A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: This chapter could stand on its own, but is actually meant to be half of the whole chapter of CCAO. We beg that you read it as such.
Several people have requested that we focus on some of the less brought out characters. In response to that, we say: we try, but as authors we have favourites, and we will tend to focus on the ones that we think we can develop better. Some of them, like the thirty-four other people in Lost, are there as filler. We try to utilize as many point-of-views as possible, but sometimes there can be only so much one can write. We are sorry if we sacrifice some individuals for the greater good.
BellaLestrange13 pointed out a mistake in our Chinese in Chapter 26. Lydia would like to apologize for that; she had noticed it around the finish of 27, but didn't dare replace the chapter because she had lost the original file. We are Chinese, though we're not particularly good at it. We try.
Hello Claire, says Lydia.
To zareen, who once more reviewed profusely, we express extreme delight at finding that other revolting sofas exist as a trend in Drama Clubs across the world. Do you, by any chance, have a coke-soaked carpet and an exploding air-conditioner?
30. CCAs and the Clash of the Seniors II
Will was quite surprised when Jack turned up. "I thought you joined Sailing?"
Jack shrugged. "Two CCAs can't hurt, mate. So…you'll be lookin' for the Fencing place, eh?"
Will nodded hopelessly. "I can't find it. Do you think it's underground?"
Ten minutes later, Will, still in shock from Jack's amazing navigational skill, found himself staring down a stone corridor lit with flickering flames. He put out a hand to feel for the wall, and was intrigued to feel a 'Z' carved into the stone.
"Look, Jack, it's a – "
"Boo," said a voice.
Will shrieked. Jack yelled.
Their assailant laughed. A dark figure detached itself from the shadows, revealing itself to be a blonde third-year. Like all fencers, he wore stylish black, and dangled a rapier idly from his fingers.
"Nathaniel d'Artagnan, m'sieurs," he said, bowing with a deep flourish. "Pardon my little jest there. Do you seek an audition with our captain?"
"Aye," said Jack, "we do seek auditions. As in, we seek to audition. That the same as what you was sayin'?"
"Let me take you in," said d'Artagnan, who did not appear to bother unravelling the meaning of this first-year's speech.
Will grew increasingly puzzled as d'Artagnan led them deeper into the lair of the fencers. After the first corridor the flickering torches ceased to continue, and they had to follow the sound of d'Artagnan talking as he felt his way along the walls. He was also quite sure he could hear running water somewhere.
Jack, who was paying more attention to d'Artagnan himself, and being navigationally-inclined, realised that d'Artagnan was actually following a pattern here: the way to the centre of this maze was marked out by the line of 'Z's carved into the wall. Jack grinned, in a darkness where there was no light to glint off his teeth.
Eventually light hit them. They were in a cavern filled with the sound of rushing water, and also that of the clash of blades and voices raised in banter. D'Artagnan was hailed by three others, who had been practising at hitting masking-taped crosses on the velvet dummies set up in a corner of the cavern. Their guide promptly abandoned them to join his comrades.
Will and Jack stared around. They were able to recognise Westley and Inigo; not a meagre feat, because the two seniors were currently balanced atop a pair of stepladders in the midst of the underground waterfall running down one side of the cavern. They were both holding a string of lightbulbs, and appeared to be taking orders from a young lady of stunning appearance in an equally stunning dress, who was standing on dry ground, out of the way of the spray.
"Have you found the power source yet?" she was saying.
"No!" howled Inigo. "Elena, if you do not mind me asking, why is there a power source in the waterfall?"
"Ask Bruce Wayne," said Elena dismissively, "he fixed up this place before Alejandro took it over. Have you seen Alejandro, by the way?"
"No," burbled Westley as water rushed over his face. "I haven't seen anything but bloody waterfall for the past hour. Can we please do the lights another day, Elena?"
Elena de la Vega appeared to consider this. "Very well. Come down, the two of you." As the two second-years sighed in relief and began to climb down from the stepladders, she went on, "But how are we supposed to fence in near darkness?"
"You mean flickering torchlight," pointed out Westley.
"The torches are a fire hazard," Elena told him sternly. "I repeat, how are we supposed to fence in near darkness?"
"No sé," said Inigo, shrugging. "If I can fence with my left hand I can fence in near darkness. No big deal."
"'Scuse me," interrupted Jack, "I understand that you folks might be havin' some trouble with your fixtures, but we're seekin' to audition, savvy? So where might we audition?"
Elena seemed to be trying to remember something. "Ah…ah…auditions, sí!" And then, "Where in blasted hell is Alejandro?"
Elena de la Vega was one of those women who look infinitely more lovely when they are angry. Jack took the opportunity to admire what her neckline left exposed, which, given the tendency of Spanish aristocratic gowns of that era, was quite substantial.
Her imminent explosion was interrupted by a figure bounding through the waterfall and striding (and dripping) across the cavern floor towards the group, spreading his arms. "Elena, my dear. Am I late?"
Elena's face suddenly took on a scarily deceptive smile. Wearing that expression, she turned and swept up to the newcomer, skirts trailing over his wet footprints, until their faces were barely inches. "Yes, Alejandro. You are late. In fact, you are so late I could kick you into next week, and how dare you use that tone on me, and Professor McGonagall just gave me a dressing-down about your nasty habit with those 'Z's, and – "
"Lovers' quarrel again," sighed Westley. He seated himself on a convenient rock and tried to wring water out of his shirt sleeve. "So," he addressed Will conversationally, "you look good in black, do you?"
"Er, more or less."
"Very good," said Jack smugly. "Damned good."
"That's nice," said Westley absently. "I expect you'll get to audition when they're done. So you can go do warm-ups, or whatever you need to do to get ready." This to Inigo: "Are they at the slapping stage yet?"
"Coming," said Inigo, watching with fascination. "Coming, coming…"
The blow echoed around the cavern.
"Ow," said Inigo in sympathy.
"Who hit who?" inquired Westley, emptying water out of a boot.
"Who do you think? She hit him, of course," retorted Inigo, sitting down and squeezing water out of his headscarf.
"I," said Westley placidly, "am personally very glad that Buttercup is not a violent woman." He emptied water out of his other boot, and started on wringing his socks.
"You and your Buttercup," sniffed Inigo, getting up to hold his sleeves over a flickering torch.
"You need a girl, Inigo," said Westley reflectively. He glanced up at the quarrelling couple, who seemed to be calming down slightly. "There, they should be done around now. Solved your differences already?" he called to Alejandro and Elena, who were coming down from the waterfall area. The former was rubbing his cheek.
"Go away, Westley," said Alejandro facetiously. He had taken off the mask and the black headscarf he had worn during his entrance, revealing a head of attractively tousled hair. Being completely saturated had no effect on his debonair carriage.
"You may," he said munificently, "call me Zorro."
"But no one else does," put in Elena spitefully, "so don't bother. He's just plain Alejandro."
Alejandro cast her an exasperated look, and went on. "Well, let's get started? Who'd like to fence with Elena?"
Jack put up his hand.
"Right," said Alejandro, "you'll fence with me. The other kid – what's your name? Will? You fence with Elena."
Jack, looking disappointed at being thwarted, nevertheless took up a foil from the rack. Will found himself facing the beautiful vice-chair of Fencing. The thought did not console him, as it might have Jack.
"Not bad," said Elena, after they had sparred for some time. "I see we've had some prior training, no?" She increased her pace and lunged. Will hastily parried it, backing swiftly and sidestepping her. Elena smiled, like a satisfied Siamese. "Interesting footwork, Master Turner." She lunged again; Will spotted the feint in time and dodged the sneak hit. He lunged; Elena twisted her shoulders so his blade went past easily, hooked his hilt and sent the foil flying. Will prepared to dive for his sword, but froze as Elena's blade tip touched his chin.
"On a whole, impressive for a beginner," concluded Elena. With a flick of her wrist the sword was at her side again. Will, who had a very good view of her astoundingly wide and elaborate skirts, wondered how the hell a woman fenced as well as she did in those. "We will be delighted to welcome you in our circle, William Turner."
She swept off to watch Jack and Alejandro finish their bout. Will trailed after her.
Jack, naturally, was accepted as well, after they had concluded. "What do you do on Sundays?" he asked hopefully as Elena collected their swords from them.
Elena de la Vega looked down her nose at him. "Senor," she said loftily, "I am three years your senior, and my boyfriend is a master swordsman. Fancy though your footwork may be, I advise you not to go up against him." With a swish of expansive skirt she swept off, accepting Alejandro's proffered arm and walking him towards the waterfall, the two of them discussing lighting.
"You should stop trying to steal other people's girlfriends, Jack," said Will pointedly.
"Not my fault all the good ones are already taken," retorted Jack sullenly.
Lara Croft had invented a new form of self-abseiling, assumedly when bored in Physics class. She had got Hunter to try it out with her during break, and surprisingly it had worked – at least for the two of them.
It employed the concept of the pulley system, and involved tying a rope around one's waist, throwing the rope around a tree branch or rock projection or some other support, holding the free end of the rope in one's hands, and then jumping off one's selected cliff, lowering oneself to the ground by releasing handfuls of rope. She was particularly proud at how self-sufficient the theory was.
It sounded fairly simple and practical when she had explained it on the cliff's edge. In actuality it was very different, when one took into consideration the fact that most people have problems lifting their body weight, the distance from the top of the cliff to its base, and ropeburn.
So far the only casualty had been George, who had accidentally let go and plunged through ten metres of screaming freefall until he had managed to grab the rope again and stop his descent. While this method did indeed speed up the process, it was liable to give one serious ropeburn. Aragorn's hands were beginning to take on the state in which they passed Javert's classes, and he had no wish to ameliorate the damage.
His arms ached. He was no longer avoiding looking at the ground, because it had been there long enough for his fear of it to diffuse, and because even the ground was a nice change from rock face.
Beside him, Hunter lowered herself steadily. Her hands must be leather, to resist ropeburn so well. They probably were. Aragorn tried to flex his elbow and wondered how she had got her nickname, if nickname it was.
She glanced at him once, casually; the rest of the time she ignored him, concentrating on releasing section after section of rope. Aragorn focused on his: the blistering slither of rope through his fingers, the aching clench in his wrist, the arms straining the tendons across the back of his shoulders so hard that he wanted to snip his nerves into two, just to erase that strain.
Abseiling left no time for talking. ODACians didn't talk much.
Another screaming shot, and the bullet ripped through the target paper, missing the centre by half an inch. Holly lowered the rifle with aching arms as one of her auditioners winched the target paper back and nipped it off the hook. "It's damned close," said the tall black-haired Asian. "Well, Cleo? We've tried her on air rifle, pistol, revolver, almost everything in the arsenal. I think Bond himself would be satisfied."
Holly massaged her right wrist and watched her four auditioners. The three third-years, who also seemed to be indissoluble Siamese triplets, had introduced themselves as Natalie, Dylan and Alex. Their senior, who had not said a word to Holly yet, was a deceptively girlish Singaporean who carried a tri-barrelled rifle easily under one arm. They called her Cleopatra Wong.
Cleopatra Wong slung the rifle onto a convenient shelf and eyed Holly critically. Finally she said, "I think she's good enough. Let's have her."
Natalie, the blonde, who had taken a liking to Holly on sight, squealed happily and clapped her hands. Later, Dylan would tell Holly that Natalie was like that with most people.
At that point, James Bond fell through the ceiling.
To give him credit, he recovered his composure amazingly fast. Brushing plaster off his clothes, the Firearms Club Captain rose to his feet, his suave air only slightly marred by the fact that his left foot was in a cast.
"Good afternoon, ladies," said James Bond, as if he had just strolled in through the door. "How are you managing without me?"
"Oh, very fine, very fine indeed," responded Cleopatra Wong, batting her eyelids a graceful three times. "James, this is our new recruit Holly Short."
Bond regarded Holly.
"Bit, uh, short, she," he commented.Holly resisted the urge to seriously eyeball him.
"She can reach the range top if we give her a box," remarked Dylan, who had half her hair dyed violent purple. "Not a prob."
Bond shrugged. "Very well, we'll have the girl. Holly, is it? Pretty name. Pretty face, too."
Holly shook off the half-hearted attempt at flirting – she suspected it was involuntary habit – and left the firing range.
She met Éowyn coming back from the netball courts. "I still can't understand how you're going to handle two CCAs," Holly told her. "Especially if one of them is a uniform group."
"I always wanted to join the NCC," said Éowyn, shrugging. "Closest I can get to being in the army. You get to yell, and crawl through bushes. You should have joined, it's your kind of thing."
"People might tread on me during drill," retorted Holly sarcastically.
They went to the Dining Hall to wait for the rest of the Company; there they found already present Achilles and the rest of the new soccer team members. Faramir glanced up from among their number as the two of them entered; Éowyn pointedly looked at the ceiling.
"Jocks," she muttered under her breath. Fortunately no one heard her.
Achilles glanced up as Briseis and Andromache approached, accompanied by Hector, who looked like he was feeling accomplished.
"So," remarked Achilles offhandedly, "how was Red Cross?"
"They said we were very enthusiastic about it," exclaimed Briseis, "and they look forward to taking us for flag-selling next Wednesday afternoon! It's really quite exciting."
"Ah," said Achilles. "Yeah."
"And of course we are closely affiliated with the National Cadet Corps," added Andromache, "so we will be seeing a lot of Hector."
Achilles found himself privately wishing that Hector had joined the soccer team, like the rest of the jocks.
Andromache inserted herself into his uneasy silence. "And how," she said patronizingly, "was soccer?"
"Spectacular," said Achilles sourly.
"You don't sound happy," observed Briseis with concern. "Was it soccer?"
"No."
"Is it…" pressed Briseis anxiously, "…the Red Cross thing?"
"Oh, no," put in Achilles hastily. "Not Red Cross. I love the Red Cross. I will fully support every donation drive you take part in."
Hector suddenly found himself picturing Briseis blithely presenting her donation tin to some hapless passerby, and Achilles grinning at the victim across her shoulder and making a threatening gesture behind her back.
"I think," he muttered to Andromache as Achilles and Briseis went off together, "that Briseis is going to have a very successful career Red Cross career."
Aragorn scrabbled for purchase on the muddy bank – his desperate fingers found a tree root and locked around it. His back muscles screamed as he strained upwards; not for the first time he wished he had a compass needle, so he could pinpoint the exact spot behind his neck that was radiating all this pain, and stab the needle into the centre of it.
The marsh relinquished him with a popping sound, and he flopped onto the bank like a grounded fish, breathing hard.
Beside him, Lee Scoresby was heaving a leg onto the bank. The rest of ODAC, bedraggled and mud-stained, clambered up in varying degrees of exhaustion. Lara Croft looked astoundingly spry.
Aragorn's spinning mind observed detachedly that they were all more or less brown; it looked like the earth had just sprouted bipedal forms. Hunter, who had been mostly brown in the first place, had just turned a few shades darker.
"I think two miles of river should be far enough," mused Lara, looking back the way they had come. The cliff was a distant sliver. "Shall we walk back, or shall we try the treetop option?"
"Walk," chorused Rick, Lee and George simultaneously. Hunter merely smiled her faintly amused smile that she addressed the greater world with. Lara shrugged.
"Well, if you feel like having an easy day……"
They began the long trek back.
Even Lara Croft had limits, because she didn't request that they climb the cliff again. Instead they added an extra half an hour to the walk, and circled around its base until they found a gentler slope they could trek up.
Long, thought Aragorn, was an understatement. At least it was better than swimming.
When they were finally back where they had started, the other three hastily bid them farewell and made good their escape. Aragorn lingered, helping Lara and Hunter pack up the ropes.
When they had finished, he said, "What about me?"
Hunter appeared to have forgotten him temporarily. "You?"
"Yes," said Aragorn patiently. "Am I accepted, or am I not?"
Lara Croft turned appraising eyes on him. "Does the idea," she began, "of doing this every week actually appeal to you?"
Aragorn considered this. "It doesn't appeal," he concluded, "but if I do it long enough, eventually it might."
The two vice-chairs appeared to mull this over. Then Hunter went over to the faded duffel bag hidden underneath a bush and took out some objects that clinked. She tossed them to him, a karabiner and an air-transport-controller. Aragorn caught one in each hand.
"Bring them with you next week," she said, and her smile was caramel cognac. "We're hitting the rock walls Saturday."
Aragorn pocketed the two souvenirs, and watched the two of them walk away.
The Drama Club members not senior enough to be on the panel sat and sprawled on the studio's collection of computer chairs, couches, stage blocks – and in Velma's case, the bar-stool – and watched the auditions with the worldly air all veterans pick up along the way to seniority.
Rusty Ryan, who much to the marquis's regret had finished his Nachos chips without interruption, leaned back into his computer chair (which tipped an alarming forty-five degrees) and remarked, "She's not half bad, Danny."
"Mmm," replied his companion, who was seated cross-legged on a fraying coil mat. "Who was it that came up with the used pregnancy test kit scenario?"
"Velma, I think," said Rusty.
"Yeah," affirmed Velma from atop her bar-stool.
"Right," said Danny. "Damn funny."
"Thank you."
They watched the auditions go on for a while.
"Except," added Velma after some time, "I think the marquis added the bit about it being positive."
Danny stretched. "I think," he said comfortably, "that Tess is having fun."
On the floor, Tess was yelling accusations at Arwen and driving her into quite convincing hysterics.
"Okay, that's enough, thank you," broke in Christian. "You're the last one, yes? If you'll just step outside, Arwen……"
As the door shut after her, Satine swivelled her chair around to face the group gathered on the sidelines. "Well, let's get going, shall we? Are there any violent objections to any of the auditionees?"
"The bimbo," spoke Danny and Rusty in unison.
"The bimbo," chorused the Drama Club in tones of equal revulsion.
The marquis nodded. "We just had to give her the scenario with the flesh-eating bats, didn't we?"
Christian shuddered. "My eardrums will never be the same again."
"Mind," supplemented Jack Driscoll, "there's nothing wrong with a good screamer."
"Yes," sighed Satine, "but you're supposed to say things in between the screams."
"She's out, then," decided Christian, drawing a line through a name on the list.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"Not the green-skinned guy either," added the marquis de Carabas. "I hate it when people try to act cool."
His fellow judges gave him looks that indicated they thought it was what he did all the time.
"But I am good at it, am I not?" pointed out the marquis, reading their minds.
Christian shrugged and axed out Chix.
"I vote Elizabeth Swann in," said Satine. "The part where she said she was bisexual clinched it for me."
"How about the whatchamacallits, hobbits?" inquired Christian.
"They're going to be typecast," remarked Velma critically. "They'll be comic relief forever."
"Typecasting's always going on in this company," said the marquis dismissively. "For one, I am always typecast. Four years I've been playing villains."
"Not really," mused Satine. "There was that play when you……what's its name, the one with the really long title……"
"Yesterday My Classmate Got Eaten," recalled Christian. "You were the geography teacher, weren't you?"
The marquis sighed nostalgically. "Oh, yes, the gay one. What fun we had – eh, Chris?"
Christian rolled his eyes.
"We're off the track again," observed Satine in dismay. "Why're we always doing this?"
"It's a Drama habit," declared the marquis proudly.
"Where were we?" went on Satine, ignoring him. "Oh, Meriadoc and Peregrin. Shall we have them?"
"Yes," said the marquis. "Good Stagehand Material."
"And God knows that's important," agreed Christian devoutly. "And the last one……"
"She's going to be the One," said the marquis shortly.
Everyone stared at him.
"Erm?" prodded Christian meaningfully after a pause.
"'Tis my theory," elaborated the marquis loftily, "that there's a One in every year. You can identify them. They're usually very good-looking. Most of the time they have a boyfriend behind them, generally a scriptwriter."
"I beg your pardon?" said Jack Driscoll suspiciously.
The marquis sighed. "In my year it was Satine. In the year after that, it was Tess. In your year, Jack, it was Ann. Something about the presence."
"I get what you mean," murmured Christian thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose next year it'll be her."
There was a short pause. Then Jack got up from his stage block. "Christian, can I talk to you for a second?"
Christian frowned, but followed his junior to a corner of the studio, where they conducted a hurried conversation accompanied by many gestures.
Ann looked disturbed. "I hope they're not going to start again," she said fervently.
Christian and Jack returned in record time. "We're taking Arwen," said Christian. "We're going to audition her for the leading role in the next play."
"The one that wasn't-Satine-wasn't-Ann," explained Jack.
"That one," agreed Christian. "We think she's it."
"Fine by me," said Satine graciously. "So…Elizabeth, Meriadoc, Peregrin and Arwen. Ann, go call them in."
As Ann got up and went over to open the door and call in the selected ones, Christian leaned over to the marquis. "You know your One theory?"
"Mm?" said the marquis, who was attempting to nick Velma's cigarette box without her noticing.
"Why aren't any of them male?"
The marquis thought about this, then shrugged and hooked the box with Satine's long ruler.
"Dear me," said Christian, more or less to himself. "I really hope it isn't our fault."
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…Masquerades and Mayhem
Characters appearing in this chapter:
D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis from The Three Musketeers (Alexander Dumas)
Westley and Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride
Alejandro Murrieta and Elena de la Vega from Zorro
Natalie Cook, Dylan Sanders and Alex Munday from Charlie's Angels
Cleopatra Wong from They Call Her Cleopatra Wong
James Bond from James Bond
Once more with copious reference to the play Yesterday My Classmate Got Ea—Died.