Ichiiro walked in out of the rain feeling like a drowned rat
and looking like a cross between a weeping willow and
an oil-soaked spiderweb.

As he looked across the room, he could see a number
of familiar figures. The school's Sorcery and
Witchcraft clubs were clustered in one area,
cramming from massive spellbooks and listening
intently to Kaji-sensei. A ragtag group was near
the center of the room, consisting of various demons,
fuku-wearers, and other magical sorts. There were a
variety of people in power armor in one corner, and --

Makoto grabbed onto his arms from both sides. "Come
on!" he said from Ichiiro's right. "The kempo club
should be in the back corner."

"Although," she noted from his left as she dragged
him away, "since we're not that good, we'll probably
be seconded to the power armor people."

"Power armor?"

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

West Eastwood High
Part 4: It's like Sailor Moon, only not.
Created by Eslington, this part by Nathan Baxter

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

"Hey, Makoto?" Ichiiro asked, "Why are we here?"

"Well," said Makoto-kun, "Since the school is probably
the most concentrated center of oddness in the city,
the government decided to use it as a resource against
demonic invasions, supervillians, that sort of thing."

"But," continued Makoto-chan, "Since we're kids, they
didn't want to put us into direct combat."

"So," finished Makoto-kun, "We work with the civil
service."

"Evacuations, that sort of thing."

"Well, most of us anyway."

"Some of the people here, you couldn't keep them away with
a stick."

"Gah," Ichiiro said.

"What?" "What?"

"The way you alternate like that. Scary."

"Oh." "Oh."

"And..."

"What?"

"Well," he bit his lip. "Why am I here?"

"Huh?"

"_Me_, I mean. I'm nothing special. Wouldn't it be better
to have me out of the way?"

"Heh. As far as the government is concerned, anyone at
this school is a loaded gun of weirdness. They're too
stupid to distinguish."

"Ahhhhh..." Ichiiro nodded wisely.

  * * * * * * * *

Alarm clocks are an old and venerable tradition. The first
known alarm was based off of the Egyptian water clock,
which worked by letting water flow at a fixed rate out of
a marked bucket. The alarm came when there was sufficient
water in the bucket catching the runoff to tip same over...
right onto the person to be woken.

Luckily for Mrs. Hoshino, her son's example of this breed
of clock was much more modern. She was a working woman,
and did not have time to replace soaked sheets every day.

{{KSSSSHHHHHHHHH-ello, Ladies and Gentlemen! This is
Eastwood Morning Radio News! Biggest news at the moment: a
minor demon invasion was foiled last night due to the
combined efforts of city police and students from West
Eastwood High. You can be proud of your kids, folks. They
did good. Moving on to the weath-}}

[OK body,] Ichiiro thought, [status check time.]

Teeth: fuzzy.
Mouth: foul tasting.
Head: hurting.
Body: aching.
Joints: owwww...

Historical check: Ummm... Climb in the suit... Help the
people evacuate... See the demon... demon goes for people...
try to fight the demon... get beat up by demon... blackness.

Plan check: Today's... Thursday. A school day. He had to go
to school.

He groaned, a terrible rattling sound that should have come
from Twilight of the KILLER SPACE ZOMBIES Part XI.

His viewpoint shifted suddenly, and he was standing in the
bathroom, looking into the mirror. He had apparently been
too zoned to remember getting out of bed.

He didn't look as bad as he felt. Some of his skin was
still its original color, and his eyes were only a little
bit red, not bleeding pits of barbed-wired agony.

First priority: get this taste out of his mouth.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Arrrrg.

I think I've finally realised why I have a hard time writing Impro: My mind
takes to long to come up with ideas.

Well, I hope that this isn't overly disruptive.