fandomhigh | Classrooms Around Campus, All Day Saturday

Classrooms Around Campus, All Day Saturday

It was Saturday, and that meant Career Day! Unbeknownst to all the students who had taken the career placement test, Fandom had apparently conspired to place them all in workshops that didn't quite fit the answers they gave for their tests. The island was tricky that way. Not to mention that the workshops that the island had planned were somewhat different from the workshops an ordinary school might offer on Career Day. As in quite a lot different.

So the classrooms all around the school were filled with visitors from off-island and island alike, all of whom had been led to believe that they would be teaching eager-minded groups of students, excited to learn about their prospective careers. This assumption was not necessarily accurate.

[[up early early early for timezones! ~~wait for the OCD or puppies will die.~~ the puppies are safe now.]]

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And Rude!

There wasn't a presenter at the front of the classroom when the children entered. There WAS an imposing security-guard type in a black suit and dark sunglasses standing inside the door and impassively watching them all come in and sit down.

Seven minutes after the presentation was supposed to begin -- he appreciated that not everyone could be on time, but didn't want to encourage it -- he shut the door firmly and walked over to the blackboard. He wrote "COURIER" up on the board, slowly, managing to do it so that the chalk barely squeaked, but so that the whole room could hear his leather gloves creak as his hands flexed. When he was done, he turned to face the room and stood THERE impassively.

"My name is Rude," he told them, "and I am here to... talk to you about... Strife Delivery Service." Not "on behalf of", or "a representative from". Cloud and Tifa didn't know he was here, and he certainly didn' work for or with them. This was just an elaborate excuse to come to Fandom so he could have a drink or two with Reno, after all.

"A courier service is a company that carries things from one place to another... for a fee. It delivers things. All kinds of... things. It's a lot like a postal service that way. But different. There are three main differences between a postal service and a courier service."

He turned and wrote "1. Speed" on the board. "Speed. A mail truck carries a lot of letters and packages all over everwhere. It takes days for something to get to where it's going. A courier carries one thing from its origin to its destination, and it gets there as quickly as the courier can travel. Delivery time is measured in minutes, not days, and sometimes... minutes count."

"2. Convenience" went up on the board next. "Convenience. A postal service follows a set schedule, and you need to visit a post office in order to send anything... unusual. A courier will come to your door anytime you call. Postal services also have... rules... about what they will and won't take. Sometimes what you need to deliver is dangerous, or illegal, or being sought after by... deadly assassins. Couriers will take anything, for the right price."

The third difference was "3. Guaranteed Delivery". "Guaranteed delivery. A package may occasionally get lost or destroyed in the mail, and if that happens the postal service will reimburse you for it, if you paid for insurance. A courier, on the other hand, doesn't want to be killed by dissatisfied clients, and will tend to be more... careful."

"So, why become a... courier?" Because you were a whiny emo kid who liked to take long emo drives on your emo motorcycle instead of manning up and actually dating your sexy friend with the huge tits and huger crush on you who deserved much better than a little emo brat like yourself. Theoretically. But the kids needed real reasons. "You get to travel. You'll want a fast, maneuverable vehicle, like a motorcycle or helicopter. Something... fun. Depending on what you're carrying and who wants to take it from you, the ride can be... intense. Exciting. Dangerous."

"Unless you're the dispatcher. Every courier needs someone to sit around and take calls. When you have a lot of operatives in the field, the job is... demanding. But a small service with just one courier can get a friend to do it in her... spare time." Out of pity. "So, that's it."

After a few moments of thought, Rude turned and added "4. Extant" to the list on the board. "Also, sometimes, your world might experience an... apocalyptic event. If the postal service isn't running, couriers become... more important. Any questions?"

Momoko recognized the man, sort of! He'd hung around with Reno a lot! Yay!

He was, Momoko was happy to see, wearing a NICE Turk uniform. After her other workshops, if her eyes could sigh, they would.

After the lecture, she raised her hand. "If you can fly, is that better than using a fast vehicle?" Although helicopters would be good.

"Can you fly faster than a vehicle?" Rude asked. "For a long time?" Because if so, the answer was a definite yes.

He'd stick with choppers, though.

"I've never tried? Could I do both? Or do you have to stick to one way of travel?" She was actually curious. This totally sounded like something she could do! It wasn't Hero-work, but it totally sounded easy. And better than being a mercenary. "And can you turn down a package?"

Rude raised an eyebrow at her. "You're free to do whatever you want, unless you're working for someone else. If you don't want to take a package, don't. Travel whatever way works best. Once you take a package, you need to get it to its destination by the time you promised it. Other than that, it's... freestyle."

Momoko blinked. "That sounds totally easy and relaxing! And fun! Even if it isn't very Hero-like."

Someone was seriously trying to tell Nico something with this whole career fair and the workshops he was getting sent to. He was either supposed to hunt people for a living or use his transportation skills to act as a courier for shady clientele like he was a son of Hermes.

At least it was interesting and at least it had him thinking. But who was he kidding? Demigods didn't have that kind of lifespan.

Though Nico did have one question, just in case. "How do you find a good dispatcher?"

"Do you know anyone with good organizational skills?" Rude asked. "Or someone who owes you a favor?" He really didn't know, unfortunately. "You might want to join an existing service, if you're just starting out."

"My cousin runs our uh, existing service, but he's no fan of mine." Likely something to do with the chilly temperature that surrounded Nico. And while he wasn't the most personable demigod, he was the most polite. "Thank you for the tips and for sharing about your work."

"Try talking to him anyway," Rude suggested. "Set aside your... personal differences." The Turks had asked for Cloud's help a while back, after all.

He adjusted his sunglasses and nodded. "You're welcome," he told Nico. "Thank you for being... receptive."

Warren had no idea how he'd ended up in this workshop. He was the son of a millionaire, for goodness sake! But he listened attentively nevertheless. At least he was more or less already equipped to deal with that fast, manoeuvrability thing.

But there was one statement that Warren just couldn't shake, entirely.

"... Apocalyptic event?"

Okay. Maybe playing courier wasn't for him, either.

"If you haven't had one, don't gloat," Rude told him. "Gloating is rude."

Warren's eyes went wide at that, and he held his hands up in front of himself in protest.

"Oh, no! No, I wouldn't dream of gloating! I just..." Warren's mouth opened and closed a few times, but his brain seemed to be utterly failing to provide him with a decent excuse for his curiosity. "I'm sorry. I just needed to get my head around the idea of capitalizing on disaster. But then, it hasn't really been entirely unheard of where I'm from, either."

His dad, after all, was rich because he was selling drugs to sick people.

There was the tiniest hint of a smirk on Rude's face. He'd just been messing with the kid, after all.

"The world doesn't end just because the world's ended," he replied, all philosophically. "Someone's still got to... clean up the mess."

Aww, Rude. Smirking over messing with Warren was like bragging about the lollipop that you'd snagged from inside a stroller.

"The delivery guys?"

Forgive him, Rude. Warren clearly had never seen the folks at Strife Delivery in action, before.

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