He really, really wanted to take a break. And why shouldn’t he? The admissions officer quickly slipped a “Busy making a phone-call, please wait for my invitation!” notice on the outside of his office door, which he locked behind him, and slumped against. At least he’d taken care of that guinea pig. He shambled to the chair behind the desk, practically poured himself into it, contemplating his life. Unfortunately, he was disturbed just minutes later by sudden, violent knocking on his door. He startled, picked up the handset of the phone – what was he doing, did he really need to pretend to make a phone call just for a little peace? – muttered a soft “Excuse me,” into the speaker, then shouted, “Just a moment, please!”
The knocking stopped, but before the admissions officer could take some well-deserved time off, as short lived as it would be, his whole door was swallowed in some sort of shadowy…substance? Then it promptly disappeared, and he heard a distant clatter-crash, which sounded suspiciously like wood breaking.
Into his now door-less office sauntered what could only be the next student. The admissions officer replaced the phone handset, and very deliberately collected the application form for his next scheduled interviewee from the top of the pile of similar forms.
“Welcome,” he said, not at all sounding welcoming. The youth in front of him kept the pleasant smile which had been affixed to his face ever since he’d entered. The admissions officer had the vague feeling of being approached by a predator, despite the casual confidence with which the teenager approached and threw himself into the chair on the other side of his desk. The boy was still smiling pleasantly. The admissions officer cleared his throat, glanced at the form, and asked, “Reagan Gideon Breckenridge?”
“Yep,” the boy answered, popping the p. He then grinned, revealing two rows of sharp, sharp teeth, and added, “You can call me Ray though.”
The admissions officer wrote down the nickname, and went down the list. Age, 16. Gender, male. Nationality, The Federation. Under appearance was written ‘Take a photograph if you must.’ The interviewer scribbled a ‘cca. 5’7 tall’ next to it. Species…
“Human?” the admissions officer blurted out, gaze snapping to the gray-haired, red-eyed boy.
Ray rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t give me that shit. I was born a human, I’m a human, alright? Next question,” the teenager snapped, tapping his pointy red nails on the office desk.
“Er. Right. I see that you wrote violence, deceit, trickery, and mischief under physical abilities and skills…Could you elaborate?” the older male wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but the more details he had on a troublemaker, the better…supposedly.
The honestly demonic looking youth in front of him was once again amused, offering another discomforting grin. “It’s what you old folks call a delinquent. Or, as my parents would say, a problem child,” Ray carelessly inspected his nails, checking for non-existent lint.
The interviewer sighed, added a note to the boy’s profile, and decided to get this over with.
“Your magical style is spatial displacement, I believe you’ve already offered a demonstration,” the admissions officer noted, to which the boy only offered a haughty smirk. “Hm. So, what all can you do with it?”
“I can relocate pretty much anything or anyone to anywhere,” Reagan stated, as if he’d had to explain this more than once, and was bored of doing so already. “Things with their own magic are tougher, sentient beings usually have to state their permission to being transported. Anything or anyone I displace can only be displace in its whole state, so the bigger something is, the more it takes out of me,” he recited. “Oh, yeah, I use my own magical energy to power the displacement, so,” he shrugged, though did not clarify. “Sacrifice, willing or unwilling, can expand the extent of my power,” Ray concluded with a yawn.
The admissions officer wrote this all down, and asked only, “Do you need visual contact?”
“Mmm, no, though it’s easier with it. Just a vague idea of a location is enough. I don’t even really need to see the person or item, because I can create this sort of very temporary portal…Obviously, it’s best to see what I want to displace though,” he expounded. “Hey, do you have anything sweet?” he asked suddenly.
“Er,” the admissions officer wasn’t sure if he should comment. Instead, he opened a drawer, took one of several sugar packets littering it, and handed it over to the teenager. Reagan grinned at him – for the first time seeming genuinely pleased for an entirely wholesome reason – ripped the packed, and shook all the sugar onto his tongue eagerly.
“Thanks,” he chirped, crumpled the empty packet, and threw the thrash onto his desktop carelessly.
Magical Quirks: Some demonic traits, his form said. The admissions officer did not feel like getting additional information on that after that recent encounter, to be honest.
“Magical skills, hobbies, and interests: spatial displacement, occasional accidental brimstone production, mild heat resistance, oh I suppose those last two are the demonic part,” the older male muttered to himself. “You're interested in demonology and dark arts?” he sighed. The teen in front of him only nodded, and the admissions officer scribbled the following note: 'Observe interactions with AJ Underfoot.'
“You noted ‘Expulsion from previous schools’ when asked why you enrolled here. You were expelled from multiple schools?” the Fae Creek employee asked, exasperated, and very, very worried.
Reagan nodded. “Yeah, first it was for general misconduct and disrespect, then for getting into a fight with some snobs…last time I got some like-minded fellows and we tried opening a gate into Hell,” he uttered nonchalantly, “and this happened,” Ray said, gesturing to himself. “My parents threatened to disown me, but since they were too chicken to actually go through with that, they just sent me off to here,” the boy shrugged, his smile unrepentantly sly and smug.
The admissions officer turned to stare at Reagan for a long moment. "This last incidence involving a Hell-gate, er," he was almost too afraid to ask, "did it, uh, happen to occur at the Imperial Institute of Magic?"
Ray only smiled mysteriously, asked "And if it did?", and proceeded to laugh silently at the older male. The admissions officer was certain, certain that one school couldn't be possibly so terribly unfortunate. And surely, if Reagan had been expelled from his first two or so schools, he couldn't have been transferred to the institute...right? Clearing his throat, he continued the interview.
The personality section was blank, but the admissions officer could easily fill in some things. 'Easily bored. Disrespectful. Has a penchant for violence, but can apparently get along with some others. Disdains elitism though he himself is arrogant? Cheeky, flippant, sometimes profane. Can be bribed with sweets. Obviously has issues, apparently some due to his parents (and their expectations?)…who are surely rich and influential, but would just as surely take offense at being bothered. I suspect he can be a good student when properly motivated, however.'
“Alright, Ray, since you’ve already shared some of your past, let’s move onto the last section. What are some of your general skills, hobbies, and interests? You seem to have left this part blank,” the older male offered.
“Mm, yeah. Pranks…for laughs. Getting along with people, fighting them, either or both works for me. I make a pretty mean chocolate cake. 'Sides, I'll do whatever’s thrilling or even remotely interesting, really,” Reagan offered, his smile wide, beaming, and not at all reassuring. “I hear this place is crazy. Lookin’ forward to that,” he winked, stood up, and saw himself out.
The admissions officer still had a door missing. He’d have to fix that. Why did he have to get it fixed?
The knocking stopped, but before the admissions officer could take some well-deserved time off, as short lived as it would be, his whole door was swallowed in some sort of shadowy…substance? Then it promptly disappeared, and he heard a distant clatter-crash, which sounded suspiciously like wood breaking.
Into his now door-less office sauntered what could only be the next student. The admissions officer replaced the phone handset, and very deliberately collected the application form for his next scheduled interviewee from the top of the pile of similar forms.
“Welcome,” he said, not at all sounding welcoming. The youth in front of him kept the pleasant smile which had been affixed to his face ever since he’d entered. The admissions officer had the vague feeling of being approached by a predator, despite the casual confidence with which the teenager approached and threw himself into the chair on the other side of his desk. The boy was still smiling pleasantly. The admissions officer cleared his throat, glanced at the form, and asked, “Reagan Gideon Breckenridge?”
“Yep,” the boy answered, popping the p. He then grinned, revealing two rows of sharp, sharp teeth, and added, “You can call me Ray though.”
The admissions officer wrote down the nickname, and went down the list. Age, 16. Gender, male. Nationality, The Federation. Under appearance was written ‘Take a photograph if you must.’ The interviewer scribbled a ‘cca. 5’7 tall’ next to it. Species…
“Human?” the admissions officer blurted out, gaze snapping to the gray-haired, red-eyed boy.
Ray rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t give me that shit. I was born a human, I’m a human, alright? Next question,” the teenager snapped, tapping his pointy red nails on the office desk.
“Er. Right. I see that you wrote violence, deceit, trickery, and mischief under physical abilities and skills…Could you elaborate?” the older male wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but the more details he had on a troublemaker, the better…supposedly.
The honestly demonic looking youth in front of him was once again amused, offering another discomforting grin. “It’s what you old folks call a delinquent. Or, as my parents would say, a problem child,” Ray carelessly inspected his nails, checking for non-existent lint.
The interviewer sighed, added a note to the boy’s profile, and decided to get this over with.
“Your magical style is spatial displacement, I believe you’ve already offered a demonstration,” the admissions officer noted, to which the boy only offered a haughty smirk. “Hm. So, what all can you do with it?”
“I can relocate pretty much anything or anyone to anywhere,” Reagan stated, as if he’d had to explain this more than once, and was bored of doing so already. “Things with their own magic are tougher, sentient beings usually have to state their permission to being transported. Anything or anyone I displace can only be displace in its whole state, so the bigger something is, the more it takes out of me,” he recited. “Oh, yeah, I use my own magical energy to power the displacement, so,” he shrugged, though did not clarify. “Sacrifice, willing or unwilling, can expand the extent of my power,” Ray concluded with a yawn.
The admissions officer wrote this all down, and asked only, “Do you need visual contact?”
“Mmm, no, though it’s easier with it. Just a vague idea of a location is enough. I don’t even really need to see the person or item, because I can create this sort of very temporary portal…Obviously, it’s best to see what I want to displace though,” he expounded. “Hey, do you have anything sweet?” he asked suddenly.
“Er,” the admissions officer wasn’t sure if he should comment. Instead, he opened a drawer, took one of several sugar packets littering it, and handed it over to the teenager. Reagan grinned at him – for the first time seeming genuinely pleased for an entirely wholesome reason – ripped the packed, and shook all the sugar onto his tongue eagerly.
“Thanks,” he chirped, crumpled the empty packet, and threw the thrash onto his desktop carelessly.
Magical Quirks: Some demonic traits, his form said. The admissions officer did not feel like getting additional information on that after that recent encounter, to be honest.
“Magical skills, hobbies, and interests: spatial displacement, occasional accidental brimstone production, mild heat resistance, oh I suppose those last two are the demonic part,” the older male muttered to himself. “You're interested in demonology and dark arts?” he sighed. The teen in front of him only nodded, and the admissions officer scribbled the following note: 'Observe interactions with AJ Underfoot.'
“You noted ‘Expulsion from previous schools’ when asked why you enrolled here. You were expelled from multiple schools?” the Fae Creek employee asked, exasperated, and very, very worried.
Reagan nodded. “Yeah, first it was for general misconduct and disrespect, then for getting into a fight with some snobs…last time I got some like-minded fellows and we tried opening a gate into Hell,” he uttered nonchalantly, “and this happened,” Ray said, gesturing to himself. “My parents threatened to disown me, but since they were too chicken to actually go through with that, they just sent me off to here,” the boy shrugged, his smile unrepentantly sly and smug.
The admissions officer turned to stare at Reagan for a long moment. "This last incidence involving a Hell-gate, er," he was almost too afraid to ask, "did it, uh, happen to occur at the Imperial Institute of Magic?"
Ray only smiled mysteriously, asked "And if it did?", and proceeded to laugh silently at the older male. The admissions officer was certain, certain that one school couldn't be possibly so terribly unfortunate. And surely, if Reagan had been expelled from his first two or so schools, he couldn't have been transferred to the institute...right? Clearing his throat, he continued the interview.
The personality section was blank, but the admissions officer could easily fill in some things. 'Easily bored. Disrespectful. Has a penchant for violence, but can apparently get along with some others. Disdains elitism though he himself is arrogant? Cheeky, flippant, sometimes profane. Can be bribed with sweets. Obviously has issues, apparently some due to his parents (and their expectations?)…who are surely rich and influential, but would just as surely take offense at being bothered. I suspect he can be a good student when properly motivated, however.'
“Alright, Ray, since you’ve already shared some of your past, let’s move onto the last section. What are some of your general skills, hobbies, and interests? You seem to have left this part blank,” the older male offered.
“Mm, yeah. Pranks…for laughs. Getting along with people, fighting them, either or both works for me. I make a pretty mean chocolate cake. 'Sides, I'll do whatever’s thrilling or even remotely interesting, really,” Reagan offered, his smile wide, beaming, and not at all reassuring. “I hear this place is crazy. Lookin’ forward to that,” he winked, stood up, and saw himself out.
The admissions officer still had a door missing. He’d have to fix that. Why did he have to get it fixed?
1x Laugh
1x Laugh
