they not only got banned, they disappeared.

"I turned him in.  Had to.  But...I had the wrong guy.  It was the other gopher who was dealing.  She had just framed Tanner. And I didn't catch it."

Gilda sighs.  "Here's a little wrinkle they don't tell you.  When you lose a monitor or a gopher, you can't replace them.  Your group just goes without.  We got the right one.  Even talked them into letting Tanner come back.  But he wouldn't do it.  Wouldn't come back to school.  He was really mad at me.

"So my group doesn't have a gopher.  And everyone else is really pissed at me for it.  So things haven't gone swimmingly."

I look up at the sky.

"Just because your group had a way of doing things doesn't mean there aren't other ways of doing things. For my part, I'm not the police and don't intend to be. I wanted a private room, that's all. Our gophers got them, too; Welkes both deceived me and lied to me."

I look back at Gilda and smile brightly.

"I'm lucky enough to have the wealth and power to not take their nonsense lying down. They want to dance, so we'll dance. I doubt it'll be the easiest thing, but if you want a friend, I'll be your friend."

That was...surprisingly easy. I've never just asked somebody to be my friend before. Ahina must be having a positive influence on me. Or at least, an influence that is helping me open up to people.

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 262):

Gilda blinks and laughs...in a friendly way.  "Thanks.  I need all the friends I can get."

She pauses a second.  "You getting adjusted okay?  Anything I can help you with?"

I write down my phone number on the anachronistic paper-and-pencil I carry around.

"I'm adjusting better than I expected."

I tear off the piece of paper and hand it to Gilda. "Send me a text, and then we'll be official phone contacts." I wink at her.

"Believe it or not, I'm more used to being an ice queen than making friends like this. I made friends with a couple people already, and it's really changed my outlook. Other than that, I don't like how...I dunno...clandestine everything is here. There's so many hidden social traps. I'd appreciate help navigating those, or at least knowing what they are."

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 264):

She sends you her digits.

"Traps?  Here?  That's crazy talk."  Gilda laughs.  "Yeah.  I've heard people say it is a different world than the circuits are.  To be honest though..."

She seems to get lost in thought for a moment and then shrugs.  "My Dad is in a cop in an MCU up in Detroit. My Mom works as a social worker and has to deal with a lot of meta victim cases.  It's...strange.  Ever since I got here, it's felt like being back in Detroit.  I thought it was going to be all fancy and like...servants running around asking if we want wafer mints and serving us glasses of champagne.

"But.  Really."  She tosses up one hand, like she's tossing something into the air without any intention of catching it.  "Just like Detroit.  All of it."

MCU probably stands for Meta-Crime Unit.  Her Dad is probably a detective in the police unit that deals with meta-related crimes. Seraphina would know that.

Maybe St. George's is how the world works outside the elite circles I'm used to. Surprise, subterfuge, and lies, everywhere, all the time.

"Nothing is up-front here. There's so many 'gotchas' and petty little rules made up by people who have no real power, to let themselves feel like they have control over their lives. They act as if they are somehow morally superior for adhering to these secret rules they don't tell anyone about."

I am not an idiot, of course. There are certain abilities, such as...what was her name...Tabitha? The girl who could "ride on light." Tabitha's ability is highly clandestine and makes her difficult to interact with. In a straightforward society, such people are especially dangerous, but even so, that does not justify a culture of deceit.

"We have a few servants back home. They're not like servants in Europe; only one of them lives with us, and that's because she's going to college in the same town. They're more like staff, I guess."

Beat.

"I've never been to Detroit. Meta victim cases? You mean cases where the victim is a meta, or where the victimizer is a meta? What's Detroit like?"

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 266):

Gilda gives you a curious look.  But she shakes her head slightly as if to stop her woolgathering.

"Detroit?  It's...not great.  There's a lot of crime.

"MCU works crimes where meta powers were used.  So it's usually the metas who are the crooks.  But not always."

She seems to consider what she's about to say a moment, and then slides a little closer to you.  "Sorry if this comes out the wrong way.  But...when you were growing up...did you ever get the chance to...ya know. Go out?  Just...maybe...go out with friends and hang out at the mall or wherever?"

I shake my head, pink locks bouncing.

"No. Until a few days before I got on the bus to St. George's, every moment of my life was scheduled. My parents demanded the best, always; they still do. They were unforgiving, and they were not exactly happy with my decision to come to St. George's. It's a prestigious school, so they accepted it, and I'm starting to see why they didn't want me to come here."

I interlace my fingers.

"They were preparing me to be a queen. I didn't appreciate what they meant about St. George's not being good enough for me; they meant that it's a nest of vipers."

I munch on another piece of Pocky.

My tone is dry and neutral, as usual. I've showed more emotion in the past week than in the past ten years. I'm not sure how I feel about that. "I read manga and watched anime sometimes in school, when I could. Played video games occassionaly. Every waking hour was officially dedicated to improving or perfecting my powers, skills, or abilities. I am the most beautiful, most powerful, most graceful, most brilliant princess on Earth."

A sigh. I must seem like a kind of robot. Or monster.

"I'm not allowed to be anything else. And of course, I have the one mother in the world who knows if I want to misbehave."

I look back at Gilda. "Why do you ask?"

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 268):

Gilda chews on what you said and then purses her lips.  She looks back at you.

"You seem like a pretty honest person.  So I'll be upfront too.  What I'm gonna say may sound like I'm ranking on you.  It's not meant like that.  So...sorry if it pisses you off.

"Saint George's is pretty..."  She fishes for the word.  "Hardcore in some respects, yeah.  But it's not that different from the real world in a lot of ways.

"I mean...if you were to go to some small college somewhere, then yeah.  Things would probably be more relaxed.  But have you ever heard stories of how people act at places like Harvard or Yale?  It can get real cut throat.  Or if you went to work at a corporation.  If you're some small little peon, then yeah.  It's work sure.  But you don't have drama per se.  If you're one of the big high muckity mucks though, there's all kinds of politics and backstabbing."

She points at you.  "Like you said before.  You've been raised to be a queen.  I know you don't really mean a Queen-queen.  But someone to hold a high position.  Hell, you're already there in a lot of ways.  Are you telling me no one's ever tried to stab you in the back before you got to Saint George?"

Gilda shrugs, giving you a gentle smile.  "I'm not saying Saint George is a nice place.  Or that they should be teaching the way they do.  They say there's a point to it all.  What that point is I dunno.  But a lot of the crap that goes on here isn't too far off the crap that goes on outside here.

"Anyway.  I asked cos it sounded a little like your expectations might have been set by a different set of standards is all.  Sorry if that came across weird."

I just look at Gilda until she is done speaking. I listen to her. Of course, what she has to say might be useful, and I want her to like me. I want everyone to like me, even though my demeanor probably doesn't show it.

"Why do think I don't mean a queen-queen? My parents would be delighted if I married a king. Probably, anyway. Plenty of people have tried to stab me in the back. They failed, because they are weak, and I am not. The 'real world,' as you put it, is a brutal place of violence. The social structures, the pretense that violence is not a fact of everyday life, are only in place because the anklebiters who managed to squirm they way to the top through deception do not want to have reality smack them in the face at terminal velocity."

I grin at her and try to be less grim. "I'd love it if the world wasn't so brutal, but the sort of deception and despair St. George's loves to foist on people isn't going to make the world safer. What is needed is strong people ruling well and in accordance with virtue. Is this really the best way to get that? I don't think so."

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 270):

Gilda laughs when you talk about marrying a king.  But near the end, she seems more thoughtful.

"Hmm.  If you look at it another way, they could be giving us a sneak preview of what's to come.  I know one thing.  No matter what the world throws at me, I'll be okay in handling it after Saint George's.  I dunno.  I just feel like if they trained me to be all virtuous, it would be the same thing as hanging a target sign on my back when they pushed me out the door after graduation."

A bell chimes across campus.  It's the warning bell that means ten minutes until the next class starts.

Gilda stands, hoisting her back pack.  "Sorry.  I gotta jet over to the science building.  Give me a text and we can catch lunch tomorrow or something.  See ya."

Your schedule today has English and history.  Then lunch.  The kendo club meets at three this afternoon.

We will handwave English and History.  Did you want to do anything before Kendo?

Gilda missed my meaning. Maybe I didn't express myself well enough. Dad has a hard time speaking to people one-on-one, but he gives great speeches. Maybe I'm the same way; I've considered that before. I wave goodbye to Gilda and watch her for a minute as she walks off.

That's fine with me. Onward, to hitting people with wood shaped like swords! Thonk! Thonk!

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 272):

English and History appear to be...dull.  You've read most of the novels on the reading list.  The history class is recovering material you learned two years ago.  Easy A's.

The dojo for the kendo club is not at all traditional.  It's a squat building that somehow manages to resemble a toad.  How that is, you can't put your finger on.  But looking at it...you just think of a toad.  It's also a little bit of a trek away, behind the stands in the field the human chess match was in.

When you arrive, a number of people are standing around in kendo uniforms.  A sign is posted asking new members to wait along the wall.  You see about five people standing there already, two of them you know.

Robert Rutherford, the guy on the bus who was eating the fired chicken and one of your classes gophers, nods at you as you approach.

Standing next to him is Adam Browski.  The guy with the halberd.  The halberd is leaning against the wall next to him.  Adam doesn't nod at you, but he may not have seen you.  He's watching the members in uniform with a look of concentration.

At least I can slack off and play games in English and History class. Which I do. Second row, left side, the seat any given teacher is least likely to look. Or speaker of any kind, for that matter. I don't feel a need to pretend to be paying attention; I read manga while the teachers drone about things I already know in ways that I am pretty sure are carefully calculated to be as boring as possible.

On the other hand, fighting. Finally! Augh! I've practiced many martial arts; kendo is not among them. I'm eager to get started smacking people and things. If I hadn't spent so many hundreds of hours cultivating an unflappable demeanor, I'd be bouncing on my feet and shadowboxing with anticipation. The toad-ness of the building doesn't dampen my enthusiasm in the least. It's kind of silly, really, and I think I like it.

I wave at Bob and stand next to him while we wait. I wonder whether I could throw him onto the roof. It would depend on his power, whatever it was. I have no trouble throwing or kicking a sufficiently durable object five times the speed of a cruise missile, since I can accelerate to ridiculously high velocities at a moment's notice and in a very small space.

"I took you for more of a bodybuilder type," I say, without looking at him.

In reply to Seraphina Martel (msg # 274):

He glances down at you and snorts a chuckle.  "Everyone does.  But muscle doesn't do you any good if you don't know how to use it.

"Along those lines, I didn't expect you to be the kendo type.  What's your attraction for it?""