Ronan Nolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
not_in_the_book) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhigh2012-06-11 02:18 pm
not_in_the_book) wrote in fandomhigh2012-06-11 02:18 pm
Entry tags:
Philosophy of Choice, Monday, Period One
Today's class was in the Danger Shop, set up to look remarkably familiar to Ronan, but likely not at all to anyone else.
Welcome, everyone, to the oldest, best known, and most active worldgating facility in our part of the galaxy.
Welcome to the Crossings. Don't worry, the floating ceilings aren't about to fall on you.
"A few years ago," Ronan began, forgoing a preamble, "two of my best friends were trapped here while trying to get back to Earth when mercenaries hired to stop them began firing upon them." He snapped his hands and the light, airy Crossings architecture went dark, scorched, empty -- signs of battle all around. Blaster fire shot past the class (at a wide margin, thankfully) around a large block of probably-stone that was granting them cover. "Now, these friends, like me, are wizards. We're sworn to save life, to guard it, not to take it. But these mercenaries had no qualms shooting to kill, and they threatened not only my friends' lives, but the entire Crossings -- and, if they stopped my friends from completing their mission, potentially the entire universe. So what's a wizard to do?"
Ronan pointed across the hallway where, behind another block of possibly-stone, a young, red-haired girl -- no older than fourteen, and so younger than most if not all of the students in the class -- held a long, glowing... something in the vague shape of a gun. After a moment's concentration, she held up one hand and the blaster fire began to splatter against an invisible wall, highlighting its shape as she stood up and faced the aliens. "In Life's name, and for Its sake," she called out, "I advise you that I am here on the business of the Powers that Be! Your actions toward me, and through me, toward Them, will determine the continuance or revocation of your present status. Be warned by me, and desist!"
Snorting a bit, Ronan said, "It didn't work, of course." In fact, the blaster fire aimed at the girl seemed to have increased in frequency, not the opposite, and she had begun taking careful aim with her gun-like-glowing-thing and firing bolts of light at the mercenaries. "But this is the choice she made: give them a chance to stand down, before firing back -- do harm instead of healing."
Another snap -- Ronan did have a flair for the dramatic -- and a crate appeared beside him. Opening it up, he revealed a set of blasters, mostly of the pistol variety but with a few longer, shotgun-like ones as well. "So what do you do?" he asked. "Do you fight back? Try to find a way around? Your goal is the transit pad at the other end of the hallway. There's a screen on your blaster that highlights the goal."
[Wait for OCD is up!]
Welcome, everyone, to the oldest, best known, and most active worldgating facility in our part of the galaxy.
Welcome to the Crossings. Don't worry, the floating ceilings aren't about to fall on you.
"A few years ago," Ronan began, forgoing a preamble, "two of my best friends were trapped here while trying to get back to Earth when mercenaries hired to stop them began firing upon them." He snapped his hands and the light, airy Crossings architecture went dark, scorched, empty -- signs of battle all around. Blaster fire shot past the class (at a wide margin, thankfully) around a large block of probably-stone that was granting them cover. "Now, these friends, like me, are wizards. We're sworn to save life, to guard it, not to take it. But these mercenaries had no qualms shooting to kill, and they threatened not only my friends' lives, but the entire Crossings -- and, if they stopped my friends from completing their mission, potentially the entire universe. So what's a wizard to do?"
Ronan pointed across the hallway where, behind another block of possibly-stone, a young, red-haired girl -- no older than fourteen, and so younger than most if not all of the students in the class -- held a long, glowing... something in the vague shape of a gun. After a moment's concentration, she held up one hand and the blaster fire began to splatter against an invisible wall, highlighting its shape as she stood up and faced the aliens. "In Life's name, and for Its sake," she called out, "I advise you that I am here on the business of the Powers that Be! Your actions toward me, and through me, toward Them, will determine the continuance or revocation of your present status. Be warned by me, and desist!"
Snorting a bit, Ronan said, "It didn't work, of course." In fact, the blaster fire aimed at the girl seemed to have increased in frequency, not the opposite, and she had begun taking careful aim with her gun-like-glowing-thing and firing bolts of light at the mercenaries. "But this is the choice she made: give them a chance to stand down, before firing back -- do harm instead of healing."
Another snap -- Ronan did have a flair for the dramatic -- and a crate appeared beside him. Opening it up, he revealed a set of blasters, mostly of the pistol variety but with a few longer, shotgun-like ones as well. "So what do you do?" he asked. "Do you fight back? Try to find a way around? Your goal is the transit pad at the other end of the hallway. There's a screen on your blaster that highlights the goal."
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