Hound55

Ju-V

Just gauging interest on who's still rolling with this.

Not looking to shutter things, but I want to see who's still looking to be involved.

I'm guessing @Skai, @Qia, @Venus, @Kuro, @Roman...

Might compartmentalise things a bit, section off "groups", if we have people who are dropping out, to up the focus on those still interested.

As I have said before, those on the NPC list ARE welcome to return (assuming it can be worked) down the line. I get inspiration can wax and wane, as can free time.

But I WOULD like to see if I can make the experience a bit better for the active folks looking for some pep in the game.

...even if it means having faster and slower paced segments of the game, where things reunite further down the line.

I will come up with some GM stuff that works the NPCs in as well, both GM-created and former PCs (if you don't much care for having your characters moved around on my dopey whims, there's an easy way to fix that...)

But yes, next few days if you can let me know your interest/engagement level, I'd like to try and hit as many people's wants as possible.

---

In addition, @Zoldyck has been added to the NPC list with Sasha.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Banjo was hunched over the fire. Everyone was starting to pack up and gather their things. It had been a good day and a mixed night.

He looked over at Calliope and Amma, as the former packed her stuff away, whilst the latter seemed a million miles away.

A very mixed night.

Calli had looked at him straight in the eye, and then breaking eye contact told the entire group she had it on her mind to start a family.

Sure, it was a “one day” off in the abstract distant future, but if he wasn’t mistaken it seemed very much like she was throwing down the gauntlet. He’d never had such a firm suggestion of long LOOOONG term commitment. They’d made their plans and he’d tiptoed around asking her views on marriage in private company before. But this seemed very much like she wanted him to know that she was expecting all of this and more.

It was the best news he’d had in a long time.

…but also terrifying.

The thought of HIM having kids, from what little he’d been told of his background. His genes, his history, a bunch of people learning their formative traits and lessons from him, with HIM as their primary male role model..?

Seemed like a Hell of an opportunity for karmic backlash, if nothing else.

And then Amma had brought back a lot of nagging concerns as well. He’d known what it was like to live life on the run. More than anyone here, in fact. He’d done it for the better part of two decades. It wasn’t something he was really ever bothered by if it happened again, because he knew he could do it. It was part of the reason for his future plans being as simplistic as they were, and so easily transferable.

The same reason why even five years after coming here he still lived out of his foot locker, and his wardrobe contained little more than the ‘trophies’ of numerous Canis school uniforms of Rory Tyler that he’d accumulated via numerous pranks and japes over the years.

Five years on and he was still ready to ‘up sticks in five to ten’.

He relived the moment:

"Do you really think any of that is going to happen. Do you think they'll just simply let you go. Once we graduate, what happens then. The Institute is breathing down our necks now." The fire sparks in answer at the mention of her former association, the hiss of drift wood punctuated by the sliver of crimson power reaping through the flame. Beneath her, the sand trembles, the grains shifting at her beck and call as her smile lances through her features akin to a vicious slash.

She finds molten eyes through the haze of the night and says:
"The world outside of this perfect little bubble is cruel and it is dark and it is afraid. Afraid of you. Afraid of me. Outside that shield of fog," Amma gestures abroad, lines of silver coiling betwixt her fingers, lighting the depth of her eyes to an eerie glow. In those chasms of blue lies a void; a never ending sky that collides with something. Someone.

"They lie in wait to take everything you hold dear. And they will. They always do." Amma's nails lance against the name inked into her neck. "And I welcome them to try. I will take everything from them. Just as they took everything from me."

"But no matter what, this world will never accept you. They won't forget. They haven't forgotten. I doubt they will ever forgive."

The heavy silence she left in her wake. The unease of the group. The desperate need to fill it.

What was it he’d said again?

“Well, shit… Here’s to me bein’ on their list only AFTER they try it on you, then.” And he’d raised a beer bottle to her.

It got a small chuckle from a few, but her message had clearly stung the group, some worse than others.

He looked into the fire. Its warmth. Its energy.

Another peek back at what he’d gained in this place. She was still packing things, cleansing sand from towels.

It wasn’t a thought he’d had very often, because he seldom reflected so deeply on his past, but he began to wonder if he still could do it anymore. For the first time, he felt he wouldn’t.

Even if his world was collapsing around him. Even if his world was falling into the darkness of the abyss.

He couldn’t see himself running anymore. Not with what he had now.

He focused and rode the surge as his back seized, and his arm turned black.

He plunged it into the waning flames and embers and drank deep. The fire died.

Then cursed himself as he felt sobriety take hold once more.

He’d found it easier to sleep after he’d had a few. The dreams stayed away, the size of the bed a distant concern. Stupid.

He walked over to the cooler and grabbed the last few bottles of beer.

“Just made ya esky lighter, Tyler. Never say I don’t do anything for ya.” He called out. “Ya done, hun?” He asked Calliope.

The Houses of Ursus and Strigidae shared a building, so they were going in the same direction.

There was no running. They walked together, the whole way.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Farm/The Beach/The Chimera's Lair/Banjo's Dorm - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.047: Solid Rock

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Rory - @webboysurf, Calliope - @PatientBean, Amma - @Rockette, Haven - @Skai, Tad - NPC}

Previously: Plans Over A Brew or Two

Banjo woke up and poured himself into a pair of shorts to make the brief trek to the coffee machine.

The grinding of beans inspired his roommate Alex Zimmerman to have the same idea.

“Morning!” He greeted him enthusiastically. He always started mornings at about an ‘8’. Until Banjo had a second cup, he was firmly stuck on ‘2’. Something today had pushed Zimmerman way up to a ‘13’ though.

“Have you heard! There’s a touring group from the Alexandria Foundation here!”

Banjo hadn’t made the connection as to why he, or anyone, should give a shit about this, until he remembered.

“Sure, it’s not Hyperman or Miragal, but I’m gonna see if I can—”

Banjo turned around and made a calming gesture with his open palm, which proved effective when combined with the ‘barely functioning’ expression he carried upon his face.

“Oh, sorry..!”

Banjo carried his cup to his room at a trudge and closed the door.

Ten minutes later, he re-emerged in an approximation of what the school expected from him in terms of school uniform, stuffing his dress peak cap in his blazer’s interior pocket, and stepping to the machine to make the stabilising second cup of the day.

“Sorry man, for earlier, I’m just excited! Gonna see if I can get some merch from the Force!”

Big Steve greeted him far more gently, as he emerged from his room and waited in line.

"Dude! They're ACTUAL GENUINE SUPERHEROES!" He called out, almost in disbelief from having to explain himself.

Banjo topped his takeaway cup with chocolate, before directing him to Zimmerman.

“I leave him in your capable hands. Try not to break him any more than he already is.”

Big Steve’s face creased a smirk.

“Do you want us to pick you up any--?” “I don’t c—” “You don’t care.” They sang a tune they’d both heard many times before.

---

Banjo made his way down the back way, behind the A.R.C, to the Community Farm. He’d heard Aurora had picked up her own assignment there working the flowers in and out of the greenhouse there, if he could hold off the news of where he was for now, he’d like to continue to do so.

He got there to the same assembled group of freshmen as last time.

“Same as last time, cows need milkin’, chickens need feedin’, if you don’t want to do it I don’t care, I don’t need the lot of ya anyway.”

One of the kids raised his hand, and Banjo sighed deeply. Why did he even say anything?

“Yes, Lonely Hearts?”

“Umm—are we—wait—are you going to call me 'Lonely Hearts' every time?”

“Yes, Lonely Hearts.” He replied flatly.

He turned to the rest. “Anyone else?”

“No, wait, that wasn’t my question.”

“Then why are you wasting my time with things that aren’t your question, Lonely Hearts? Why don’t you take a page out of Next-to-Blondie’s book? She’s not botherin’ no-one.”

“We’ve got Homecoming Trials today.”

“Not a question, Lonely Hearts.”

Banjo started walking to the milking sheds, the group followed him. He sighed again.

“I was just wondering… Could you tell us anything about them?”

“Ask a teacher. I’m not—”

“You’re not a teacher.” Blondie, Next-to-Blondie and Hugh all said in unison.

“There. See. They catch on. Why can’t you?”

“Well, it’s just… None of them have really told us much of anything, like it’s some big secret. And you’re the only senior I know.”

“I’m the only senior you know?” He stopped walking and turned to look at the freshmen.

“Well, yeah…”

Banjo laughed at him. “Well, you poor bastard…” He went right on back to walking to the milking sheds.

“Alright… hopefully you’ve got some sense of how to milk cows now. Keep in pairs so at least one of you might have the sense to tell the other when you do something braindead. Two on cows, two on chickens. When you’re done with the chickens, help on cows. Wait… are you all sticking around, or are some of you chuffing off?”

“We’re all here, Miste—” ‘Hugh’ said.

“No.” Banjo cut him off firmly, with a side-eyed glance, a scowl knitted across his brows, and pointing at him.

“I’m not a—”

“You’re not a teacher.”

“Too bloody right.”

The freshmen paired off whilst Banjo made his way to the barn. He’d baled feed specifically for today, he was going to be time-short, and wouldn’t be returning to the barn due to the Homecoming trials, so none of the livestock could be released to the outer paddocks for a feed.

Checking nobody was around, he rode the feeling of juicing up once more, and stacked six bales on top of each other, and carried them in his arms with a pitchfork resting atop. His view obscured by the comedically large stack, he walked sideways out of the barn and made his way to the sheep.

He put the bales down and threw two over the fence. Jumping the fence with one hand on the post, before breaking up the bales with the pitchfork. He checked the water levels, before jumping back and carrying the remaining bales to the other interior paddocks, feeding the remaining stock in much the same way.

He detoured back via the stables, where he fed and scooped after the horses, leaving one hills pony for last.

“G’day. Gonna be a short day today.” He said, pulling sugar cubes from his dorm’s coffee set-up from his pocket. “So you’re gonna be hemmed in today. Sorry ‘bout that. Blame the young’uns.” He stroked it’s face, before resting his forehead on the horse’s.

“Mmm. They’re not so bad. Just a batch-a dim bulbs. They’ll brighten up as they get warm.”

He patted the top of her mane once more and left to check on their progress.

---

Banjo began the slow trudge back to the Mess Hall, where the rest of his team would be waiting.

He got there just in time for their faculty representative to decide to stop dragging his feet and move Team 21 onwards to the stadium itself

“Alright Blackjack, looks like everyone is accounted for. Any stragglers can catch up as you all know the drill by now.”

“Shut up, Tad!” Banjo called out over the crowd, smirking as he watched the smaller man’s neck stiffen in typical reflexive response to hearing Banjo’s voice. “We all know you slept in the A.R.C over the holidays. A hard light projection is not a real friend!”

It had become the soundtrack to the day-to-day for team Blackjack, very rarely did he hit a one-liner that broke the team up in laughter. A lot fell flat. Many were tuned out as tedious background noise. Some even drew disappointment or groans from his teammates, but it didn’t stop him throwing one out there seemingly any time Tad Finch spoke. He seemingly had a never ending reserve of them ranging from the pointed to the abstract and weird.

The group found their level as they’d pair or group up on their walk, minor chatter which hushed as the Stadium drew near.

He felt Calliope’s arm slide in to his, a welcome surprise, and the pair made their way into the Chimera’s Lair.

He felt Calliope lean against him as they found their seats and was warmed by the notion that she still seemed to be in the same headspace as the previous night. Someone who knew him so well and still wanted more. He wanted to hug her, but settled for resting his head wordlessly on hers.

The orchestra began to play, building to the introduction.

“All rise for the national anthem!”

All in attendance rose, and as the orchestra belted out their best efforts at ‘O Canada’ which Banjo sang along to…

…with the lyrics of ‘True Blue’ by John Williamson. A little off key, but he was hardly known for his singing.

‘True Blue… Is it me and yoooooou…
Is it Mum and Daaaad, Is it a cockatooooooo?

Haven looked down the aisle at him. Of course, her hearing… He held his hands out and mouthed ‘What?’ before continuing his song, broad grin across his face. Calliope nudged him in the ribs, her lips trying to hold a laugh in.

Is it standin’ by your maaaate… when he’s in a fiiiiight
Or just veg-e-miiiiite
True Blue, I’m aaaarskin’ yoooou…’

The anthem drew to a close and everyone shuffled and scuffed to return to their seats.

“It’s my pleasure now to welcome to the stage your newly elected Chancellor, a man instrumental in defeating Hyperion and a dear personal friend, James O’Neil!”

“And now, for some folksy patter from ‘Ol Righty’” Banjo thought to himself.

“Blahbity blah, wordsin’ it up. Boy howdy. Gosh gee folks. I tell ya what…” Banjo thought to himself as the new Chancellor spoke, before getting distracted by the other figures taking up the stage who he had never seen before. Trying to place her, but coming up with nothing.

Banjo suddenly felt eyes on him. More than quite a few. “Wait… did a telepath just project my thoughts or… oh. A joke at my expense.” He smiled at the foolishness of his first thoughts.

“With that in mind, I’d like to bring y’alls attention to a special visitor.” Banjo shook his head and chuckled at the ‘y’alls’.

“As a part of our ongoing efforts to improve the school and do best by each of you, Pacific Royal is looking at collaborating with the Alexandria Foundation … ”

Ohhhh right. Them. Zimmerman was going on about them earlier.

Cheers rose from all around him. Some reference to sport, by the looks and overwhelming enthusiasm of Rory and Katja.

“But we’re looking for your cooperation in making Ms. Torres and her fellow Foundation members feel as welcome as you would a new student. The Foundation will be auditing classes and learning how we do things at Pacific Royal. Be sure to show them why our Chimeras are the best.”

Wait… they’re gonna be in our classrooms, watching our classes? Banjo fought off a laugh at the news. Maaaaate, I’ll show these tights under dax jokers a thing or two they’ve never seen before…

“Sadly, this isn’t all pomp and circumstance, I do have to rain on this parade.”

Banjo raised a brow. These early year assemblies NEVER had a down twist or turn. If they could they’d push bad news further down the line, once people had settled. They hated to rain on their Homecoming. Hated it. As in move Heaven and Earth to avoid it… and they had quite a few people who powerwise could probably move heaven or earth just for the feng shui of it all…

“Given the current societal climate, circumstances beyond our control have conspired to invalidate our accreditations. To be straight with y’all, Pacific Royal has recently lost its accreditations for our degree programs in the engineering, law and medical fields. Students currently completing those will graduate with a degree not recognized for career certifications.”

Huh…

Next to him, he heard Calliope inhale. And that’s where his concern was right now. He concentrated on what he was hearing, but held her hand and kept watch on her. He wasn’t bothered by how this could affect him, he’d formed backup plans years ago, not wanting to ever rely on this place or let it hold the fact they might flunk him out over him. He didn’t need their paper. If he bombed out he could just drive south of the border, he’d researched it. Washington state was one of the few states in the United States where you could take the BAR exam without need of a law degree. If they tried to stick it to him, he could get his BAR card in an afternoon. Work on locations it would transfer to, loop holes and administrative edges, and find a way to reunite with Calli within the week.

But this wasn’t his plans getting derailed. It was the unthinkable. They were doing this to HER.

And he knew exactly how she’d be taking it.

“Rest assured, we are working around the clock to get approval for credit transfer to several distinguished universities in both Canada and the United States. We do not want your hard work to go to waste. The Bureau has agreed to pay tuition for any student who chooses to transfer along with helping relocate students to their new campus. I understand going to another school is not ideal—”

He felt her tremble against him. She needed more. She was spiralling. He squeezed her hand to let her know he was there.

She raised her head, and he felt relieved that she had at least regained enough composure to do at least that much. He could see she wanted to cry but she wouldn’t. He put his head near hers and tried to offer a reassuring smile, but she wasn’t ready for that yet, wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He was turned almost completely to her, and away from the stage. She was his focus.

He wished this problem had a face, so he could punch it.

And then one of the newcomers broke their silence.

“Provided Pacific Royal and its Bureau are amenable to our conditional terms, the Alexandria Foundation has authorized me to extend our certifications to the students of the affected programs.”

Banjo’s head raised. Timely. Too timely.

He lifted his head above Calliope for a few seconds and took in the entire crowd, as they filled the stadium, and a singular thought flashed into his mind as he took them all in.

‘Shareholders’.

He had no interest in entering Corporate law, but he had developed at least a broad understanding from his Law classes in general.

He turned back to the stage with a scowl.

He recognised a hostile takeover when he saw one.

He returned his attention to Calliope, and tried to ground her in the present.

“As many of you are already aware, the Alexandria Foundation is here this year to audit Pacific Royal and to bring it up to our standards. We’re interested in acquiring this school and helping it move past that, what would you call it, Mr O’Neil? Little faux-pas with your previous Chancellor.”

Geez-us… Now that one was heavy. Not the shot at the school. That was intended to bait. To draw conflict from Jim, from someone, as he heard comments from those within his team, it would’ve even worked on some. But that wasn’t what Banjo took from it.

Acquisition. They had confidence they could do it. They weren’t at all afraid of saying the quiet part loud.

“The Foundation holds the students of Pacific Royal in very high regard and we want to ensure each of you is allowed to succeed this year. So far we’ve been met with resistance from your administration, but we’re looking for your support. So please, tell your Team Advisor, your Faculty Representatives, anyone who will lend you an ear that you want a new path forward for P.R.C.U.”

He turned his attention back to the crowd again. Another plea to the ‘shareholders’. Trying to further drive a wedge in the schism. Right in front of Jim. They’re baiting him, and selling to them.

But Jim O’Neil was a man used to not taking the bait. After all… he’d had to deal with Banjo’s bullshit for five years. He wasn’t buying this kind of sucker play, as much as he might have wanted to unload with that Smith & Wesson 629 he was rumoured to carry, or have in the drawer of his desk, if you listened to the fantastic tales of the student body.

“Continuous improvement, that’s exactly why we have allowed the Foundation here this year.” Jim interrupted, maintaining composure and attempting to wrangle back control of the stage, seizing the podium whilst raising his hands to clap the effort. His eyes held dual meanings to their ‘esteemed guests’, but his body language stayed true to message for the kids. “Students, let’s give a good ol’ Pacific Royal Welcome to Ms. Torres and her aid, Miss Almassian.”

Haven dropped a threat that extended beyond ‘implied’, and Calli made her feelings known.

“Whoever she is, I hate her. If she thinks I’m doing anything to make her life easier here, she has another thing coming.”

She had assumed enough control to get herself to her feet, no longer spiralling, now perhaps powered by her own rage.

“I need to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.” She said icily.

Banjo nodded, but made a mental note to check on her in a few minutes if she didn’t come back promptly. He offered her an expression of concern, hoping to get something back to convince him that she would be alright, but she was too driven to look back.

And now, with a thorough dampener poured over proceedings, they attempted to return to the festivities of the Homecoming Trials.

He could just imagine the rage coming from Jim and the inner faculty. They HATED anything to interrupt this, they’d hold off on bad news to prevent things souring this moment. It was a sacred cow like few others this school had. Even Banjo was hesitant and usually pulled some kind of prank early before, rather than the day of, because he knew how nuts they were over this for some reason.

They continued with the ceremonial aspects, which included busting out human firelighter Lorcán's Dad, to light the ceremonial torch.

Banjo looked down the aisle and he was gone. So had Calli, and so had Aurora.

He thought to himself for a moment about everyone who had gone, and everything that had just transpired, and the newest latest threat, and started to wonder something. He started to wonder how someone in particular was handling everything that had just come to pass.

His head turned to look down the aisle and...

Calliope came back down the aisle and forcefully sat down in her seat once more. “I’m fine.” She stated in a tone that made it clear it was not to be argued with.

“Fair enough.” Banjo thought to himself.

Calliope brushed against him on her way through, but as always he doesn't feel the cold shoulder.

It's looking past her and watching their newest teammate's full-throated laugh that chills him to his core.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Better Get A Lawyer - Part Four

"So... Are we all ready to go?"

"Don't talk to my client." Banjo replied, rising to his feet to take the conversation elsewhere, away from the defence bench.

"What's the problem, we have a plea agreement, yes?"

Banjo turned back to Edgar and quietly said, "It just makes a good, solid general rule." Before turning back to face the younger Assistant District Attorney. "It would certainly seem that way, but I've had enough dealings with the State to know that these things can often spin on fifty cent bit, and disintegrate before your eyes. Is that what I'm looking at, prosecutor?"

"No, no... Everything's signed sealed and good to go on our end. Just pending the actual plea."

Edgar pulled at his sleeve, to get Banjo's attention and Banjo directed the prosecutor back to his bench with his eyes, before raising his eyebrows to his client asking him what he needed.

"What happens again here, man. This seems like a lot. I thought I was just taking the one." He pointed, the courtroom was full and bustling.

"This isn't all about you." Banjo clarified, swirling his finger to gesture to the crowd. "Preliminary process. The judge will be taking pleas, setting court dates, a bunch of people. Not just you. Some are after you on the docket, then there's court reporters keeping tabs on what's going to be coming down the line."

"So what exactly happens? I don't want to blow this."

"You want a full play by play..? Alright, the judge will come out. All rise. You stand. When everyone sits. You sit. Judge will get introduced, the prosecution introduces themselves, case number, I get up, introduce myself, say I'm defending you. Your charges - now one charge - is read out, you're asked how you plead. Then it's your line... Maybe the judge will ask a follow up question whether you're aware of what you're doing and the consequences of your plea. You say yes. That bailiff comes over and puts cuffs on you."

"And that's good right, the deal will hold, yeah?"

"Should do, yes. Technically the judge can overrule and reject or accept the plea deal, but--"

"Wait-- what?!"

Banjo atempted to pacify Edgar with a calming hand gesture. "Relax, it pretty much never happens."

"Pretty much never?"

"Plea bargain can't go ahead until the plea's entered in open court, and the plea bargain's accepted by the judge."

"But-But-- what's the judge got to do with it? You already negotiated it with the prosecution."

"It's practically a formality. Judges who interfere with these things... it doesn't reflect well on 'em. Maybe I might be a little more wary if it was a judge who was leaving the bench to get into conservative politics... looking to set a 'tough on crime' record. But even then they'd be burning bridges and jading their prestige. I wouldn't worry about it."

"All rise, for Justice Maria Villanueva." The bailiff called.

All in attendance rose to their feet.

"I am going to say this once now, and will be disappointed if I have to repeat myself. I like to keep things moving briskly, we've a lot on the docket and I'd like to have as few needing to return tomorrow as possible. The wheels of justice move a lot more freely when everyone abides by the rules, those who drag their feet will raise my ire. You do not want to be someone who raises my ire. Now, first please, bailiff."

The bailiff read the case number, and the young ADA rose to his feet in anticipation.

"Your Honour, I am Tad Pai--" An explosion went off between Banjo's ears as the prosecutor introduced himself. He turned slightly and his eyes narrowed, with a new determined resolve upon his face. "--resenting the State of New Mexico."

A year. A month. A minute. It didn't matter anymore. Banjo had no intention of pleading out for his client to eat any more shit for-- to plead out to THIS fuckin' guy.

But the client...

As he ran his mouth, Banjo whispered in a hushed tone.

"You know... a thought occurs to me. I don't know who you were driving for, maybe it was friends, maybe it was... other people you don't know. But I am wondering, how well you know these people..."

He looked up, Judge Villanueva was still paying attention to the prosecutor. Presumably making the most of the reprieve he'd been given to make a first impression before the judge.

"...and what exactly they would make of things when they find out you've only been sentenced to a year in prison for trafficking. On a plea deal."

"What?!" Edgar hissed.

"Well, I mean close friends might believe you and trust that we didn't have to do anything to get the one year. It was overreach on the prosecution's end and you had someone who could actually call them on it. But, if the people who owned what you were driving DIDN'T know you, and heard you only got a year. They might... question things."

Things started to race through the mind of Edgar. His safety. His mother's...

As ADA Tad wrapped things up and sat down, Banjo got to his feet.

"Y'r Honour, Banjo De León for the defence. My client, Edgar Martinez..."

The Judge waved him to a stop which he promptly abided by. She'd heard enough and had enough of her time wasted already by the prosecutor's early meanderings.

"To the crux of things, you've been charged with Section 30-31-20 trafficking a controlled substance, Edgar Martinez, how do you plead?"

Edgar wobbled slightly and very clearly wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted five more minutes to think about what his lawyer had just thrown at him. He mentioned it NOW? Where was this before?

"N-- Not Guilty, your Honour."

Judge Villanueva's eyebrows raised in surprise. He had a plea bargain in place, the prosecution had just said. For a one year sentence, for a crime which could send him to prison for nine years.

"Are you sure? Are you aware of the consequences of your decision here today?"

"Yes, your Honour." He said, firmer now. Resolve returning after a decisionhad been made. Even if this was a roll of the dice, he would do it with conviction, and pray it wouldn't result in his own. "I did not do this."

Banjo's face creased as he tried to cover his smile as he heard his client's determined tone. This he could sell. So far it seemed Edgar had the nerves of a man pressured to take a sweetheart plea, whose stutter came from the choice of leaving it behind for the unknown. And it covered the lie well. Innocent men get pressured to take pleas as well. Happens every day.

The trial date was set, and Banjo wrote it on his legal pad, more to have the act commit it to memory than a real need. As his mind raced to the next step.

"I hope you're more than just a negotiator, man..."

"Trial attorney. Negotiations are just something I'm good at."

"So what's next?"

"Oh, next is the most important part of the whole process..."

"...I'm gunna go call my wife."

Edgar stood perplexed. "So... you're gonna tell me the important part AFTER you call your wife..? Or... what?"

He pulled his phone and told him. "They're gonna take you to holding. The court's got cells before they bus you back. Don't talk to anybody. The number of innocent people who talked their way into a prison cell... astronomical. Hold tight, I'll make the call, and see you as soon as I can get there. Look at it this way, months in remand to the court date is better than a year in a prison afterwards."

"Wait-- what call? What call, man!?"

Banjo slid away down the aisle, phone in hand. The prosecutor stepped in front to block.

"What the Hell was that?" ADA Tad asked fuming. "Some kind of 'fifty cent bit'." He quoted Banjo back to him.

"I gotta take this." Banjo said, pointing to his phone and performing a half spin by the Assistant District Attorney, and continuing down the aisle.

"You've gotta--? --you're making an outbound call, asshole." He replied, but Banjo was already out of earshot. "Asshole!" He repeated, if only for his own benefit.

---

_{Location: Bernalillo County Metropolitan Court, Metropolitan Courthouse, Albuquerque, New Mexico}

Better Get A Lawyer, Son: 1.04 And Get Your Haircut Way Up High

---

_{Interaction(s): A Future Calliope - Not unfamiliar to @PatientBean}

Previously: Get Yourself a Suit And Tie

Banjo found himself a quiet adjunct room and nestled in to make his call. "Snow Bunny / Hot Boss" appeared on the display as his phone dialled and he pulled it to his ear.

"Hello? I thought you had court today, or has something happened." Calliope answered the phone. She was adorned in a white blouse and pastel blue power pantsuit combination that flowed easily and could set the tone wordlessly in seconds. It also cost more than a young Banjo had expected to make in six months. But such things are expected of senior name partners of one of the biggest Civil Rights law firms in the United States.

"I did... Preliminary hearing. Just been and gone."

"Oh, so you're free today? You wanted to make plans?"

"No, I--" He paused, taking a beat to try and think how this conversation might go. "--I need 'off the reservation'."

"Oh." Calliope replied.

It was a euphemism the pair had coined back when Banjo left his own practice and came to start working at her firm.

Whilst he'd mainly cleaned up his act and calmed down considerably over the years, he still had his moments. Times where he needed to cut loose and-- engage the more chaotic parts of his own personality.

It was part of his unwritten agreement with her in working there, that one case a year he could take and get 'free rein'. He'd cut all communications with any senior partners in order to maintain a degree of plausible deniability should any of his actions be questioned by the BAR or other authorities, and be allowed to handle his own case however he saw fit.

Any of his actions, the buck would stop with him, perhaps there'd be a reputational ding by association, but he'd be viewed as his own element and absorb all of the responsibility and liability.

"Has it been-- it hasn't been a year already? When was the Benítez trial?"

"Trial date was set thirteen months ago."

Calliope didn't like how that was phrased. "Yes. And when exactly was the trial date?"

"..."

Calliope had hit on something and she knew it. She didn't need to be in the same room as him to read him like a book.

"About eleven months..." He mumbled. "Mmm..."

"Okay, okay... alright... My birthday's coming up?" He said pleadingly.

"I already bought your present from Soma." She replied. No bargaining chip there. He furrowed his brow, until a realisation crossed his mind.

"Wait-- Soma doesn't sell menswea-- oh." He chuckled as the gears clicked at the name of the city's high-end lingerie boutique.

His mind raced over what else he had to barter with. Oh. Oh no...

He closed his eyes and hit himself over the head with the phone a few times.

"It... occurs to me... that Easter is coming."

"Yes?"

"I could--" He began talking through gritted teeth. "--be civil. To your father. Over Easter."

"Boy, you really, really want this one don't you? Innocent?"

"..."

Calliope considered the weight of his silence.

"Oh no... You drew that new ADA from New York and just found out his name, didn't you..?"

"I am not pleading out to a guy named--"

"Oh, Andrew..." His brain almost short-circuited as she used the name in disappointment. One of the main ways she'd use it.

"He's a prick, anyway. Ambitious over-extending bastard... All these young prosecuters need to be broken in anyway..." He began to justify.

"So... Easter. Do you mean it?" She dragged himback to the negotiating table. Closing the deal.

"Well, if I could walk it back to just being civil to your mother, I'd prefer it..."

"We'll be there all day." She reminded him.

"If you're holdin' me to it, yeah... I can do it." He was pretty sure he could anyway. Probably.

"Well, I suppose then. 'Off the reservation' it is."

"Well, good. ..."

"..." A heavy waited pause hung over the phone.

"What? What is it..?"

"So about this birthday present..."

"Oh my god..!"

"What, I'm not looking for photos or anything... I'll settle for a vague description..."

"You're unbelievable!" She pulled her blouse away from her chest as if to let out the heat, whilst shaking her head down the phone.

"So you've been known to tell me... What? Sometimes I like to 'shake the box' and think about what I'm gonna get." He reasoned.

"No!"

"No?"

"No." Calliope said, wide flustered smile across her face in her office, thankful that the call was made whilst she was alone with her door closed.

"Well... can't blame a fella f'r tryin'... Talk to you later, yeah?"

"Bye, love. See you tonight."

"Will do. Don't work too late."

He hung up the call, and left the quiet room. Warm woods gave way to cold cement as he made his way down to the court's holding cells to see his client, smoothly passing through the bureaucracy with the earned familiarity of experience.

"So what's the word, man. What's this big thing? Did it work out?" Edgar asked, as he approached his cell, they hunched into one corner to talk.

"As it so happens it did. Big break just came your way. You just got what every prosecutor in the Four Corners States region wakes up in a cold sweat at the thought of."

"What's that?"

The corners of his mouth curled upwards unsheathing his full smile.

Banjo bein' Banjo.

- - -

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Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Banjo sighed happily. He was settling back in. Re-finding his tempo.

This bunch were just the right blend of mixed nuts, as far as he was concerned.

Best girl by his side, his hand nursing a brew. Unruly mob returning from wherever the winds had blown them through the holidays. The sun was good today.

Blackjack was spread in twos and threes, with even the new Amma finding a bright greeting from Katja as the pair slowly made their way over from the water's edge. His smile widened, relieved that even she wouldn't feel left out of things, and better her than him. Katja had a warmth to her, a brightness which could cut through the thickest clouds. Whereas he... well, he could rub a lot of people the wrong way.

Baxter, Pallyx, Mei...

And then right in front of them, their own personal National Geographic channel.

Lorcán and Aurora, with the odd sprinkle of their friends Haven and Rory mixed in.

“Hi Lorcán,”

“Catch any good waves this morning?” She asked before taking a delicate sip from her drink. “And what about Ripley, is she here yet? I can’t wait to meet her.”

He knew Calliope would be watching, she wouldn't be able to help herself. She loved to people-watch, and she was good at it. Even better than he was, and try as he might, he couldn't help but absorb bits and pieces even when he was trying to ignore the tangle of people's lives. Another curse of his power. Heightened focus, even on things he'd otherwise rather not care about, and liked to act like he was above.

It's why he knew he'd be able to say it to her without so much as giving a glance, to check she knew what he was talking about.

"I don't understand... pandas are easier to get together."

He turned and watched as her lips pursed together. Not quite. Couldn't get a laugh... but he was close that time. His mood brightened even further knowing she liked it though.

"Not everyone is as loud and open about their feelings as you."

"Nail on the head there, I guess." He thought to himself.

"..."
"...I guess. Well, Rory's going to say som-- BAA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Hey Red, Hot Shot over here just reminded me... there's this senior dance after the Homecoming Trials. You want to go?"

Banjo exploded into laughter. He doubled over in the sand, his outburst would have drawn attention from the others, if not for the fact that everyone's eyes were already glued in astonishment at the pair in the midst of the dance proposal, hanging on the response as the school's cultural highlight of the day that it was.

""Oh shush. He's trying at least. Though that was bold, even by my standards."

He knew her standards. Five years ago it was a bold chance to take a shot at a nutcase she barely knew, asking if he'd be up for sharing a tent one night at a campsite.

It was a very mixed night for Banjo that one, ended in hospital. But that was undoubtedly the highlight of the day, and perhaps surprisingly the part he best remembered. Even despite near death experiences. Funny how memories can work.

It was right then he knew she wouldn't be able to leave it at that for these three. It wasn't in her. She'd be on top of things.

“And like totally save me a dance, dude!.” Calliope couldn't hear everything, but Lorcán had spoken softly to Rory before making a break for it to the cooler, in which time he had toppled over it and fell to the sand.

What a crescendo!

"I'm gonna need a minute or five..."
"Oh shit, there he goes! In the drinks!"

"Okay, I need to step in. Lorcan is...not doing great. Save my spot, won't you love? And try to hold in your laughter until he's in a better mood to reciprocate it?" He did his best to stifle it, a firm-lipped smirk holding back the laughter. "For you, I'll put it on ice. Speaking of.." He held his warm, half-finished bottle out, for Calli to add a chill to, with a pleading wide grin. Calliope rolled her eyes and touched the bottle, sending a chill through it enough to ice it up.

"Ta, love."

He watched as she walked away. There just wasn't a bad angle to view the gal. He took the bottle to his lips and downed the rest of the contents.

He watched as she straightened out Lorcán, before moving on to Rory in a matter of seconds. Full of poise and grace.

He off-loaded his empty and pulled a fresh bottle from the cooler, returning to their spot and losing the botletop with another fancy snap. He put his head back and closed his eyes with a self-satisfied grin, basking in the sun's warmth as he pulled the second bottle to his lips.

Re-finding his tempo.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Farm/The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.035: Plans Over A Brew or Two

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): The Whole Bloody Lot Of Yas}

Previously: Greetings and Shit-you-takings

The sun was receding to the Pacific, where the vast ball floated on the horizon and cast a reddening hue upon the sky.

Calliope lay back on her towel underneath the umbrella, empty red cup which once held Rory's best approximation of a martini by her side, her phone vibrated. She drew it from her bag, and held it out to Banjo to show the message meant for him.

Hi, its me.  If you could remind him that he 
helped me get this bloody boat in the water, and 
I'm gonna need him to get it back ashore 
again, that'd be greatly appreciated.

Banjo sighed and disposed of his latest empty. "'Scuse I, ladies and gents. Gotta go save a bloke from his mid-life crisis."

Calliope sat up on her towel and looked over the rim of her sunglasses at the fading sun and considered what she was wearing.

"I might come with you. I should change out of this if we're staying here through the evening anyway."

His smile broadened. "Of course." And offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. He found his shoes and socks, they'd dried somewhat, and he stuffed the latter back in the former in case he'd need them with the job at hand.

He'd had a half dozen or so, by this point. Enough to put a happy buzz through his skull, not enough to knock his confident gait off its torper. He'd have to go through the instantly sobering experience of 'juicing up' once he got there, in order to move the boat, but for now he was able to happily revel in the haze. To live in the moment.

The pair traipsed happily along the firm sand nearest the shore, hand in hand. Banjo waited until they were out of earshot before opening up lines of conversation.

"Thanks for comin' out, Snow Bunny. I know this ain't exactly your location or event of choice."

"It's all right. Even a crummy beach is better when you're there."

Just hearing the words from her heightened the spin he was already feeling between his ears. He thought back to her greeting early, and the expression which came with the words.

"Everything really all good? That wasn't for their sake, yeah? I know they stuck you on the pointy end with 'Mock' lately. How'd that go?"

They were both in a lot of the same teams for their own Houses; debate, mock trials. But being in different Houses they often didn't see the progress of the other unless free time allowed or they were in direct competition.

They had very different styles. Hers was a more polished, conservative, traditional approach which made great use of her hard work and the strength and conviction beyond her words. His tended to be more swift, cutting, brutal acts of showmanship that exploited his spontaneity and rhetoric, as he'd often open, slice up the opposing sides entire argument, attack myriad points across in general, which could possibly lead to straw man arguments if he didn't carefully pick his attack points. Essentially tearing the entrails out of opposing arguments and leaving them on the floor, for their opposition to try and find a way to put an argument back together without addressing the points he'd already attacked, or with valid counterargument.

Hers was a more honest debate, and generally viewed more respectably and valued accordingly, but it also tended to rely on her truly believing in what she was arguing for.

Banjo on the other hand could throw words at anything and walk away.

And that's why it made things difficult when she was expected to make an argument like she'd recently been asked to - in favour of Government monitoring Hyperhumans. Subject matter which hit very close to home.

"It was hard and I hated every word I used in my argument, but I won."

He suspected this was just the tip of the iceberg. But didn't say anything to further make her self-conscious. Settling for just squeezing her hand, warmly. He felt a jolt of electricity as she reciprocated.

He looked out to sea, and she'd need to change course if she was going back to the shared Strigidae/Ursus dormitory house for her wardrobe change.

"Right-o, see you back here when we're both done, Hun?" He released her hand.

"Of course. See you in a bit, love." She left his hand, and gave a simple graceful wave, which he took the second's pleasure to enjoy, before turning his attention to the boat bobbing on the cresting waves near the shore-line.

Banjo's breath quickened and halted once again with the familiar sensation... and not just because he was watching Calliope leave... His body turned jet black and his spine straightened as he felt the power rush into him. His synapses flared, muscles and sinew re-knitted, and he rode the surge, as the bright corona encircled his body. He drank deep of the late afternoon sun, as the young man faced the reddening sky and the task ahead of him.

His appearance restored to it's natural state, with muscle throbbing with potential. He looked down the beach to the car and boat trailer, and thought about how he'd go about getting object A to destination B, and dropped his shoes and socks to the sand, striding into the surf to make it happen.

---

The pair walked han-in-hand back to the beach site once more.

Calli in a white hoodie, denim shorts and sandals. Banjo in the same clothes as he wore earlier, albeit a bit damper again for the effort. The evening breeze off the sea didn't bother him any. Another of the perks of his power, whilst he could pinpoint the local temperature to a fraction of a degree if asked, the temperature never bothered him.

"Should've brought a road beer or two, for the trek." He'd lamented a few times. His power left him sober as a judge and he'd lost all of that happy buzz.

Now he only felt the high of walking back hand-in-hand with Calliope, which was far from a kick in the head, but could have gone better with a few more beers sunk. Few things paired better with hard work than a couple cold ones.

As they approached the group they saw Lorcán and the others setting up a fire with beachwood. He made a beeline for the cooler to start work on his buzz again from scratch, grabbing a few extras to save himself the walk later, and plopped himself down in a large bare patch between a Gil and Calliope, turning and offering the former a smug grin for an uncomfortably long period of time until he turned and looked away, before shuffling away slightly to talk to someone else, creating even more space.

"Yeah mate, that's what I bloody thought..."

Haven spotted the gap and happily filled it, seeing it as just right, by her reckoning, for her wingspan.

Lorcán kicked off matters with a friendly “Alright gentle-dudes and lady-brahs, where does everyone see themselves once they graduate?”

Banjo had a fair guess about the intentions of most of the group already, but was curious to actually hear them address the question directly. In some cases he suspected he had a better idea of their direction, than they themselves had.

Haven happily spoke up about her desire to get into Parks and Wildlife and the US Forest Service. Excitedly singing the happy song of a magpie at dawn. Minus the kaboodling, mind.

"I'm hoping to volunteer for the U.S. Forest Service this summer, before I start my career." She dapped Banjo on the shoulder seeing his appreciation at her enthusiasm, and looked at the rest of the group. "It depends on how friendly they are with hypes, but there has to be at least one Ranger out there that will accept me." She shrugged as if the comment wasn't as heavy as it seemed. "If I go, feel free to visit me in the states, Lorcán. The American National Parks are gorgeous."

The enthusiasm was infectious, which meant it was only a matter of time before Baxter would chime in on how she would conquer the world.

First she lent support to Haven, in a similar fashion to how Banjo felt, and figured pretty much any right thinking person would feel the same - "Only a total dropkick wouldn't see Haven as a total boon to their service", then used the opening to unload her own plans.

"If I keep my grades up, I’m aiming for a spot in a diagnostic radiology residency program." Leaning back, she traced patterns in the sand. "It’s not as fancy as it sounds, though."

"Yeah, no, sure. Medical field. Piece of piss. Let you walk on for that." He sarcastically thought to himself, regarding her false modesty. He had little doubt she'd get it, or at least grind herself to dust trying.

Next came Rory. Banjo was pleased to see his confidence had restored somewhat and he was putting his best foot forward again, after what happened earlier. He was going to move into the psych field. Help others less fortunate. He'd picked up on that before Rory even changed his courseload to move in that direction. To follow his Aunt who was one of the shrinks here on the island. Made too much sense. He had a strength in his emotional intelligence to him, as well as an empathy and gentleness about him, that would've been a waste to not pursue that field.

"I... there's a lot of kids who are like us out there trying to make sense of everything. Powers, Hyperion, the backlash, watchlists.... this place isn't the solution for all of them. And even if it is, they need help and the tools to get through it. They need someone in their corner, cause not everyone has that." Banjo nodded his head, satisfied with his suspicions confirmed as Rory stared into the fire. He could tell he'd never had to parse out his plans properly to date. The plan barely more than a bare-bones idea. Banjo wasn't concerned though. This place, the island, tended to take care of their own and help them find their place if all else failed and they struggled with such things. It was part of the reason Lorcán still seemed so sheltered from the ways of the world. If you had a direction and were a good person, like Rory was, in a place like this it seemed to often be enough. "I don't know if that means working for H.E.L.P., or joining a practice, or what... I'm still figuring that out." Rory's gaze remained on the fire after he spoke, an uncomfortable pit forming in the center of his chest that he couldn't yet place.

Banjo had been holding off. His own plans known to pretty much all in attendance, or at least any who might actually care. He didn't find it particularly interesting or newsworthy to anyone here, but seeing Rory spiralling back into that place which could often drag his self-confidence, Banjo interjected.

"Well, not everyone's gonna know the Whats, Whys, Wheres and Hows, mate."

"There's still time to wrestle with the details." He said, hitting one of Rory's keywords, which at least brought something of a smile to his face.

"I mean, I intend to move into criminal defense law when I'm done here. Who's to say where?" Of course this wasn't exactly true. He intended to follow Calliope, depending what opportunities and where her degree opened her career up, and she had extensive plans, thoughts and contingencies for her career all mapped out with varied probable degree and grade results. Whatever city they planted roots in - probably New York or Washington D.C, by his estimation, he'd hustle the Public Defenders circuit for six months to a couple of years and probably have enough set up to start his own small solo private practice somewhere. But that wouldn't make Rory feel any better. "Good thing about that, can do criminal defense law anywhere and everywhere. I figure head-shrinkin' is no different. Can do that anywhere."

He wasn't sure how much of that Rory had actually understood or taken on board, but he seemed a bit more chipper about things now, so Banjo stopped talking and poured beer down his gullet instead.

Ju-V

Having finished putting away his things, David turned and looked to his new roommate.

"So, five minutes in and you've seen the stuff they're not eager to roll out in front of all of the rest of us. What's back there?"

Fritz glanced away from the television screen, unable to admit that whatever the colourful display was, it was both unlike nothing he could recall from the patchy memories of his time through the foster system, or the nearly-gone ones of his infant years with his biologicals, and also - combined with the generalized chaos of the day so far - approaching near-complete sensory overload.

"Cushy office for the big man and a sea-front view from the naughty step." He snarked, unsure what David really wanted to know. "They didn't exactly give me a guided tour of the dungeons." He turned his attention back to the TV, but a voice in the back of his head nagged at him. His roommate was an enigma of a young man; Fritz was certainly aware he himself was no charming, welcoming figure. Throw him a bone, Frederick. Hell, throw yourself a bone. You won't survive here if you isolate.

Fritz sighed.
"Look, it's a nice veneer, and they've got some good PR - but there are cells back there, and kids in them even. Why do you think they bought Alcatraz to build this place? It's still a prison. Just...a nicer one than usual."

Cells. That wasn't news, after all this place took in people in situations like Fritz... and the kid they picked up from the courthouse. But...

"Kids in them..?" He asked.

"Well, someone in them, talking about 'his ideas of punishment'. I'm just saying, they're prepared to lock up whoever they need to. With what some of us are capable of I doubt they practice a 'high-tolerance' approa-"

Fritz was cut off as a loud knocking erupted against the door, three heavy bangs.

"Dinner. Cafeteria." The door opened from the outside.

The pair looked at each other. David wasn't sure if Fritz would be expected to eat separately, but there was his answer. Come one, come all, so it seemed.

This place seemed sincere in its intent to drive rehabilitation, and do what it could to push the idea that this cold facility still saw them as people.

...at least on Day One.

David stood by the door, with his hand on the handle, checking if Fritz was coming. It was almost surprising he was dragging his feet, the guy didn't look like he'd eaten in days. Maybe he was just wary of rushing in such an unknown place.

Probably not the worst idea, really. All things considered.

He stepped through and looked down the hallway and saw the Sasha and the red-headed girl from earlier leaving their room. He turned away and checked to see Fritz waiting for him to move.

"I guess I'm allowed back in gen pop. After you, though. Doubt I made many friends during 'orientation'...I'd prefer to keep you all in front of me."

He walked out in the hallway, and turned the other way, to try and get his bearings on where the rest of the people in this "newest group of co-habitants" were situated relative to himself, and started to follow the flow of traffic to the cafeteria.

At the end of the hallway a— well, the person could only be described as a guard, really, divided the line in two. Boys to the left, girls to the right. Seemed almost redundant since they were already expected to walk in a randomly parsed single file line prior to that point, but David supposed the illusion of control has its own value.

The boys walked around another block and through the cafeteria from a different exit, the girls must have taken a more direct route as they hit their destination first, and were admiring the vast layout, that looked almost empty with how few of them would be eating there now.

It was laid out like a high school cafeteria and looked like it could feed hundreds at once. Right now, they numbered at maybe a few dozen.

Trying to see the front of the line, David could see they were getting given plastic sectioned trays to house their food. Some kind of paper or thin cardboard box housed a bread roll which was thrown on a corner. He couldn’t see the silver food trays yet, so instead scanned for people who had already been given their completed trays and told to find a seat.

It looked like beef bourguignon. Smelled like a good rendition of it too, from what he could tell. It’s just that the appearance was wanting, plated via being slopped into a plastic reservoir.

David tried to look ahead now that he was closer to the front, and it seemed he was right. Main tray was beef bourguignon, they had a second tray which he assumed had a vegetarian option. And beside them both was a singular plated salad, comprised of quinoa, pumpkin seeds, almonds, cooked legumes and spinach. A simple placecard in front reading “High Iron/Fibre Alternative – Lina Ziegler”. She evidently hadn’t made her way to the front of the queue yet.

David shuddered at the thought of someone putting out his full name for everyone to see, so early in this situation. He wondered how someone like Billy Isaacs might use that information, and hoped there was nobody else similar to him amongst them.

As more were collecting their food he found that the other adolescents weren’t really spreading out, mostly. Despite everything that had happened so far, most seemed to gather around two long tables. Most, not all. But it was something.

The otter waddled past him with a plastic tray full of mussels. Must have had his own food plan similar to ‘Lina Ziegler’ and collected his food early. He assumed it was male, it was from the same line he was in, after all.

He wondered whether Fritz would try his luck with one of the two crowded tables, or if he’d feel pushed off by social etiquette. The greeting he’d received he doubted that would be the case. But who’s to say.

“Beef or vegetarian?” Came the flat tone as he hit the front of the line.

“Beef.” The server said down the line, and a pit crew of servers added the bread roll, a ladleful of bourguignon, a scoop of a baked Mac ‘n’ Cheese, some mixed vegetables, and a small slice of some kind of vanilla custard dessert.

David walked to the end of the queue where another flat “Beef” awaited for him, and the full tray was thrust into his hands, along with a small bottle of some kind of soda.

“Spoons are there.” And the server’s attention was gone, back to working on the next tray. The server withdrew the container of spoons, seeing who was following David.

David felt the pressure of the rush behind him and remembered his notes.

“Don’t hold up the lines. Keep things moving smoothly.”

So he made his way to the crowded two tables and considered his options. But he wasn’t ready to see the few new faces who were also mixed in.

‘The Kid’ appeared to be enjoying her opportunity to hold court and explain the goings on to some more ‘fresh meat’. He thought it might be worth sitting somewhere within earshot of her, and that left quite a few places. She certainly revelled in her seniority and ability to practically function as a tour guide.

Besides, when someone else filled silence, it meant he wouldn’t be expected to. Absorb what information he could, and think.

He found a spare seat where he wouldn’t have to ask anyone to move, and decided to let himself blend in to background, as conversation spread to the boy in the infirmary, and what the ‘fresh meat’ would likely be expected to do tomorrow. Their first ‘full day’ in Aegis’ Alcatraz facility.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Alternate Future Story Arc (for if people get bored and are looking for more to read)

Better Get a Lawyer, Son. Part 1

Edgar Martinez's face was pressed hard against the hot hood of the cruiser which had absorbed the late day's April sun. His hands already sore from the tight cuffs. That mild pain wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry.

Edgar's head had been positioned so he could watch the whole process of the seizure taking place, in full glory.

Bag after bag of tightly wrapped white powder was removed from the car by the other New Mexico trooper, after initial photographs.

"Aww, maaaaan."

"It would seem you're in a whooole mess-a trouble, young man..."

"Wha-- what am I gonna do? This is crazy, man..."

"What are you gonna do..? Well, we already mirandized you, son... but it would seem you Better Get A Lawyer, son. You better get a reeeeal good one."

---

_{Location: Lock Up, Albuquerque, New Mexico}

Better Get A Lawyer, Son: 1.01 Better Get a Real Good One

---

_{Interaction(s): Nil}

Previously: N/A

Italian wingtips clak across state linoleum.

Edgar had his head on the table. The cuffs still hurt and were now connected to a loop holding him here in this tight room that they wouldn't let him out of. It'd been hours.

A practised double windsor, resting on a dress shirt with an exorbitant thread count, bounces with a confident gait.

They had him. They kept talking about Mexico, but he'd brought this coke across from Texas. Just because he was Latino they thought he was Mexican? This was fucked. Kept talking about how the Feds would turn him inside out. They all knew they had him. They pulled all the bags out right in front of him. Maybe he should just--

The door opened. In walked a blonde man, with a crisp suit and a swagger all his own.

"Hey, I'm Banjo de León fro--"

"No frickin' way you're Latino, man..."

Banjo blinked twice.

"--and with that I think we can put a heavy line through 'Incompetency to stand trial'. Yes, you're very astute."

He rounded the table and put his case on the floor.

"As I was saying... I'm Banjo de León from 'de León, Alvarez, Prescott and Attorneys', now whilst--"

"Whoa... name partner." Edgar was surprised that he'd received this kind of attention.

"I'm not a name partner." He replied, going through the motions of a conversation he'd had all too many times already.

"Your father, then?" Edgar assumed. They always assume.

"My wife, as it bloody happens. But you couldn't afford her, mate. So you're stuck with me if you'll have me. Now... as I was trying to say, 'de León, Alvarez, Prescott and Attorneys' we're not generally known for criminal defense. We're known as a civil rights law firm by reputation. I, however, am entirely focused on criminal defense within our firm, and I assure you I am the best you'll find. Unless you want to take your chances on the crapshoot that is the Public Defenders Office." He produced a small box of business cards and slid one across the table top.

Edgar scooped the card up in both cuffed hands like it was a communion wafer, and clung to it like a life preserver. "How-- how much is this going to cost me..?"

"Well, since we're a civil rights law firm, a lot of what I do is actually pro bono work. Which means--"

"You mean you'll work for free..?!"

"Well... on occasion, the judge can occasionally determine that pro bono counsel be renumerated by the state for some or all of our costs if we win in a really over the top fashion, in which case, you wouldn't see THAT money. But yeah. That won't be you. No costs up front."

"Oh thank God, man! They've real--" Banjo silenced him with a hand gesture and "Ah!"

"These rooms are all mic-ed up." He explained.

"Wait, they can do that? You're my lawyer, man?!"

"Well, I'm pleased to hear that." He said as he removed the standard forms and pen from his case, to lay on the table in front of Edgar, before closing the case back up. "And yeah, it wouldn't be admissible in a court room, because of privilege, which you're right to refer to. But anyone listening in might still be tempted to use that for lines of invstigation, and then mysteriously the audio for the room goes missing orrrr they claim it was never recording at the time. You get what I'm saying? So let's not tempt fate, mate. These people are already screwing you to the wall, let's not offer to buy them dinner."

"They're-- they're screwing me?"

"That'd be my bet. Let me guess, they got you in here, started talking about how you were seen driving up from the Mexican border, all of a sudden the Feds are getting mentioned...?

"Yea-- yeah, man! That's exactly what they did!"

"Figures... Trafficking - WHICH NO ONE IS SAYING YOU EVEN DID - is a second degree felony." He raised his voice for Edgar's benefit, having mentioned the mics. It was covered by privilege and meant nothing, but the client wouldn't actually SEE him fighting for him for a while yet, and it was important to make sure they maintain that belief in their lawyer always being on their side. Always fighting. Relentless. "First charge is nine years... unless they can tie you to bringing it in from south of the border. Then it jumps to Federal and they can nail you for twenty years. Stronger negotiating position."

"Those-- those muthafuckas!" He hurriedly signed the paperwork.

"Yeah. Yeah, I hear a lot of that." He took the paperwork back and put it back in his case.

"So... so what do we do from here?"

"Well, I have your casefile, from here I'm going to go down to the ADA's office and see what kind of offer I get out of them."

"Wait-- wait, we're, we're taking a plea..?"

Banjo said nothing but gave a look of pity across the table that all but said "Mate, they hauled bag after bag of cocaine out of your car directly in front of you."

A few beats passed before he eventually spoke. "I'm just going to hear their offer. I wouldn't - and for that matter can't - accept their offer without talking to you first. At this stage it's all a negotiating process anyway. That's why they're trying to find ways to make YOU think they can up the penalty. We have our own investigators to look into this stuff as well. But the negotiations, I'm good at this. They'll need to change their pants after they see me coming."

"You're-- You are good, right? Promise?" Banjo looked into Edgar's desperate eyes.

Banjo smiled back warmly.

"Mate, I somehow managed to talk the best woman I've ever known into marrying me, and all it cost me was taking her name. And given when we met, I didn't have one of me own... I think I made a pretty good deal."

He got to his feet and walked to the door.

"I'll level though... she maaaaaay have been a little sweet on opposing counsel. But it won't matter. You'll see."

And with that he was gone.

- - -

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---

Better Get A Lawyer Son - Part 2

Banjo stood with his tie over his left shoulder, tucked into his suit, and the wide stance of a local at the bench of 'Julie's' foodtruck, hunched over his breakfast burrito.

"I dunno how you keep nailin' this every morning, Ferd..."

"Sure you do. Same ingredients. Same process. Lots of practice."

"Alchemy. Magic most foul. Got it. Say no more." He punctuated it with a massive bite.

Fernando turned back to the grill, to prep the next white slip. He called out over his shoulder "So'd you hear about this kid they got downtown. Word is they've got one even you couldn't flip."

"Nnng..?" Banjo said, barely paying attention, basking in the experience of his food.

"Yeah. Highway patrol caught this kid with a trunk full of cocaine..."

"Mmm..." Banjo listened, but his jaw was otherwise preoccupied.

"Yeah, say they gonna nail his ass to the floor..." Fernando kept his back to Banjo. Working away at the grill. A loud hissing noise came as the next ticket's ingredients hit the hotplate.

"DA said he'd bet a million bucks he's got this kid nailed, dead to rights. So I thought I'd tell you, and take my own action. Bet you two grand you couldn't flip him."

Banjo put his burrito down and pinched his brow in frustration. "Ferd... whaddaya doin'?"

"What, I can't make a friendly wager... see if the pendejo DA actually knows what he's talking ab--"

"Well, first of all, get your terminology right. I don't flip anyone. The Feds flip people to turn wit, and the prosecution flips witnesses to turn state. I walk 'em. And secondly, why are you treating me like I'm an idiot, Ferd? You're not betting me. You're trying to undercut my price on taking a case. Now who's this kid?"

"..."

"Ferd..? Ferd I haven't gone anywhere. I'm still right here... Feeer-errrrrd..." He picked his burrito back up and took another bite. "Dammit, that's good!"

^{_{"Julie's niece knows him..."}}

"Aww no, Julie? You're in on this..?"

"Please Mister Banjo, Edgar's a good boy..."

"No. No. First of all, I know you both know Banjo's the first name. You're doing that to sound more pitiful, and I haven't been eating here all this time to not have noticed that it's beneath you to not realise it. You're playin' me Julie..." He took another big bite, but Julie wouldn't let up.

"Lisa, she knew him from school, she said that Edgar Martinez was a good boy, but then his father died. All he had was his car and some gas money, Mister Banjo, and he still had to look after his mother..."

"Knock it off!" He said, with his mouth still partially full.

"...He had to drop out of school! Mister Banjo, the only way he could come close to making up the money that they relied on his father to bring in, was to start driving for bad--"

"Dammit! I'd say you just made me lose my appetite, but we all know that's not the case! It's too damn good! I'm taking this to go..." He stormed off.

The crunch of his shoes on the ground foretold his return. He grabbed a handful of napkins from the basket.

"Needed serviettes." He explained. He felt four sad eyes on him. He sighed.

"French dip sandwich. Lunchtime. I'm not bloody payin' for it. And I want you to know, that I'm not very happy with any of you..."

And with that he walked to his car.

---

_{Location: Bernalillo County Metropolitan Court, Metropolitan Courthouse, Albuquerque, New Mexico}

Better Get A Lawyer, Son: 1.02 Get yourself a Lawyer, Son

---

_{Interaction(s): Nil}

Previously: Better Get A Real Good One

The newest Assistant District Attorney stepped out of court, and down the corridor after a fine morning session. He looked over and found himself walking next to a blonde man in a fine tailored suit. Defense attorney. Had to be.

"Hey, I'm Banjo de León fro--"

"Ah, the Martinez case, right?"

"That's right."

"The guy who just saw us pull all his coke out of--"

"Not all facts are yet in evidence. Oh, and feel free to drop an 'allegedly' in there at any point in time." Banjo kept a closed mouthed smile.

"You're right. They're not yet in evidence. The coke has been seized... and I then get to enter it all - as a few people bring it in, and dump it all down on that little table, piled high - as evidence in front of a jury. I am new here, but I'm pretty sure that's how it works." The ADA didn't keep his smile closed-mouthed at all. Flashed a wide grin. Like a predator.

"If it need get that far..." Banjo said. "Now it is my client's first offense..."

"And a very interesting choice of crime for your client to make for his first offense, driving drugs in from Mexico..."

"Again... allegedly... and to be honest I'd even be careful saying that much..."

"Oh yes, and why would that be the case?"

Banjo stopped, and thought for a moment. "I'm gonna tell you a story... There was this young couple of newlyweds, named Rachel and Diego." The young ADA stopped in his tracks as Banjo had in the hallway of the courthouse, tucking himself against a wall to avoid foot-traffic and hustle and bustle. "Anyway, Rachel and Diego had always dreamed of owning their own home and had mamnaged to achieve it. Proper sized home as they wanted, but on the outskirts, near the Wienerschnitzel by the on-ramp for the Forty... even then the payments were choking them off pretty tight..."

The ADA's foot was tapping, this was dragging and going nowhere and he had places to be, he had other trial work coming up that day, and a full tray of work awaiting him back at the office.

"Anyway, when they wanted to build up a big Megamart Mall on the outskirts they were trying to buy up a lot of cheap properties by whatever means necessary to add to the development, provide additional parking, you know the drill... anyway, the people at the Megamart Mall were getting, well, let's say aggressive with their dealings. Making day-to-day life very difficult for Rachel and Diego. There were threats. People were stealing their mail... which happened to include a one-off bumper fee and due date for said fee on their home loan. More threats. Diego had to put up cameras outside his house. Those cameras got smashed. Had to re-install hidden, and recessed cameras that couldn't be so easily destroyed."

The ADA's patience was left a thread. "Alright, what's the moral of the story. Slow and steady wins the race?"

"What? No. This wasn't-- This wasn't an analogy. I know Rachel and Diego. Good people. I helped them save their house, we proved that payment was missed because of that mail theft - a Federal offense, and they send my wife and I Christmas cards every year. This wasn't that kind of story."

The ADA was incensed, he was wasting his time. "Then what?! What was the point of any of this?!"

"The point was. I know Rachel and Diego. Nice people. We get along well. And if I were to have pulled the footage on the video cameras he still has from his property and told you that you can see a very familiar sedan driving up the Forty, at the time consistent with my client's story and absolutely no clear evidence to support the baseless theory that he was driving up from Mexico, what would you say?"

The pallor dropped from the ADA's face.

"We--"

"My guess is 'Oh!', because there's not much else to be said beyond that, really. Which takes me back to before when I said '--and I'd be careful even saying that much.' Because your filed paperwork is already Doo-de-doo-de-doo-de-doo--" He mimed a walking figure up to the Judge's office with his fingers. "--well and truly on it's way to the Judge. I'm guessing you were trying to put pressure on me as some kind of power move right there, don't really care. But at this point it's something you'd have to walk back if we proceed to trial. Walking back what will likely be seen as a bad faith effort to tack on years to a plea agreement."

"Well, now that's not really a fair asse--" The ADA spoke up with half-hearted faux outrage at the attack on his character.

"Not a fair assessment? So your plan was... what... to go to trial claiming before a judge and a local jury of his peers that Edgar Martinez was hauling a load of drugs from Mexico via... what... Amarillo? Would be interesting to watch. Particularly from my vantage point on the defence bench."

"Fine... Three years."

"Really? I was thinking one."

"One year?!? He had a trunk full of cocaine!"

"Ohhhhhh that's because you're still thinking about this as about Edgar Martinez. No, no, no. I was thinking you were negotiating with... some kind of concern for self-preservation and your own career. See, because if you go up there before a judge with this, WHEN I make you walk back your cynical play here, that's going to affect how the judge sees a new ADA who hasn't really prosecuted anything in this state. Well, first impressions are a very valuable thing in our profession. I'm saying one year and letting you buy yours back."

"Two years." The young ADA threw out in a blurted counter.

"I said one year. And I didn't stutter. If I were in the mood for haggling Id have said six months and let you walk me back to a year. No. One year. And I still have to convince my client to take the deal."

The young Assistant District Attorney seethed and considered his options. "How the Hell am I supposed to swing one year with our office."

"You tell them the full story. All of it. And they'll get it. Hell, might even think you dodged a bullet." Banjo flashed a quick leer. "Either way, it's not my problem and it's not Edgar Martinez's."

He considered. "I'll take it to my office."

"Really, you're gonna crowd source this?" Banjo chuckled like he'd just been told a wry joke.

"I'm not going to let some slick little asshole defense attorney push me into making an unmakable deal." He hissed at him in frustration. "If I CAN swing one year, for a watertight case with a trunk full of cocaine, without being strung up I will call you back and you can tell your client."

Banjo's grin remained glued to his face. He enjoyed this part of the process far too much.

"You have until close of business, Prosecutor." He turned and left him in the hallway. "I'll go talk to my client, but I wouldn't drag my feet if I were you."

- - -

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---

Better Get A Lawyer Son - Part 3

"A year..? I'd have to go to prison for a year?"

It was always difficult doing this part. No matter how good the deal. If it involved a term of imprisonment, it never came easy. Understandably so.

"Yes. But given the maximum is nine years for your sentence, if found guilty, one year is pretty-- well, I'm hesitant to say it's a great deal, because I'm not the one doing the time. But it's beyond what would usually be considered reasonable given the circumstances."

"It-- it is?"

"Like I said... he had to change his pants." Banjo tried to offer a warm smile.

"Well... what happens now?" Edgar asked.

"Well, assuming he gets clearance to sign off on the deal, he calls me back and let's me know it's on. Then, assuming this is what YOU want, there's paperwork and documentation to fill out that becomes activated upon your submission of a guilty plea, which would take place at a preliminary hearing. At which point you'd be taken into custody and transferred to prison from where you're being held, and go through processing. With the year's penalty starting that date. Since it's part of plea bargaining, there'd be no knocking time off on time served, but a year's also considerably less time in the first place than you'd likely get if found guilty."

Edgar looked nervous. A whole year in prison. Could he-- what would that even be like? Could he make it through that?

"Do you-- do you think I could make it through that? A whole year?"

Banjo sighed, there was no easy and honest way of doing this. Any effort to spare the client in one way would be sacrificing the other. It was not a situation where compromise was possible.

"I've had clients do thirty days. I've got clients doing multiple years. I'm not going to lie and say it's ever easy... or like a really bad summer camp, or the worst school you've ever attended... but I can honestly say, for shorter termed sentences - and this is all relative - the bigger reason to not take it is the question of what will happen when you get back out, than the horrors when you're in. And don't take that wrong. It will be horrible when you're in." Banjo kept his voice down, and it almost seemed muffled beyond the pair of them behind his hunched shoulders.

"When you come out, there's no return to the status quo. You'll be treated differently everywhere. You're going to have even more trouble finding legitimate work. Taking this deal... what you get back from the years you'll have taken off your sentence, they won't be the same as your existence before you got arrested. They just won't. If you're scared of potentially having to be in there and ACTUALLY SURVIVING for five to nine, then yes. I get it. On paper it's a fantastic deal. A single year, when you could have been serving nine. But it doesn't factor in everything that comes with telling society that you're guilty."

"You don't think I should take it?"

Banjo tried to arrest the way the conversation was going by raising his hands up, palms out.

"Whoa... that's not what I'm saying. What I AM saying is that this isn't the kind of decision you can make just seeing the number one, the number nine, and thinking 'this' is a Hell of a lot bloody better than 'that'. Even if it is. Because there's still pain that comes immediately with 'this' that would outright not be felt with an acquittal or positive verdict."

"If I served nine, when I get out wouldn't I have the same problems? And they hauled bag after bag from my own car. What are the odds you could even get me an acquittal or positive verdict? At least when I get out, I could help my Moms, man. I go for nine years... she might not even make it that long. She just lost Pops already."

Banjo shrugged. An honest gesture, if somewhat callous. "But that's what I'm saying. I can't make this decision for you. Has to be by you, what's right for you, based on your knowledge of what the different options mean and their consequences."

"So if we get the greenlight for the one, what do YOU want?"

Edgar hunched over thinking. In the end it was the thought of his own mother which made the decision for him. Just as it had made the other decisions which led him to where he sat right now. In the 'Visitation Room' in stir.

"I mean-- I've gotta take the one and done, man."

---

_{Location: Bernalillo County Metropolitan Court, Metropolitan Courthouse, Albuquerque, New Mexico}

Better Get A Lawyer, Son: 1.03 Get Yourself a Suit And Tie

---

_{Interaction(s): Nil}

Previously: Get Yourself A Lawyer Son

"A year?!? I don't get it, I thought you said you had a clean bust, clear case."

"I do. But--"

The younger Assistant District Attorney was following an older colleague around the office whilst he made stops at various desks and the photocopier.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well, it's this slimeball defense attorney..."

"Isn't it always..."

"Says he's got evidence to walk back the charge for crossing the Mexican border..."

"So drop the Fed charge."

"Yeah, but I papered the charge. It's already gone to the judge. He says when he makes me walk it back he's going to dress me down in front of the judge, with his stupid shitbag accent..."

The older man stopped in his tracks and his neck straightened up.

"Wait-- accent..?"

"Yeah, it's weird. He's got this Mexican name, which he even mispronounces with this stupid accent from like, Britain, or Austra--"

"Banjo de Leon..? Fuck that. Take the opportunity he gave you. Call him back, he'll drop it to six months. Doesn't matter. Take the plea." The older man turned and faced him, and actually got animated with his advice. His hands a quick flurry of gestures, before he went back to what he'd previously been doing.

"Wait, what--? What happened to clean bust, clear case?"

"Don't care. You're not ready for the kind of buzzsaw you're staring down. Hell, you don't even have the sense to realize that's what you're looking at. Not this early in your career, you don't want any of that. Make him plead it out. Shit, three months if it gets you out of that woodchipper." He handed back paperwork to someone working behind a desk, and moved on, before noticing the younger man wasn't still following.

The young ADA had stopped in his tracks, barely able to believe what he was hearing. He snorted derisively.

"What?" The elser statesman of the prosecution asked.

"You're scared of him. Make it sound like he should be wearing a cape. Acting like he's Superman or something."

"I am scared of him. For you. You've nowhere near the level of experience necessary to be dealing with this guy, ESPECIALLY with a case that looks open and shut from the outside. This guy will embarrass you. And he's not Superman..." With an 'onwards' nod of his head he gestured for the new ADA to keep walking.

"...Superman has a moral code." He finished after the younger man was once again by his side.

"He's more like-- I dunno-- Nineties Michael Jordan. You don't give him any reason to be pissed off. Hope he tries to sleepwalk his way to a breezy twenty-five... thirty-five points... and then hope you can sneak up on him and steal a game here and there where he's not looking. In your case... Make him plead it out. Build your career around him until you're established. Hope you catch him on a breezy day later once your reputation is solid."

"I did call him an asshole. I think my exact words were, 'some slick little asshole defense attorney'..."

"Or you could kick the hornet's nest and call him an asshole..." He looked up to the sky as if he couldn't believe the stupidity of the younger man.

"It's a car full of cocaine, though..."

"It's a two-bit driver, with no apparent connection to his higher ups. The actual dealers or cartel will replace him by the end of... well this sentence. They'd have already replaced him."

"You want me to take the plea bargain?"

"I think it would be best if you did. And I'll explain it up the chain. You wouldn't be the only one to have dodged him early. But a lot of the people who didn't-- don't work here anymore. So, your choice."

"Yeah. Alright."

The older man still sensed resistance. "Look... how old are you?"

"I'm twenty eight."

"Exactly, you're twenty eight. And how many other Assistant District Attorneys are operating in major US cities under the age of thirty five?"

"And how am I supposed to know that?"

The older man raised his eyebrows, refusing to give that response any dignity whatsoever. The young wunderkind ADA from New York city who had moved to New Mexico to be the youngest operating ADA in any major city in the country, had a clipped article framed at his workspace. Playing dumb did not impress him at all.

"Alright, none. What's your point?" He admitted his knowledge.

"My point is, you moved here to get that put on your resume, and presumably when you move back in five or ten years--"

"I'm not--!"

"I didn't interview you. I'm not your boss, and I'm not stupid. For what its worth, they're not either." He pointed to the closed door of the District Attorney's office. "You moved here short term for your career. I'm not mad. Not even disappointed. So let's be straight here. You got offered an ADA gig at a ridiculously young age in an attempt to lure a high-potential, high-profile young prosecutor down here. They get your talents however long you stay, you get the resume plaudits, until you hit a high profile enough case that gets New York looking in this direction... at which point the resume speaks for itself, and they bring you back as an ADA to New York. And you've shaved ten to fifteen years off your waiting period - Youngest ADA in New York is about twenty years older than you right now, I believe. And because of your added years of experience in the role, quickly put yourself in the frontrunning position of District Attorney successor over enough time as well. Yes?"

He'd checked pretty much every box of his career plan that he'd mapped out.

"..."

"I'll take that as a 'Yes' or at least a 'Close enough'. Well, what you don't realise is, this guy... he's the guy who derails all of that. This is the heavy puncher that the young boxer ducks early in his career, because you're in no way ready to deal with this, so that you can go on to be the Heavyweight champ one day. Maybe you take him on later, maybe you don't. But you sure as Hell don't make that fight today."

"Why are you so worried that this guy's going to beat me?"

"I'm not worried he's going to beat you. Any one of these attorney's could suddenly have a good day, evidence drops in their lap, a witness disintegrates on the stand, a good session turns one way one day. You're going to get beaten by one of them one of these days."

"Then why?"

"Because you care about your career, about your reputation, and this guy isn't just going to beat you. He's going to embarrass you. If you get on the wrong side of this guy and set foot in that courtroom, he's going to dance around on you and make it look like you don't even belong up there."

"And what would you do, when you were my age, if you had someone your age coming at you telling you to get this guy to plead it out, to less than a year for a trunk full of coke."

"Me? Oh, I'd take it to trial." The older man said in a matter-of-fact way.

"Ex-ACKT--!"

"But then I have no problem with being an Assistant District Attorney in Albuquerque at age fifty three... I'm right where I want to be."

The younger man stopped in his tracks.

"Alright, alright... I get your point. I'll get him to plead it out."

"Good luck. Hope he lets you out."

"Wait-- What?" This whole thing was only sounding worse by the minute.

"Well, you did call the man an asshole. And he can be... competitive."

"So? The man has a client."

"He does. But if he thinks he can beat you, he will voice as much to the client. As much hardball as you think he's playing in plea agreement, this isn't what he does. He's a trial attorney. That isn't because he's incapable of being convincing..."

- - -

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Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Farm/The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.012: Greetings and Shit-you-takings

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Gil - @Roman, Calliope - @PatientBean, Lorcán - @Lord Wraith,
Rory - @webboysurf, Aurora - @Melissa, Mei - @Garden Gnome,
Harper - @Qia, Amma - @Rockette}

Previously: I've Been Through The Desert On A Horse... Which Shall Remain Nameless

Still soaked he continued his stroll on the hard-packed sand closest to the shore, shoes and sock in hand, looking slightly like a drowned rat.

Suddenly a megaphone barked from up the beach, and despite the distortion and seabreeze he had no doubts who was on the other end of it.

"Bloody Hell. Just because the sayin's if you see somethin', say somethin' doesn't mean it's proportional, Baxter, ya hard-wired nutbag." He muttered to himself, setting a tack for the direction of the dictatorial din.

It was a good day. The sun was warm. Not exactly like back home, but it was still a day meant for the beach.

His hair was the first thing to dry, and he could feel it whipping around with the seabreeze.

Harper's here... He saw Lorcán's board, and with the telltale football whistling by over the softer sand on his left, he figured Rory Tyler must be up ahead as well.

He looked out to sea to check the position of the boat. Old Mate would probably need his help getting it back on land later, but for now he'd be fine. It was a ridiculous sized bloody thing for one to two people, and the guy used a boat trailer instead of hiring a dock. No more facts were required in order to realise that the cunning old codger intended to have the help of a guy who could physically enhance himself anytime he wanted to get the thing back on land. Still, it had been good value for when he'd had one or two friends out there, the cabin was stupidly luxurious. Had a toilet, shower, television set up, lounge and bed down there. All of which had been used - since sea sickness can be a bastard.

He saw the 'Dawnie Fraser' a good kilometre and a half off the coast, and with no intent on returning to the boat ramp any time soon, turned his attention back to the people ahead.

And to his right.

Just in wading depth was the newest member of the team, Amma Cahors. She was... well, 'playing' is not really the right word for anything Amma does, but 'entertaining herself' might have been a close enough way to put it.

He stopped briefly and considered saying something.

Then she drew a shell - possibly with something still living in it, he was too distant to tell - from the water and watched, as it disintegrated into nothing in her fingers, a smile never leaving her face.

Banjo emitted a long low whistle.

"Naaaaaah. Not unpackin' all of that right now. No bloody way, no bloody how." He muttered to himself as he continued his walk down the shoreline.

As he got closer he could see that Calliope had indeed staked herself out a prime spot under an umbrella. In a small smattering of a group with Harper, Aurora, Mei and Gil.

His shirt had finally made some inroads towards drying off, and he was feeling pretty good. He started his walk in-land just in time to see Lorcán take a football right off the head. Hadn't even bothered to raise his arms. Which left Banjo little doubt as to where his attention was at the time.

"Shit, Lorc, sorry about that. Figured you had your hands up, so I was going for a tight spiral, and..."

"Oooft. Right off the bloody bonce. Good pass, but." Banjo said, walking right by the laid-out Lorcán without offering assistance.

"Now THERE is a sight for sore eyes." He said, raising his hands to frame Calliope and the area around her, whilst leaning back and sizing her up with one eye. "And right by the Esky as well. Work of bloody art!" He popped open the cooler and fingered through a few of the drinks before snatching up one of the craft beers Rory had packed and closing the lid.

He took the top off with a fancy snap, and downed half the bottle.

"Aaah. No Coopers Pale Ale, but it'll do in a pinch."

He turned his head to address the growing group, whilst setting up another towel next to Calliope, only clearly unfettered with shade.

"G'Day ladies. 'Raw. Baxter. Mei. Soapstar." With careful control he'd been blurring the lines between the words 'Superstar' and 'Soap star' for a while now. His accent doing even more heavy lifting to make Gil not entirely sure exactly what he was calling him. He was pretty sure he'd caught on by now, but either wasn't commenting because he didn't want to be dragged into anything petty, or because he couldn't be sure anyone else was hearing the same thing.

Banjo laid down on his towel next to his blonde girlfriend, shit-eating grin at Gil from ear-to-ear.

"How's your day been goin' anyway?" He turned to Calli and asked.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

B A N J O
B A N J O

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_{^{"When'd I get back? I didn't bloody go anywhere. For once in me life I stayed put."}}

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C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Andrew(?) "Banjo" Olyphant (Almost certainly not...) _________________________________________________________ April18th | 22 | Caucasian _________________________________________________________ In A Relationship With Calliope | Male | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ As yet unrevealed | As yet unrevealed | Australia _________________________________________________________ Strigidae | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________ ◼ B U I L D || Lean/Athletic ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Light brown ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Blue ◼ H E I G H T || 6'0" ◼ W E I G H T || 170 lbs ◼ S C A R S || Nil ◼ T A T T O O S || Nil ◼ P I E R C I N G S || Nil ◼ O T H E R || Dishevelled ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ 2 0 2 7 P E E R R E V I E W - A P P R O V E D B Y T H E R O N D E M E T R I O S 2 0 2 7 P E E R R E V I E W - A P P R O V E D B Y T H E R O N D E M E T R I O S ________________________________________________________________________________________ Banjo has proven to be a frustrating House member. Despite quite frequently showing remarkable aptitude when his heart and mind are actually in the task at hand, or if he feels he has a point to prove, too frequently he displays little to no effort and is willing to try to coast by on the bare minimum. He has shown to be needed to be pushed in virtually every endeavour, he’s overly critical of everyone involved and present, and even the activity itself. Then upon completion will often either brag about his success or diminish the exercise as not having been worthwhile in the first place. Or often both. Which makes his successes even more frustrating. If Banjo knows the names of more than a dozen of his fellow Housemates, he has not yet displayed this knowledge. Despite having been here four years. Confusingly, he is not unwilling to clean or participate in rudimentary day to day maintenance or repair, or lending assistance in basic day to day things for his fellow Housemates or even members of neighbouring House Ursus. Yet, for some reason has virtually no House spirit, competitive drive or value in the notion of House points whatsoever. Drawing attention to this generally results in dismissive laughter at best, a barrage of ridicule at worst. I am unsure how much hope House Strigidae can be expected to have for him to prove himself a quality upstanding member of its number, let alone hopes for demonstrating any leadership ability in his senior year. Written by 2027’s Captain of House Strigidae

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ Banjo was stuffed in an orphanage/care facility from before he could remember until he reached school age. He was then retrieved from this care facility at school age and relocated to a boarding school, by an intermediary he calls "The Butler" due to the man's dress and being provided with no other name. He was then moved around to different boarding schools within Australia - sometimes extremely lengthy trips across state lines - at various times, sometimes for questionable behaviour, and sometimes for seemingly no reason at all over the next ten years. Over these years he feels he doesn't have a set 'home', or a place which is his. He formed a friendship with a young boy named Mamili Motlop, at a school in Darwin, despite only knowing him for about two and a half semesters, and came to take on many of the Aboriginal views towards custodianship of country. He didn't own anywhere, this whole land felt like he belonged to it. On April 18th he was relocated one final time. A footlocker containing all of his worldly belongings was his luggage for an International flight to Vancouver, before the long drive up the Western Canadian coastline to Dundas Island, where he would receive more permanent schooling. The school his parents - whoever they were - had planned for years for him to attend. In his first year here, Banjo was seriously hospitalised after an altercation with the Hyperhuman terrorist, Hyperion, after speaking up and making a target of himself in front of the students in attendance. This briefly made him something of a school hero, despite his own thoughts and opinions on his actions, but the ensuing violence did little to break his resolve or outspoken personality. Much to the chagrin of the faculty. Now in his final year at P.R.C.U, is there anything else this place could teach him, and would he show any willingness to learn? D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E & A E S T H E T I C D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E & A E S T H E T I C ________________________________________________________________________________________ When not using his hyperhuman powers he is a dishevelled looking lean, but average looking teenage caucasian male with sun-bleached, light brown hair and blue eyes. He wears his proper school uniform to the letter of the regulations, but in a rough, untidy state. He's also taken to adorning the uniform's dress peak cap in combination with the regular uniform before school hours and as soon as the clock ticks 1601 - because he's found it irritates certain members of the faculty. When using his power he appears as jet black, due to not reflecting any light as he is absorbing it at the time. He is surrounded by an aurora corona - the effect of surrounding light bending around his person to be absorbed. M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y ________________________________________________________________________________________ Sorely lacking stable consistent parental figures and because he was bounced around so much to different boarding schools irrespective of his behaviour, he's prone to misbehaving and pressing boundaries. He has a strong antiauthoritarian streak and enjoys little more than talking his way out of trouble - as such he's found comfort in law and is presently considering the legal profession in his higher education. Not opposed to provoking people just for provocation's sake. Will get himself into trouble purely because he enjoys seeing if he can extricate himself from it. Banjo gets bored easily and is a prankster, and yet might possibly the last human being you would want to ever get into a prank war (or have believe, he is in a prank war...) with. There are people in this world who have a clear understanding of social grace, and where the lines of public decorum lay... it is yet to be seen if Banjo actually has any understanding or recognition of any such lines. This coupled with an incredible creativity, when he puts his mind to something, as well as remarkable resourcefulness and determination when he puts a plan in place have seen him expelled from many, many, MANY schools. Banjo can be practically self-destructive in nature when it comes to defending or protecting others from what he sees as authoritative abuse of power. If he can't see any alternative way to "get people out", he will draw the ire and take the abuse himself, almost without thought. People who have viewed this in action have seen it as a form of heroism (facing up to Hyperion), he views it as just another way he's broken from his upbringing. Despite being outspoken there's a number of things he does and enjoys, which he doesn't talk about because of how he'll be viewed. Chalk it up to dumb machismo. Similarly, he's loathe to open up with most (Calliope being the solitary exception) about the worst aspects of his life, in part because of this dumb machismo, but also because he doesn't want to burden people with his problems, and due to his memories being tampered with doesn't exactly KNOW the full extent of his own past, as well as... again... dumb machismo. Due to his powerset he has no scars from anything he's endured over the years, and combined with his personality, its very easy for people on the outside-looking-in to think he's never gone through anything. Views pretty much anyone who would get into the teaching profession as having issues with power-hunger. Not limited to teaching, he views any and all who are in or would move into law enforcement much the same. Can be abrasive. Will be abrasive. By anyone's definition IS abrasive. But that's all part of the charm...

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A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ________________________________________________________________________________________ H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || P H O T O - T H E R M O K I N E T I C E N E R G Y M E T A B O L I Z A T I O N __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Exoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Fundamental __POWER SCALE || 05 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Δ Banjo's HZE conversion allows him to draw upon ambient heat/energy/light in a way that enhances his musculature and creates and strengthens neural pathways, also creating a greater capacity for intelligence. The nature of his powers also means he has acute thermoception (can determine local temperature to a tenth of a degree) and tolerance to extreme heat and cold. When he uses his power, he turns completely black as ambient light is being absorbed and there is no reflected light, and appears to be surrounded by an aurora corona due to the effect of bending light around into himself. When using his power, local temperature and light will drop as he draws upon it, in proportion to how much energy he is drawing. L I M I T A T I O N S || His biggest limitation has been himself. Due to the intelligence gained from early use of his powers, he now sees great potential for things to go wrong in using or abusing those powers - to the extent where he believes he even has the capacity to cause the complete heat death of the planet, solar system and universe beyond. He is, of course, not anywhere near capable of this at this point. He merely fears his potential. Whilst his powers create new neural pathways, and clear and strengthen existing neural pathways, they do not bestow upon him any NEW knowledge or intelligence. They merely grant him the capacity for increased intelligence (and perhaps grant focus/allow him to think more clearly). Likewise, the way his powers affect his musculature are exponential working off his initial baseline strength... so in other words, he would not have to use his powers to absorb as much energy in order to lift a large object if he were well trained and fit, as he would if lazy and ignoring any kind of training regiment. He won't use his powers in close contact of others, and is even extremely loathe to use them indoors in general. W E A K N E S S E S || As well as his own fear of his powers he's been having recurring nightmares where he finds himself encased in a small, confined, vacuum-sealed space - acute claustrophoblia. At this point his power taps out at barely above a peak-level human (think Super Soldier Serum enhanced human ala Captain America) in terms of strength, speed, agility, stamina. He's potentially capable of exponentially more though, but again his unwillingness to take that plunge, and see the true depths of his capabilities, stands in his way. Use of his powers whilst in direct contact with another COULD potentially cause devastating harm and/or death, since he draws heat and light. This is not a baseless fear he has. So far he has never hurt anyone in this way, though. He's just terrified of it happening. Whilst intelligent and quick-witted, he's fairly young and in many ways still naive. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ We're finally at that point where we address all of those questions of his origin! What exactly IS his real name? Who is the Butler? Who tampered with his memories? Why have they been running all of these years? Why the claustrophobia, and the nagging fears he sometimes gets? There ARE actual answers to these questions... and we're gonna get to 'em! U P C O M I N G S T O R Y A R C S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Red Right Hand || Description Pending (No spoilers!)

S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ L O C K P I C K I N G || Banjo is capable of picking simple locks. Don't ask. It's a boarding school skill. ...which isn't uncommon for people who have spent as many hours in detention as he has. ◼ R I D I N G || This is not a skill he advertises, but he is a highly competent hill and trail horseback rider, having frequented many Agricultural and Rural Boarding schools back in Australia. He's also handy at the tasks that came with it, whether it be establishing a campsite, fixing fences, baling, even having some experience in livestock management. He spent one summer shearing in Rawlinna Station, East of Kalgoorlie, for the MacLachlans. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ S I L V E R T O N G U E || Banjo is adept at talking his way out of trouble, or producing mitigating circumstances as well as finding technical loopholes that allow his behaviour or at least cast it in the "grey" area. He'd been called a #*$&% for a long time. Little did he know he's ACTUALLY been a naturally talented lawyer for years. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L _________________________________________________________ A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ D R E S S P E A K C A P || Banjo has taken to wearing his dress peak cap outside of regulation hours when he can't technically be told off for it, because he's found that doing so grates on certain faculty members. When not dressed in his uniform, he tends to wear his own clothes, which are almost entirely op shop specials, including an impressive range of Australian band t-shirts. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Z I P P O L I G H T E R || Banjo carries a scratched up chrome zippo lighter and at most times a pack of smokes (Winfield Blue). He tends to only smoke when alone and working at something requiring his concentration. He'll invariably "juice" after smoking, masking the fact he ever did it from his breath and system. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ L O C K P I C K S || Banjo carries a small set of lock picks in a foldable travel grooming kit in his back pocket. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Banjo suffers from claustrophobia, and has nightmares of being trapped in a confined space, with creeping darkness engulfing him. Due to his memories being tampered with, he's unsure of why, and his struggles with it frustrate and anger him. Unable to comprehend it, he views it as a confounding weakness in himself. ◼ After five years he still struggles to sleep in the large beds provided by P.R.C.U, having spent his life sleeping in small single beds, cots, swags and with his own warmth. He surrounds himself in a "nest" of his own clothes to try and counter it, but between the bed and the intermittent nightmares he seldom sleeps well. ◼ Banjo has a tendency to get 'conscripted' into numerous intermural sports, particularly rugby, lacrosse and hyperball, as punishment due to poor behaviour and expected restitution for loss of house points. ◼ Banjo participates in Debate and Model U.N. of his own volition. Few people have realised he actually does the latter though, and he doesn't exactly advertise this. - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Welcome Home #1.003: I've Been Through The Desert On A Horse... Which Shall Remain Nameless ◼ Welcome Home #1.012: Greetings and Shit-you-takings -

P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S

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_{E N T E R I N G I N T O Y O U R F I N A L Y E A R, W H A T A D V I C E D O Y O U H A V E T O A N E W S T U D E N T?}

"Well, shit...

...

...get y'self a better bloody mentor, I s'pose. F'r a start..."

_{W H A T W E R E Y O U R A S P I R A T I O N S W H E N Y O U S T A R T E D H E R E? W H A T C H A N G E D, W H A T S T A Y E D T H E S A M E?}

"Aspirations..? Have you met me?

...

Y'r serious..?"

*Subject Sighs*

"Alright, when I got here I figured I'd be in-and-out and off some bloody new place within two months.

We're comin' up to four years now. I'm still here. What, are we lookin' for like tangible bloody things, or-- Oh, I know! I wanted to get through school and get me BAR card. That's lookin' like that'll happen. Grades are no sweat there, and I'm all set for the BAR exam. Could prob'ly crush it tomorrow, truthbetold. Now me other grades... well, let's keep it PG, eh?

So I guess there's that. You're probably lookin' at a future lawyer."

_{I F Y O U C O U L D M A K E O N E C H A N G E T O Y O U R T I M E A T P . R . C . U ., W H A T W O U L D I T B E?}

"When I told that terrorist Hyperion to go fuck himself..?

...Yeah.

...I'd probably give him the finger as I did it, if I had to do it over.

...no, wait! Double birds!"

*Subject flips off interviewer with both hands*

"That and the time I tried cafeteria sushi when Rory and Trevor were on chef duty, aside... no regrets.

Well, let me put it this way, have you ever thought of the possibilty of a raw prawn taking up the same blended space with poorly cooked - I'm not entirely sure it WAS cooked - chicken, wrapped in uncooked rice and seaweed, with a bit of avo mixed in? Yeah, uncooked rice. Bone dry, hard and crunchy. They tried to bind it with some kind of sriracha. Can you imagine that?

No..?

Well, every day I live in envy of you then.

If I couldn't go the instant sunbath cleanse, I suspect they'd have dropped me via salmonella."

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "I know what you're doing. Knock it off." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

" T H E B U T L E R " / " H A R O L D H O L T " || A S S O C I A T E " T H E B U T L E R " / " H A R O L D H O L T " || A S S O C I A T E _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The one throughline in Banjo's life. He's the man who has transported him through all of the schools Banjo has ever attended. He's become more laconic and careful with what he says, after it became obvious Banjo had been trying to squeeze information out of him. He seems to be Banjo's "Handler" and seems to equal parts respect his ability to find and remove himself from trouble, and find it incredibly frustrating due to the nature of his role. Banjo has no means of contacting him. He seems to just keep tabs on developments regarding Banjo and appears when something comes up. Usually - let's face it - to reprimand him. ▅

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "I don't know that they'd want us doing that..." ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

A L E X Z I M M E R M A N || R O O M M A T E A L E X Z I M M E R M A N || R O O M M A T E _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Banjo's roommate, along with another called 'Big Steve' (who's name is not even 'Steve' but stuck as a nickname from a mistaken identity in his first week) and an as yet unnamed third person. Alex was a late transferral to H.E.A.T Program after Hyperion's Attack. Doesn't like bullies, and has started to grow into himself after a life of being "small for his age" (very late bloomer, grew 2 inches and added fifteen pounds in the last year). Always viewed himself as 'Just little Alex' but started to think maybe, just maybe, he could be something more. Some lofty dreams, huge comics fan. His favourite hero is Superman, but has an in-depth knowledge of comics across the board. May perhaps use comics too frequently in analogies and examples. Well read in general. All he really had in Onanole to keep him preoccupied was a book store called 'Poor Michael's Emporium'. ▅

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_{☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠}

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▅ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅ "When you get past the Class Clown bullshit, there's a tender heart there. A warm presence even my ice can't freeze." ♥ ♥ Long-Term Girlfriend ♥ ♥ ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

D E L E O N , C A L L I O P E || L O N G - T E R M G I R L F R I E N D D E L E O N , C A L L I O P E || L O N G - T E R M G I R L F R I E N D _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Somehow this relationship survives the turbulence of Banjo. The pair have been together since briefly after their admission to P.R.C.U five years ago. Calliope might be the only force in his life which can get him to lock in and take anything seriously. They actually work together and off each other surprisingly well despite Banjo's oft heated temperament and Calli's frequently cold demeanour. Banjo has as yet made no efforts to propose, mostly because he's terrified of Calliope realising how long they've been together, and how much better than him she could do.▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ ▅ Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T
R E L A T I O N S H I P S H E E T

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_{☯ NEUTRAL ☯ || ☮ FRIENDS ☮ || ♫ BEST FRIENDS ♫ || § TENSE § || ♥ CRUSH ♥ || ☠ ENEMIES ☠}

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☮☮ Barnes, Haven ☮☮ "Haven's great. End of. It takes a good sort for me to have access to their place, so's the balcony door gets left open for them for a late night, and me to not pull something great off with it. Maybe I just haven't thought of anything good yet." ♫♫ Kruger, Katja ♫♫ "Katie the Hypie Jaapie... Holds her friends incredibly close. Crushingly close. You shouldn't have to tap out from a hug." ☮☮ Tyler, Rory ☮☮ "A good bloke. Too good. I almost feel bad when I prank him or bust chops. I mean... I'm not gonna stop... But I almost feel bad. Almost."	♥♥ deLeon, Calliope ♥♥ "Dunno what I did to get this lucky. Pretty much at the point of not questionin' it anymore, lest the magic breaks." ☮☮ Roth, Lorcán ☮☮ "The boy in the bubble has tales and adventures he could tell this bloke. Nice thing, he has asked me what Australia was like and genuinely seemed interested in checking it out. Like, not just common courtesy. But then he has also asked Gil about English cuisine." ☮☮ Mitchell, Aurora ☮☮ "Kind hearted sort. Have to admit, I may get a bit protective. Been through similar stuff, and she's still sore from it."	☮☮ Penada, Pallyx ☮☮ "I recognise too much of myself in her. Which means she's bad news in all the best ways. Also... someone here who's genuinely good for a laugh. Which doesn't go unappreciated." §§ Galahad, Gil §§ "I got my hands on these twelve big ol' black and white headshots in a manilla folder. I'm still not sure how I'm gonna use 'em yet. But thissun'll be good, just watch. Oh. Umm... I'm sure there's probably a real flesh and blood human in there at some point... maybe? But I'm yet to see it show it's face beneath the Hollywood glitz and plastic." ☮☮ Hisamatsu, Mei ☮☮ "Another from back home. There's not many of us, even if our experiences are very different. She stayed put in the big smoke in Melbourne with family. I went everywhere and, well... yeah."	§§ Cahors, Amma §§ "I caught her lookin' at me the other day with an expression as if she was gonna devour me. I'm still not sure of the context there. Can't be good, but. The thought of bein' alone with her terrifies me." §§ Baxter, Harper §§ "We have a term back home, FIGJAM. She is good, but. Much as I'll never admit it... She just needs to unclench some or the bird's gonna blow a fuse. Her 'the bird' that is. Not Haven." ♫♫ Banjo ♫♫ "She's a rippa bloody pony. Only gets better when everything turns to shit as well. Sound like anyone you know?"

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Last Month Of Previous Semester

Banjo slipped quietly through the back way, around the A.R.C to get to the community farm, sneaking furtive glances behind himself to ensure nobody was watching where he was going.

Just as he had for the last few months when he had spare hours.

"You again..." Laura spoke. "You know you could just come in the front way. But then your friends might see you, hey? And then what would they think?"

"Do I look like I care what anyone thinks?"

"Ah... right now..? Yeah, you do. The usual?"

"Yeah. Yeah, the usual."

Laura smiled. "Go on then. She's already all tacked up. Figured you'd be coming. Just clip a radio."

Banjo was about to open his mouth and she pre-empted him.

"Just take it, its the rules."

Banjo put a raised foot in a stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle.

He opened his mouth, and Laura faced he other way miming every word he would say perfectly, they'd had this conversation far too often already.

"I'm stickin' to the flats, she's the most sure-footed thing here and I'm me... if I eat dirt, bring the shotgun and put us both out of our misery..."

Laura smiled and turned around. "About that, what if I said I might have something more fun in mind..."

Banjo only gave an unimpressed grimace, that could only pre-empt delivery of his relationship status. "You know--"

"No... not anything like that. Also... ew. I let the stock out to feed in the outer, thought you might want to help me bring them in."

"..."

"...you knew I wasn't gonna stick to the flats. Didntcha?"

"Be a waste of the most sure footed hills pony here, and like you said, you're you." She rode alongside, and handed him a clip-on radio.

They rode out to the hill trails and curled around to start bringing in the ag stock.

"Keep wondering why you take that one. Is it just the--"

"No, it's not the name. Trust me when I say that has nothing to do with it."

"Ahhh... is that why you're embarrassed."

"I take 'er cos she's the best mountain pony here. Two parts thoroughbred, one part Sable Island horse with a bitta Canadian Rustic Pony mixed in. I take her on and off the trails. Could put 'er in tap shoes and dance her back up the hills. Can go anywhere. Do anything."

"But she's a bit small, isn't she? You wouldn't want anything a bit bigger, like Palamon?"

"Palamon's a bloody clydesdale. I'm not pullin' a plough or patrollin' a bleedin' parade. I take Palamon on the slopes, we'd both be in for a ghost train ride..."

Laura smiled. "Ok."

Banjo waited for it. He picked up his pace a bit.

"So it's not because she's called 'Banjo'..." He could hear her smirking in her voice behind him. He stuffed his tongue in his cheek.

"I assure you. It's not a bloody selling point."

"I mean, you see how it could be found funny..."

"Bloody hilarious." He deadpanned.

"So is that why you sneak in the back way. Don't want to be seen riding a little pony called 'Banjo'?"

"Look, she's not named after me! She was called that before I ever got here!"

Laura tried not to openly laugh. Her face hid it poorly.

"It's a gender neutral bloody horse name! A coincedence!"

A pair of cows caught sight of the riders and broke for the safety of the hills.

"And she's a rippa bloody pony at that, I won't have her coppin' no more shit." He opened up Banjo to a gallop and looked to cut the cattle off, but they'd already started their descent. "Aww Hell..." He called out as he saw the cattle break. "Hiy!" He let out a gutteral grunt to the pony and urged her on.

Laura watched as Banjo's tail and hind legs disappeared down the steep descent, and pulled up her own mount. Waiting interminable seconds. She reached back for her clip on radio and called to him, only to be met with silence.

"Banjo? Banjo!?"

A few seconds later the cattle emerged from down the steep hill. She waited a little longer for what chased them back up.

Banjo performed a neat little sideways dressage passage gait back up the hilltop, smirking all the way.

"Told ya... I could have her tap dance all the way back up here."

Laura shook her head, and turned her own horse to get back to task. A clip of his heels into her sides, and Banjo was back at a trot.

They continued bringing cattle in, as the sun slowly descended.

Along the way the pair saw a sagged section of fence. They stopped and Banjo re-staked the post and fixed the tension, whilst Laura watched on.

"Come on... getting dark."

"Well, it'd be quicker if you leant a bloody hand. Whose bloody job is this supposed to be anyway? I'm just a bloke borrowin' time on a rental pony." He planted his foot back in the stirrup and threw himself back over into the saddle again.

"About that..." As the pair rode back towards the setting sun, the in paddock and the stables.

"I'm a senior with no post-grad. Not looking for any fancy law degree or doctorate. Last few weeks now. Most of the community contribution kids are volunteers, but they like us to pick a successor to at least watch over the whole deal. Someone who actually knows what they're doing to make the transition smoother."

"Eh..?" Banjo looked surprised at what he was hearing.

"Awww bloody no. No bloody way. I've got a prime gig set up over at the library now. Took me years to get it all wired. I barely have to do anything at all now. They leave me bloody be. I go in-Smooth ride-Get left alone and I'm in and out."

"Yes. But is that still what you want? You could come out here, ride around, fix a fence and be left alone, with all this."

"You understand that sounded a lot more appealing in your own head before you actually spoke those words, right?"

"There's volunteer kids on community contribution. You train them. You basically do as much or as little as you want. Depends how much you want to delegate. It's all up to you how hands on you want to be."

"What part of anything about me makes you think I want to either have, or be, a boss? Responsible for anything beyond meself?"

Laura ignored his protestations. "Look... just think about it. Give it a few weeks to marinate. If you don't like the idea, let me know, I'll still have a couple weeks to find someone else. But you know all of this. You can fix fences, you can handle the stock, Hell, you're better at handling the hill rides than I am."

Banjo sighed, and looked out at the fast setting sun.

"Don't think I don't know what this is... find yourself a bloody Aussie to put in charge of the sheep dip..."

Laura laughed.

"Just think about it..."

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Farm/The Beach - Pacific Royal Campus}

Welcome Home #1.003: I've Been Through The Desert On A Horse... Which Shall Remain Nameless

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Nil}

Previously: What? As If There was a whole previous game with aspects of existing continuity? That would be preposterous. Good day, sir! I SAID GOOD DAY!

It was early morning, and despite the forecast for a warmer day, there was still a chill in the morn. It was Canada after all.

Banjo made his way to the Community Farm for his first day in the role. He was supposed to be there earlier buuuut-- well, he was him. He was a little curious to see the kind of kids who'd be waiting for him though.

Supposedly four freshmen. There were people who had been previously working the farm as their Community Contribution, but they all stepped down or transferred after it became news that he'd be in his role. Either because they'd hoped to get the role, or because they otherwise weren't eager to be working in a position "under" him. He had a reputation.

These four however. Freshmen. Didn't know him. Didn't even have the sense to ask. The thought of the job was probably more on their minds than whoever the person caretaking would be.

Banjo saw the four talking and looking confused. They were presumably wondering why nobody else was here. Even if they weren't on time, surely they'd be at the farm doing other duties..? He stood back and considered them with a smirk, before approaching.

He slowly walked towards them rubbing his hands together. One of the students noticed him and turned to face, tapping another on the shoulder and soon they were all aware of him and waiting.

He kept rubbing his hands together as he approached, then gestured to his hands with a nod of his head. Another student caught on and began mimicking him, rubbing his hands together. Banjo nodded and straightened up as if proud that someone had picked up on it, with a widening smile. He kept rubbing his hands together. Others started to pick up on it, rubbing their hands together and smiling, happy to be participating in some kind of ritualistic comeraderie, until Banjo finally broke the silence.

"So who here hasn't 'ad their hand up a cow..?"

The smiles dropped from their faces. Their hands suddenly froze.

He cackled at their reaction. Eventually they all broke and a few started chuckling in relief. Others remained stunned.

"Buncha bloody drongos. It's your first day. But seriously, keep warmin' your hands up. Y'r gonna be milkin' cows. Hey, somethin' tells me, you're gonna be a natural, Lonely Hearts." He said, referring to a quiet, weedy freshman still reeling from his initial joke.

"Umm... You are going to be teaching us how to milk the cows, right Mister..?" A blonde girl asked.

Banjo ended the sentence with a sudden hand gesture.

"Two things, Blondie: First, the word 'teaching' does not exist here. Nobody is teaching anybody anything. You're going to be observing a bunch of boring chores around a farmyard environment and if any of you pick up how they're done by osmosis, then goody for you. Second, there's no Mister here. Least of all me."

A mousey girl next to the blonde girl raised her hand.

Banjo gave a screwfaced "Are you kidding me?" expression, but she continued to raise her hand and wait to be addressed.

Banjo eventually shook his head at her inability to take a hint.

"Yes? Next-to-Blondie?"

"Umm... Shouldn't we, like, introduce ourselves or something?"

"Why? I don't care. Also, Next-to-Blondie, considering the kind of shit and substances you're likely to be getting on your hands comin' round here... it'd be appreciated if you kept them below face level."

"Then how do we ask questions? Also, don't you need to know who we are to fill out our Community Contribution cards?" Asked the remaining boy. Before covering his mouth, realising he hadn't raised his hands.

"You just did it, Hugh. Congratulations on your first stage of personal development. As for the other stuff. It doesn't matter and I don't care. That's going to be a common answer. May want to write that last one down."

He walked towards the milking sheds.

"Now come on, I don't want to piss away all of today dealing with you lot. Day looks too damn good." He looked up at the sun with a smile across his face.

---

---

Banjo sat on the upper flybridge of the Butler's boat in a 'Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' black band t-shirt and shorts, as the older man whistled and cast another line into the Pacific.

Most of the simple conversation had been had already. What are you hoping to catch? What bait have they got you on? Areas re-trodden to death already.

Dundas Island had a range of fish in its waters from salmon and chinook to halibut, and the bait of choice to the man at the tackle shop was invariably herring, and generally to reasonable success.

It was dull and repetitive, but whilst the older man baited lines, his attention was busy elsewhere and conversation would be nil to stilted.

So Banjo sat up in his chair on the flybridge sunbathing in the traditional sense of the word.

Meanwhile, the man downstairs cutting bait in the mezzanine was getting wary of the silence. Silence and Banjo meant boredom was settling in. Boredom settting in with Banjo was bad news. So silence from the rambunctious young adult was as ominous as rolling dark cloud on the horizon.

"That your classmates over there on the shoreline?" He called up from beneath.

"Possibly. Could be anyone. Most of the school's taken to the beach for the last week without classes. Other than Community Contribution duties, most kids on the island have free days."

The Butler could hear the disinterest dripping off every word. He was happy just to lounge around.

Maybe.

"Yeah, must be. I reckon I see your bird over there on the shore, under the umbrella in a two piece..."

The boat started rocking heavily. It got slightly darker as if passing under light cloud cover and a chilled breeze blew through.

"Oi, careful! What are you doing up there?"

Banjo's breathing quickened and halted, as is body turned blacker than the darkest night and the orange corona surrounded him. Muscles and sinew re-knitted within his flesh and his synapses flared and fired once again from the familiar exquisite sensation. His body stopped seizing and he regained control after the initial change, reverting to his usual appearance. Muscle throbbed with potential.

The boat rocked harder still as there was an almighty splash, as Banjo jumped overboard from the flybridge and started swimming. The Butler steadied himself grabbing onto the bait table.

"Oi! OIII! You little nutcase! Don't jump off the fly! Least of all juiced up to the bloody gills! It's 38 feet and you still damn near tipped her!"

But he was already barely in earshot.

The Butler's smile widened, and he stretched out on on the lounge in the cabin, hands behind his head, and his hat pulled down just above his eyes, glued on the lines.

Another beautiful restful day in paradise.

Banjo powered through the water with long clean strokes. As he got closer he could see he was being lied to, not necessarily that Calliope wasn't there under an umbrella... more that it would have been impossible to tell.

Presumably the cunning old bastard just wanted him off his boat for some more free time.

The thought would normally be enough to make him get back on out of spite, but truth be told he was getting bored stiff anyhow. Fishing made a nice change, but he just went out on the water too much. Almost every day. He didn't understand how he wasn't sick of it. Banjo was done with it and he was only spending a little extra time with him because of the holidays.

As he approached the shore, he worked a little harder and got himself into a wave, to body surf closer to the shore. The wash breaking gently over him. He considered catching another, but he was close enough to shore now, it'd probably be quicker just to do it under his own steam.

With three more strong strokes he found himself at wading depth, and got to his feet for the walk ashore.

He could make out Lorcán's board on the shore, and a grin creased across his face at the thought that maybe it wouldn't be so far fetched that she might be here.

Calli generally did not care for the beach. At all. But she generally had her finger more on the social pulse of what their other team-members were up to, and if there were a few of them here, well that certainly upped the odds.

His shorts squelched, he furrowed his brow and tried to wring out the edges. They'd dry soon enough though. Maybe. Shirt would at least. He took his shoes and socks off and carried them. He'd have to find a rock or something to dry them off on.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP