Survival Of The Fittest

You could hear her coming from the click-clack of her platform-heels, even before she threw open the door and greeted the whole room.

"HIIIIIIIIIEEEE!"

[Tenshi Marie Anastasie Fukushima-Yves: START]

Her greeting was echoed only by the room's walls (or maybe she imagined it).

Tenshi blinked, staring out at the room with all its vacant chairs in rows. Wasn't the choir supposed to meet here? She looked around, and was still alone. Was she just really early?

Well she wasn't alone for long - a couple of students she didn't recognize filed past her, muttering their "excuse me"s as they did so, causing Tenshi to step aside - and they went for the instrument storage. What?

(If the choir had to learn how to play instruments too, Tenshi would be in insulted disbelief. Could the band not do their jobs?)

She turned back to the door she came in through, and finally noticed a paper stuck to it. "Choir moved to Thursday," it said, "Band now on Tuesday". And Tuesday was today, when choir should have been. No way she would have seen it on her way coming in, it was on the inner side of the door. She scoffed at the sign, so inconveniently placed.

And to think, Tenshi was so prepared to go all out for the first choir meet. She wore her cutest pair of shoes, and got her most eye-catching hairclips (so many hearts!), and was so ready to go into this year proving she still had it! Really, all her practice over the summer was for this first meet. Despite everything, she could still sing and nothing at all would make her shut up in any way, and all eyes would be on her, and-

And to think.

Tenshi yanked open the door and shook her head, grumbling as she walked away to spend her lunchtime elsewhere. She'd be back on Thursday.

[Tenshi Maria Anastasie Fukushima-Yves continued in Beach Blonde More Like Book Brunette]

"Would it kill you to say excuse me?!"

But it was too late. The one who bumped into her was huffing off down the hallway. Jackass.

[Iliya "Liya" Polaris: START]

Liya turned and walked away, the fingers that held onto the handle of the bass' case curling in an almost fist-like manner. You ever look at someone for about two seconds and just know they're a jerk? She was probably the kind of person who thought her fucking handbag deserved a seat on a bus. Ugh.

She entered and sat down - didn't seem like anyone else was here on this Wednesday noon. Lunch was a done deal, and so now she took the bass guitar out of its pack while wondering seriously what the fuck was that? Who does that? Bump into someone and just, not fucking look back? How self-centered do you need to be?

Anyway she took out the bass guitar and rested it, on her leg crossed over the other one. As she began to strum it, her mind continued to wander. Actually wander was a lie. It remained firmly lodged in seriously, what the fuck? Oh, she bet it was one of the school's population of rich snobs. Those people definitely believed their handbags deserve a seat of their own, since they cost more money than some kids' meals for a week. It probably cost more than a whole-ass adult hen. It always fucking comes back to rich fucks! Doesn't it?

Actually, how much does an adult hen go for? She fished out her phone to check, but that's when she noticed something else - email notifs. Mostly just updates on various things that slipped her mind because they were unimportant and she never had the time for them anyway not helped that also they were worded in the most twee fucking way that just made Liya see red if she was already annoyed. Like she was right now.

One of them, though, caught her attention. She thought she'd never see that name again. Anna? That Anna? No way.

The door creaked open about a sixth of the way, and a young lass lad lass lad lass carrying too many binders and a lunchbox, but soon to be carrying a flute case (hopefully!), peeked through.

"Hello?!"

[Meena Kumar: START]

No greetings came through the tiny opening. That much was expected, especially today. What she did hear was the low strumming of a bass guitar. Less expected, for the band to have a bass player.

She opened the door further. What she definitely wasn't expecting was the bass player, some lady in a... punk goth thing, sitting alone in the room, strumming the bass. It wasn't that early, surely there should be more band members here, right? But maybe Meena was early. It was pretty early in the school year, and tons of band folks were probably just lost freshmen at this point. Even as she overthought it, she went to take a seat.

Only then did she think to check her phone.

"Band meeting on Tuesday", said the email from a day ago... Tuesday. But the sign on the door said...! Meena's mind raced. How did she miss that? How did the door-

Lunchbox and binders thuddered onto the floor next to her chair as Meena ran over to the door, and peeked over to its front side. "Band practice - Tuesday" it said. Under it, "General Practice - Wednesday". Whatever that meant. But she read - was she going crazy? She was getting worse at reading and couldn't even blame it on her glasses. Scrolling through websites quickly she'd catch glimpses of words that caused her to double take and scroll back, only to not find it at all. This was just another form of that, wasn't it? These eyes were useless. What part of the brain let you read again? Because Meena's was also useless.

Her gaze was pointed to the ground as she went back to her chair. Her gaze was always pointed at the ground but she felt it in her neck more sometimes. She should improve her posture maybe, so made the point to sit up straight in the chair.

It was just her and the bass guitar player... girl... person. The band supervisor wasn't here and... when was music class? She couldn't take out a flute right now, could she? She should have planned this better. She could have read better. She took a peek in her lunchbox. The condensed tuppeware forshadowed a soggy chicken lunch. She checked her phone again, maybe that email again. She had to remember to check her email. Right now she couldn't read much because she kept getting distracted by pings from... Discord? Was the server having an argument again? Something from a friend (well, a discord friend anyway) desperately asking "am I an asshole. answer honestly". Meena was afraid to look. It was rude to leave her hanging. It was dread inducing to think of responding. She should have just read the email properly and gone to band yesterday oh god she was so stupid.

Meena hated sobbing in public over stupid things.

As she was wiping her eyes she heard hasty clicks of various cases and equally hasty footsteps away, before the door clicked closed.

[Iliya "Liya" Polaris continued in With Great Awkwardness Comes Great Responsibility]

And that gave Meena permission to cry even more.

[Meena Kumar continued Elsewhere]

So maybe music wasn't the best way to get an easy, average-boosting grade, and it actually took like, skill and shit. That he didn't have. And as it turned out, the fuckers in the school band made playing the clarinet look easy and not like some kind of eldritch mystery. Okay. Okay. Okay. You live and learn. He lived and learned last year and he wasn't about to live and learn whether accidentally keeping a clarinet over the summer counted as theft valued at a thousand dollars, which was the average price a clarinet he saw on ebay.

Jesus christ.

Daniel gently opened the door.

[Daniel Ozanne: START]

Ah. It was one of his fellow students shriveled up on the floor sobbing.

He took in a deep breath and surveyed the situation. "Uhh, hey...?" he said, stepping inside, with a small wave. No response, only sobbing. He reached out his hand and waved it a bit closer to their vision. They turned away. He retracted his hand and stepped back.

Maybe he should just, y'know, not. He hugged the walls, giving the mental breakdown unfolding before him ample room, as he squirreled the clarinet case back into its cubby like it never left. His hand was still on the damn case as he glanced back, just so he could see it in the corner of his vision, as he pondered what to do next.

He glanced at the sign out sheet. His name was still on there, and surprisingly enough, so was his signature, "proving" he returned it. Already. Even though he only really returned it now. He wondered if that was also a crime. But really, he wasn't gonna complain or think too hard on that anymore - thanks for the alibi, Past Daniel!

So. Now for the more immediate problem. That, Daniel couldn't do anything about. Other people's deepest inner turmoils and torments were none of his business until he decided to make them his business, and that was like doing surgery on a bear currently trying to maul you most of the time.

Still, there were small things to be done. Carefully, as if he were still a thousand-dollar thief, he plucked a tissue box from the teacher's desk in the corner by the instrument cubbies and placed it on a chair in the crying student's general proximity.

And then he made his great escape.

[Daniel Ozanne continued in Predetermination]