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Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. -James 3:1 (NIV) Melissa took note that Constable’s note for the school was that of tragedy, that the children they were visiting were orphans because of the extradimensional attacks plaguing Prana, leaving out whether it was also a consequence of the battles that Mauvache’s guardians were waging against them or if that statistic was on the decline. She supposed that all conflicts beget casualties, and that it was her job to minimize them, but Melissa couldn’t help but feel a little responsible. Of course, though this was technically Constable’s information, it was still fed to Melissa and Trevor through the medium of Hana’s translation, which, in Melissa’s brief impression, was unreliable, even if Constable never seemed to try and correct her, so though it was another factor to consider when approaching the schoolchildren, Melissa tried not to get too stressed about it. At least, not more than she already was for this particular assignment. That said, her stress proved a perfectly reasonable reaction to the scene unfolding as the four guardians entered the classroom. Children of all different ages had been already overruling any semblance of order, and now that new and exciting people had entered the arena, including one canine (Melissa wondered how Constable might react to being called “fluffy” - well, she didn’t have to wonder any more -- it was already happening), the classroom was anarchic. There was some sort of authority, but he was trapped behind his desk in the front corner of the room. It was a scene Melissa was all too familiar with. Her familiarity did, at least, give her some ideas for solutions, at least. Melissa stepped forward, positioning herself as as much of the center of attention as she could handle, braced herself, and clapped a simple pattern. Clap. Clap. Clap-Clap-Clap. The children did not respond in kind, which was surprising to Melissa, though, now that she thought about it, why would she expect something like that to transcend universes? Duel Monsters had to be the exception, not the rule. Worse, now she felt silly for even trying. Some kids were clapping, but it was more of an applause for want of something to applaud rather than understanding what she had been going for. No, she would have to explain herself first. It was easier said than done, but, swallowing down a lump that was forming at the back of her throat, Melissa picked out a single child near the front of the horde, who couldn’t be older than seven or eight, and approached them directly. “This is a game I like to play sometimes,” Melissa said. Other kids around her focus were competing for her attention, but Melissa stayed firm. “When you hear a grown-up clap a pattern, you repeat back the pattern you just heard. And then -- and this is the important part -- you listen, because who knows? They might clap again, and you don’t want to miss out, right? Does that make sense?” Melissa was sure that the child’s vigorous nodding was more that they had received special instructions from the school’s guests of honor, but the other kids around them were already giggling with each other with their hands out, so she returned to the front of the room and extended her arms out in front of her. Clap. Clap. Clap-Clap-Clap. Her focus kid, and maybe a few others, responded. Melissa tried again. Clap. Clap-Clap-Clap. Clap. Clap-Clap. Even more kids were noticing now, and it wasn’t like it was hard to figure out the rules of the game. Clap. Clap-Clap. Clap-Clap Cla-Clap Clap-Clap. And, for the finale, three simple beats: Clap. Clap. Clap. Just like that, Melissa had the room’s attention. “Good morning,” Melissa said. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it besides introduce herself, though. “My name is Melissa Ashforth.” It occurred to her that she hardly qualified as a “grown up,” but she also remembered some summer camp counselors that she’d had that, when a camper asked how old they were, could only respond, “Old enough to be your counselor.” She was old enough to be here, with whatever responsibility entrusted upon her, and maybe that was enough. “With me today, I have a my fellow Team Manna member, Trevor Masters, apprentice to Balthazar Blake, Sorcerer of the 777th degree,” -- she hoped she suppressed the sing-song intonation that might betray how ingrained that particular introduction was -- “as well as Constable and Hana from… excuse me, Constable and Hana who I will let introduce themselves in more detail. It is nice to meet you all.” 

Brian’s plan to intimidate Carmen off his back really ought to have worked, and yet, Carmen came flying at him, crashing into his side and sending them both tumbling to the floor. “Stop telling me to leave!” she squealed. It did not take too much effort, though, to shove her back off of him. “You’re the one who wanted to leave!” Brian said, pulling himself up. Not that that deterred the already delirious Carmen any. “You’re the one who didn’t even want to enter the fucking- oof!” Carmen leapt onto him again, wrapping her arms around his torso and doing what could only be described as “her best” at lifting and slamming his back against the hard basement floor. There was a crunch, and even with all the adrenaline, Brian felt a sharp pain in his side, and he cried out. The sensation quickly turned to warm and wet, but with that also came a sense of clarity. Brian suddenly understood everything that was happening to him and why. Carmen, despite all the noise, was inconsolable. She managed a good three more beatings with closed fists before Brian said, “Enough- Enough!” and only with another shove did Brian finally manage to get Carmen off of him for long enough to fully evaluate things. Brian looked down at his shirt and saw plenty of blood already staining his shirt and pants, right where he’d tucked that cursed mirror. He looked at Carmen, who was still tense, but she seemed at least willing to see what he was going to do next. Both of them were panting heavily. “Fuck,” Brian said, almost out of habit. He took off his shirt, and his suspicions turned out to be correct. The mirror was broken, and shards of it were now cutting into his skin. The good news was that he probably wasn’t going to die, but unless Shiki was secretly a miracle surgeon on top of everything else secret about them, it was definitely going to leave some gnarly scars. Brian spent a moment wrapping his hand with his shirt, and gingerly pulled the mirror out of his pants. “Seal this,” he said, wrapping the mirror too and tossing the mirror/shirt combination Carmen’s way. “Careful, though, don’t touch.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And thanks.” Carmen hesitated. “The real Brian wouldn’t thank me for anything,” she said. Brian rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. You’re already a pervert for watching me take my shirt off -- and now you ask more from me? Do I have to recite your Taco Bell order from memory to prove myself or something?”

6/10, ngl this one was a bit boring, there were some nice bits in it though