Staged Runway

It would appear people back at The Real Home survived the ice bucket that was thrown over that area, which pretty much shut down Indiana.  Today I’m Tasting the Vortex:  it’s zero degrees Fahrenheit outside, which is going to make for a lovely walk to work.  Don’t worry:  I did this all the time when I worked at Playboy.  This’ll be easy.

This is why my school has tunnels, because it gets damn cold and snowy in New England.  You go to bed one night and things aren’t that bad, you wake up the next morning and Boom!  There’s six inches of snow on the ground and it ten above.  You wanna walk a mile through six inches of snow to get to class?  No, you don’t.  Just wait until the kids start flying in that crap . . .

Last night I left things like this:

 

(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Erywin began gathering up her few personal ideas. “Oh, but that’s not the best news—”

“Something else happened?”

“Both Kirilova and Malibey used the alternate formula.”

Now Helena was impressed. Erywin and shed had come up with that formula a few years ago when they were both bored and began playing around with alterations to known products to test advanced students. Given the changes to the process, Helena would have thought it almost impossible for an A Level to complete. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I heard Kerry say something about doing that formula, and Annie decided to take the challenge as well.” Erywin thought back over the lab assignment. “There was only one other student who tried the alternate—”

“And?”

“They were one of the complete failures.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Erywin packed her tablet into her bag. “They’re both astute children . . .” She looked up and smiled. “He knew the words to some of the songs I was playing today.”

Helena didn’t bother keeping her feelings hidden; her partner knew she didn’t care for her habit of playing music during lab. “What were you playing?” As if I need to ask . . .

“Queen. A Day at the Races and News of the World.”

“And he knew the songs.”

“He’s obviously perceptive and possesses great taste in music.”

“I didn’t like Queen when I first heard them.”

Erywin slung her bag onto her shoulder. “You are the exception to the rule, my love.” She started to move towards the door before stopping. “May I ask something?”

“Go ahead.” Helena was certain she already knew the question—

“Why did you asked me to do this assignment? Why did you want me to give a first-time class of A Levels a formula designed for C and D Levels?”

Helena sealed the bag with her cursed shawl inside. “I was curious, that’s all.”

“Curious.” Erywin was aware of Helena’s curiosity and knew she did little without a reason. “This antidote is also sorcery—”

Helena turned. “You’ve never done anything in lab that wasn’t in some way connected to sorcery?”

“I have—” And you bloody well know that, my little dark kiwi. “It’s that what they did today was better suited for your class, sweetest.” She eyed Helena’s back as the later sealed up the bag with its cursed cargo. “Why didn’t you do it there?”

“I have something else planed for tomorrow.”

“Hum. Must be something spectacular.”

“Oh, yes.” Helena raised the bag, keeping her back to Erywin. Her black eyes narrowed. “Something spectacular indeed.”

 

Yeah, just what you want to see:  the Dark Mistress of All with narrowing eyes.  What does she have planed?  You’ll see in time, because I’m on Day Thursday, and that mean Dancing with the Dark Witch is coming–

Though first you have  to get through Transformation.  I started that scene last night, and it brings another person onto the stage–or should I say runway?

 

(Excerpt from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Unlike most of the instructors, Jessica Kishna didn’t dress for comfort or business success: her attire was carefully selected with the intention of making her noticed. It had nothing to do with being narcissism or vanity; her intention was to draw everyone’s attention towards her while lecturing. She wanted to be seen, because if she was seen, then she was heard. Which meant if she was heard, then no one had an excuse as to why she wasn’t understood.

And in the instance she wasn’t understood, then there was no excuse for not asking questions.

Even dressed down Jessica was hard not to notice. A meter eight in her bare feet, the nails of her long, tapered fingers were always colored brightly so they were impossible not to see, and her shoulder length jet back hair accentuated the rich chocolate colored complexion of the impeccable features of her face.

It wasn’t just her beauty that students noticed—it was the way she carried herself. When she was teaching she wasn’t simply the center of attention: she held the floor and commanded the room. It wasn’t the tone of her voice, but rather the way she held herself that made students watch her every move.

Years ago a student once said that she looked a bit like a model. Jessica only smiled and said nothing, but the student was correct: for three years she’d modeled professionally under a different name, and during that time had not only worked throughout America, but had also worked in Europe and Japan. She’d loved the work, and designers loved working with her because she never seemed to get tired, appeared to brush off jet lag quickly, and always seemed to fit perfectly into their outfits.

The other girls hatted her because she was simply too perfect.

If they had only known that she made her own perfection.

 

The Mistress of Transformation, another who brooks no shenanigans, is about the hold center stage, and show everyone you shouldn’t hate her because she’s beautiful–

You should hate her ’cause she really knows her stuff, and you don’t.