Logs:Paper Shields

Paper Shields
Dramatis Personae Asva, Dallen, Ford
In Absentia	2024-10-28 "I could have answered that."
Location <XAV> Classroom - XS first floor
The desks have been grouped into little clusters of four all facing inward, some more neatly than others, and it's really not very conductive to whole-class exercises. Still, that's what's happening, and the students whose desks happen to be pointed the wrong way have to contort themselves around if they want those participation grades. This is a student-led discussion, but Mr. Miller has graciously written the topic under discussion across the entire (smart) blackboard in impeccable flowing cursive: "Federalist No. 84: Certain General and Miscellaneous Objections to the Constitution Considered and Answered". The bullet points listed underneath are in several different hands as students have traded off teaching. Dallen has her legs curled up onto the seat of her desk so that she can give the classmate who is presenting her utmost attention. She's wearing a short pink cardigan over a purple blouse with a lacy scalloped collar, gray A-line skirt, and slouchy black boots. She raises her hand and, when called upon, asks, "Has the Bill of Rights ever been misused as --" She looks down at the Federalist Paper in question, then back up. "-- 'a plausible pretense for claiming' the powers that they regulate?" Up in front of the class, Ford is wearing a white cashmere polo sweater and white slacks to go with his matching tennis shoes. "Ah," he says, looking from Dallen and then looking down at the papers he was presenting from. He shuffles quickly through them. Perhaps it was because he was talking on autopilot without really thinking through the words. "That is an interesting question." A veil of composure is near to betraying how hard he is blanking. "You see." His stalling means that each word is overpronounced. "Hamilton was saying--" His throat clearing, it seems he felt that invoking Hamilton's name would get his words flowing, but not so. He looks quickly from the teacher, to Dallen, to the smart board as if looking for some kind of bailout that keeps his pride intact. With one leg tucked under him and the other bobbing up and down on the ball of his foot, Asva sits towards the edge of the group. He's stifling a smirk, moving the knitted-sleeve-covered hand that's supporting his chin to conceal his mouth, and worse -- the fact he's enjoying Ford's choke. His beige corduroy trousers are turned up at the ankle, revealing more details of a pair of well-used converse, which do well to cushion the tapping of his subconscious leg-bounce. On the desk in front of him is an extremely short paragraph parading as his presentation, surrounded by doodles of pumpkin-headed skeletons dancing around his poorly-written words. His eyes, which previously had been fixated on the clock on the far wall, now anxiously switch between Ford and Mr. Miller. Saved by the -- is that a bell? Class is not nearly over. Oh, no, it's not a bell, it's quick taptaptap at the door, another teacher scurrying inhumanly quick into the classroom to whisper something (urgent, something very very Important, Ford can tell) to Mr. Miller before hastening back out. Mr. Miller has gone just a little pale. His smile is tight, and he clears his throat several times. "Ah. Ah -- ah. Yes, we -- ah. I -- am going to ask that you remain calm and -- in your seats, students, we're going to --" There's a tromp of many boots in the hall, heavy and spreading some varying levels of panic and intrigue through adjacent classrooms. "-- have a demonstration!" Mr. Miller is seizing on, now, with a sudden fit of inspiration. "You can debate after the fact whether you think this is an, ah, appropriate, Constitutional --" RAP. RAP. RAP. The armed and armored officers at the door now are looking very imposing and a little bored. Probably this one does not need to be rapping with the end of his nightstick, but he is. Dallen either does not notice that Ford is flailing, or is just too polite to show it. She's still listening earnestly, the tip of her pencil poised and ready to take notes. She transfers this attention smoothly to Mr Miller, tilting her head puzzled but not alarmed until the louder knock. "The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated," she recites hastily, as if the Fourth Amendment were some kind of incantation that would protect them, "and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized." Ford's relief is palpable, a tension in his shoulders releasing. Thank you, the cops, for your timely intervention. He leans over to try and get a better look at who Mr. Miller is speaking to. He says to Dallen with a reassuring smile, "I'll get back to you on that," though hearing her invocation to the founding fathers, he glances back to the door. Upon seeing the cops, Ford heads back to his seat and takes his phone out of his bag and immediately starts texting. Asva’s growing smirk drops, his bouncy-foot now planted firmly on the floor. He sits back in his seat, pulling his leg out from underneath him as if sitting improperly on the chair is the reason the cops are here. He doesn’t seem to be as interested in the cops as his classmates though; instead scanning their faces for any sign of guilt while focusing maybe a little too hard on keeping a neutral expression of his own. Are the feds even paying attention to Dallen's cop warding spell? If so, they are not being warded. They're clomping heavy-booted through the room. One of them seems to find this whole ordeal of extremely negligible importance, and he's somewhat performative in his swaggering. Shoving backpacks aside with his boot as he goes through the room, rapping desks heavily with his nightstick as he passes to very LOUD-sharp resounding crack. The other has a very strong sense of -- some sort of importance attached, not so very much to the specific duty they are here on but to Their Station overall, much more careful and much more direct as he marches up to Mr. Miller to inform him, brusque: "We have a warrant to search these premises. I'm going to ask that you and your --" He doesn't exactly flinch at the next crack, but his small tightening of eyes looks a little longsuffering. "... associates. Not interfere." Mr. Miller clears his throat. "Right!" His hands press lightly together. "Now, I think Ms. Allred clued you all in already, but can anyone tell us what part of the Constitution covers the activity these gentlemen are here from the, ah --" he darts a quick glance to the bold letters on their jackets, but the man is filling in, tired and unimpressed before he can: "FBI." "FBI! From the FBI. To engage in today." Ford starts a little bit at the sound of the crack, but his chance to recover face presents itself shortly after. He lifts up his hand, but answers regardless of whether he is called on, "First, I would like to thank you, sirs from the FBI, for your commitment to national security and your fine demonstration here today!" Self-satisfied, he nods his head once, "Dallen is quoting the fourth amendment to the constitution, which covers search and seizure." He pauses a moment and says, conciliatory and helpfully towards the more important of the cops, while also somewhat massaging his own importance when he does so, "Is there anything we can help with? My father, Congressman Stonegate, or maybe my uncle who is a lawyer, I'm sure I could get one of them on the line if it would help, sirs." Dallen's hand shoots up again, then starts to lower sheepishly, maybe recognizing that in context Mr. Miller was asking for someone else to answer. Regardless, she looks relieved and then impressed when Ford speaks up. She's still marveling when Agent Nightstick circulates around to her desk and raps on the far side of it, behind her. She starts, head ducking and shoulders pulling in. The air around her dims sudden and ominous, the shadow of her desk expanding across the floor. It takes a few moments for Ford to notice, but he frowns at this spreading darkness from Dallen's seat. He leans over in a slow and steady movement, to not spook any wild (dutiful) cops, his eyes sweeping back and forth. His voice is soft when he says, "Hey, little buddy, you're alright. It's alright." The pigs have not (so sorry, Ford!) taken Ford up on his magnanimous offer of tonguepolishing their boots. One -- the In Charge one -- has blinked his way in a vague bemusement; the other one has a small smirk creeping onto his face like he's encountered This Type before and kind of likes it. Neither has much time to say anything about it before the shadows are pulling unnaturally longer. Porcus Minor is already spooking, stomping his foot hard at the edge of the creeping shadow as if this will help -- then jabbing his nightstick sharply at the dark air around Dallen, hard enough the girl can probably feel the whiff of the air. "The hell?" is loud and sharp, and, muttered lower (but still entirely audible: "...always get sent on these fucking freakshow runs, Jesus. Can't believe normal kids have to go to school with..." somewhere here his muttering is falling too low to be properly heard as he wipes at his hand as if this? will get the shadow OFF? He's backing away a little so maybe it works, but the shadows move so maybe it doesn't. Hmm. Porcus Major looks more pinched. "Sir, if we're going to have trouble here, my priority is the safety of --" starting a little officiously to Mr. Miller, who is hastily taking a few small steps closer to Dallen. "No trouble!" he assures the officer, a little strained in his determined calm. "Thank you, Mr. Stonegate, that's very. Helpful. I'm sure your father..." He trails off here, a little faltering before he regains his footing. "... Ms. Allred, can you tell us which part of the Constitution paved the way for the ruling that minority students are legally entitled to equal and desegregated school access?" "Sorry!" Dallen blurts, to Ford of all people. Though her smile is nervous, the shadows are starting to shrink back in -- until the officer beside her starts trying to swat away the darkness with his nightstick. This time at least Dallen isn't surprised, but it still has the opposite effect than the cop probably intended, her fear darkening the shadows again. They do briefly cling to him, but subside quickly as he retreats, pulling in tight around Dallen, who hasn't dared move this entire time. Her eyes flick between the adults and settle on their teacher. "Fourteenth Amendment, section one, the Equal Protection Clause," she rattles off somewhat mechanically. "...nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." This comes slower -- she does not have it memorized quite as solidly as the first ten amendments, but that plays well into Mr. Miller's stratagem. With her attention drawn away from the very armed, very unfriendly intruders, Dallen's power eases its menace response and the darkness fades away. Ford straightens back up and folds his hands together on the surface of his desk. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought for a moment. His attention drifts away from the lesson, now focused on the intangible relationship between the cops and Dallen, as he massages this to push away any interest that they may have in her. This is not the mutant you are looking for. Though he sounds a bit sore about it when he mumbles distractedly, "I could have answered that." Could he? It doesn't matter as much as the appearance that he could. Asva, though happy to see Dallen’s shadows retreat and not Escalate things in an unwanted direction, is hanging onto Porcus Major’s mention of ‘priority’ — he didn’t need to finish that sentence for the class to know exactly what he was about to say. He clamps down on his jaw, teeth nearly grinding with how hard he’s trying to hold his tongue. His leg is bouncing again as his hand balls into a fist atop his thigh; the growing disdain for these cops winning out. “What are you hoping to find anyway?” It’s the first time he’s spoken since he sat down at the beginning of class, but his voice is clear. He’s a liiittle peeved. "It's all in the warrant," says Porcus Minor, a little churlishly, "that we gave to the adults in charge here." He is, at least, ignoring Dallen -- even when her shadows briefly darken and cling to him, oddly enough this time around not nearly so interested in this as in finally actually doing his job. Making a very pompous show of starting to poke through the cabinets in the room, the drawers. Porcus Major shakes his head, less showy and a little more thorough as he starts the same from the other side of the room. Mr. Miller is very much attempting to ignore all this. Gamely turning back to the class, like, well. Life goes on. "No doubt," he says to Ford, if not cheerful than at least relentlessly encouraging. "Well. Perhaps you or Mr. Tøro can tell us which amendment it is that stops these gentleman from simply confiscating things they find here and taking them for the FBI's own use --?"