Post by Sathanas on May 1, 2008 1:47:52 GMT 1
((Ok folks, this is not a traditional thread. This is my character's first Column in the Oakland Tribune since his transfer to Hircine. This is not a thread for interaction with Damien, but more an area to post your character's thoughts and responses. If you want to get Spider in a thread, feel free to PM me.))
Damien sat in his apartment, face in front of his computer screen, specifically a blank word document.
He scowled at it, willing it to spontaneously generate a column, but as always, it did not.
Then he took his notepad from his pocket and rifled through it. As he read more and more his mind began to churn.
Then it began.
A tingle in the small of his back, his pulse quickening with excitement, his adrenal gland beginning to pump its magnificent solution into his bloodstream. His brain raged with ideas, text flowing and ebbing in his consciousness.
He grinned wider and wider with each successive moment, and then cracked his neck.
"I FEEL A COLUMN COMING ON!" He roared.
and then he began to type.
===
The following appeared in the next day's issue of the Oakland Tribune.
Hircine.
Damien Hunter
Columnist
As all of my devoted readers have noticed, I have been conspicuously absent from my appointed space for the last several weeks. This has been due, of course, to the fact that I have relocated across the bridge, to that bustling Babylon of San Francisco.
Worry not, readers of the Tribune. I have not deserted you!
I was ordered here by a Superior Court judge, due to the high probability of my “accidentally” being splattered all over the concrete of my home city by our illustrious defenders of justice.
However, I have settled in, and am now writing once more. I think you’ll like my topic.
Hircine.
Hircine High School has been the site of more controversy than perhaps any other school, save perhaps Varron Academy of New York, since the Corporal Punishment system was instituted.
I find it somewhat telling that the survivors of that firebombed school were brought here at the request of its principal, one Liam MacMillan.
The school has been made famous a dozen times over, most notably for Stern Mason’s student rights Riots, and MacMillan’s Watcher system.
The school is also more violent than a battalion of angry, coked up Hell’s Angels.
All of this is surging through my mind as I walk up the steps to the main building.
I look around me.
The place is immaculate, none of the grubby half-cleaned linoleum of Oakland High. That’s to be expected.
The staff is quite adept at teaching. That’s also to be expected.
I actually enjoyed a Science class. That was unexpected.
Before the day was out I had seen a dozen fights, stomped on a gaggle of idiot sophomores, and beaten the stupid out of two more.
In between all of this, I sat down and talked with Santiago Castrillon, himself a Sophomore, and a relative new comer to Hircine.
“It’s fuckin’ crazy here man,” He said, when I asked him about Hircine “No. Not crazy. Dangerous.”
And my tall Colombian friend is right. OH, for all of its trillions of faults, was crazy. You couldn’t walk down the hall without somebody catcalling or throwing a punch at you.
But here, at Hircine, things are different.
At Hircine there is discipline.
The person you are squaring off against will know what he is doing.
As I leave, I can see two people fighting. They are both classically trained. One of them is using Kung Fu.
“I see shit like that all the time man,” Says Santiago, as we walk off campus at the end of the day, “Everywhere you look there’s a different Martial Art.”
I nod, and shrug, knowing, as I continue to attend, that he’s right.
I’ve seen Jiu Jitsu, Boxing, A multitude of Karate styles, Krav Maga, and a thousand other things.
But the most dangerous people I see don’t have any style. They have their own.
There are people here who could take any three teachers from OH, and break them.
I cannot understand the sheer amount of skill present in so small a place.
I’m beginning to wonder if I dropped Acid.
Either way, I’ve been in a few fights since I started going here.
My name is Damien Hunter, and there’s nothing I like more than a good fight.
But by the third day, the fighting’s died down.
“This isn’t normal…” said a Junior who wished to remain anonymous, “There’s no noise. When there’s no noise, when there’s calm, something very bad is about to happen.”
And he was right.
MacMillan was dead, murdered by an unknown student. It happened only days before I arrived.
I can honestly say I have never been this surprised in my life. The world is turned upside down.
The gods are falling.
And I think I’ll be around to watch.
“MacMillan was a fucking tyrant,” Said an anonymous Senior, “ I’m glad he’s gone, but goddamn. Dead? I didn’t thing anyone, not even Tiao or Darren, or hell, even Reeves could drop him.”
Tiao Lei Shen and Darren Blayne are former school officers, and apparently inordinately dangerous. Reeves is considered to be one of the finer fighters the school has ever seen.
But MacMillan was a consummate killer. A fighter without conscience or heart.
“All he cared for was power,” Anonymous added, “He didn’t give a shit about any of us.”
I can only wonder if that’s true, but everywhere I look, every story about the Principal I hear it adds more and more truth to every accusation against him.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a more loathed tyrant at a school in all my life.
And now he’s dead.
But there is no partying, no dancing, no smiles on everyone’s lips.
This place is bizarre.
But it makes sense, in a bizarre sort of way.
As fucking crazy as MacMillan apparently was, he was a known quantity, an unassailable titan whose rule of law was absolute.
With him gone, no one is sure what happens next.
“I’m scared man,” Said another anonymous junior, “No one knows who killed him. And that scares me.”
The power structure of this school is being shook up, more than any other place I’ve seen. Students actually might take power.
Within the order and cleanliness and academia of this place there is chaos. Chaos incarnate.
And Chaos is dangerous.
My name is Damien Hunter and there’s nothing I like more than chaos.
Damien sat in his apartment, face in front of his computer screen, specifically a blank word document.
He scowled at it, willing it to spontaneously generate a column, but as always, it did not.
Then he took his notepad from his pocket and rifled through it. As he read more and more his mind began to churn.
Then it began.
A tingle in the small of his back, his pulse quickening with excitement, his adrenal gland beginning to pump its magnificent solution into his bloodstream. His brain raged with ideas, text flowing and ebbing in his consciousness.
He grinned wider and wider with each successive moment, and then cracked his neck.
"I FEEL A COLUMN COMING ON!" He roared.
and then he began to type.
===
The following appeared in the next day's issue of the Oakland Tribune.
Hircine.
Damien Hunter
Columnist
As all of my devoted readers have noticed, I have been conspicuously absent from my appointed space for the last several weeks. This has been due, of course, to the fact that I have relocated across the bridge, to that bustling Babylon of San Francisco.
Worry not, readers of the Tribune. I have not deserted you!
I was ordered here by a Superior Court judge, due to the high probability of my “accidentally” being splattered all over the concrete of my home city by our illustrious defenders of justice.
However, I have settled in, and am now writing once more. I think you’ll like my topic.
Hircine.
Hircine High School has been the site of more controversy than perhaps any other school, save perhaps Varron Academy of New York, since the Corporal Punishment system was instituted.
I find it somewhat telling that the survivors of that firebombed school were brought here at the request of its principal, one Liam MacMillan.
The school has been made famous a dozen times over, most notably for Stern Mason’s student rights Riots, and MacMillan’s Watcher system.
The school is also more violent than a battalion of angry, coked up Hell’s Angels.
All of this is surging through my mind as I walk up the steps to the main building.
I look around me.
The place is immaculate, none of the grubby half-cleaned linoleum of Oakland High. That’s to be expected.
The staff is quite adept at teaching. That’s also to be expected.
I actually enjoyed a Science class. That was unexpected.
Before the day was out I had seen a dozen fights, stomped on a gaggle of idiot sophomores, and beaten the stupid out of two more.
In between all of this, I sat down and talked with Santiago Castrillon, himself a Sophomore, and a relative new comer to Hircine.
“It’s fuckin’ crazy here man,” He said, when I asked him about Hircine “No. Not crazy. Dangerous.”
And my tall Colombian friend is right. OH, for all of its trillions of faults, was crazy. You couldn’t walk down the hall without somebody catcalling or throwing a punch at you.
But here, at Hircine, things are different.
At Hircine there is discipline.
The person you are squaring off against will know what he is doing.
As I leave, I can see two people fighting. They are both classically trained. One of them is using Kung Fu.
“I see shit like that all the time man,” Says Santiago, as we walk off campus at the end of the day, “Everywhere you look there’s a different Martial Art.”
I nod, and shrug, knowing, as I continue to attend, that he’s right.
I’ve seen Jiu Jitsu, Boxing, A multitude of Karate styles, Krav Maga, and a thousand other things.
But the most dangerous people I see don’t have any style. They have their own.
There are people here who could take any three teachers from OH, and break them.
I cannot understand the sheer amount of skill present in so small a place.
I’m beginning to wonder if I dropped Acid.
Either way, I’ve been in a few fights since I started going here.
My name is Damien Hunter, and there’s nothing I like more than a good fight.
But by the third day, the fighting’s died down.
“This isn’t normal…” said a Junior who wished to remain anonymous, “There’s no noise. When there’s no noise, when there’s calm, something very bad is about to happen.”
And he was right.
MacMillan was dead, murdered by an unknown student. It happened only days before I arrived.
I can honestly say I have never been this surprised in my life. The world is turned upside down.
The gods are falling.
And I think I’ll be around to watch.
“MacMillan was a fucking tyrant,” Said an anonymous Senior, “ I’m glad he’s gone, but goddamn. Dead? I didn’t thing anyone, not even Tiao or Darren, or hell, even Reeves could drop him.”
Tiao Lei Shen and Darren Blayne are former school officers, and apparently inordinately dangerous. Reeves is considered to be one of the finer fighters the school has ever seen.
But MacMillan was a consummate killer. A fighter without conscience or heart.
“All he cared for was power,” Anonymous added, “He didn’t give a shit about any of us.”
I can only wonder if that’s true, but everywhere I look, every story about the Principal I hear it adds more and more truth to every accusation against him.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a more loathed tyrant at a school in all my life.
And now he’s dead.
But there is no partying, no dancing, no smiles on everyone’s lips.
This place is bizarre.
But it makes sense, in a bizarre sort of way.
As fucking crazy as MacMillan apparently was, he was a known quantity, an unassailable titan whose rule of law was absolute.
With him gone, no one is sure what happens next.
“I’m scared man,” Said another anonymous junior, “No one knows who killed him. And that scares me.”
The power structure of this school is being shook up, more than any other place I’ve seen. Students actually might take power.
Within the order and cleanliness and academia of this place there is chaos. Chaos incarnate.
And Chaos is dangerous.
My name is Damien Hunter and there’s nothing I like more than chaos.