fandomhigh | D.A.M.M. - Monday 1/7

Once the students are settled a dramatic explosion fills the space in front of the white board, generating a purple sparkling mushroom cloud of moaning skulls. When it clears, a tall wild eyed man in a red smoking jacket and pin-stripped slacks is standing there.

"Greeeeeetings students!" he says sweeping an arm out in a grand gesture that encompassed the lot of them. "I. Am Doctor Orpheus! And I am here to teach you all Defense Against the Dark Arts. There are many who would plumb the depths of the arcane, and each has their own reasons. Unfortunately, more often then we'd like, those reasons are greed! ANGER! REEEEEEEVENGE!!!"

As Orpheus talks, he paces back and forth in front of the white board while making dramatic gestures with his hands. He enunciates every syllable of every word as if he is being paid by the diphthong, this gives him a vaguely English sounding accent. (You'd never know he was from Maine.)

"For the most part, it is not the art that is dark but how it is used. I myself, am a Necro...mancer. It is unfortunate that some of those with similar training tend to be on the... creepy side. I assure you, the art of Neck-row-ma-see, is NOT all about dead things... A few publicity hungry bad eggs have foisted this stereotype upon the rest of us. The rest of us who combat these nogoodnicks with the ULTIMATE WEAPON!"

Byron strikes a dramatic pose and he radiates a golden light.

"Knowledge!!!"

The light fades.

"Knowledge is power! And with some knowledge comes great power. And with great power comes a whole lot of crap that you have to deal with if you abuse it. And by 'crap', I mean people like myself and the other members of THE ORDER OF THE TRIAD!" He exclaims as a glowing yellow triangular symbol appears behind him.

He's slightly concerned that he's just told his students that he and his brethren are "crap" but he decides to power through that.

"Firstly, we will discuss the most important weapon at your disposal in the battle against the darkly used arts..."

A plate of gourmet candy floats over to his hand.

"CHOCOLATE!!!"

[[ooc: ~~please wait for OCD~~]]

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Wyatt laughed. "Yeah, she was supposed to be a good cook," he said. "But I didn't inherit it, that's for sure."

"I poison oatmeal, so the less said about my cooking abilities, the better. So how far in the future are you from?"

"Not that far, only 13 years, 2020," Wyatt said. "Technically I'm only 4 years old in 2007."

Alanna turned this over in her mind a few times frowned. "I'm fairly sure Piper doesn't have any kids, how does that work?"

Wyatt sighed. "People have told me she may not be my real mom. I mean, she is, but she isn't. Like from a parallel universe or something. From what I hear, she hasn't even met my dad yet." And she makes out with girls.

"My cat confirmed that my daughter is from my time line." Alanna said rubbing at her temples. "And she won't tell me who her father is!" "With good reason." Her bag grumbled. "Know it all." She snapped down to it. "Ahem. But yeah, there are a lot of parallel universe things going on and they really break my brain."

Wyatt blinked at the bag. "Your bag is talking," he said. "And...your cat talks?"

"My talking cat is in my bag." Alanna explained matter of factly. "He does radio once a week, you may have heard him last Wednesday. I'm guessing you're a witch like your relatives?"

Wyatt nodded. "I'm half-witch, half-whitelighter. And I didn't realize that was a cat doing radio."

"I said I was a cat. Repeatedly." The bag grumbled. Alanna patted it. "His co-host? Is my daughter. I have a theory about the universe being out to get me. What's a whitelighter?"

"I thought it was a figure of speech," Wyatt said, eyeing the bag. "And a whitelighter is a kind of guardian angel."

A tail poked out of the bag and waved at Wyatt. "I'm not a figure of speech." "Don't you have to die to be an angel?" Alanna asked, still puzzled.

"My dad was dead, well, kinda," Wyatt said. "He died and then got to be a whitelighter. There're three of us now who are living whitelighters -- my brother Chris, and my aunt Paige."

Alanna tried to find logic there and failed. "Your Dad was dead?"

"Don't ask me how it worked," Wyatt said. "I try not to think about it too much."

"And that's the strategy that keeps you sane in Fandom." Alanna reasurred him and tried to get her eyes to stop bugging out.

"Isn't your daughter concerned you're never going to meet her father?" Wyatt asked.

Alanna thought about it for a moment. "I think she's more worried that if she tells me who her father is, it'll mess things up. And honestly? While I'm dying of curiosity, I don't want to know." She paused. "I have a boyfriend and, well, I don't wanna know." She added with a half smile.

Wyatt took note of the "boyfriend" reference. Too bad. "Yeah, there's a lot I probably shouldn't tell my Mom or Phoebe," he said. "But...then again, maybe I should."

Alanna shrugged. "I know my daughter has two other siblings. And..." She racked her brain. "I know she looks nothing like me. And that's pretty much it. Messing with the future makes messes. And headaches."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to undo my own existence or something," Wyatt agreed. "But still, there's some things I wanna change."

"If you undo your own existance, then who went back to undo your existance?"

Wyatt clutched his head. "You're making my brain hurt."

"I'm making my own brain hurt."

D.A.M.M. - Monday 1/7 - Period 1

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