Saint Joseph School

((OOC: I think it's high time a few things about SJS were revealed. The cast for this thread has been chosen...stay tuned. This will be interesting.))

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Wasn’t that how the cliché went?

Francis Cross sat quietly overlooking the quad from her usual place beneath the Wingra Tree. Spring was finally taking hold in Paragon City, and the tree's usual morose self was transforming from a twisted cringing memory to a blossoming memorial.

She remembered back to her first day at SJS. Anger and adolescence aside, the campus had loomed over her, a glowering monolith of intolerance, and the nuns had seemed more laughable than frightening, waddling past in their black and white. She could distinctly remember sneaking her first cigarettes behind the small niche in the back of the main building and grumbling with Jasmine over the usual Goth trivialities. She looked back with a smile on the first time she had seen Biff fit an unassuming freshman into his locker or the first time Jaygo had been hauled off to detention for skipping class. So many memories since that first day…

And what now? Head cheerleader of the SJS Cheersquad? How had that happened? Rooming with an alien who cheerfully broiled up croquet mallets for the quad with a chipper smile? Why was that so enjoyable? A boyfriend!?!?

Franky shifted and half-heartedly brushed a few blades of grass from her skirt as a small, green, leaf drifted down from the branches above her. So much had changed. She had changed.

But now, something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t just the rumors bouncing through the halls, it wasn’t just the angry confrontations between students in the quad…something at SJS seemed out of sync. The things that people were saying! She could hardly believe the terrors that haunted the students of St. Joe’s. The question was, what was it?

The divination rituals she had been using were of no help. She had hardly been able to determine there was something wrong at all through tracing energy lines, but once Oby had showed up at her quad, oaks leaves and marigolds in hand, she had been more than sure of it. She just wasn’t powerful enough to see it.

She glanced up as one of the elderly sisters bustled across the quad toting a large bundle of papers. A sheet of music fell to the side walk but went unnoticed, it was simply carried off by the breeze.

Couldn’t they do anything? Did they even know?

Francis got up, she was tired of the terror, tired of not knowing. No library could solve this, no book was going to help her now. But she did have a place to start. She figured Michael should be out of class by now. She wondered briefly if he had gotten the note she had slipped into his math book. Assuming he ever opened his math book. She smiled a little brighter. Somewhere in her head she realized that every girl must go through stages like this, but Michael really was something special. It meant more to Franky than anything just to know he was there. He would be there when he was needed, eyeliner and pink hair of no consequence.

She headed across the quad towards the boys dorm. Unfortunately today, time was short, Francis did not have the quiet moments she craved to talk to Michael…she needed to talk to Misericorde.

As Franky passed the broom closet on the first floor of the boy's dorm, the door swung ajar, and two arms snaked out suddenly, one hand pressed over her mouth, the other coiling about her; pinioning her arms to her waist and dragging her into the cramped space.

She struggled in the darkness for a moment, panic a cold hand about her heart; she couldn't move or speak well enough to marshal an arcane defense! As soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, her captor spun her about gently, though one hand was still lightly pressed to her mouth.

His eyes and hair obscured by the shadows; a male student in a Saint Joe's uniform pressed a single finger to his lips, which curled into a familiar smile.

"Michael!" she whispered harshly as she pulled his hand from her mouth. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Lightning flashed from her eyes...literally...dancing along the planes of her cheeks in electric tears.

He smiled, stifling a laugh. "Hiding from Mary Moltar...did you know the Sisters are searching the boys' rooms today? I barely had time to ditch my contraband in the old incinerator downst...shhh!"

Michael drew her close to limit her movement; she opened her mouth to protest, then remembered his senses were almost preternaturally sharp these days. A short while later, she heard the faint clack-clack of Sister Mary Moltar's shoes on the tile.

Both teens held their breath as she passed, and as Michael released her from his grip, she lingered next to him a few seconds more. She leaned back from him, frowning slightly. She wasn't the sort of girl to draw strength from anyone since Croatoa. Quietly, she spoke. "Mis..." she used his codename, a sign something was wrong. "Mis, something's wrong with the school."

The smile vanished from his face as though a magician had passed his wand over it. So serious...his mission face. Franky had noticed he always got so serious when he was protecting something. It was slightly unnerving. At least his words were reassuring.

"Tell me what you need me to do."

It was never truly pleasant when it was Misericorde, and not Michael, that she was talking to, but Francis never let on. Some things needed to be the way they were.

“Mis, I’ve been trying for days to figure out what I think is happening,” She whispered in the confines of the closet. Somewhere near her foot, a bottle of cleaner was quickly becoming a nuisance. “But I can’t…I just can’t see it. There’s been strange things going on all over the place and if some of the rumors I’ve been hearing are true, then St. Joe’s is in big trouble…and I’m not strong enough to take this on.”

A small sliver of light from a crease in the doorway illuminated her silhouette. Her features were drawn together in tense thought.

“And I know that neither of us can afford to lose this place. Not now.” Her hand brushed up across his cheek, the motion made slightly stiff in response to his darker demeanor.

Misericorde allowed himself a small smile, a smile meant to be reassuring if not the smallest bit comforting.

She sighed, listening in the darkness for another warning sign of an approaching nun.

“I don’t think this is something either of us can fight…I mean…not like usual, and I…umm…”

She paused nervously, pulling away slightly.

“I just need to know Mis, I need you to tell me if any of this has something to do with what you’re looking for here at SJS..is Longbow looking for something?

Misericorde's mouth tightened into a hard line as the word "Longbow" fell from her lips.

"No," he uttered tersely. "Whatever malaise is affecting the school, it began before I even arrived here."

He rubbed at his face with both hands, adding a sigh for good measure. After a moment, he spoke. "My mission is simple; observe, and report anything I regard as suspicious. Or anyone," he added, as he leaned backwards, bracing himself against the wall in the tight space.

Franky nodded, shifting her weight. A broom fell against his shoulder, but he ignored it.

"Of course, now...with Minerva having been compromised, the information I gathered was considered tainted, so I've destroyed it. Fortunately, Longbow caught on before I could submit the report to her...but...who knows what they think of me now. They're probably checking to see if I turned too."

In the cold...in the open...and alone; he chewed at his lip fretfully.

Franky leaned forward, tangled her slender fingers in his.

Perhaps...not so alone as all that.

"Mis...Michael...what should we do? I'm...at a loss." He saw that she truly wasn't sure what to do, or perhaps she was, and didn't want to admit it. More importantly, he saw how much this all hurt her, and resolved to do what he could. Michael wondered if his intentions to help her were selfless, or selfish. In the end, he found it didn't really matter.

"We're gonna do what I did the first time I saw you," he stated matter-of-factly.

"What's that?" she asked, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. She tried to take a step closer to him, ended up stumbling over an empty bottle of cleaning solution instead, and cursing.

"We're going to tattle."

Franky looked up at him, eyebrow cocked. "We're going to what?"

Francis suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth as the somewhat too loud "what!" fell from her lips. For a moment she stumbled against the broom.

"Damn." She muttered, already flustered with her own clumsiness. She glanced up at Michael but even in the dark confines of the closet she could make out the amused grin on his face.

She softened, something about him being happy, if only for a moment, calmed her more than anything.

She pondered her answer though she knew already that he was right. In a sense she had already come to the same conclusion herself, but had only needed the confirmation to bring herself to admit it. She looked back up at him, her lips parting slightly as she was about to respond...

The door to the closet burst open startling the two teens far more than either of them might have expected. Francis' hand went to her throat as she tried to take in another breath and Mis looked as though someone had just stomped on his foot and then spit on him.

In truth, the foot part may have been true.

There she stood, framed from head to foot in the doorway, the one and only...

Sister Mary Moltar.