fandomhigh | Diplomacy, Tuesday, September 9, 2025 [2nd period]

Today's classroom was set up like a cocktail party with a bartender on each side of the large room filled with generic wall art and a table full of snacks in the middle. The drinks were non-alcoholic but the food was real because your teachers weren't monsters. There were, however, some landmines on the table for a party where you are standing and talking: brownies that could get stuck in your teeth, broccoli that could get stuck in your teeth, chicken wings that rendered your fingers sticky, something with a sauce begging to drip on your shirt, and so on.

"Today we test what you remember from your interactions last week," Anakin said, "or what you can make up in a bland yet plausible way about your colleagues."

"Remember, you're all here at this function because you're representing a larger organisation," Ahsoka added. "What you say and do also reflects on them." So make sure any truly outrageous lies couldn't be traced back to you, basically.

"Do not get fake drunk and make a scene," Anakin said, nodding, "unless you are planning to quit, get fired, or leave the planet never to be seen again."

"Or you're participating in some kind of double bluff where you need to appear disgraced in order to accomplish a larger goal." Which was a very specific scenario that you sounded far too familiar with, Ahsoka.

Anakin nodded. "But that's a more advanced class." Because they'd definitely done that.

More than once, even.

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"Some people can," Billie said. "Some of us listen most closely to things." Usually music, but also radio broadcasts. "Actually, if I could be 'Ms. Logan', that'd be appreciated. Or 'Mx.'!" She grinned. "Who's to say I want people to immediately know my gender, either? 'Mx. Logan.' Excellent."

Have a little bit of strangely audible air-guitar, Lydia.

(And huh. Funny how she never decided to ask for that before. Probably because almost no one in San Dimas called her "Miss" or "Ms" anything. She was Billie, or B. Or 'Ted's kid'. Or sometimes "WOULD YOU SHUT THAT RACKET OFF ALREADY????"

(It could mean nothing.)

"Mx. Logan," Lydia repeated, trying to make sure she pronounced the new form of address correctly. "I shall try to remember that."

"Most appreciated!" Billie said. "And no worries if you forget sometimes. Those types of adjustments can be very difficult."

"You are very kind," Lydia told her. "How have you been settling in to our fair isle? I hope it is treating you well." Not too much glitter in your belongings, in other words.

"It's been so fun," Billie said, eyes wide. "But I didn't get to be a pony when everyone else did. That was most disappointing."

"Oh, I think that you might not have found it so if you had been one," Lydia told her. "The lack of thumbs was...rather difficult." She considered. "Then again, some of the ponies could fly." She supposed it was rather a trade off, but then she hadn't had wings. Rather rude of whatever power decided such things.

"But the experience of it!" Billie said. "I have traveled through time, I have died, I have helped produce the music that saved reality, but have I ever been a horse? No." Her frown might be called exaggerated on someone with less . . . enthusiasm. "Bogus."

Just imagine getting to tell the dads she was a real Wyld Stallyn for a day! Alas.

"Being a cat was much better--you died?" Lydia had only mostly died, you see, and that had been horrid enough.

"Totally!" Billie said. (Why did you sound vaguely stoked about that, Billie?) "Went to Hell and everything. Fortunately, Death is basically my godfather."

She was dead and in Hell for maybe fifteen minutes, total.

Diplomacy, Tuesday, September 9, 2025 [2nd period]

Re: More mingling!

Re: More mingling!

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