193/Star Power

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Star Power
Date of Scene: 29 February 2020
Location: Happy Harbor High
Synopsis: Fairchild meets America Chavez
Cast of Characters: Caitlin Fairchild, America Chavez




Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Grading papers is the least entertaining part of the job at Happy Harbor. Teaching, coaching, mentoring, it's all something Caitlin Fairchild is excited to do and enjoys immensely.

Trying to understand scribblings of students who are ambivalent about their handwriting, on the other hand, is mentally taxing in the extreme.

The sciences lab doubles as her office, and Caitlin's there alone after hours. Normally a 'sweats and tights' casual dresser, she's dug into her closet for professional clothing. A teal blouse, knee-length skirt, and sensible slippers with a low heel make for a modest but relatively stylish look. With her hair pinned back and in a bun (safety first, kids!) and slightly yellow-tinted glasses, she looks every inch the abstracted researcher or librarian. The lab coat hanging on hte rack behind her, stained and burned in a few places, perhaps helps identify her as being in the right place.

"That's not a Lewis structure, it's a *doodle*," she breathes finally, and firmly marks a '0 points' in red-inked response to the answer on the paper in front of her.

America Chavez has posed:
thunk.

It's a sound like a student leaning back too heavily in their chair. Somewhere distant, as though down at the very opposite end of the corridor. It'd make sense for students to be making a ruckus, save that the majority of them have gone home for the night.

THUNK.

It's closer now. More urgent. Like someone's in one of the classrooms that butts onto this one banging desktops or throwing themselves into walls. It has a momentary eeriness, and even the pens in their little plastic holder on the desk seem to rattle ominous.

THUNK!

The last sound is accompanied by an intense, white flash that fills up the opposite end of the science lab. A hole that seems punched through reality itself, in the shape of a five-pointed star, appears there. The border of the star is highlighted in that searing light, but looking through the actual 'hole' shows a strange, half-destroyed cityscape overgrown with plants and what looks like a bunch of people in post-apocalyptic dress dancing around a bonfire.

In the middle of it is a woman in a hoodie and fitted shorts that end at the tops of her thigh, one defined leg raised as though she just kicked a door down. Except instead of a door, it's the polite wall between dimensions that keeps them from getting in each other's business. She steps through the portal and it snaps shut behind her like it was never there, and the woman shove her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She looks towards Caitlin, tilting her chin up in greeting.

"Hey, this isn't the one with the zombies, is it? I hate that one."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"What on ear--"

Caitlin's on her feet with surprising speed, pushing back fast from the desk so she doesn't violently upend it when she stands. Her instincts are what any good chemist's are: grab a fire extinguisher! It also doubles as a handy weapon in a pinch, as no one likes getting hit with a 100mph fastball that weighs 15 pounds.

Which is how America finds Caitlin, half winding up a pitch when the woman speaks up. Her ambivalent tone and non-aggressive posture save Miss Chavez an awkward encounter with the redhead, who blinks owlishly and then sets the extinguisher back down.

"The, uh, what?" Caitlin says, a bit at a loss for words. It's not every day someone just teleports into a room like that. Weekend stuff, maybe, but this is a work day!

America Chavez has posed:
"You don't look like a zombie," America says with a shrug of her shoulders, hands still shoved in the pockets of her hoodie as she takes several steps forward and peers around the lab, "Last I checked that place was all zombies. If you're here and not cradling a shotgun like you're loca, it's probably not that one."

She pauses a moment, turns on her heels, and slouches her way in the direction of the door. She opens it, leans outside to look into the hall, and then steps back inside. She juts out her bottom lip, as though appraising it all and finding it more or less acceptable.

"It's one of those mushed-up ones," she tells Caitlin, as though that ought to make total sense, and then jabs out a hand towards her, "Ms. America Chavez. That's 'Ms.' like 'buzz' not 'Miss' like 'hiss.' America's the same, presuming you have that here."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin gives America a wary look as the girl paces around. A subtle touch to her braclet on her left wrist sends a glimmer of near-invisible light to her left eye as she starts recording the entire, very strange encounter!

When America walks up and offers a handshake, Caitlin gives her a flickering once-over. Apparently she decides to trust her instincts and relaxes slightly to accept the handshake. There's zero give under her grip, though she carefully puts no effort into it.

"Dr. Caitlin Fairchild," Caitlin says to match America's precision. She still sounds a little proud of her relatively newly acquired laurels. "I'm one of the sciences teacher here at Happy Harbor. I also still have *no* idea what you're talking about," she says, candidly. "And also, how did you get *here*? Was that some sort of wormhole or teleportation effect?"

America Chavez has posed:
America, on the other hand, probably puts in more grip than she ought to. It's the sort of grip that crushes steel like a paper cup, the young woman momentarily forgetting that not everybody sports that same kind of heft. Still, for someone as strong and durable as Caitlin it wouldn't be anything more than alarming. The handshake done, her hands retreat back to her pockets again and she chews thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek.

"Doctor? Aren't doctors old? Or weirdos in metal suits with spooky last names like 'Doom' and 'Catastrophe'? You don't look like a weirdo. If you're old I guess you don't look it. That's cool."

America gives the room another look around, drawing her mouth into a thin and thoughtful line. The question about the portals prompts her to look back over her shoulder towards where the star portal had been moments earlier.

"Star portal. I kick, I go. You -," America clicks her tongue, the well-recognized look of an exasperated teen explaining the Internet to a grandparent crossing her face, "You're a science doctor. You know how you've got this universe?" She holds out one hand flat, "Well, there's other ones all stacked up next to it. Like rooms in a house, you know?" She puts another hand on top of it, before folding the one beneath that onto the other over and over like a stack.

"I go through them. Like you saw."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"Hey, I'm only twenty-five," Caitlin protests America. "It's just a matter of hard work and lots of studying. The 'star portals', though, those seem a bit more important than academics," she says. One can almost see the gears churning behind those green eyes. "I'm not a physcist, but I understand the basic theory of p-brane transdimensional theory," she assures America. "It's technically a little inaccurate to say they're stacked on top of each other; really they all exist coterminately, but in different states of quantum resonance."

Her mouth works back and forth, making her nose twitch almost inquisitively under furrowed brows. "I've never heard of someone 'punching' through dimensions, though. That's a new one for me," she admits. "I always thought the only way to do it was with a tachyon accelerator or a subatomic collimator. You don't have one of those, do you?"

America Chavez has posed:
"I mean, whatever," America says with a dismissive wave of her hand, turning around to face the back of the lab and pulling herself up to sit on the end of the teacher's desk, "I think they're all stacked together like that. Agree to disagree, huh?"

She slouches on the end of the desk, letting her feet dangle a few inches above the floor and pointing the toes of her boots down at the linoleum. All at once she presents that teenage air of intense disinterest, as though boredom were her natural state and no matter how exciting things get around here she can't drift too far from shrugs and eyerolls.

"I got a foot," she offers, in lieu of a tachyon accelerator, and points to her toe, "I also use it for walking and kicking ass."