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[So, it's been some some months into training. Those first few days aside, the resident psychic hasn't caused anybody any trouble, and once she adjusted to the load, has kept up just fine. Possibly by sleeping the entire day on the few free days they get, but whatever works, right?

Of course, this might have all gone to shit today. See, she's excelling, in spite of everything, and that's pissed a couple people off. And in the truly petty nature of snubbed nobility, there was some...sabotage. Sharp things in the boots, a weakened practice sword, the works. Plus an opponent notorious for hitting hard enough to break ribs.

The problem really came when her practice sword was traded to someone else. So some other poor cadet got their ribs broken, and the masterminds behind all this may be breathing out of tubes for a week, and Signe's been set aside while they try to figure out how to discipline this mess, mostly because she'll be lucky if they let her walk for the next week, her feet are so torn up.

So, what do?]

[In a world with, perhaps, a passing resemblance to a one we know well--where Mars and Luna had their civil war, but, perhaps, the dwindling lifespan of humanity was not an insurmountable force. And where, as the years of living in space had continued, young martians had begun to display odd powers, rarely.

Such espers did not usually live so long, but for a girl with a familiarly tragic loss of family in the final days of war, her incredible and somewhat uncanny luck in avoiding the series of disasters that had befallen everyone she cared about wasn't of much concern.

What was was this base tour of the new cadets, and someone had snuck off, trying to catch a glimpse of the legendary war heroes or, perhaps, the dyne in all those stories.

This certainly can't end badly.]

[Exhibit A: for whatever reason, a certain blonde has been exempt from the routine practice flights, and pulled into more private sessions. Should someone come looking for her for some answer to this, they will find her cornered by a teacher in the hanger, near a standard suit that has had...are those fucking wings attached to it?

The teacher does not appear to be talking about wings, and Signe looks about fifteen seconds from stabbing him, but given she's been backed against a wall and sort of pinned there, she...might require an intervention.]

[So, the Republic of Albion. For whatever reason and whatever traumas that lead them here, word of god has decreed that Our Heroes are at the military academy there. That said, as with any other school full of teenagers, there's definitely a hierarchy among the students...and as it turns out, the pretty upperclassman who is responsible for the sudden, sharp uptick in the visitor curfew at the girls' dormitory being obeyed is dominating the practice rooms. We're not sure why she's spent the better part of the afternoon defeating students at swordplay, but she's run through both the fencing and kendo teams, and is standing there in the center of the room looking magnificently bored.]

...Is that really all? Is there no one who can provide me even a decent challenge?

[Clearly, an intervention, or failing that, a new challenger is required.]

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Signe Adastrea Riou

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idiots in spaaaaaaace

into the land of dubiously canon teenagers with giant robots.

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September 2015

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