NineOfSpades
2017-06-23, 09:54 AM
It had been an unseasonably hot week, with weathermen across every news network battling for viewers’ attention with speculation as to whether or not the heat-wave would break the currently standing record, or turning a simple forecast into spectacle with blatent gimmicks that did little to inform the actual viewer. Channel 5 tried to fry an egg on the sidewalk, and didn’t get very far into their experiment before learning that crows don’t care much whether a news crew is filming, and are all to happy to make off with any scraps of food they find discarded on the street. Channel 8 ran a fluff piece about the top ten ways the Top 10 hero’s like to keep cool. Channel 11 probably got the best segment, when they tried to interview passerbys on the street about the weather, and one disgruntled gentlemen used some kind of acid-quirk to melt the microphone. Puns about ‘Things are heating up’ and people are ‘boiling mad’ were shared to the polite chuckle of the news anchors.
Thankfully, the previous evening had brought some much needed rain down onto the city, knocking about ten degrees from the thermometers and twice that many points off of the humidity, reducing the later summer swelter to something that could almost be called tolerable, so long as you didn’t stay in direct sunlight for to long at a stretch.
With evaporating puddles still clinging to the cobblestones at the front Enterence to U.A., the prospective students began to arrive. First a trickle, mostly the applicants who came from abroad with the hopes of transferring in, with a steadily growing stream of teens passing through the gateway and onto the school grounds proper. By 10 Am, the mass of crowds had grown to sufficient mass that it was standing room only on the marked pathway up to the front Entrance. Volunteers, mostly upper-class U.A. students, directed the traffic as best they could, keeping the lines moving and the crowds docile. One in particular, a black-haired girl of middling height and heavy-set build, was carrying water-bottles through the crowds and making sure nobody got dehydrated. The edge might have been dulled, but it’s hard to find comfort in that when packed tight alongside three hundred other eager young hero’s-to-be, fidgeting with nervous excitement. The murmer of conversation flowed through the mass, repeating the same four or five thoughts with slight variations, mostly chatter about what the exam might be or impatient complaints.
Through the front doors, things were a bit more organized. Prospects were divided up into lines sorted by name, directed to a registration desk. Most of the formal application process was handled online these days, this was more of a check in process. Applicants gave their name, a photo-ID and signed a few release forms absolving the school of liability for harm incurred as part of the application process. After that, the bright and eager youth were given a name-tag and applicantion number, a brief examination to make sure they were properly dressed, and then shepered down the hallway towards the nearest gymnasium. The desks were manned by U.A. staff members, with a few additional pro-hero’s brought in to provide extra security. Rare though it was, occasionally the more ambitious criminal types tried to sneak in during the confusion of the application process.
The gymnasium was configured into a rough semi-circle, with a stage at the center and seating in tiered rows encircling it. Billboard sized display screens were installed just above the stage, flanked by a robust sound-system. An observant onlooker, upon passing through the double-wide doors and into the temporary auditorium, might notices the students self-organized into small collections, no doubt assembling along with their middle-school peers. It wasn’t uncommon for entire classes to all take the exam together, even if virtually none of them had any real chance of passing. Those who didn’t have any former classmates to associate with, or who simply preferred to keep apart as they mentally prepared, sat scattered about the seating, filling in the empty space between the more tightly knit bunches.
Minute by minute, the clock ticked steadily towards 11 AM. As it did so, the auditorium filled up, with teens, gossip and nervous tension that always came with anticipation. A few of the more ‘hands on’ parents were politely but firmly told that it was time for them to leave and given assurances that their beloved child would be fine and they were welcome to wait in the prepared guest-area if they so choose to do so. The school doors were closed as the last of the crowds made their way inside, and the idle conversations took a more hushed tone. At 10:55, the doors to the auditorium were closed. In total, two thousand three hundred and eight one applicants now sat with anxious impatience, knowing fully that the next hour would profoundly shape the course of their lives. When the industrial fans kicked on to provide some much needed air circulation, a good 10% of the students jumped at the sudden noise. Everyone was on edge. There was near dead silence at 10:59, all eyes on the clock as the second hand took somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 years to make the complete circle back to the apex, and the mechanism clicked over to 11 with a perfunctory electronic beep.
The lighting dimmed, save for a few overhead spotlights which kept the illumination on the stage. The screens flickered on, defaulting to the U.A. emblem over a blue background. Behind the stage, a doorway opened for a moment, and passing shadows gave the impression of movement before a silhouette appeared in the entrance way, holding a clipboard in one hand and remote in the other.
The man was tall, but stocky, built like a barrel with arms and legs that seemed better proportioned for a man a half-foot shorter, but no-less muscular. His face was round, with a thick but short-trimmed bead covering most of his jawline, until it joined up with what remained of his coal-black hair, male pattern baldness had long since stripped most of it away. Juding his age was difficult, his face seemed well worn but not wrinkled, like high-end leather. Two brown eyes sat back deep in their sockets, cast in deep shadows by an overgrown pair of eyebrows that seemed to want to compensate for the losses his scalp had endured. The mans dress was plain, if formal, a blue suit jacket and dress pants, a plain and unadorned necktie, and some shoes that looked to expensive to be comfortable. He stood in the doorway for perhaps 10 seconds, his head turned to one side and speaking to someone who stood out of view, before he faced forward and strode into the room with long purposeful steps, taking center stage. With a mechanical buzz, a podium rose up as he approached, where upon he placed and organized his papers with practiced care.
He fumbled in silence for a moment, a briefly puzzled expression on his face as he attempted to work the remote, which now seemed positively miniscule in his pudgy fingers. A sim chuckle could be heard, evidently some found amusement in this stern and imposing figures apparent difficulty at working the equipment. If the man noticed, he made no show, and after a few more keystrokes, he seemed satisfied and he at last took hold of the podiums sides and spoke to address the assembly before him.
A deep baritone voice rung out, carried and amplified by the sound system so that it seemed to flood the air. “Let me begin by saying, that it is my privledge today to welcome you, the next generation of Hero’s, to U.A. Academy.”
Thankfully, the previous evening had brought some much needed rain down onto the city, knocking about ten degrees from the thermometers and twice that many points off of the humidity, reducing the later summer swelter to something that could almost be called tolerable, so long as you didn’t stay in direct sunlight for to long at a stretch.
With evaporating puddles still clinging to the cobblestones at the front Enterence to U.A., the prospective students began to arrive. First a trickle, mostly the applicants who came from abroad with the hopes of transferring in, with a steadily growing stream of teens passing through the gateway and onto the school grounds proper. By 10 Am, the mass of crowds had grown to sufficient mass that it was standing room only on the marked pathway up to the front Entrance. Volunteers, mostly upper-class U.A. students, directed the traffic as best they could, keeping the lines moving and the crowds docile. One in particular, a black-haired girl of middling height and heavy-set build, was carrying water-bottles through the crowds and making sure nobody got dehydrated. The edge might have been dulled, but it’s hard to find comfort in that when packed tight alongside three hundred other eager young hero’s-to-be, fidgeting with nervous excitement. The murmer of conversation flowed through the mass, repeating the same four or five thoughts with slight variations, mostly chatter about what the exam might be or impatient complaints.
Through the front doors, things were a bit more organized. Prospects were divided up into lines sorted by name, directed to a registration desk. Most of the formal application process was handled online these days, this was more of a check in process. Applicants gave their name, a photo-ID and signed a few release forms absolving the school of liability for harm incurred as part of the application process. After that, the bright and eager youth were given a name-tag and applicantion number, a brief examination to make sure they were properly dressed, and then shepered down the hallway towards the nearest gymnasium. The desks were manned by U.A. staff members, with a few additional pro-hero’s brought in to provide extra security. Rare though it was, occasionally the more ambitious criminal types tried to sneak in during the confusion of the application process.
The gymnasium was configured into a rough semi-circle, with a stage at the center and seating in tiered rows encircling it. Billboard sized display screens were installed just above the stage, flanked by a robust sound-system. An observant onlooker, upon passing through the double-wide doors and into the temporary auditorium, might notices the students self-organized into small collections, no doubt assembling along with their middle-school peers. It wasn’t uncommon for entire classes to all take the exam together, even if virtually none of them had any real chance of passing. Those who didn’t have any former classmates to associate with, or who simply preferred to keep apart as they mentally prepared, sat scattered about the seating, filling in the empty space between the more tightly knit bunches.
Minute by minute, the clock ticked steadily towards 11 AM. As it did so, the auditorium filled up, with teens, gossip and nervous tension that always came with anticipation. A few of the more ‘hands on’ parents were politely but firmly told that it was time for them to leave and given assurances that their beloved child would be fine and they were welcome to wait in the prepared guest-area if they so choose to do so. The school doors were closed as the last of the crowds made their way inside, and the idle conversations took a more hushed tone. At 10:55, the doors to the auditorium were closed. In total, two thousand three hundred and eight one applicants now sat with anxious impatience, knowing fully that the next hour would profoundly shape the course of their lives. When the industrial fans kicked on to provide some much needed air circulation, a good 10% of the students jumped at the sudden noise. Everyone was on edge. There was near dead silence at 10:59, all eyes on the clock as the second hand took somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 years to make the complete circle back to the apex, and the mechanism clicked over to 11 with a perfunctory electronic beep.
The lighting dimmed, save for a few overhead spotlights which kept the illumination on the stage. The screens flickered on, defaulting to the U.A. emblem over a blue background. Behind the stage, a doorway opened for a moment, and passing shadows gave the impression of movement before a silhouette appeared in the entrance way, holding a clipboard in one hand and remote in the other.
The man was tall, but stocky, built like a barrel with arms and legs that seemed better proportioned for a man a half-foot shorter, but no-less muscular. His face was round, with a thick but short-trimmed bead covering most of his jawline, until it joined up with what remained of his coal-black hair, male pattern baldness had long since stripped most of it away. Juding his age was difficult, his face seemed well worn but not wrinkled, like high-end leather. Two brown eyes sat back deep in their sockets, cast in deep shadows by an overgrown pair of eyebrows that seemed to want to compensate for the losses his scalp had endured. The mans dress was plain, if formal, a blue suit jacket and dress pants, a plain and unadorned necktie, and some shoes that looked to expensive to be comfortable. He stood in the doorway for perhaps 10 seconds, his head turned to one side and speaking to someone who stood out of view, before he faced forward and strode into the room with long purposeful steps, taking center stage. With a mechanical buzz, a podium rose up as he approached, where upon he placed and organized his papers with practiced care.
He fumbled in silence for a moment, a briefly puzzled expression on his face as he attempted to work the remote, which now seemed positively miniscule in his pudgy fingers. A sim chuckle could be heard, evidently some found amusement in this stern and imposing figures apparent difficulty at working the equipment. If the man noticed, he made no show, and after a few more keystrokes, he seemed satisfied and he at last took hold of the podiums sides and spoke to address the assembly before him.
A deep baritone voice rung out, carried and amplified by the sound system so that it seemed to flood the air. “Let me begin by saying, that it is my privledge today to welcome you, the next generation of Hero’s, to U.A. Academy.”