Diary of a Teenaged Mimic

Dear Diary,

I expected to wake up sore, but when Saffron knocked on my door well before breakfast like we’d planned the night before, I hopped out of bed with barely a twitch. Some aches in my arms and legs, but the kind of good ache that says you used your muscles, not the bad ache that says you’ve overused them. I didn’t bother to pull on yesterday’s togs just to open the door; what with it just being girls in the dorm, I figured I didn’t need to. Before you get all judgey and say something about Bill, I don’t know what Bill identifies as, but the dorm identifies him as a girl, and that’s good enough for me. Besides, y’know, crappiest Strength and Endurance. I’m not worried he’s going to overpower me and steal my virtue. Not like that really exists at this point, but still. Hell, best in class in Agility, even if I’m not into short guys with dad bods that might translate into some interesting contortions, y’know?

Yeah, anyway, I pulled the door open enough to see Saffron. ”Hey! I’m up! I’ll meet...”

She cut me off, her gaze rising to meet mine as her face went red. ”Tabitha! What the fuck?”

I’d forgotten her eye level is right around tit level on me. Not that I really cared; I didn’t think Saffron swung that way. At any rate, she didn’t seem to appreciate the view, so I closed the door a bit before saying, ”I’ll meet you guys in the Dining Hall as soon as I’m dressed, okay?”

She rolled her eyes as she said, ”Yeah, I’ll see you there.” She sniffed a little as she turned, then said, ”Nice perfume. I might want to borrow that some time.”

I closed the door before that conversation could go any further. Whether she liked the smell or not, I didn’t think she’d want to rub me all over herself just to smell like my body odor. Then again, it’d probably be more like me rubbing her under my arms, what with the size difference and all.

Okay, I was a little late for breakfast.

Anyhow, I got down there before the rest of the students finished filing into the Hall, made a beeline to our table and laid waste to half a dozen trays of food before duBois showed up. About halfway through, I spotted Marie at the next table over and popped out of my seat to talk to her.

”Good Morning, Marie!”

She turned to face me, her spine twisting way too far as she did so without moving her feet at all, or even moving the tray she held much. Then she just stared at me.

”Could you please bring me a bath tonight after dinner?”

A couple kids gave me weird looks about that, but fuck ’em. Marie nodded, and I went back to vacuuming up food as fast as I could stuff it in my mouth. After two weeks of stuffing myself, I still hadn’t put on anything approaching a paunch. My new metabolism rocked. I mean, it would rock more if I had a little more variety and a lot more spice in my diet, but gluttons can’t be choosers, I guess.

As we’d done the previous Sunday, we bolted the moment duBois showed up in the Dining Hall. Somehow he beat us to the Practice Yard anyhow, standing there in his usual spot, not a drop of sweat on him. Either he didn’t much care about breakfast or he’d eventually get pissed at us for cutting his meals short; either way I’d call it a win. We stood there At Ease until the rest of the class trickled in like half an hour after us. Just as the sun peeked over the edge of the walls around us, the Marshall stretched and shook his head. ”Now that everyone’s here, or at least they should be here, let’s get started.”

The last set of running boots behind us went silent as we all snapped into Parade Rest at duBois’ announcement.

”So, which of you Cadets can tell me why I had you play Squadball last week, and why I’ll continue doing so on a regular basis?”

Several hands shot up, including mine.

”Cadet Rosen.”

”Because it’s good exercise, trains our ability to hit targets with thrown weapons, and Squadballs are less likely to produce immediately fatal injuries than most other practice weapons?”

DuBois pursed his lips and nodded. ”All true, and all excellent reasons to play. Not what I was thinking of though. Anyone else?”

Again the hands shot up; I’d left mine up.

”Cadet Morson.”

One of the bigger guys in the class answered, his voice even deeper than the Marshall’s. ”Because it tires us out and lets us vent some steam, so we’re able to focus on class the rest of the week?”

The Marshall actually chuckled at that a little. ”Not a good enough reason to put it on the rotation so frequently, but I’m also not going to say you’re wrong. Anyone else?”

I didn’t hear any hands go up, but the kids I could see without turning my head left theirs up when duBois called on Morson.

”Aetos?”

”It’s a good way to practice squad level tactics?”

The Marshall actually smiled as he said, ”excellent! I don’t know if any of you have watched professional Squadball, and I’m equally unsure how many of you have done so while watching the Mana flows on the field, but at that level instead of the simple marking Enchantments we use on our balls, they have mild paralysis Enchantments as well. Tanks wear vambraces which specifically negate the paralyzing effect, all the players have gloves that do the same, and any professional level Healer knows the Spell to remove the effect. Most of them have practiced it until it’s a Skill, as well.”

”Now, who can tell me why I won’t be using that type of equipment during any Squadball rounds during Combat Training?”

This one I didn’t have to guess at, I knew exactly why. My hand shot up along with a few others.

”Cadet Lancaster?”

”That equipment is expensive, and the school doesn’t want to pay for it?”

That brought a frown to the Marshall’s face. ”No, Lancaster. Not everything is about money, nor are poverty or miserliness the sole reasons someone doesn’t own something expensive.” He looked across the formation for a moment before calling out, ”Cadet Smith?”

”We don’t know the Spell to remove the paralysis?”

DuBois nodded. ”Not the answer I’m looking for, but a good one nonetheless.” He looked around, his gaze finally landing on me. ”Cadet Diaz?”

”Two reasons, sir. First, training should be harder than the thing you’re training for, and getting hammered by a ball is harder than getting paralyzed by one. The second reason, the one I think is probably righter, is because in the real world people are gonna be throwing meaner sh... things than paralysis spells.”

”Meaner shit indeed, Cadet. Honestly, playing with headbands and markers isn’t much harder than playing with professional equipment, but you’re right about training harder than you intend to fight. If the hardest fight you ever have in your career is one here in the Practice Yard at Phileo Heroic, I’ll consider your training successful. Now, Rider, Driver, Aetos, and Rogers go get all the Squadball equipment and bring it back to the middle of the field.” With that, he gestured and glowing lines split the Yard into four quadrants, just like our previous games of SquadBall.

We’d done pretty well last time, so we decided to stick with what worked today. Unfortunately, while Lancaster was an absolute loss as a team captain, his two cronies each had a team, and neither of them was quite as stupid as their leader. They’d switched to our two Healer setup, even putting whoever they thought strongest as their Tank. By lunchtime, we’d won more rounds than any other team, but we didn’t shut the others down like we’d done the week before. The final tally came out to six games for us, three for Rosen, and one for Rider. I really thought Lancaster’s team would mutiny at some point, but apparently whatever influence his money bought him extended to the kids on his team.

At lunch, in between chowing down, Saffron and I talked quietly about how to change things up while Angel and Bill filled the air with noise. They sang a few songs, and I learned that Bill couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. They shot ever more off-color ’yo mama’ jokes at each other, and while I didn’t get the references in half of them, Bill came out the pretty clear winner. Right around when it looked like duBois might be finished eating, we all stood and jogged up to the Practice Yard. No point in trying to outrun someone who could and would teleport up the moment we stood. The other Cadets all followed us, with Lancaster bringing up the rear, albeit not by that much. He cleared the doors just before I got into formation behind Saffron.

For the afternoon match, we’d decided to go Tankless, with me switching to Caster and the others all remaining as they were. It worked pretty well, what with the opposing Tanks focusing on Angel’s frankly scary shots. She’d throw, and the opposition Tank would do whatever it took to get their forearms up and in the path of her throw. Meanwhile, once the Tank committed, I’d aim at their thighs. The first time I nailed Lancaster’s Tank, he screamed, ”time out! Time out!” as his Tank curled into the fetal position.

”No time outs in battle, Lancaster!” replied the Marshall.

”But she aimed below the belt!”

Amusement filled the Marshall’s voice when he replied, ”y’know, I’m sure I told you that we weren’t playing pro Squadball here in the Yard, didn’t I?”

Things got more chaotic after that, since it’s really rough to get your forearms to cover your thighs, and if you did, you couldn’t cover your body as well. Oddly enough, our team didn’t suffer much at all from the change in the Rules of Engagement, since we’d gone Tankless for the afternoon. Catching a ball aimed below the belt is easier than blocking it with your forearms, not to mention moving one hand is easier than both arms.

During a game roughly an hour before dinner, I rushed the line to nail Lancaster as he recovered from throwing a ball at someone else. His Tank dove into the way, and Lancaster threw a second ball he’d been holding at me before his Tank even cleared his line of fire. He managed to miss his Tank, and my fingers stung as the ball hammered into my hands. Nothing broke, but the ball bounced out of my hands and onto the ground, rolling across the line before I could catch it. Hoping no one would spot it, I jumped across the line, grabbed the ball, and jumped back.

Lancaster saw it, of course, and screamed out, ”she crossed the line! She’s offsides!”

The Marshall’s voice filled the Yard when he replied, ”I know I told you we weren’t playing by pro Squadball rules, Lancaster. Suck it up.”

After that, things got really chaotic, with Casters charging into other quadrants to get better shots. Somebody figured out that if they stepped on the lines themselves, a warning buzzer would sound, and the perpetrator would receive a shock strong enough to floor them; on at least one occasion their Healer had to drag them off the line when they fell on it and couldn’t get themselves back up.

Finally, in what I figured would be the last game of the afternoon, I went over the line to get a better shot at Lancaster. His Tank managed to dive in between us, and I winced at the crack when my throw hammered into his arms from point blank range. Lancaster, of course, threw as soon as he could see me past his Tank, and at that range even his noodle arms could throw hard enough for my fingers to go numb when the ball hit them. Before I could recover, he threw another, this one straight at my face. I wound up on the ground, blood gushing from my nose, and it was small comfort to see Lancaster hit the ground clutching at his crotch a second later when Angel nailed him from about six feet away.

The Marshall had us escort each other to the Infirmary. I say ’escort’, but Lancaster whined so much I wound up carrying him.

No princess carry for him, though. He squawked about my ’stinky’ ass being in his face all the way down to the entrance to the boy’s dorm, and squawked even more when I dumped him there like the sack of human garbage he was.