Ardor and Countenance [Jetstream]

Just as Sigga had made the decision that she was going to walk rather than run through the rain, an unfamiliar voice spoke over the academy’s PA system. She stopped short of the front door, eyes widening in apprehension as her name was called through the announcement. It… probably wasn’t anything bad. She hadn’t done anything… that she recalled…

Screw it! The girl bolted out the front door. It’s not like anyone would have known she heard it anyway.

Her pace slowed as she entered the rain, then she stopped in her tracks. The rain spattered across her from the sky above, each individual raindrop contributing to the grand chorus echoing across her scalp. The girl pursed her lips taking a few moments to stare at the concrete paving the way back to her dorm.

They didn’t call you to the principal’s office to hand out awards. Her own personal experience stated in no uncertain terms that being called into anyone’s office meant that the present situation was about to deteriorate. Though technically it was possible she was being summoned to help clarify some clerical error on her school application or something, the girl was no optimist. In fact, she was decidedly in the camp of the pessimists. The only way you could possibly get through life with your head above water was to assume everything that could go wrong, would go wrong, and you planned accordingly.

Delaying this encounter wouldn’t exactly give her opportunity to prepare for it any better though. She didn’t actually know why she was being called, and knowing the situation was kind of a prerequisite of understanding and preparing for it.

Sigga heaved a sigh, then spun on her heal and walked back into the building. The rain sounded much more distant once the door closed behind her. Well, time to face the music, she thought bitterly.

The teenager took her time making her way through the school. The long fins lining her lower legs seemed to flex nervously as she walked through the halls, past the many students filtering out from the building. Eventually she made it to the designated door, pausing briefly. A few drops of water trickled off her school bag and onto the floor. She rapped her knuckles twice against the door and reminded herself to continue breathing.

Permission to come in was heard from the other side of the door so Sigga grabbed the door’s handle, turned it, and entered.

Her amber eyes were quickly greeted with the sight of a miniature fortress of manila folders arranged atop a desk, behind which was occupied by a rather relaxed-looking individual. The student quickly took in the scene before her and then filed all the details away in the back of her mind, something to be reviewed at a later date if necessary. Until she understood her situation Sigga’s entire focus would be on presenting the person on the other side of the pile of papers with a carefully planned façade. Never underestimate the enemy.

The bald girl that had just entered the principal’s office looked rather meek. She gently closed the door upon entering, took a couple steps into the room, and stood silently waiting to be addressed. Her mitted hands held her school bag in front of her skirt, looking very much like an unconsciously executed defensive posture. It was all planned, however. Sigga may not have been a master of deceit, but for someone her age she was very well versed in bluffing.

Of course, pretending to be nervous was a much easier accomplishment when one actually was nervous. Instead of banishing the butterflies in her stomach, the girl embraced them. Appearing to be timid and submissive in front of this unknown principal had two objectives. The first was to allow the potentially hostile opposition to play the role of the alpha, lowering their own guard and possible exposing their poker hand prematurely. The second was to help diminish any suspicions that a girl such as this could be guilty of any crime. In this moment in time, she was nothing but a young teenager who may have gotten in over her head in the past and truly wanting nothing more than to become a professional hero.

The liar waited silently, not giving any visible reaction or judgement at a sight that did not fit the stereotype one might have of a typical academy headmistress. The girl simply hoped that she was here to fix a spelling error on her already approved UA application and nothing more.

Did she just-? Sigga took a seat opposite the principal. A brief look of confusion flickered across her eyes, now gone as she lowered the bag she had been holding onto the floor beside her. The academy’s headmistress couldn’t possibly be an alcoholic, right? She was probably reading into the appearance of the flask too much. It might have just been filled with pickle juice for all she knew. Although… perhaps there was a different assumption Sigga was making in error. Just because this woman sat in the principal’s office didn’t necessarily mean she was the principal. Though it didn’t mean she wasn’t either…

Unable to make any sort of conclusive deduction, her mind focused on the most immediate concern. She had just been asked a question. Not one she had been expecting, however. This seemed like the kind of query she thought most likely to come from a counselor, career advisor, or maybe even a homeroom teacher. “Um…” The girl began, as she collected her thoughts. It was starting to look like she wasn’t in any trouble after all.

Sigga didn’t need time to come up with a reason for wanting to become a hero. That had been done months ago, back when she had first started suggesting to her JDC psychologist that it had been her personal fantasy to go down that particular career path in her future. But… the girl’s own paranoia suggested that if she was this far back behind enemy lines, it wouldn’t do to simply don on sheep’s clothes. The best, most believable lies had at least a grain of truth to them.

“I’d like people to be nicer to each other.” The girl turned a brilliant scarlet as she said the words, her eyes quickly shifting down to stare at the floor. It was just the way the kind of person she was pretending to be would behave, embarrassed at having such a naïve motivation behind their goal to become a hero. That wasn’t a problem, though. In fact, it was a bit of tactical genius that Sigga would have undoubtedly praised herself for if she hadn’t actually been embarrassed saying the words. It’s not like she could just blush on cue, but the action had to have been rather convincing. “Oh, uh-” She fumbled around with her words, both a little annoyed and delighted with her own lack of composure. The girl began anew, her amber eyes flickering up to the reclining woman. “What I mean is there, um, are a lot of-” Can’t say assholes, here. “-a lot of mean people in the world.” She decided to go with mean since the word bad would have sounded too judgmental for this persona. “Heroes are often on the front lines, not only helping people, but interacting directly with… Villains.” Her mitted hands gripped the seat of her chair as she spoke. “They have the best opportunity to, not fight, but get insight into why a Villain-” her tone changed again as she said the last word, making it clear she didn’t care for the label, “-is behaving like, uh, or rather -what their motive might be, and use that knowledge to de-escalate a situation.”

The bald girl’s gaze dropped down to the floor. Fuck that sounded soppy. She made herself sound like a complete idiot. Maybe she should have also added that she’d like for everyone to hold hands and sing Kumbaya together, adding a little cherry on top of her stupid cake.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Well, that is kind of a redundant hypothetical, isn’t it? Nobody present fell into either of those two categories. Anyone who thought of themselves as one or the other was either delusional or had a really, really awesome Quirk. There had been a time when Sigga thought herself decidedly as both, however. Nobody born into the world immediately grasped their own mortality or understood the futility some of their actions might have in life. But those days were behind for this girl. Now, she was like water… sort of. Okay, maybe not really.

It was not uncommon for an adult to call the bald girl out like that. Sometimes it was because the person she was conversing with was particularly wise. Other times they were simply cynical. The question wasn’t which column this woman fell into, but rather what should Sigga do next.

There had been a rather considerable amount of data that had been provided promptly after the girl had finished her performance. She had been called a liar. She was given a veiled threat. And to top it off it was suggested rather overtly that there wasn’t shit she could do about it. As open minded as she thought herself to be, she could see clearly where the lines were drawn in the sand and pretending they weren’t there would be a type of ignorance not privy to this particular student.

Sigga studied the opposition for a few seconds. It didn’t matter what kind of expression she wore now as the supposed principal probably already decided what she was thinking. At least the interaction made it clear that there was only one thought-reader in the room, and that mind-reader was wearing pink mittens. How very considerate of her.

“I’m not here to cause trouble.” She said rather flatly.

The girl very nearly stood back up from her chair, but thought better of it. It was clear what she had to do to exit this scenario unscathed. She had to lose, and lose hard. That was never fun, especially when the person demanding capitulation put themselves on a pedestal so high above the human fish. She had lost plenty of times before, sure. One time her peers back in America even tried to bully her out of her lunch money. She allowed it, acting all meek and pathetic. Later she had gotten sweet, sweet revenge, though. This time didn’t feel all that different, other than all that was demanded from her was her pride or something otherwise intangible like that. That didn’t really amount to much seeing as the girl wasn’t particularly prideful. The problem was that Sigga didn’t know exactly how she was expected to lose.

If Sigga understood the words that had been spoken to her, she simply needed to tell the woman why she wanted to become a hero honestly. The problem there was that the closest thing to that had already been said and she had been called a liar for it. Sure she wasn’t being perfectly authentic, but if her motives were to be so openly questioned regardless of their degree of transparency by someone like the principal, then maybe the teenager’s charade was truly no-more than what the principal was suggesting it was; an act. That did simplify things in a way.