[muffled meaningful song lyrics playing in the distance]

[crab]

WHO: all those who are participating in the student outreach program.
WHERE: chester miller secondary school.
WHEN: from tuesday 21st through to friday 24th.
WHAT: an open mingle log wherein heroes attempt to give pep talks and guidance to a school with a notably high concentration of at risk youth.
WARNINGS: discussion of potentially sensitive subjects (drugs, bullying, whatever comes to mind with the phrase "at risk youth"); specific warnings tbd.

Chester Miller Secondary School is a school with a bad reputation. The kind of school you don't particularly want to put on your resume. It is the general assumption in the community that most juvenile delinquents attend Chester Miller, most bullying occurs at Chester Miller, and that, in general, if you can afford another school, you should probably send your kids there. However, upon being admitted to the school grounds in order to fulfill their assignment, the heroes will find that it outwardly seems no different from any other public school. Exasperated teachers, bored students. The standard fare, really.

They will also be subject to quite a lot of judging, adolescent eyes for the duration of their stay. How will you go about reaching these kids?

Comments

open

[demonspawn]

[ Terry Ward does not think he's qualified to talk to at-risk teen. In fact, Terry Ward is pretty sure he still qualifies as an at-risk teen. But guilt has always been a powerful motivator for him. He remembers his best friend from high school -- she'd been a user, and one of the first to be preyed on by his demonic powers. Her greatest fear, the one he'd torn out of her mind and transformed into, was herself, strung out and destroyed by whatever poison she'd become addicted to.

Still, guilt aside, he hates high school. And Terry hates a lot of things -- but few things as much as high school. He imagines he can feel himself breaking out in a rash just walking down the hall. It's hard to imagine just a few years ago, he was one of these kids. It was a lot of getting shoved into lockers and being dunked in toilets. It probably contributed a lot to the all black, guyliner'd look he still sports now.

He lingers outside the gymnasium where a group of the students are gathered, procrastinating his contribution to these "pep talks." Half under his breath, he mutters: ]

This is stupid. Am I allowed to say that this is stupid?

[slightlyoffchilt]

No, I don't think so. It's not impossible that a few of them may become volatile.

[Chilton whispers this, leaning closer to his fellow imPort. He recognized Terry from Holiday's initial gathering. He glanced down at his schedule, noting which groups of people he had to pitch pep to, and saw that this was one group of a few. Motivational discussion was never really Chilton's thing -- he was a doctor to the criminally insane! Wrong sort of motive engaged, given his experience.

But the word "psychiatrist" seemed to be interpreted in many difference ways, here.]

You know, you might remind them of their familial atmosphere. Which reminds me -- [Chilton rooted within his highly masculine messenger bag, before pulling out a buttercup yellow shirt that read HUGS NOT DRUGS. A cartoon bunny had its arms open in an anticipatory embrace, and not a drug was in sight.]

You should probably put this on now.

[demonspawn]

[ Terry was more or less prepared to brush off this adult figure until he magically procured the world's most hideous t-shirt from his very masculine man-bag. It effectively silenced Terry for a long moment as he first stared, then skeptically squinting at the horrific garment -- perhaps because his demonic eyes were being blinded by the combination of yellow and fluffy animals.

Finally, he physically recoiled, tensing in the shoulders and edging a half-step away. ]

What the hell is that supposed to be, exactly? [ He glanced at Chilton a bit accusingly, as if this were maybe some kind of purposeful attack. ] You can't be friggin' serious.

[slightlyoffchilt]

I absolutely can be serious, and I'm being serious right now. [He gave the garment a little shake, as if that would force some appeal into it. The smile he offered came archly, as if the man halfway couldn't believe the effort of his morning.]

It's intended for a depressive looking, slim teenager -- I think you win that description, at least. Besides, we need someone these ruffians can relate to. It just isn't going to be me.

[demonspawn]

[ Terry only leaned farther away as Chilton shook the shirt at him, as if he were afraid some of the yellow particles would fly off like spore and actually touch him. Yellow was not his color. Color was not his color. ]

Well, you picked the wrong depressive-looking, slim teenager, because I hated high school and high school hated me. They're not gonna like me anymore than they like you. [ He exhaled, annoyed. ] Whoever decided to send me here is an idiot. Just because I'm a telepath doesn't mean I know how to talk to people.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Then don't talk to them.

[He tried again to shove the shirt Terry's way, hoping that the responsibility of the fabric would leave his hands for good.]

Use your powers to catch their attention, let that do the talking for you. Better to rule with fear, right? [Perhaps it was a joke, and perhaps it was poorly timed. Chilton rolled his eyes upwards, buying a moment to backpedal.] That's why we were chosen to integrate like this, I'm sure. They want us to normalize our abilities. Now put the shirt on, because I am much too soigné to wear cartoonish animals.

[He had learned a few French phrases for moments like this.]

[demonspawn]

[ Terry responded by pushing the shirt back at Chilton, putting his hands on the man's fists and encouraging the hideous yellow thing back in his direction. He'd probably go into anaphylactic shock at any moment just from close contact with the fabric. ]

I'm not using my powers in a fucking high school. Are you crazy? [ Actually, he'd done that before. Mostly out of pubescent temper towards jocks and their tendency to make his life miserable. Some days he regretted that more than others. ] I can't normalize my stupid ability. I definitely can't control it well enough not to flip if a whole auditorium of teenagers freaks out at me.

[slightlyoffchilt]

[Chilton frowned, mulling over this impasse. He pushed his hands, armed with the shirt, back into Terry's -- any uncontextualized gaze would perhaps assume they were holding hands under the warm glow of cotton.]

I'm not crazy. [The protest came out too hard, too fast.] Look, then, if you don't want to employ it fully -- why not talk about it then? As something you've overcome? Or whatever you can pull out, I'm sure they won't appreciate the difference between a cold truth and a little fabrication. [He gritted his teeth, pushing the shirt closer, trying to make it touch Terry's face.]

This. Is. Your. Legacy.

[demonspawn]

I haven't overcome it.

[ Apparently, protest and refusal were two of Terry's greatest skills, and despite what ever problems he had with his demonic power, he had no issue with utilizing those to excess. ]

I really hate this. This whole thing. And I don't feel like being helpful. [ He did feel like trying to bat that yellow monster away from him though, letting go of Chilton to slap his tear-bearing hands away. ] Do it yourself. You're the real adult here.

[ Being nineteen didn't count, not in Terry's book. ]

[slightlyoffchilt]

You look somewhat adult-like.

[They wry comment was more centered on Terry's assumed age rather than any other concrete detail.]

And it isn't as if I am loving this prospect. We're in this together, you and I, so we're going to have to adapt with compromise.

[Which surely logically included Terry wearing the shirt! Such was Chilton's thought process. He balled the material in one fist, using quiet violence to smother some of the offensive hue.]

You know we can't just skip out on this endeavor. It's part of the deal. So -- bearing that in mind -- what is it that you want to contribute?

[demonspawn]

I'm trying to decide if it's too late to go drown myself in the boy's bathroom.

[ Not that it would've done any good. He was technically immortal, no matter how little he valued his own life -- or how morbid his sense of humor was. But right now, even a toilet bowl seemed like a better option than the hideous yellow shirt and an auditorium full of kids that resembled the antagonists from his unfortunate early pubescent years. ]

Can't we just put up a few flyers and bail? There's other people here. They can do the talking. Some people were born to be public speakers, some people were born for strategic flyer placement.

[slightlyoffchilt]

Don't do that, all right? Go on stage there and discuss suicidal tendencies, they might take you seriously.

[He gave Terry a look up and down, as if judging the younger man. As if there was something about his dark clothes and glower to suggest My Chemical Romance played frequently in the shadows of an unspoken bedroom.]

Flyers weren't part of the deal. [Though he won't deny that it's a good idea -- this Terry Ward had a working system, Chilton would give him that much credit.] Just give out he shirt as, I don't know, a "prize" or something, all right? We can give it to the flunkie who pays the most attention.

[demonspawn]

[ terry eyed him for a long, hard moment. it was a moment full of teenage petulance and stubbornness. or maybe that scowl on his face was because he was thinking very, very hard about disappearing -- as if by sheer power of will, he could make himself evaporate into thin air. that was a preferable alternative to all of this. public speaking had never been his strong suit.

people in general, really. ]

I'm immortal. I can't actually kill myself. Just so you know. [ one final act of smart-assery before he finally (reluctantly) snagged the shirt from chilton, exhaling irritably before pushing the auditorium doors open to face his face. ] But I swear, next time? I'm choosing the toilet bowl.