On the platform: New characters and old ones that want to come and meet them!

[utopiamods]

As you all crowd onto the platform with your new and still bizarre mix of faces, expressions, clothing and wild theories, you are met by two girls. Both are in uniforms that would match if not for the colour differences - skirts, waistcoats, and light summer shirts that seem totally inappropriate for the thin layer of snow and ice coating the station platform. Both have a beret with a crest - one shows a sword, the other a shield.

At the first lull in the chatter, the shorter girl speaks up, her soft voice somehow cutting over you.

"Excuse me,"

She explains, in precise, quiet sentences, that they're prefects, representing the two schools in Rakuen. Nanami of Fortitude, she says, placing a hand on her own collarbone, and Santana of Conquest, here pointing to the taller girl she's leaning against. The girl nods, looking fairly bored.

"We will be sorting you now. When we say your name, please move quickly and quietly to whoever called you."

"Yeah," Santana interrupts, "Then we can go back to the dorms. It's not getting any warmer however many times they make us do this."

They separate, moving to stand several metres apart, and both pull a list from their waistcoat pocket. Alternating, they start to read out your names.

Comments

[fabricates]

Yeah, because apparently humans would get lost without them. Pretty pathetic if you ask me.

[She slides off the bed in a much less spastic manner, side-eyeing him slightly. Well, it's John so energy isn't surprising.]

You can keep that notebook, by the way. I don't really need it.

[She heads back over to the door, kicking a stray book out of her path as she goes.]

[wakingsavior]

<<'Thanks!'>>

[ John signs absently as he follows her, even though she's really not looking at him. The pen gets tucked over his ear, the notebook tucked under his arm, and he follows her out into the hallway ]

[fabricates]

[She totally didn't catch that, so she doesn't think to question him about earlier either. She's too busy finally settling into her thoughts. There were a lot of things she should probably tell him, the first thing being that she failed to take on Jack, that she hadn't even gotten to leave before- And that's where her memories clouds, and she can't remember what exactly happened.

Well. There's no way in hell she's going to tell him she's dead. She doesn't want him to know how much of a failure she turned out to be. She turns her face to him when she wants to say something.]

I'm in such a giving mood today, Egbert, that I'm going to offer you a tour of the city too. You better be grateful!

[wakingsavior]

[ He wouldn't think you were a failure, Vriska. He'd just think that you were a 13-year-old (or... 6-sweep-old, whatever) kid who was up against something that was unbelievably powerful. But then, she'd think that was failure. Silly girl.

John grins at her and flashes a thumbs up to that suggestion. He'll probably forget his way around by the time he gets back to his room, but it's a start! ]

[fabricates]

[Yep, all of that is failure, especially when she's the one that made that unbelievably powered something.

It takes trial and error and moving out of the Black block before she finds the placard with his name on it.]

Here you are, Egbert! Drop off whatever you want and then we'll go to the city.

[wakingsavior]

[ John comes in and looks around, and... well, there's not really much of anything to drop off. He picks what looks like an unused bed, scribbles a note that says "john egbert has claimed this bed!" and leaves it on the pillow. Then he trots back out to the hallway and grins expectantly at Vriska. ]

[fabricates]

[She peers in the room and snorts before she pulls the door shut and faces him.]

You're such a dork.

[wakingsavior]

[ John gives her a look and a shrug that tries to convey "What? I had to stake my claim somehow!" Who knows if that translates or not, though. He then proves her point by bowing with a flourish, gesturing for her to take the lead.

Yep, he's a dork. ]

[fabricates]

Oh my gooooooood, I can't even handle you, John. You are the heir of dorks. It is you.

[Shaking her head and taking the lead again.]