The (Literal) Installation of Dean Zordon

[overlord-zordon.livejournal.com]

Were anyone to actually be wandering about the corridors of the school's administrative wing, they might hear an unearthly amount of noise coming from the largest of the empty faculty offices.

"Unearthly," as it happens, is quite the apt phrase for the noise, and for its source as well, given that all of it is being made by a single robot being from the planet Mirinoi.  Contributing as well to the "unearthly" aspect is the simple fact that one diminutive Mirinoid robot should not conceivably be capable of making so much noise.

Never underestimate the decibel capacity of a tinny voice repeatedly exclaiming "Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi!" in the center of a large, empty room.  To say nothing of the variety of clanking metallic sounds that can be generated by a robot clattering about at a frenetic pace.

Our hypothetical wanderer, were he, she, or it to linger long enough, might observe that this racket continues for approximately four hours unabated before a brief, and one might even say welcome, pause.  Said hypothetical wanderer would then ear a sudden staccato burst of clicks and pops, as though a certain small red robot were frantically working an array of buttons and switches.

Or possibly having a spectacular if unwitnessed breakdown.

But for the sake of convenience, we will assume the former.

Assuming our hypothetical wanderer is possessed of eardrums, the next sensation registered would be a low, harmonious humming of the sort that would cause said eardrums to vibrate unpleasantly (and not at all in an OMGDIRTY way, because OMGKIDS'SHOW) for half a minute or so.  This would be followed by a sudden *POP*, then disconcerting silence.

(It should be noted at this juncture that as a grand entrance, appearing offstage -- as it were -- lacks considerably in style.  This is, however, simply the most expedient and lowest-budget method available.)

Our hypothetical wanderer -- who by this point has progressed to being a hypothetical loiterer -- might now become aware of the constant thrum of machinery from inside the room.  That is to say, assuming the loiterer is blessed with extraordinarily keen hearing (contingent upon the previous assumption of eardrums) or sophisticated listening devices.

Sadly, the rules of the universe automatically dictate a lack of omniscience on the part of our loiterer, who should not in any way have gleaned enough from the past several hours' worth of seemingly random sounds to know that in fact, a large, computer-filled chamber has simply appeared out of nowhere and taken over the previously empty office.  Nor should said loiterer have any way of knowing that this is the same chamber that had, several days earlier, spontaneously materialized in a subterranean cave in the California desert (possibly Valencia, but certainly not New Zealand).

One can only hope that our loiterer has patience enough to wait until a small red robot with gold trim and blinking lights comes out to mount a small bronze plaque on the door.  At this point, he, she, it, or undecided would be able to read the following:

Command Center
Dean of Students Zordon of Eltar

At this point, and only at this point, would one be able to conclusively determine that, in fact, the new Dean of Students has been officially -- and literally -- installed.