fandomhigh | BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Friday Morning [12/30]

Anakin still thought that getting sent off to school at some place he'd never heard of (and he'd been trying to memorize star maps practically since he was old enough to read) was one of Uncle Luke's stranger decisions. He'd graduated from the Academy, he wasn't a little kid any more, but as his uncle's apprentice he didn't have much room to argue. He'd much rather have been back in the thick of things if it were up to him, but it wasn't and Luke had sent him here, so he'd trust Luke's judgment even if he didn't understand it. Sending him to Dantooine with Aunt Mara had been weird at the time, too, and turned out to be a valuable learning experience.

The large Fandom High banner in the Portalocity lounge left little doubt that he was in the right place. With a tiny sigh, Anakin set his single bag down on the floor, tugged at the hem of his tunic. and brushed his fingertips against the hilt of the lightsaber hanging from his belt. That, at least, was something familiar in a completely unfamiliar environment.

He never liked waiting around for things to happen, but since he couldn't be home helping the Jedi with the war effort waiting for the shuttle to show up was the only thing to do right now. Well, that and finding out what the other new students would be like, and he supposed that part would happen soon enough.

[OOC: You will wait for the OCD. *Jedi mind-tricks* Shuttle post is goooooooooo!]

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"Yeah, I guess." The wrinkle of Britta's nose seemed to suggest that, though she acknowledge that she would still have the chance to do it, she'd much rather get a chance to embark on changing the world now. She shifted the strap of her messenger bag as if adjusting the weight of the world.

"There just always seems to be something thrusting its way into my plans. This time, it's just the conventional delusion of the value of a traditional educational system. The people seem cool, though, so that's good."

"Traditional, huh?"

If Fandom was traditional, Jim decided he liked Earth even more.

"But yeah, you'll probably like the people more than the classes. I mean, not many of them want to be there at first either, so you kinda start on common ground like that."

"At first?" Britta lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "What, they don't, like, brainwash everyone into being mindless, contented clones in the pursuit of being good little citizens, or anything, do they?"

Because, if they did, Britta was already prepared to defy them all, if you couldn't tell by the squaring of her shoulders and the straightening of her back.

Oh yeah. Jim had totally tried that one back when he was new, too. Though he hadn't really wanted to save the world or anything, so...

"Uh, I dunno. I don't think I'm a mindless clone. Still have my surfer with me and everything, you know?"

Britta leaned in a little bit with her eyes narrowed critically, as if searching for signs of mindlessness, but she settled back with a satisfied nod. "Some of us," she said, with the confidence of someone who knew she was in exclusive company and that company was going to come out of things okay in the long run, "are stronger than others."

"Well, that's a relief," Jim decided with a laugh. "I'd hate to think I was just like all the other drones or something, after all."

He was trying, offhand, to think of someone that he'd classify as a drone. Peter, maybe?

... Maybe not.

"Although that is one thing about being a drone," Britta reasoned. "They usually don't realize they are a drone."

And with the little tidbit, she quirked her head and smiled. "I'm Britta, by the way."

All this talk of potential brainwashed academicbots reminded her that she was an individual. An individual who should probably introduce herself.

Individuality was a beautiful thing that way!

"And I'm Jim," he replied, offering her a grin and a little nod of his head. "Jim Hawkins. Always good to meet a fellow... anarchist philanthropist?"

Was that a thing around here?

"Anarchist philanthropist," Britta mused, with a dreamy smile on her face as she savored the flavor of the words. "I like it!"

And here's to hoping that anarchist philanthropists didn't stab each other in the back like anarchist billboard taggers did!

Jim had gotten his fill of backstabbing back when he was serving on the Legacy. He promised not to backstab if Britta didn't, too.

"It does kind of have a good ring to it, doesn't it? Sort of a... helping people in spite of The Man kind of deal. Guerilla soup kitchens and food bank jihads or something."

"Now you're talking my language!" said Britta with a laugh. "Much better use of anarchist time improving the world rather than just trying to deface the corporate bullcrap around us every day. Spraypainting mustaches on lawyers is one way to do something, but making the world better is really gonna stick it to the Man!"

The Man had no idea what it was in for, now.

"I bet there'll be plenty for a pair of anarchist philanthropists to do once we're settled in on the island. And a lot of people there are pretty interested in helping others when they can, I've noticed. So we could probably manage to gather up a whole squad of people to help, if we really wanted."

"All right by me," said Britta, with a reluctance flashing across her face, "so long as no one gets confused and starts to think that they can get ideas like voting out one of the founding members for not being anarchist enough."

"We'll make sure that we hold veto power or something," Jim decided, shrugging. "Voting kind of goes against the whole anarchist thing in the first place anyhow, doesn't it?"

BWI Airport, Portalocity Lounge, Friday Morning [12/30]

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