Harold Johnson's Academy for Mentally Disoriented Superhumans

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Laggy Lagiacrus, Apr 27, 2012.

  1. Dear [insert appropriate name(s) of guardian(s)],
    It has come to our attention that your child possesses great talent, and is quite prodigious in their particular area of expertise. However, we cannot ignore your child's mental state, and have taken precautionary measures to keep them from causing any trouble in the future. Rest assured, they will be taken care of to the best of our ability, and will be taught many things. Aside from core subjects, and various others, your child will be educated on the proper way in which to behave in society, and their skills will be honed. Rest assured, by the time they leave the academy, they will be a sane, useful member of society.
    Uniforms will be provided. Boys will wear a blazer over white, button-up shirt, a tie, smart trousers, and smart shoes. Girls will wear the same, but have the option to wear a skirt instead of trousers. Blazers and ties come in maroon red and navy blue.
    My best wishes,
    Harold Johnson
    Head Teacher



    Though he was a boy of seventeen, Jonathan Adams could act immature to the point of seeming four, and maniacal to the point of insanity. Nevertheless, as was the case with all students at the highly-isolated academy, his mental state had caused him to be deemed "too dangerous" for normal society. He was capable of rational thinking, yes, but what shone through was his absurd sadism. from the laminated floor smelling faintly of floor polish and blood, to the table heaped haphazardly with Petri dishes containing various organ samples, to the entry in his diary that flat-out said that healing was "an unfortunate side-effect," the whole area screamed "psycho." However, while the odd splatter of red was present, the walls were largely an inoffensive pale green, supposedly to calm people. Not much good when the person in question experiments by electrifying a human heart to the point where it explodes. The lessons were due to start soon, and as the new students - or, in his words, fresh specimens - had arrived but the day before, bringing with them a plethora of slight and not-so slight mental disorientations, and a spectrum of different powers. New timetables would be issued, and while the new pupils were addressed by the Head Teacher, everyone else was free, within the rules, and as long as the came to their form room at the allotted time. Looking at his hands, Adams wondered what he could possibly do, if he was "cured." He had the power to manipulate light - he could project it from any part of his body, as if he were a torch. And though it was the limit of his power so far, he knew he could improve beyond frying ants with focussed light from his finger.
    His tea-coloured, mid-length hair combed half-heartedly, he lay incoherently upon the bed. With soft blue eyes and no menacing build to speak of (height and muscle tone being fairly average), he looked about as threatening as a dead squirrel. Specifically, the one he was vivisecting last Monday. With nothing in particular to do, he strolled out of the room, his eyes firmly focussed ahead.
  2. The girl looked about her "room", though it was more like a cell.. or cage, whichever was preferred. The sea foam green that spread on the walls would have to be colored. And soon. She made a mental note to thank her memory for hiding a sharpie set in her cello case.
    All her instruments were piled all about, they were only a third of her collection. Her "guardians" had insisted to only include the instruments she could carry. Though they had not expected her to carry the seven or so instruments she'd carried out the door. Well the cello kind of floated, with the help of some sound waves..
    A sigh escapes her pale lips and she reaches blindly for the closest instruments. Then with a ivory violin strapped around her nack and a dark wood clarinet in her paranoid grasp she walks into the dormitory hallway. With her eyes burrowed in a map she walks to the left, in search of a music room she could practice in. Honestly this place had to have one. Right?
  3. She had already left her room and was-almost in a rushed manner-enscribing onto a small notepad she held in her palm. She was a small girl, not so much as in age, as she was thin and petite. Her brown hair had a slight shag, or even some spike to it, excluding the perfectly straight pigtails floating below her shoulderblades, and her eyes were an ember flame on the pale flesh of her face. They were almost too concentrated on her scribbles, which turned out to be a makeshift map of the building, as she stepped her way through the empty halls. She hated that cell more than she hated the tie-which neverendingly strangled her, to her dismay-so she decided to just traverse the building. The floors were hard and cold, though of course she had expected no luxury from somewhere that would shove a human into a cage without hesitation. Some way to help a 'child's mental state.'
    Still focused on the notebook in her hand she came to a sudden stop. She had almost ran into the blue eyed stranger crossing by. Letting out a sigh of displeasure ste stepped back and bowed a few degrees. "Sorry," She muttered, her firey gaze aimed elsewhere as she cursed herself in her mind. Ohhh, of all the stupid cliches. Literally bumping into someone, already? Great job, genius. Next time just crawl into a Goliath spider's digestive system.
  4. Cocking an eyebrow, Jonathan glanced at the girl dismissively, almost seeming to disregard her existence the moment he found no particular interest in her. Still, the school had taught him that good manners were essential for being part of 'normal' society. His deceivingly soft eyes glazed over, he possessed no expression that seemed somewhere between vacant, and disinterested. Mouth in a frown that seemed to bear no form of anything, he mumbled something along the lines of 'plonker,' but cleared his throat in order to cover for himself. The sound echoed off of the stone walls, the polished oak floor and blood-red carpet only providing a minute form of soundproofing. Upon hearing his own voice echo, the thought of where the music room lay flashed in his mind - being such a bashful place at times, it was placed on the ground floor of the westernmost area, nearer the "somewhat normal" dorms than anything else. As it happened, it was just down the hall from where Adams was.
    "Oh, I wouldn't fret over it..." he replied, his tone betraying the fact that he was bored stiff - in other words, his voice was reserved, though lacked a certain calm. It then dawned upon him that he had nothing to do - he had had his specimens taken away, as they were too far-gone to do anything with. His scalpel was being cleaned, and he wasn't in the mood to play the violin. Being a second-year, he had a free hour or so, which essentially meant that he would be free of anyone to listen to for the time being. Subconsciously, a small dot of light - around the size of a five-pence coin - began to flit around his face. A deep-rooted habit, it didn't seem that he could stop doing it when he was bored. "How do you feel about the violin? I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you? Because today might be one of those days if I'm not careful..."
    His gaze wandered to the ceiling, not even attempting to even brush upon who he was talking to - the nameless (to him) girl could just turn and wlk the pther way, and he would not notice, or possibly care.
    Or possibly both.
  5. "Unstable...Why am I unstable..."

    May sat her things on her bed and looked around. She didn't deserve to be in a place like this. She didn't know why her parents would put her in this school! They said that she had another side to her, a menacing side when provoked...

    She didn't think this to be true...

    May began to walk out of her room and looked around at the hallways. Her room seemed like a cell and the hallways the hallways of a prison. She did begin to lighten up a tiny bit as she saw people walk about. She began to wonder if they were feeling the same as she was.
  6. She'd never seen a band room so cold. A shiver ran down her spine as she entered the room labelled 'music'. She found herself giving props to whoever could make such a warm place like the dark side of the moon, she'd thought it impossible to do but obviously not.
    She lays down her two 'babies' and silently promises to be back quickly as she sets out to grab a chair and stand. She sets it up quickly, the stand sitting paperless in front of the chair, but always there to keep her remembering. The chair sat with its back to the door and her clarinet sat patiently beside it, waiting for her turn to be played. She grins and pulls out her violin.
    Her hands graze the instrument with a butterflies touch. She pulls the violin up and focuses her eyes on the bare stand as she plays a few tuning notes she'd memorized.

    Her fingers dance along the fingerings, letting a mournful song seep through the air. Her bow moves slowly, letting its tune bounce through the open door and down the halls. It fit this place, she thought. A mourning cage holding mourning birds in its metal fingers.
    Her pale crystal eyes shut as she plays. A silent tear battling her eye. The song stays mournful switching through many themes and keys swiftly, singing through a story of guilt-ridden death.
  7. Erik Olstrom walked down the hallway on the way to his dorm. His case was extremely rare indeed. He was self admitted. Some would say that he wasn't even... 'Mental'... At all. Only few knew that he had split personality disorder and it was quite severe. He only really had breaks in personalty when he felt an extreme emotion like anger or sadness... Or when he was drunk. He was a young man, aged eighteen, adorned in a white long sleeved shirt and black jeans. Black dreadlocks fell about just below his shoulders and they swayed slightly as he walked. He wheeled behind him a trundle bag with all the things in it he would need for the year. His body, hands and face ran through with scars in the form of tally marks. One mark for each time he had snapped. So far, none were fresh. It had been six months since the Bad Man had been around. Erik saw a girl looking rather puzzled about the school, standing outside a room. He stopped in front of the room and looked at the number of the door, then to a piece of paper he was holding with a number on it and then back to the door. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "This is it!" he said excitedly, with a heavy Swedish accent. "Are you my roommate?" he asked the girl who stood before him, cocking his head slightly, smiling as best he could through the scars that ran across his face.
  8. May looked up, startled from her daydream and looked to Erik. Her face looked expressionless except for her eyes, showing her confusion. "Oh...um..." she took out her paper and sure enough, another name was on this room. "I believe so..." May looked up to Erik with the same half confused half emotionless face. "Would your name happen to be Erik Olstrom?"
  9. "Yup!" he said excitedly. "Nice to meet you!" he said extending a hand for the girl to shake. "And you are, pretty lady?" he said. His heavy Swedish accent was the only normal voice he had. The Bad Man had a Victorian English Cockney Geezer type accent for some reason and his cynic and sarcastic voice was a southern drawl. He had always wanted to go to a school where no-body would laugh at him or his splits. It felt good to be where he belonged...
  10. Such an accent... May thought. Not that it was bad, it was just quite noticeable. In fact, his accent sounded pretty cool to her. She shyly took his hand and shook it. "My name is May Wagner...It's a pleasure to meet you,"

    May continue to look at Erik. After a few seconds a small smile appeared on her lips. It came out slowly, as if the smile had a mind of its own and was too shy to come out for a long time.
  11. "May Vagner! Excellent! Pretty name for pretty lady!" he said, a smile beaming across his scar-ridden face as he shook her hand. "Am I allowed in, May Vagner?" he asked, still beaming. "Oh! Or are you in the middle of something private?" he asked her in an extremely cartoonish whisper. He wasn't embarrassed by his scars here either. To him they were a part of every day life. Like a post-it note. Except he carved them into his skin with the nearest sharp object whenever the Bad Man came out...
  12. "T-Thank you..." she said softly. May looked to see his scars. The many scars on his face made her look to her arm for a split second. "O-Oh! Y-You can come in..." she said happily and stepped out of the way so he could get in. Once Erik passed through, May looked away and pulled up the sleeve to her arm. About ten scars on that arm... Most likely not for the same reason as Erik's. But more like battle scars, fight scars...

    May pulled down the sleeve again and looked to Erik, walking back into the room. "So...Are you a new student here as well?"
  13. "Yes indeedy!" he said happily. "I admitted myself here because I felt uncomfortable at all of the other schools." He smiled at May as began unpacking his things and putting them away. "I hope my scars don't worry you. They don't worry me." he said smiling, still concentrating on getting his things put away. After his clothes had been put away, he revealed a hip-flask. He looked puzzled by it, screwed the top open and sniffed. A look of realization swept across his face as he stuffed it into the draw with all of his other bits and bobs. The flask contained bourbon. Great for warming up in a cold climate. At least that was what he told people back home where it was always a cold climate...
  14. "Oh I see!" May watched him unpack. Once he referred to his scars, she only nodded. "Oh no...they don't worry me. I have a few scars, myself so...Scars and other wounds are not a new sight for me." she said kindly. May looked around a bit and walked up closer, sitting on her own bed. "Oh?...What's in that?" she said with a tilt of her head.
  15. "Burbon." he said unashamedly. He had gotten quite used to drinking publicly. "Warms the insides!" he said rubbing his belly, a smile on his face. He laughed a short laugh before sitting down on his own bed. It was soft. Good for bouncing on. "Have you ever drank before, May Vagner? Do they allow it here? Or is it banned?" he asked with genuine curiosity. If there was one thing that was a certainty with Erik, it was curiosity.
  16. "B-Burbon..." she said. She didn't know what that was, but if it had a name, it had to have been a "drink." ...Not just a drink, but "a drink".

    May nodded at what he said and then looked across to him. "Oh? N-No I haven't...And...I really don't know. I don't think they've touched that subject here..." she shrugged a bit.
  17. "Oh goodie..." he said, breathing a sigh of relief. He fished the flask out of the draw and shoved it in his back pocket instead. He had a thought. Never tried Burbon?! The thought clicked in his mind. He took a very modest swig and passed the flask to May. "Go on, try some. Nothing to lose I you don't like it!" he said smiling. "Be careful with it, now. Too much and it's like inhaling a glass full of paint stripper fumes." he said with a chuckle. "Don't have to if you don't want to, of course."
  18. May looked at Erik and sort of shrank away. "E-Eh...I don't drink...I'm not allowed too." she said, passing the flask back to him. "Sorry..." she said as a bead of sweat ran down her head.
  19. "Okie dokie!" he said cheerfully, placing the flask back in his back pocket. He looked around the room. It was a bit boring. All the green... Green was usually a happy colour. This green looked like the type of green that had just cleaned out it's liqure cabinet and loaded a bullet into a 38 and was about to finish the job on itself. It was a sad green. "I hope I haven't crossed any lines..." he said warily. He probably should get to know people better instead of flashing about all his bad habits at once infront of people. Sometimes he forgot other people existed, having several living in his head along with him.
  20. She looked around as well. It was quite the dull room. To her, the green looked very sickly, but attempted to look a bit minty and cheery, but its attempt was failing. May looked to Erik and tilted her head to the side. "Oh?...What do you mean...?"