Pranksters Inc.

[Ghost]

Another long day of enthusiastic learning and rigorous study had come to an end for the gifted students of Dr. Cullen's Institute. As the final bell tolled, most students crash on benches to talk and cram down any lunch they have left over or if it's a particularly lovely day, they might congregate on the grass and talk. Some retire to their rooms to commence an evening of hard-earned vegitating while older students gather in the common room and engage in sensible discussion, more commonly known as gossip. Then there are some students who just can't settle down and whose brains are so wired that in order to sate the needs of their expanding craniums and restless muscles, they engage in a variety of extra-curricular activities. Whether its chess club, debating club, band practice, swim team, horticultural society, science club, math club, volleyball or football, choir practice, student's newspaper or caligraphy club, there's something for everyone of these extra special students who are simply not content until they feel they've not only bettered themselves but also gave something back to the school which has already given them so much. Chris Wilde and Damien E. Dervish are two such students.

That night marked the first scheduled meeting of their very own club; a secret organisation for the gifted and adventurous residents of the institute. It would start like any other meeting taking place at the same time throughout the school but was guaranteed to end much differently. The northern tower was the oldest part of the building and while the rooms within were as splendidly furnished as the rest of the mansion, the spire atop it had been sealed due to its fragile condition. Inside, it resembled a a wigwam made of slate and wood. It had a window which provided an all-encompasing view of the institute. It was about to turn four and Chris expected the arrival of his fellow co-founder at any moment and while he waited, he tacked to a couple of wooden beams a large blueprint of the entire grounds. Tonight was going to be a large one.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien climbed through the vents, following one of the exhaust vents up to the spire, through the topmost ducting that allowed the used air to escape into the night air. Once he got to what he felt was the designated spot, Damien slowly undid the clamps holding the vent cover, and slid out. Anyone bigger than he could not accomplish such a task; it was as if the vents were made just for him. He heard his watch give him the warning beep, and Damien quickly pulled the rest of himself out of the shaft, clamping the maitenance lid shut. Just then a rush of stale air rushed through the shaft, and out into the night. Damien barely missed smelling funky.

With a toothy grin, Damien slowly slid his way down the rafters, wrapping his tail around the one right above Chris' head. He slowly and quietly let himself down, dangling upside down.

"Nice 'prints. Very thourough. Do you have the ones for the vent shafts? Or are these just the floor plans?"

Damien pointed a black, furry finger at the tacked-up plans, a claw slightly protruding from the tip of his nailbed.

[Ghost]

"Gah-ha! Heeey!" Chris blurted when Damien suddenly appeared. The little mutant had made him jump, he sighed with relief and shook his head.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

His whining fell on deaf ears as Damien had spotted the blueprints and was already in the process of examining them, swinging closer for a better look. Chris stepped closer and prodded the large sheet.

"These are the vents but I think there's quite a few missing. This copy must date back before the fire last year."

They shared a knowing glance and he continued, handing him a red pen.

"You know the vents better than anyone. If you notice anything missing, just draw it in. Everything has got to be just right."

He strolled over to a pile of old bean bags and slumped into them, throwing up a cloud of dust. He splutted and wafted the air clear, he told himself the place could do with a quick clean but didn't dare voice those thoughts before Damien.

"How did the reconnaissance go last night?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien looked over at Chris, as he plopped down on the dusty bean bags.

"Wha? Recon....oh! Recon! Gotya....I, uh, ended up in the girls' locker room vents again..."

Damien grinned devilishly. With his looks, it fit him perfectly.

"And I got there just in time for post-practice showers. Some interesting stuff, really. I almost feel perverse doing so, but then again, it's only natural. And in this case, the strong survive. Or in my case, the genetically different survive."

Damien began doodling in some of the new vents, marking them in red. He spoke absently, not even giving Chris so much as a slidelong glance.

"....next time, I'll remember to take the digital camera with me..."

[Ghost]

A couple of times during Damien's rambling Chris tried to interject politely to avoid causing offense or embarrassment. Unfortunately, his little friend was lost in a day dream of slippery skin and jiggly bits. He clapped his hands together so that they made a loud ringing crack. Damien paused mid-sentence and turned to look at him inquisitively.

"Damien. Recon. What teachers did you see?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien chuckled.

"Oh, sorry. I got carried away....I do that....Well, as for teachers, I did see Ms. Maxine in the showers, as well....at least, it looked like her backside....not sure really...."

Damien notices the palm-smack that Chris did in exasperation, and his mind clicked.

"Oh! You mean, in the corridors! At the moment, none. They all seem to be makin' their ways to the sub-levels. You know, the one's we don't have 'prints of? And they seem to be gettin' in via several entrances. Strange ones. Like, I saw Rhee pull up a bust of Cullen's and press a red button underneath, and the projection screen television moved aside to show a small shaft with a pole. I'm tellin' ya, that's soooo Adam West, man...."

Damien looked back over to the maps, continuing to add yet another length of vent shaft to the blueprints.

"They seem to either be havin' a meetin' of sorts, or their gonna go off somewhere without us knowin' it....Not sure which."

[Ghost]

"I don't know, it sounds like something out of a comic book to me."

Chris said, eyeing Damien with scrutiny. Occassionally a student at the institute would have a story to tell about the teacher's secret society. Ghost assumed it was nothing but the ravings of conspiracy theorists with overactive imaginations. There was a part of him that did want to check behind the projection screen though. He took the tales with a pinch of salt and humoured them because he found them amusing.

"Hopefully the majority of the teachers will be kept busy tonight so that we can go about our business completely unhindered. I did a walkthrough of the surveillence job last night, it should be easy enough. You nearly finished with those blueprints?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

As Damien continued marking on the vents, making additions, he spoke.

"You know, I would think that too, if I didn't see it with my own eyes. But, I'm tellin' ya, man, that's exactly what I saw. It was just....crazy. Prof. Rhree even looked around, makin' sure no one saw, before hittin' the button. Only reason he didn't see me was 'cause I was in the vents. I think, personally, that this place is more than a school. I mean, they train us to control our abilities and powers, and give us a safe haven from bigotry and the various forms of racism; yet that's it? No way. There's gotta be more to this. I mean, just think about the abscences and the cancelled classes. Lately, things've gotten a bit crazy, ya know?"

Damien made one more swipe with the red marker, and then smiled, his sharp incizors gleaming.

"There. Finished. Now, remind me again what we agreed upon last time? Seein' all the hot, wet, jailbait and high school tail in the girls' locker room made me forget about a lot..."

[Ghost]

"Bloody hell, mate. We've been through this so many times..."

Chris grumbled. Working with Damien was an uphill struggle, at least in the planning stages, when it came to executing a good plan however, he was a master of his art. The floorboards creaked, his legs had a habit of bouncing involuntarily when idle.

"First, there's the keys from the faculty lounge. Don't forget the fake rosters! Then we have the library job - that's all about timing and keeping watch. Moving those textbooks will be tricky. Shame we don't have a teleporter. For fun, we play around with the bell, just to rub salt into the wound. And finally, there's setting up the treasure hunt. Simple as pie!"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien, still upside down, swinging back and forth from the rafters, smiled. It was a brilliant flash of shiny, white, pointy teeth.

"Oh, yeah! I came up with the treasure hunt...sorry, I get distracted....so here's the plans. First, the keys from the faculty lounge. I'm small, flighty, and slick enough to get that part taken care of without leavin' a Slimer mess..."

Damien stuck his tongue out at Chris, then continued.

"No need for teleporter. You just....I dunno, ghost out with each book. If you have to do it in stretches, then do just that. You know, get to the textbook, pick it up to look at it, and then never return it. And as for the bell, I've got that. I know exactly where the wiring and the panels for them are. You know, right next to the security cameras...."

Damien snickered, his wings flitting excitedly.

"Bet you didn't know I was the one who pulled the Family Guy marathon on the security cameras....Anyway, just make the bell short out a few times, or just flip the switch every so often, so they try to catch me while you are smugglin' the books. Once that's taken care of, it's snatchin' up the lesson plans, placed by teachers in each classroom. Which will be easy after hours or so with the keys. Then, it's a matter of droppin' the keys in a good place, where the last person had them, but didn't need them to get into anything. After that, the treasure hunt. We find good hiding spots, hide the lesson plans and individual textbooks for each subject, in or around the same area, then place the post it notes as we create them. That way, no list of hiding places to give us away. And we each switch off writin' the notes, that way no one gets our handwriting. Typin's too easy to monitor and catch...."

Damien put a claw to his chin, and scratched at it, eyeballing the map once more.

"Then it's a day of no more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks. Hmm, we really should get rid of the pencils...would go with the song.."

[Ghost]

"I heard about that one," Chris said, looking up with interest. He stood.

"So that was you? That reminds me, I want to borrow your Season Three."

He approached the blueprint and casually nudged Damien to one side so he could get to it. Behind him, the little mutant swung back and forth like a clock pendulum. He checked his alterations, tracing a finger here and there, and muttered.

"I'll have to make a few trips to the library. See those crosses? That's where we agreed upon stashing the different text books. I'll also need to make a couple of bathroom pitstops to clean up after a few trips otherwise I'll start to leave a slug trail."

He turned and checked his wristwatch. Damien's breathing ruffled his hair.

"Okay, we start at five."

He glanced up with an excited look.

"Are you ready, little man?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien chuckled as he swung back and forth. Thankfully, with his body being mutated, the bones and other organs responsible for orientation were also adapted for the various modes of movement that Damien was capable of, thus keeping him well-balanced.

"Of course."

Damien set his own watch, peering at Chris' and sychronizing it down to the second. Damien's sense of timing was also incredible, often times impeccable. More often than not, this sense was comically reliable.

"At five. Gotya."

Looking over at the textbook hiding places, they were planned greatly: the geography books near the immense world globe; the math books near the Einstein poster; the science texts near the cafeteria; and the history books near the garbage rooms. Damien chuckled inwardly, before looking down at his watch. Four-fifty. Ten minutes to kill.

"So, a stop at the bathroom, huh? Why do you leave a slime trail every time you go ghost?"

[Ghost]

"I've no idea, mate. Professor MacLaverty said he'd get one of the physicians to take a look at the stuff if I get him a sample."

He looked himself over, double-checking for any incriminating ooze, and shrugged. Damien had a mischievous smirk and once again, Chris batted him aside with more force this time and ducked under him as he rocked from side to side.

"I think it has something to do with how much effort it takes to change back and the longer I'm phased out, the worse it gets. When I first appeared at the mansion during Jacinda's seance, I spontaneously oozed the stuff from every pore on my body. I think it's a bit like ectoplasm because sometimes I leave it behind on objects I touch or pass through."

He crashed into the beanbags and gave his friend a wink.

"Fortunately the girl's showers wash clean."

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien muttered as he swung back and forth.

"Lucky bastard. I only get to peep. And the half-your-size, fuzzy, black devil is a bad thing to be in the dating circles. Too many odds against me...At least you're a viable candidate. After all, boyfriends commonly leave oozing masses around the bedside..."

Damien stuck his tongue out, and continued waggling it, even as he dropped, twisting and flipping into a double somersault before landing without even so much as a sound.

"So, you think this is gonna work?"

[Ghost]

Damien had him laughing aloud which he quickly realised wasn't advisable because somewhere below Professor Flannery and Professor Beaumont were walking by, talking spiritedly. The little black-furred mutant pushed a clawed finger to his lips and Chris buried his face in his hands to muffle the noise and quickly fell silent. The two teachers continued their conversation below, unaware of the unauthorised presence in the steeple. Chris slowly looked up and sighed with relief.

"That was your fault," he mumbled, "And yes, this is going to work. How can it not? It's you and me! Have faith, my young padawan!"

[Damien E. Dervish]

amien turned around, pulling out his very complicated cell phone. He knew most of its funtions, enough to take pictures, and zoom them in. He lined up his shots, and then took the pictures, making sure that they zoomed in and kept their resolution. All the while, he turned his head to Chris, smiling.

"But Massa...I can't be mindful of the past at the expense of the present..."


Damien giggled quietly, before looking down at his small watch. Four-fifty-nine. Nearly time to go. Damien stretched out quickly, limbering himself up. He pulled a bottle of Gatorade Glacier Freeze from his cold pack, and took a big sip. He offered it to Chris.

"Four fifty-nine. Nearly time to go."


Damien pulled his pack down, snapping it close to his back, so it wouldn't impede his movement. He unfolded his wings, making sure his backpack wouldn't make flight or gliding impossible, and then looked down at the clock, just in time to hear it beep.

"Game time."

Without another word, Damien shot upward, swinging and flipping into the air ducting. Only glancing once or twice at his cell phone to make sure his orientation in the ducting was correct, Damien made his way to the office containing the bell system.

After a few minutes, he found himself at the bell office. Someone was in there, but Damien couldn't tell who. He was at a bad angle. He cocked his head, and timed it, so that way, as they left, he opened the grate, and landed in near perfect silence. Play time.


Damien easily made his way to the box, beginning to do what he did best: make mischief. With no difficulty, Damien had the wires crossed, so that it played whatever he played on the computer. A quick few keystrokes, and some tracks loaded onto the bell system. At five after five, the first song would play.

Now, all he had to do was wait. He powered down the computer, and closed the bell hatch. Pulling himself into the ventilation ducting, Damien waited.

And five minutes later, the song School's Out began to blare throughout the school. Damien silently chuckled, and began to scurry away.

He pulled up his 'phone as he crawled, texting Chris.

"Fase 1 Complete! Strt Fase 2!"

[Ghost]

The moment Damien disappeared into the vent, Chris rose out of the beanbag pile and picked a towel he'd brought with him off the floor. He draped it around his neck so that it hung from his shoulders and crossed the room to the sealed trapdoor. He took a moment to position himself, held his breath then exhaled, and as he did so his surroudnings changed; everything turned pale and silent. Slowly, he sunk through the floor and found his footing on an old wooden staircase which spiralled down the inside of the tower. He descended the stairs and made his way to the library.

After taking a shortcut through a number of walls, he arrived at the large open library. Shelves sneaked up the walls on both floors and large wooden desks furnished the centre of the round room. While he used his gift, he couldn't see anyone however he saw objects floating, seemingly of their own accord, across the room; books open on desks turned their own pages, chairs slid back and forth from under tables and pens danced over empty pages, scribbling notes of their own. He crossed the wide space and passed through a closed door marked Staff Storage.

There was enough activity going on in the main hub of the library to make this easy for him and with little effort he pushed through the fog, phasing slightly back into reality so that he could have a quick peek of the small room full of labelled cabinets. Although he couldn't hear anything, he could see the room was empty, and his efforts caused a reading lamp to flicker on the librarian's table. He stepped into the room whole again and the sound of Alice Cooper's singing greeted his ears, he grinned with delight. He approached the cabinets and jumped when his cell phone beeped - he'd forgotten to set it to silent mode - and he checked the message. No footsteps could be heard approaching, so happy to procede, he sent Damien a reply and started rifling through the unlocked cabinets.

Phase 2 underway.

[Damien E. Dervish]

amien scurried along, finding the Teacher's Lounge easily with the help of the photos on his 'phone. He watched, as Prof. Rhee hung the classroom keys on their proper hook, before leaving the room, the other set of keys, primarily the ones to the lounges, jangling as he left. As the door closed, Damien curled his tail around the edge, and hung upside down, as he did in the attic spire. With a quick flick of the wrist, he had the keys in the palm of his hand, and pulled himself up, back into the vent. A quick move noiselessly closed the grate, and Damien was scrambling, stashing away the keys in a secure pocket, so they wouldn't jingle or fall out. With incredible speed, Damien takes off on all fours, his sleek black body a veritable bullet as he sped into the darkness, red eyes gleaming with mischief.

Shortly after, his phone vibrated slightly, and Damien read the message, smiling as he made his way to the first classroom.

With the classes being over with, and the teachers vacating the areas, it was all too easy to infiltrate the rooms he couldn't access from the vents, and with all the lesson plans in tow in his backpack, Damien flitted back into his grating access. It closed behind him, and his 'phone was back out, texting Chris.

"Plans n Tow. Where u at?"

[Ghost]

By the time Chris recieved Damien's second message, he'd already cleared out three cabinets; geography, maths, and history. There were half a dozen books for each grade and depending on their thickness, he could manage phasing with between two or four grade's worth each time and already there were several impressive stacks of ghostly books sitting invisible on the librarian's desk. He paused to thumb a quick message into his phone and sent it to his friend:

Not many books here per grade. Think the rest are stashed in the classrooms. Might take longer than we thought. About to finish clearing out French but things are getting gooey.

A drop of slime fell onto his nose and he wiped it off. His hair, which was normally spiky, was soaked and thick with a substance not unlike cheap styling gel. He was using the towel sparingly but realised before he visited the classrooms he'd have to rinse his hair out and get a clean towel. There were only four subjects left to go and with each transformation, he'd carry more books. It was more difficult each time and he had a feeling the library was beginning to empty, stealing him of the energy needed to take on his ghost form.

On his last trip, he carried a pile of books so tall that it climbed past his head and when he attempted a transformation, he was held fast. The colour had only partially drained from his surroundings and he could still faintly hear the sounds from the main body of the library. He relaxed and took a breath, only to find that no air had filled his longs. Overcome with panic, he gasped frantically and tried to put the books down but his limbs disobeyed. The reading lamp flickered erratically, a framed diploma rattled against the wall, and an inexplicable hiss filled the room. He was frozen to the spot and there were footsteps approaching.

The footsteps arrived at the other side of the office door and he stared frightfully at the handle, it moved. He closed his eyes and, with every last ounce of strength he had left, he pushed. The air was as thick as tar and his muscles spasmed at the pressure, the vacuum uncoiled and he fell through. The pale books crashed to the floor all around him and he looked back at the now open door to find no-one stood there. He'd made it.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien recieved the message, and as the phone buzzed silently, his tail wrapped around it, and handed it to an open right hand. Damien scrolled through it, reading it. The message implied library. So, Damien pulled up the map via his phone, turning and zooming in on the adjusted blueprints that he had taken photos of, and found the proper route. Quickly imprinting it into thought, Damien was ready to go.

He made his way to the library with no trouble, and had a decent enough vantage point to ascertain that there was no one watching, nor a camera panned in his direction. He undid the grate, and fluttered slightly, long enough to close the grate, and then to quickly glide to the ground, the lesson plans slipped into the backpack. He kept the master set of keys on him just in case he needed to get in or out of any rooms, then began to busy himself in the drama section, picking up a copy of Shakespeare's Romeo And Juliet. And he turned right to the lovey-dovey scenes. He sighed softly, speaking to himself.

"Man, I need a Juliet...."

[Ghost]

Damien's phone buzzed. He had a new message:

Meet me at the hiding place for the French books. Hurry.

[Damien E. Dervish]

amien picked up the phone, and saw the text. He knew what it meant. It meant in the Biology lab, near the dissected frogs. Tossing the book to the shelf, Damien blizted it, running past and through a set of nice legs, stopping only for a second to admire the "hem of the underskirt" before booking it out of the library, and flitting down the hallway.

In less than a minute, Damien burst into the Biology lab.

[Ghost]

"Damien?"

The voice seemingly came from nowhere. The lab was empty and the only sign of life was a workbench supporting three glass tanks full of frogs. Arranged like presents around a Christmas tree were piles of French books. The voice spoke out again.

"Are you there?"

"Chris? What's up?" Damien replied, hopping onto a desk to get a better view.

"We've got a problem."

From behind the technician's workbench, Chris stood and in the dimming evening light, he shimmered. Light slithered over his skin in an odd way, like he were melting, his clothes sucked to his skin and as he shifted awkwardly, his shoes made a squelching sound.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien blinked as he saw Chris. He smiled. He knew it probably freaked Chris out, but Damien couldn't help it.

"Wow, you look like Slimer from Ghostbusters....but cooler."

[Ghost]

"It's not cool," Chris said irritably.

A large quantity of the translucent slime trickled from his brow and obscured his vision, he wiped his face clean with a grunt and blinked his eyes repeatedly to make sure they were free of ooze. He felt absolutely ridiculous.

"I had a close call in the library and this is the backlash. It's only ever been this bad once before when- look, it's not funny! I called you here because I have to get a shower and change my clothes which is going to slow down the whole operation. So can you get to some of the books in the classrooms?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

The smile faded from Damien's face.

"I'm sorry, bro. It's just that I love Ghostbusters....I got ya part covered."

Damien reached in the bag and grabbed a spare towel, tossing it to the gooey Chris.

"I really am sorry, man. I get that it's hard on ya. Comedy is how I deal with things. You get a shower, get cleaned up. I'll get the last of the books. What's left? The Biology sets?"

Damien smiled again, though not at Chris this time, but at the aspect of the prank.

[Ghost]

"The library's cleared out but every classroom needs to be double-checked for text books now. Every subject."

He dragged the towel from his hair down his face, the thick gloop removed with a long slurp leaving the towel thoroughly soiled. Chris was still very tense but his expression had softened.

"Look, mate, I'm sorry for losing my temper but this stuff-"

He flung his arms out and long streams of slime leapt from his finger tips and spattered the wall and floor. He visualised himself at that moment and smirked, seeing the funny side of it.

"-It's like bloody wallpaper paste, you know? I'll get cleaned up fast and you start taking care of the classrooms. Let's get this done. Are you set?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien nodded.

"Sure thing! Not a problem."

Pulling up the checklist from his phone, Damien did a cursory glance, to ascertain what they had and what they didn't. He noted that they were missing a Math text, a Biology lab record, and an English Literature set.

Damien made his way through the room, searching high and low for the Biology Lab Record.

[Ghost]

While Damien searched, Chris disappeared from sight. He crossed a number of other labs and descended a flight of stairs at the east end of the building. There was still a fair distance to go to his room and ran the rest of the way, his footsteps echoed throughout the vacant grounds. Once outside his room, he passed through a wall rather than the door which brought him inside his bathroom. He stood in the shower and returned to his physical self. Large globs of goo fell from his sleeves and slapped the ceramic floor. He twisted the dial to turn on the hot water and started to shower fully clothed. Piece by piece, he discarded each slimy article of clothing and took great satisfaction in the feeling of hot water on his skin instead of sticky gloop.

[Damien E. Dervish]

"Booya!"

Damien spotted it finally, tucked away underneath a series of graded papers. He saw his paper on top, marked with a B-. He growled.

"That's crap and they know it!"

In a huff, he pulled the book out from underneath the stack of papers, and flitted away, scuttling out of the classroom and into the nearest vent cover, scanning the phone for the next hiding spot.

[Ghost]

Once showered, Chris dried himself with an almost fresh towel, assaulting every damp crevice with the vigour of a man pressed for time. His watch beeped: it was six o'clock. In half an hour, Johnathan Parker would start his rounds and they'd be out of time. From his soaked jeans on the bathroom floor he retrieved his phone, it was sticky, he wiped it down haphazardly with his towel then sent message to Damien:

Starting treasure hunt now. I'll take Biology, English, French, Geography, Music, and Spanish. We have 30 mins until Big John starts snooping around. You need pens/paper?

On his bed there was an assortment of objects; drawing pads, felt tip pens, a pencil case, and a tattered rucksack. He rummaged through the contents of the bag and fished out a block of colourful post-it notes. Next, he took a handful of pens from the bed and stuffed them into his pockets. There was a chocolate beanie hung tenuously from a wooden chair next to the door, he snatched it up, yanked it past his ears and left the room.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien texted back.

Got it covered, with sharpies and really good post-it notes. I'll get Geometry, the other Romance Languages, Latin, Physics, Chemistry, Computer Sciences, and the other Histories classes. Initiate now. About two post-its to three post-its per class....


Damien made his way to the Geometry class, which was the closest classroom, writing his clever post-it notes as he walked. The several of the classrooms were thankfully unlocked, so it was easy to get the post-its and the hiding places done.

With twenty minutes down, Damien came across the Chemistry lab, the last on his list. It was understandably locked, to keep students out of the chemicals and whatnot. Damien quickly unlocked the door, and got to work.

[Ghost]

The first subject he decided to tackle was English. He'd personally hidden most of the books throughout the campus and rather than risk becoming covered in slime again, he decided to casually walk to each location and disappear only when neccessary. His first stop was the classroom where he spent many a lesson snoozing instead of reading, it was empty, and inside a drawer in the teacher's desk he left a note. It read:

ALL WORDS AND NO PICTURES MAKE JOHN A DULL BOY!

There was a commotion outside the classroom. He made a swift exit through the wall which lead outside. He walked until he reached the tool shed used almost daily by Mister Parker, he entered the shed and when he reappeared, he nearly fell over the myriad equipment cluttering the humble interior. Here he left his second note on an axe:

HE'S A LUMBERJACK AND HE'S OKAY. HE SLEEPS ALL NIGHT AND HE WORKS ALL DAY.

His final stop was just beyond the grounds, in a clearing on the edge of the woods. Here there was a a deeply scarred tree stump and it was on that he left his final note:

WHERE THEY BURN BOOKS, THEY WILL ALSO ULTIMATELY BURN PEOPLE.

He stood back to admire his handy work; every other words was written in a different style, some letters were bigger than others, and some were written backwards. Hopefully, that would throw the investigation off the scent come tomorrow, he thought, if they're smart enough to find the books in the end. He wandered over to four neatly arranged piles of firewood, covered in waterproof sheets. He lifted one of the covers, there were a dozen text books stacked on top of the wood and there were more to be found in the other piles. He grinned and vanished.

[Damien E. Dervish]

amien spent as much time scrawling half a dozen notes, all seemingly calligraphic in the famous Sharpie black ink. Some messages included:

"The shot heard 'round the world...." for the History post-it.
"Here's lookin' at you, kid..." For the Romance languages.
"Etting-gay ot-hay." For the Latin textbooks.
"Gravity sucks." For the Physics books.
"Fat Man." For the Chemistry books.
"Stop playin' with my floppy." The Computer Sciences books.
"So hip to be a square." For the Geometry books.

All these notes had post-its, corresponding whether the teacher or finder of the books would be hotter or colder. Damien had several close calls with a teacher or two roaming the halls, but with his small stature, and ability to see in the gathering darkness of the twilight, Damien had no real trouble. Finally finished with the works, he sent another text message.

Done. Where to meet?

[Ghost]

WHERE DO THE BEST WIND INSTRUMENTS PLAY?

The music books were hidden in the men's toilets. Small stacks of eight books had been stashed carefully behind the S-bend in each cubicle. It was the last subject Chris had to cover but with only one minute left before the deadline, he settled on a one-note juvenille joke for a clue and stuck it to the back of the conductor's music stand. His phone beeped. He read Damien's note and replied:

We can crash in my room. A celebration is in order!

After pocketing his phone, he walked straight towards a wall and just before impact, he disappeared. The board was set and in the morning, the game would begin.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien, backpack thankfully empty of heavy books, flitted into the nearest airduct crawlspace, slinking his way around. After two climbs and a quick descent, he found himself in the hallway near Chris' room. Damien took a quick glance, before flitting to the beam right next to the grate. Kicking the grate shut, Damien dropped, opening his little wings on the last second to drop to the floor without pain or sound. As he brought his wings closer to his body, he overheard someone a few rooms down playing a guitar solo, acoustically. Damien knew the tune as Little Wings, as played by Jimi Hendrix. He loved that song! He almost decided to walk to the room, and request a personal concert, but decided not to. Weariness had set in, so the miniature mutant settled on slowly and doggedly padding his way to Chris' room. With three sharp raps on the door, Damien leaned against the jamb. He was exhausted.

"Lemme in!"

[Ghost]

The door opened promptly, Chris identified the tone in his voice and greeted him with a grin.

"You coming in then?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien panted, nearly falling over. The extra weight of the books had left him exhausted.

"Man, I'm beat. You know, bein' forty-five pounds, and carryin' that many books wears ya down...You got a drink? I could sure use one...and I left my Cokes back at the dorm."

[Ghost]

"No, no drinks I'm afraid, fella."

Chris looked around the room, feeling a little helpless, then said:

"Tell you what, make yourself at home, I'll grab us a couple of sodas from the kitchen. Just watch out for the bathroom, it's covered in slime."

And he was already out the door. On his way to the kitchen, he passed Jonathan Parker - he'd just inspected Professor Bertrand's classroom and appeared to be satisfied - Chris gave him the thumb's up as they passed each other.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien smiled weakly.

"Thanks, bo. I need a few.....bad. Those damn History books are heavy....And the lesson plans're just the same."

As Chris left the room, Damien looked around the room. It seemed tidy. Perhaps too tidy for a teenager. He almost laughed at the thought. Then again, for all his personality quirks, Damien himself kept a clean and organized room. Perhaps he had obsessive-compulsive disorder as well....

Damien walked to a plush rug nearby, and fell onto it. He was too tired to even climb or fly up to a bed. Damn this height. Great for lookin' up girls' skirts, and even for hiding in their locker room's vents, but be damned if everything else doesn't come with difficulties.... With his thoughts, he groaned. He was beat. He closed his red eyes to relax a bit, tail still swishing as he did so.

All the while, he found himself thinking about the prank, and just how well it went so far. No snags. Something wasn't quite right about that....normally, pranks that were this complicated, that went this well, often came with other problems. Such as being caught midway, or perhaps the massive reprocussions that would come from pulling a prank of that caliber. Hmmm, no property damage....no issues....Somethin's off....but what....

[Ghost]

Minutes later, Chris suddenly materialised walking towards Damien carrying a large bag of crisps, a variety of chocolate bars and three bottles of Coke. The little mutant looked startled by his sudden appearance and he flashed him a look that was half apologetic and half pleaded his innocence. He shrugged.

"What? I forgot my key."

[Damien E. Dervish]

Key. Key.

"KEYS!"



Damien hopped up, suddenly energized. He knew the sudden adrenaline rush wouldn't last long, so he looked over at Chris.

"I forgot to take back the keys....crapcrapcrap."

Flitting over to Chris, he snagged up a chocolate bar and a Coke, and tore into it, eating it ravenously, and chugged down the Coke. Hopefully, with the speed that he consumed the sugary goodness, it would reach his system faster. Damien wiped his hands off on his shirt.

"I gotta get those keys back before Mr. Parker checks the lounge. Where did you see him at in the hallway? Did you see him in the hallway!?"

[Ghost]

"Erm... he was just leaving Professor Bertrand's room..."

His expression was vacant. Damien's sudden explosion of energy and the speed with which he devoured the food had left him dumbstruck, so much so that Chris hadn't moved an inch since appearing in the room. His black-furred friend flitted up to the window and glanced outside, then hopped down and bounded across to the door and slowly, he turned to face him.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, then blurted with dawning realisation, "We could get caught!"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien looked to him, and then it dawned on him, when he thought of Chris poofing in the room.

"The vents'll take me too long....I've got it! You could ghost, hang the keys back up, and get back here pronto. You could just beeline it..."

[Ghost]

"I can do that but I'll have to make sure there's no-one actually inside the staff room. I don't think I'd recieve a warm reception if I suddenly appeared holding the stolen keys. Do you?"

He dropped the other stolen goods onto the bed and held out his hand.

"Okay, I'll do it. There's nothing else we've forgotten is there?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien seriously knew of nothing, though there was, in fact, one slimy book left in the library by his cohort.

"Um, nope. I got nothin'. You?"

[Ghost]

"Nothing at all," he said, and Damien handed him the keys, "Wish me luck."

And he faded out of sight. It didn't take him long to reach the staff room but when he passed through its door he noticed a couple of chairs were pulled out at the coffee table. He checked his watch: it was ten minutes to eight. It made no sense for the staff room to be occupied at this time but he decided to tread with caution. He was standing inside a large storage cupboard when he started spying on the staff room's occupants, he looked down to find he was intersected three times by the shelving within the cupboard. He would have to be careful and slowly pushed forward without actually moving; the fog thinned and the pale light was partially replaced by flecks of dark shadow. It got darker and darker until he finally caught the sound of distant voices from somewhere in the room.

"...and try to calm yourself, Mary. Here, drink this."

It was Professor MacLaverty, his voice was soothing. At that moment, Chris heard a clutter from the staff room door. It was Professor Rhee.

"I left as soon as I heard. Mary, are you alright?"

"I saw... I saw... Oh!"

The voice of the resident librarian, Mary Watford, was weak and quavered with anxiety. Her coffee mug clattered on the table. Chris heard the voices of the two professors suddenly much closer but they were hushed so that Mary couldn't hear them. While he listened, he tried to shut out the growing pain of the solid shelving slicing through his chest, waist and knees.

"One of the students found her unconcious in her office. She claims to have seen something."

"Something?" repeated Professor Rhee.

"Yes. And this was retrieved from the office floor."

There was a moment of silence between the two men, then Professor Rhee muttered:

"That's fairly incriminating."

"I'd say so. I think the best course of..."

The sound of Professor MacLaverty's voice was drowned out by a crashing wave of silence and the fog closed in on Chris once more. The sharp pains in his body had overwhelmed him and he lost concentration. He gasped heavily and allowed himself a minute's rest before resuming his eavesdropping.

"...alright after you've had a good night's-"

The sound of Professor MacLaverty's voice was shut out by the sound of the closing staff room door. Chris dared to peek through the cupboard, the room was empty and thankfully, for the sight of a ghostly face emerging through a cupboard door would leave quite an impression; Mrs. Watford discovered that the hard way. He stepped forward and became colourful and whole. The key hooks rested on the wall near the door, he moved quickly across the room, returned the keys to their rightful place and was gone. Minutes later, he reappeared in his room.

"Mission accomplished."

[Damien E. Dervish]

During the few minutes that he was alone, Damien had comsumed half of the pilfered goods, making sure to at least leave some small morsels for Chris. He lay on the floor again, looking out of sorts. Well, out of sorts for a hyperactive, imp-looking mutant. He spoke quietly, as if not only drained, but in dread of the outcome.

"It went okay?"

Damien was beat. He had incredible amounts of energy, but could only take so many trips with that much extra weight. His muscles burned, his body ached, and he found himself panting, the smell of chocolate and Coke emanating from his mouth. Apparently, with all the short and downy-like fur, Damien didn't sweat so well. With the affirmative look, Damien smiled weakly.

"Sorry, man. I got side-tracked. Plus, I'm beat. My mind has a tendency to slow it down after a good workout. But, that's what all good pranks are made of."

Damien groaned lightly as he sat up.

"What's next?"

[Ghost]

"Nothing's next, mate," Chris said, "You're nackered and need some rest after carrying those books. Sorry about that, by the way."

He crashed onto his bed and kicked off his sneakers. All that heard in the staff room haunted him but the last thing he wanted to do was burden Damien with something that may come to nothing. He decided to forget about it and regarded his little friend.

"You're welcome to sit off here for a bit. We can make plans for our... ahem... free day tomorrow."

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien looked up to the bed, at Chris.

"Good. I couldn't stand right now if I tried. And thanks for the grub, man."

Damien leaned back against the nearby wall, looking out of the window across from him, staring into the night sky. His negative vision was beginning to kick in gradually, lighting up the night sky. He watched as an owl fluttered its wings in a nearby tree.

"So, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

[Ghost]

"Cure AIDS, end global hunger, bring about world peace - you know, the usual."

A mighty yawn escaped him and he contorted fabulously on his bed and slumped back down with a heavy sigh. His hands clasped on his belly and rose and fell in time with his breathing. He spoke, as he stared at the ceiling, with unncharacteristic contemplation.

"I suppose I should do something tomorrow otherwise what's the point in going through all this trouble. You know," he shifted his head to look at Damien and shrugged, "Carpe diem. What do you think?"

[Damien E. Dervish]

"Pip-pip and a bowl of Cheerios, mate!"

Damien continued to watch the owl outside.

"Yep. Seize the day. I'm thinkin' of checkin' out that door I saw behind the projection screen T.V. in the rec' room. Ya know, the secret I told ya about. You in?"

[Ghost]

"You just won't let it drop, will you?"

Chris shook his head and although he gave Damien a look of disbelief, the sly grin betrayed his amusement. He swivelled on the bed so that he was sat on the edge of it and stared out the window to see what his friend found so captivating. There was nothing but a gloomy dusk horizon, he shrugged.

"You are aware that I could be in and out of that room in a jiffy, right? Then again, if I were you I'd also wan't to avoid having my conspiracy theories debunked and keep the dream alive."

Damien was preoccupied. Chris sighed and plunged his index finger into his mouth, gave it a suck and pulled it out dripping with saliva. Expertly, he manouvered his soggy didgit closer then plunged it into his ear.

"Maybe this will teach you to listen, you furry midget!"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien jerked, and handled the wet willy without freaking out. He brought out one claw on his right pointer finger, and jabbed lightly at his palm. He jerked back, to look at the palm, which was unscathed.

"Remember, bubba. I was one of seven kids. And the smallest of the older ones. I'm immune to wet willies. And there's a really neat looking owl outside. As for conspiracy theories, I'm not sayin' that it's some sort of secret base or something. I mean, maybe it's just a storage room that keeps the really illegal or contraband stuff outta our grasps. Then again, it may be some sick and twisted dominatrix pit with the teachers as active participants. Who the heck knows? All I know is I'm curious. Why the secrecy? Is it just that the building dates back to the Underground Railroad, or was it just build by Cullen and then forgotten? That's what I wanna know...."

Damien finally turned to regard Chris, who was still "nursing" his hand on the bed.

"....and I wanna see it with my own eyes. Maybe it could be somethin' that could lead to even faster ways to circumnavigate the school, or something. Might just be a wetwall access hatch. But, like I said, I wanna find out. You in, or not?"

[Ghost]

"I'm in" he said, raising a finger, "But only because you said 'Dominatrix Pit' and if there's any chance- any chance of catching Professor's Beaumont and Florence sporting crotchless catsuits and taking turns to whip each other with leather flails while the other is strapped helplessly to a spanking bench..."

Chris shook himself around to his senses. He waggled his eyebrows at Damien.

"Let's do it!"

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien snickered quietly.

"Yeah. I ain't too sure what I'm expectin'. But, that does sound interestin'. Save for leather flails. They hurt, man!"

Damien then stands up slowly, his joints popping as he did.

"Not that I....ahem, wouldn't know."

Damien hoped Chris would note the double negative, as he gave a nervous chuckle. A strange history was one thing that Damien had.

[Ghost]

"Mate, I knew you were into that kinky stuff."

Chris stood, arms folded, and shook his head in amusement. For Damien he had a great deal of respect and admiration; he'd heard some of the colourful stories of his past and for someone who looks like furry hellspawn he certainly didn't allow it to hold him back. He often wondered what kind of person he would be if his mutation was apparent as his friend's - he liked to think he wouldn't be any different.

"So are we calling it a night?" he asked through a second thick yawn, and stretched skyward.

[RiffWrath]

Delete please.

[Damien E. Dervish]

The impish mutant nodded his head.


"So, you've heard that story from someone else. I must say, only half is true. It was actually a devil-worshipping cult of three goth girls. And they believed me to be hellspawn or somethin'. And then proceeded to convince me to come back home with them. Had to convince the parents I was goin' to a friend's house, and then it was an interestin' evenin' with a foursome. Of course, then they wanted to do bloodlettin', and I told them that hellspawn needed their rest. And when they believed that, and rested with me, they all soon fell asleep. And I awakened, havin' faked it, and got the hell outta there. Now, it's just another reason goth chicks pro'lly hate me."



DHe yawned, and stretched out a bit, wings expanding to their full length, before folding back in.


"Yeah. I'm gonna hit it as well. Seeya in the mornin', bubba. And thanks again for the vittles."



Damien left the room quietly, and made his way to his room.


Sleep that night was blessedly long, and hard. Damien rested his weary bones and muscles, and felt pretty refreshed in the morning when he rolled out of his bed at ten in the morning.

[Ghost]

Moments later, Damien's cell phone vibrated against his bedstand. There was a message waiting for him, three messages it turned out and they were opened in reverse order:

WAKE UP!!!

Then:

You can't be still asleep, seriously.

And finally:

Mornin mate, and what a morning, look outside: this is great!

Beyond his bedroom window, there was a bright buzz of young voices; the students were scattered casually throughout the grounds, they carried no books and there was no sign of any teachers to be found. There plan had succeeded - they'd given the students of Cullen's school a day liberated from study.

There was a knock at his door.

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien slowly rolled out of bed. He received the multitude of text messages from Chris, and slowly ventured to the window, to see the children of the school mulling about, no books in sight. Getting rid of the teacher's plans and books had indeed worked. They had a free day. Damien, dressed in his clean and pressed night clothes of smiley-face boxers, began his morning routine.

This routine consisted of stretches and other exercises, including hand-standing and walking on the hands. Upon going into the handstand, he began to do vertical presses, lowering and raising his body on just his arms. It was easy enough; Damien had done this every morning since he could remember. All the while, he found himself bored, so he looked around the room, surveying it.

His clothes from the night before were tossed into the laundry basket, and his wet towel from bathing hung near the heater and air conditoner vents to dry. And it was devoid of other life. Damien had been lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to get a room to himself. This took some time getting used to, living with seven other children in his home. It was quiet, and peaceful, yet Damien seemed a creature to thrive on chaos. He merely nodded his head, and continued his presses.

As he was near completion of his routine, still poised in a handstand, a knock on the door made Damien look over to it, red eyes snapping to it. He hand-padded his way over to the door, and grasped it between his feet, easily turning the knob. Then, it was a simple maneuver of walking backwards, both feet holding the knob, to pull the door open. Whoever knocking would get a view of the black-furred, diminuitive mutant in a handstand in his yellow, smiley-face boxers.

[Ghost]

"Nice..." he said, straight-faced at the sight which greeted him.

Behind Chris, the corridor was empty and strangely silent. He walked inside, leaving Damien to close the door in the same fashion with which he'd opened it. He took a seat.

"I appreciate a good night's sleep... and a good day's sleep as much as the next person but do you have any intention of being ready sometime today? We have plans, remember?"

The tone in his voice carried a combination of eagerness and anxiousness, clearly he'd been giving it a lot of thought. Damien plodded past with perfect balance. Chris shook his head with incredulity.

"Am I going to be talking to your colourful crotch all day?" he asked, then mused, "Oh well, at least its smiling at me..."

[Damien E. Dervish]

Damien's snort and chuckle were way more than audible as he tossed himself into the air, doing a double somersault before landing easily on his feet, right next to his cargo jean shorts. He pulled them up, making sure to adjust and thread his tail into the hole cut in the back just for it. He slid on a black Megadeth shirt onto his torso, quickly adjusting for his wings, threading them through similar slits in the back. Pulling up his socks, and tightly tying his sneakers on, Damien seemed ready to go. And in less than two minutes. He was incredibly fast, which seemed to make up for his diminuitive stature.

"You wish you could talk to mah colorful crotch all day..."

With a snicker, Damien slung his backpack onto his body, fastening it close to his body and adjusting yet again for his wings. It had been previously loaded up the night before for adventure, containing many things that they might need, and more than a few things they didn't. Taking a few steps, Damien slipped past his nightstand, swiping up his cell phone from the charger, sliping it into the holder.

"Funny that you sound eager to get goin'. You were the one that could do without the conspiracy theory, or the belief in a secret door behind the plamsa projection screen. Besides, we gotta get some breakfast to fully charge our batteries first, then follow up with throurough recon to keep up from gettin' caught. Could mean baaad news for us..."

He remained in the room, talking there so they wouldn't be overheard and possibly snitched on later by a goodie-two-shoes.

[Ghost]

"I've had breakfast. You do the eating. I'll do the recon but like I said, it worked like a charm so we won't have anything to worry about."

There was nothing left to discuss so they left the room. Chris lifted his cell phone pointedly.

"When you're finished give me a shout."

He pocketed his phone, turned, and headed down the corridor in the opposite direction to his friend.

[Damien E. Dervish]

amien nodded.

"Gotya, bo. I'll seeya soon."

With his stomach growling loudly as he left, the black-furred mutant made all haste to the cafeteria.

With the school being out for the day, they were serving healthy alternatives. That is, most of the students would be spending the day out, eating in the city. So, Damien made the most of the breakfast, and grabbed a little bit of everything, chowing down like there was no tomorrow.

After less than thirty minutes of chowing and a five minute wipe down, Damien texted Chris with a message.

Here's your shout.
Attached file: ShoutByDisturbed.mp3

With the file sent, Damien only chuckled to himself, sending a second message.

Enjoy. Meet @ 2nd Flr. Rec. Rm.

[Ghost]

While Damien ate, Chris enjoyed a casual stroll throughout the mansion. It was unusually quiet indoors and the sound of distant chatter and laughter could be heard in every room and corridor. A swell of pride filled him up and put something of a spring in his step and when he happened across members of staff, he was friendly and helpful. He even offered suggestions for places to look, each one a red herring of course, and took great pleasure in observing their frantic attempts to locate the missing texts.

In every room, he took the time to open windows and supply the stifling air with a fresh breeze. All unlocked doors were left open to improve circulation and to convenience his reconnaissance. He was confident that their impending mission would go uninterrupted by interfering professors. His investigation was hitherto without incident or distraction, and then he bumped into a band of youngsters engaged in a furious water fight; jets of water struck true from impressive range in the hallway, light danced in shallow pools in which a ginger-furred boy slipped and shook himself dry, bulging rubbery bombs exploded in showers against bodies and walls and screams and laughter rang clear above it all.

The children failed to notice Chris approaching and were thusly shocked when one of their bombs was sent awry by a girl with a gale-force sneeze. He stood dripping from head to foot, the water bomb having successfully burst upon contact with his face. He wiped at his eyes, gave the children a scolding look, then robbed the nearest of two plastic neon pink pistols and engaged his enemies like an old pro. The screams and laughter resumed. Moments later, the shrill cry of Professor Yamada's voice pierced the air from beyond the corridor, and the group of soaking students vanished - some literally, including Chris, and he reappeared in the vacant recreation room. His phone beeped twice, he read Damien's messages and replied:

Already here. Ready when you are, Flash.

And while he waited, he listened to Damien's song, the sound of music drowned out the gentle pitter-patter of water dripping from his clothes onto the varnished wooden floor.

[Damien E. Dervish]

The wood-finished hallways were cramped with the disorder of children moving through them, with no particular place to go other than to their usual haunts and fun spots. With that said, there was virtually no order to their movement.

Normally, Damien would've made it through the hallways and to the second floor recreation room in like five minutes. But his stature, and the students being disorderly doubled the time it took to traverse the halls and stairways.

Ten minutes later, the impish mutant found himself avoiding several water puddles as he stepped into the recreation room. It was currently sporting a few youngsters playing a game of pool, money laid down on the table. They were gambling. Normally a no-no, but with the staff too busy looking for text books, and probably being mislead every step of the way, the students got away with it easily.

It was all too easy to spot Chris, still listening to the song that Damien had sent him. Damien could hear it blaring from the Englishman's phone. Apparently, he enjoyed the tune. Damien walked up, noting that he was soaked. Upon arrival, he pulled a hand towel from his bag, and tossed it up to Chris.

"There ya go, bubba. That should do it."

He looked over to the kids playing pool. He tossed a casual thumb their way, being somewhat quiet as he spoke again.

"What we gonna do 'bout them?"