Origin Arc: It All Starts Here

[Bjorn]

Every high school must have a low man on its totem pole: the poor sole who is the butt of all jokes, the object of all pranks, the victim of thoughtless cruelty by students of all sorts and, embarrassingly often, the faculty as well.

Foundation City's First Memorial High might be thought unique, for its low man is, in fact, a teacher.

Mr. T. Una is, it is widely believed, of either Eastern European or Martian descent.  Short and rotund, his wide, pink-cheeked face and massive black mutachio (compenstaion, it seems quite certain, for the sole three hairs on top of his scalp) might be considered jolly, were his eyes not not black and beady slits.  He teaches both mathematics and computer programming, and on this fine Friday day, it is the latter in which he finds himself engaged.

The lesson has followed its usual, predictable course: an incoherent lecture, interspersed with irrelevant homophobic remarks and delivered in a whining, high-pitched voice, which continued until the constant stream of sniggers, sallies, and spitballs eventually drove Mr. Una to sulk unlamented at the front of the class.  So for the remainder of the lecture (which, as it turns out, is the majority) the students disperse to the various machines lined neatly up along the sides of the rooms, ostensibly to work on their current ill-defined homework assignment.

As is their wont, William Sykes and Simon Marconi manage to obtain adjacent computers.  By chance, they find themselves sitting by David Windsor, who has only recently come to be at F.M.H. after moving to Foundation from New York City.

And here we go! Take the time to introduce your characters, do some initial character development, etc.  Brian, Hal, feel free to start working towards discovering your powers -- if you don't, of course, I'll feel free to help you along.

[Dracos]

David glanced around, a bit surprised at the whole casualness to the affair.  He was currently dressed in casual schoolware, not really dressed to stand out.  Sitting down, he glanced at the fellow next to him.  "Kind of wild.  Is it like this every day?"

Dracos

[Halbarad]

Simon didn't bother to even look away from the computer to reply.

"Pretty much," he replies. "Computer applications is a complete blowoff class, but it at least gets you time in the lab."

The young man takes a moment to push his round-rimmed glasses up, as they're in imminent danger of sliding off the end of his nose. His slightly pudgy features settle into a grin as he continues working on the computer.

"He's all wind, though. Just don't pay any attention to him and you'll be fine."

[Dracos]

"Fair enough." David smiled.  "My name's David, I'm still a bit new around here.  Used to it being a bit more...controlled up in New York."

Dracos

[Bjorn]

As if to punctuate that, three paper airplanes flying in formation soar over your heads in the general direction of Mr. Una.

[Brian]

Sighing, William finishes firing off a batch of pre-formatted e-mails on his webmail account to people asking for information about the Blue Shield.  After that, he spends a moment browsing the official Fan Club forums.

Once he's done, he looks up from his screen and rubs at his temples.  William is an average sized sixteen year old boy with somewhat shaggy and poorly maintained brown hair.  He's also got a very unassuming demeanor, which may be why no one noticed him until he finished with his web-stuff.

Realizing there was a new student across from his friend, William asks, "Hey, have you ever seen the Blue Shield?  I heard about his last operation in New York -- they're still setting up the pictures for the e-newsletter.  Were you there for that?"

[Dracos]

David blinks, briefly caught off guard by the barrage of questions.  "No, never seen him, though I've read of him a number of times in the newspaper.  And nope, I've not been in the middle of one of his fights.  Um...you are?"

Dracos

[Brian]

"Oh," William says after a pause, blinking.  "I'm William Sykes, president of the National Blue Shield Fan-Club."  He offers a hand for a handshake.  "You said your name was David?"

[Bjorn]

There is a "thump" from the front of the room, and you hear Mr. Una shrill, "If I am hearing of the one more plane from you queers, yes, I will be telling you what I am doing, oh yes oh yes!"

[Dracos]

"Yes.  That it is.  At least offstage.  You're seriously the fan club president?"  David followed the whole trend of the class, ignoring the odd teacher.

Dracos

[Brian]

After David doesn't return the handshake, William produces his official Fan-Club ID card, and shows it to him.  "I've always thought heroes were cool," he said.  "There's a lot of chatter about them on the forums all the time.  Most of it is hear-say, but some of it's pretty neat stuff."

[Dracos]

"Woah, neat stuff." David handed it back to him.  "I never really followed all that closely."

Dracos

[Bjorn]

Spitballs, when fired through a drinking straw, make a sound commonly rendered, somewhat inadequately, as "pfut."  It is an onomatopoeia engrained into the unconcious of every student.

The sound that the volley that passes over your heads makes bears as much resemblance to that archetypical "pfut" as the "pop" of a cork-gun bears to a twenty-one cannon salute.

[Dracos]

"What the hell?" David turns to see what caused such a ruckus.

Dracos

[Halbarad]

"Yeah, it'd be awesome to get to meet a real hero," Simon grins. "Simon Marconi, by the way - nice to meet you, David."

"Enough with the talking!" comes the cry from the front of the room, the sound of a chair scraping along the floor making itself heard as Mr. Una gets up to dispense some impotent rage. Just as the teacher's balding head rises into view, Simon smirks and pushes his glasses up his nose - and a sudden whine and insistent beeping arise from the teacher's computer, which appears to be smoking.

"Gotta love old Fish-lips," he grins. "Better than the movies some days."