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Lilian Rook     There isn't too much of a point describing the purpose of where you're going. It happens year after year. Thirty Multiversal Elites have taken their run through it; you can ask any of them. They couldn't tell you 'where you're going' in a serious sense, because the final Warpgate on the trip is the point where GPS, tracking signals, and topographical sensory input give out or cut off at a strangely sharp boundary a few miles around. The obfuscation of details from altitude to hemisphere seem completely intentional that one can only conclude that it isn't supposed to be on a map.

    You'd never guess where by sight. The surroundings are little more than a buffer space, filled with aesthetically curated nature to beautify disguise its purpose as a means of isolation. You can only see civilization as a misty blue strip of city on the horizon, but it's so loosely spaced yet strikingly tall that you can't consider it to be like any urban area you know of. If you didn't know better, you'd say it's a little weird how 'off' the architecture is, but . . .
        You're not here for that. You're here for the 'House of Seven Worthies', if you're into the appealingly grandiloquent, or if you prefer the drily legal, you can find the subscript of 'Administrative Offices of Enlightened Examinations and Permissions' somewhere outside. What that means is evident in the very air, oversaturated with ambient mystic energy to such an unrealistic extent that it's forced into you by sheer osmotic pressure. It makes it headily invigorating for those with the means to process metaphysical energies in their bodies, like a cup of coffee and petrichor with every breath, and suffocatingly toxic to those without. That alone is a statement of why this place is here, and how it came to be.

    The site itself is a gigantic hemisphere of honeycomb metal lattice and dark crystal panels standing on the green, with a sprawling snowflake pattern of converging paths around it. Getting close enough to the heavily checkpoints to be sorted into visitors and business, you can faintly hear the sounds of field exercises far behind it; that's the best way you can describe so many weird noises and very faint rumbling.

    The indoors is climate controlled in several significant capacities. It's pleasantly shaded, lit by dimmed sunlight from the crystal exterior, the ideal warmth for exercise, and filtered down to a more sane level of magical saturation. It's probably relevant to certification that you not be refilling your metaphorical mana bar with every breath, but it's coincidentally a lifesaver to anyone who would choke on it. More striking, once you actually see the ceiling inside, you realize there must be dozens of floors to this place. Even if they shrink as they go (spheres are like this), it's still far more space than you might anticipate.

    Lilian herself is able to casually lead the group past grandly modern check-in desks, down fashionably blued steel and white-plated hallways, off a main thoroughfare of modest straffic, and diverge into something at least comfortingly familiar as a personal storage room; albeit more like what they offer at art galleries than swimming pools. Once upon a time, she was so terribly proud to talk like a tour guide the entire time. Now she goes about finding individual one-locker stalls for people, repeating the code instructions, and putting away her own things, with blasé efficiency.

    "To reiterate, you'll be here for seven discrete steps in examination and certification. There's no real reason except that people like numbers such as seven." says Lilian, taking a moment to mutter-whisper 'and three, five, thirteen . . .' as if it meant something. "The first and the last one are the hardest, so abandon all hopes of starting easy and saving for the sprint, or going all out and coasting over the hump; they thought of that already, and said it's symbolic of 'humanity endures'. Pace yourself, physically and mentally, accordingly."
Lilian Rook     She's actively counting off on her fingers as she goes, solely for emphasis on inventory. "Excellence of the body, refinement of enlightenment, virtue of word, depths of knowledge, practical prowess, resilience of mind, and externalized arcana. In that order." For a split second, a certain indescribable energy bar visibly starts to fill inside of her, and is dumped by the next sentence like resisting a temptation. "They'll be testing for your physical abilities, mystical strength and control, your ability to represent yourself in interviews and answering questions, your psychological resilience, and they'll try to push your limits on any special abilities they see."

    Lilian finds occasion to smile for a moment. "As amusing as it'd be to have them change the rules for you, SOP is to dispense with 'knowledge', because there's no way an outside entrant would know the academia, and 'prowess', because they can pull up your combat records anyways. They probably already have, in fact."

    ". . . Which is to say, as well: consider what you show them. You'll receive a grade and certification based on the maximum extent of what you show you can do, but it's an open secret that not everyone shows all their cards. Even if the examiners can tell-- and they probably can-- they won't push you on it. This place is a testament to the collective love for the idea of a unified and cooperative future, not a result of a real one." You can hear Lilian close her locker door between sentences. "Still, if you want to operate above-table here, you're only as good as the ID you can show to most people. You've already had enough close calls lately, right?"

    The traditional words of 'I'll be here for my anual, so if you need help, just give me a shout' are absent.

    A small comfort is that, unlike every medical or athletic office ever, nobody stops you to take your biometrics. You're pretty sure they automatically capture what's necessary to put on an ID as you step through the gates, but you've heard a million times from Lilian that the upper class here has a sort of non-aggression pact about invasive scans. Given the first floor (s), the largest, for that purpose, is physical training, those with nothing appropriate to wear can at least access rental athletic outfits of some kind of graphite grey, upsettingly comfy stretch fit material.

    
Angela Angela, basically, wants to work for Lilian Rook when she is free so she is sending three relatively trustworthy Agents on this examination, but also three very different Agents.

Justin Rook is an Agent that hasn't been seen that often as of late, but Angela pulling him away from events that would lead him into proximity to Lilian Rook seems to no longer be happening. He is a serious looking young man with long messy black hair and has brought along his EGO Gear which is, notably, a skull attached to a long cross-shaped mace. His primary talent is a care for professional behavior and is otherwise a bit of an all-rounder when it comes to physical ability, without being a master in any particular trait.

Nonon, everybody's friend, has also come along. She is, despite being an Agent of Disciplinary, not the MOST disciplined lady around--though Shajo has been stepping in it instead of her as of late. She is friendly, cheerful, and is also a very muscular 7 foot tall woman wearing the GOLD RUSH Ego Gear which is a giant gauntlet that makes her already imposing fist that much more imposing! Her specialty is taking hits and dealing hits and is genuinely a friendly lady. She also used to be a pirate!

And finally there's Cinder. Cinder is a woman with red hair with blackened tips and bright blue eyes. She is carrying a sword that looks like it's perpetually just been pulled out of a fireplace. She seems anxious despite smiling a lot. Her specialty is...Being Petra's girlfriend theoretically. She can fight pretty well, but she isn't the best fighter. She isn't especially good at taking hits either. She is brave, but only reasonably so. Maybe her specialty is being someone who is actually happy working for Lobotomy Corp. Nevertheless, she is pretty much here because Angela trusts her in a way that she doesn't trust other Agents because Cinder has made it clear where her allegiences lie--and that makes her useful.

Angela and Gebura are on pads but Angela is busy minding the facility so Gebura is the one who is paying hte most mind to what's going on right now and is presently on Nonon's wrist. Gebura is here because her presence discourages tomfoolery to some extent. She has stolen Cinder's ansi color and taken it for herself and won't return it until after the 'mission' is complete.

"Yes ma'am." Justin says. As the only Captain present, Nonon and Cinder.

''and three, five, and thirteen''

"The Code," Angela absently murmurs.

"I don't expect much out of you," Gebura says. "Just don't humiliate us in the interviews." Gebura says though, of course, all three want to do their best regardless for each their own reasons.
Lilian Rook     Considering some of the work you may have already seen the more active types from this world get up to, it's not surprising that they'd want to be very very sure about who drives to work and who breaks steel with their bare hands when they're in the room together. Lilian, nonetheless, approaches it with a kind of weary resignation, tinged with the kind of chagrin that comes from rewatching a show you thought was the best thing ever as a teenager. It stands out to precisely one or two people that she has completely declined a rental this time, and brought her own gear.

    The tests themselves seem very ordinary. Lifting weights, running at speed, running for distance, jumping heights, throwing for length, point turning relay exercises and the like, are pretty standard fare, like an entry exam for an athletics club, or perhaps military intake. Certifying anyone for clearance to go outside the walls is an entire production, though; weights of many multiples of tons to lift, shear-gel 'sand pits' to brace on for truly violent kinetics, and clocks that go down to the microsecond.

    Coordination isn't too surprising after. If you quit out early, you could have a pleasant time with climbing walls and balance beams, but competitive types are asking for the Total Wipeout experience with obstacle courses, and if they insist beyond that, the battleboarder specials on the second floor, functionally demanding absurdities such as running across water to get to the end, as far as you can imagine.

    Anyone looking to be certified for auxilliary military action is in for even more powerscaling on the third. Dummies, pressure plates, material blocks, for wrangling, launching, and breaking, until you're down to having no real lines to wait for, because only a handful of hot-blooded tryhards are actually racing past each other to inch their numbers just a little higher, measured by comic book contrivances of surely mystical materials and mechanical tracks using most of the underfloor to satisfy them.

    And what matters more, and feels worse, for anyone who has business venturing into terraformed no-man's land, are the miserable little room at the end. The gravity chamber, the hell chamber, the hypothermia chamber; 'funny' little names the staff use for air pressure and temperature tolerances. They're ever so very professionally kind and helpful about encouraging a point of 'expressing first discomfort', and then a 'actually please stop' limit, but they're paid too much to rely on exclusively verbal consent, with monitoring staff watching you sweat through sensors.

    What makes it a little more enjoyable, at least, is that after the first time, you're permitted to go back and get any gear-- or cast any magic-- you like, for a second run through.

    No, that's what makes it make any sense at all. You can practically hear Lilian saying it. 'Who cares how many tons of this or that someone does on their own; they're here to see your magic'.

    You can't see that anyone agrees, though. Not by looking. As far as it goes, the people here are all over the map. There's a disproportionate bulk of young tryhards pushing themselves, but there is still a large number of older adults who have their air of this being a routine thing every few years for a re-cert. It's easy to tell apart the career aspirations of the thin but constant crowd you encounter; people who look like they're here for the other tests are basically taking it like a gym day, while the minority looking to get into elite roles, or god forbig Arx Zenith, are trying their absolute hardest to impress supervisors with crumpling steel blocks or running the movie martial arts training courses, stubbornly sitting in the endurance trials longer than they probably should.
Ishirou Ishirou has showed up for one of these, finally!  Why?  Well... it's hard to say but he's changed a lot in the last year so he feels as if maybe he should start pushing and testing himself better.  It's probably that, for the first time in a while he's gotten the urge to push himself again.  For that, he feels he needs a baseline... and an impartial examiner would be best for this to figure out his strengths and weaknesses.  

He shows up to a locker, easily figures out how the code mechanism works, and places things inside as instructed.  As for what he's wearing...

Well, it's the RESCUE gear itself.  It /is/ part of his abilities and is activated by his magical and physical abilities.  It also nicely covers most of his body, though he doesn't use the helmet today.  That would seem unfair, and besides POD can stay free floating near him anyway.  He listens to the explanation from Lilian and nods once he gets ready.  

Physically, Ishirou stays pretty middle of the road.  What he lacks in endurance, he makes up for in graceful moves and speed.  He ends most obstacle courses slower than others, not because he's slow, but because he doesn't have the stamina to keep his speed going as much as others.  It's not that he has NOTHING for stamina, compared to a normal human he'd be amazing...

But this isn't about comparing yourself with normal humans.  He tries to use his speed to blast through things, and his strength to boost that, but anything that runs too long, or is more difficult than he initially thought will overwhelm him, even if he paces himself.  

For feats of strength, he can send a shotput pretty far, definitely Olympic standards easily.  He uses his magic for this, causing the shotput to be boosted by his ability to control things remotely.  He can run across water without the use of his flight unit, and anything that requires speed he's quite amazing at.  

Oddly, he does not use his various units at all, avoiding summoning them.  While they /ARE/ a part of him, it doesn't feel like they are him enough to be fair.  He's here trying to test himself, not additions he can calibrate and upgrade to himself.  
Rita Ma for those with the means to process metaphysical energies in their bodies...
     Rita can do that, in a manner of speaking. But she looks vaguely ill for an entirely different reason. Her white sundress is uncharacteristically plain, even with the splash of color that her hair-tying ribbon adds, and a wide-brimmed straw hat doesn't add much more.

     The last time I was in the Phantom Circle, she thinks and doesn't say, I was breaking in to smash records. What if I got caught on camera? What if they recognize my face? She draws in on herself like she's going to implode while passing through the scanners, and then sighs in pathetic relief on the other side.

     No. Ms. Rook wouldn't let anything bad happen from trusting her.

     And yet, there's a deeper worry that that doesn't assuage. Nonon and Gebura can probably guess what it is. She shoots the former a mealy smile and gravitates to her side, even trying to hold hands with her gauntlet- "I know you'll do great, Ms. Nonon. You've been amazing at keeping me safe every time so far."- and gives the latter's tablet a tautly anxious look. But tall scary women make everything a little better.

     Rita stows only her bag and her hat in the locker room, and doesn't change into anything more athletically-suitable when she has the chance. Out on the testing floor, she knits her hands together and breathes deeply like she's trying to keep herself from getting carsick. Lilian's malaise still doesn't escape her notice, and she discreetly slips over.

     "Ms. Rook?" she says, with her adorable slightly-quailing tenderness. "Are you okay? ... I'm sure it must be nothing to you by now. You're too much of a hero for this to really matter, right?" That Rita isn't, is left unspoken. But Lilian must know what she's about to do to look this scared.
Kale Hearthward Kale's never going to be used to the sensory loss that comes with the journey to this place. Ordinarily he could, without fail, point out which direction was north and which direction was up (the latter being an underrated skill right up until you're fighting underwater) - and then suddenly the sense of 'north' is just gone, like a lightbulb going out in another room. Strictly speaking you don't *need* that lightbulb right now, since it's in another room, but - it's still out. Kale's visibly distracted for a while until he can acclimate again.

He also coughs a bit as they pass through the highly magically saturated outer layers, and has to pull out and take a hit from an inhaler as they go. Once it's back down to a more normal level of saturation, he starts breathing a bit easier.

"Honestly, they *should* make an exception, because I'd make a passing grade on 'knowledge' anyway," says Kale. "Probably best they don't, though, I wouldn't want to show any of the regulars up and embarrass them."

When Lilian gets to the part about not showing cards, though, Kale is quiet in response. Last time, he couldn't fathom the idea of keeping anything in reserve - since then, he's gained a bit better understanding that yes you might want to hide some cards from your hand.

And then it occurs to him, looking around - he and Lilian are the only ones here who were also here on the previous trip. Huh.

(He's also brought his own workout outfit.)
Kale Hearthward BASELINE RESULTS:

LIFTING WEIGHTS: Kale's put in a bit more effort into training basics since last time, and actually clears the lowest bar this time. Just the lowest bar, though.

RUNNING FOR SPEED: Decent in terms of human baseline. Better than lifting weights, at least.

RUNNING FOR DISTANCE: Top ten percentile, though with the asterix that Kale's lungs are magical so there isn't really a proper baseline for aerobic endurance.

JUMPING HEIGHTS: Baseline human.

THROWING FOR LENGTH: Actually pretty good! Casting spells in the windswept tradition involves literally throwing them, so Kale's naturally got some muscle built up there.

COORDINATION: Decent, amateur gymnast level. Good sense of balance.

HELL CHAMBERS: Kale expresses first discomfort before the chamber is even turned on. That hasn't changed.

And then... going back and getting his gear, and getting to use his magic.

Kale smokes the agility course. Even for parts where he needs to keep his feet on the ground and not rely on flying, he blazes through - running on water or running on the ceiling are managed by complex air magic tricks, and the parts where he *is* allowed flight are essentially no contest, zipping through all of the hazards presented while maintaining high speeds.

"Hah - here I was thinking they'd make things more difficult since last time!" he calls to Lilian over his shoulder, in the middle of running another course.

- And then, immediately after that, he slams face-first into one of the course obstacles, since he wasn't paying attention.

"(I get a re-do on this one, right?)" he says, muffledly.
Angela Nonon cackles, "Haha! Well thanks, Rita! I'm surprised you've come, figured you wouldn't like this sorta thing!" She gives Rita a comradely pat on the back with her non-gauntleted hand. "Don't forget you're with friends, yeah?" She grins brightly. "Hey, we're friends now, right? A crew looks out for each other even through the toughest storms."

Gebura quietly stares at Rita. She doesn't say she's surprised to see Rita at all. Rita puts herself through sequences that are horrible for her all the time. "What. Am I bugging you?" She asks Rita flatly, still in this kind of weird spot with her. Gebura hasn't forgotten her promise but she is inherently brusque even when she's at her best.

Justin Rook notices that Lilian seems to be kinda done with this whole affair already--not really because of any particular act (he wouldn't know why declining to use a rental is relevant) but because he has had to take all sorts of exams again and again as a Fixer. He asides to her, "Exam fatigue?" But Rita has also discreetly slipped over, he tips an imaginary hat to her (since he gave his away and hasn't replaced it yet).

LIFTING WEIGHTS: None of the Agents are particularly bad here, but Nonon unsurprisingly outclasses the other two Agents, both with EGO Gear and without and even without EGO Gear triumphs over them with their EGO Gear. Once EGO Gear comes into the equation, she smokes it easily. Justin Rook is a little stronger without the EGO Gear than Cinder, and Cinder is a little stronger with it--Cinder shining with her EGO Gear will become more apparent with each sequential test.

RUNNING FOR SPEED: Nonon loses handedly--she's not slow but she's slower than both Justin Rook and Cinder with EGO Gear or without. With EGO Gear, CInder smokes this challenge, using the flames from 4th Match Flame to propel her in ways that the others just can't.

RUNNING FOR DISTANCE: Nonon actually does ok in this case, she is a long distance runner not a sprinter. EGO Gear doesn't really change the standings outside of putting Cinder just ahead of Rook again whereas without EGO Gear, Justin Rook squeaked the win.

JUMPING HEIGHTS: Nonon wins again until Cinder cheats with 4th Match flame, propelling herself to the roof before having to set herself back down. She's been PRACTICING since the Infinity Train.

THROWING FOR LENGTH: Nonon wins easily, Justin Rook takes second, Cinder is third. EGO Gear doesn't change this at all.

COORDINATION: They're all roughly equivalent--EGO Gear raises their bar with Cinder gaining a little more from her EGO Gear than the others. She seems to be the best with using her EGO Gear in general and that's made especially relevant for the HELL CHAMBERS.

HELL CHAMBERS: Justin Rook suffers the most here, being unable to last long in any scenario. Nonon, just through sheer toughness lasts a bit longer. For the temperature extremes, Cinder has no problem with this at all with her EGO Gear, however. Her EGO warms her up in the extreme cold and in the extreme hot doesn't seem to effect her too much until she suddenly and without warning taps out at an unusually high heat tolerance. She is partially on fire when she steps out of the chamber.

Regardless of how the rest goes, Nonon periodically takes a moment to cheer Rita on if she participates in any of the tests and Justin Rook (and Gebura) just quietly observe Lilian's own exams--but they only linger until their next test is prepared.

At the end of things, Justin Rook seems to have paced himself well and Cinder is very sweaty, and Nonon is as chipper as ever and is having the time of her life

"Way better than the gym back home." She says to anybody who stays too close to her for too long.
Touta Konoe     It's the same as the last time he went all those years ago. The sensation of mystic energy that fills the air after a few miles after reaching the Warpgate. It's only once you're there, can you begin to interact with it. That was how the people who first built here had wanted it, right? Still, the rush of that mystic energy isn't lost on Touta. To breathe is usually just out of habit at this point, but never necessary since he became immortal. Still, taking in the air here, it did feel rejuvenating, as if it was adding value. An invigorating sensation that stimulated the senses like a first cup of coffee in the morning. The kind of energy that usually Touta would have been all for and yet...Despite the extra boost though, he seems rather contained. Not in the way that seems indifferent, but like...Someone who's raring to go, but still restraining themselves.

    Before they're brought in, Lilian does give that familiar speech, though even she has to be sick of it by now. Yet, when she doesn't mention the annual renewal, a certain thought does come to mind as he recalls something. Actually two things. One, it's the first time that he's seen her face to face since the New Year started. So as she finishes up, he steps down her path. He's not making himself linger too close, he's sure she'll be scrunched up by plenty already. He's keeping a respectable distance. "Happy New Year..." The second, "...Congratulations on the graduation."

    A part of him really does want to ask how it went, what the experience was like. If she was eager for the next chapter of her life. Yet...If there's one thing that can throw him off right now, it's thinking about the stares he's received lately, and if he was to get one from her too well, it wasn't a time to dwell on that. So he does lower his head almost in a form of bowed respect. But he'll leave it at that.     As they're brought in, the look of the blue halls bring them to the storage room, a place where they'd be allowed to store their equipment, and at the same time begin picking /that/ up. Even now as Touta holds up the greyed 'swimsuit-tier' attire he can't help but raise a brow. "Yeah, guess this hasn't change from the last time..."

    As he looks to what he'll be storing away one more time, he looks back at the Immune Auxillary Status ID card, the one that labels Touta Konoe as an Immaculate Adversary. At this point the card had definitely expired, but it seemed that taking the exam again would allow for a renewal.

    Though unlike the last time he was here, this isn't just a test to see where he's come...No, since coming back he's wanted the opportunity to properly talk to the ones at Arx Zenith. So it's a rare moment that from the get-go Touta finds himself excessively calm, trying to keep himself focused on a singular goal.

    You don't *have* to do anything, is the ultimate rule, knowing that what you let everyone know you can do, what you infer that you can, and what nobody knows, do make a difference.

    Showing what skills you had here was one thing, but to be able to know what to hold and what to show...That was all part of this exam. Having control of your abilities and strength was one thing, but having the ability to maintain a level of mystique was just as vital. "Guess that makes sense for people training to go out onto the field...That'd be the kind of students they want." It's the last words he mutters within the storage space before going out, preparing for the physical exams. He doubted if a certain instructor would show up for such things, but...At least renewing his license, receiving his score was a step in the right direction.
Touta Konoe     He recalls the last one well enough, thinking that just lifting a few tons would have put him in a good spot, lifting those sorts of weights with his stature. Yet still found himself feeling somewhat regretful that he hadn't put in more of his strength. Though, that wouldn't matter this time around.
    Despite any familiar faces that might be around trying to greet him, or scowl, he doesn't acknowledge anyone first. If anything it's hard to tell if he's noticing any of the other Elites from the rest of the attendees trying to get into that elite combat role.

    They don't get to crutch on that crap to avoid drilling the basics into their muscles --their bones.

    Just as he begins watching the others begin the first test, the words of a six-foot ten monstrosity of a man end up ringing in his ears. Yeah, I know...Just from the basics. He looks down into his palm, flexing it for a moment as he's finally called. In the first test, Touta does begin exerting himself and in doing so he's already lifting in the several tons range. It's nothing new for Touta and certainly they would be aware of such strength. There's definitely signs of improvement, though when compared to the other try-hards he's seemed to have made it just high enough to be above the last few, and trying to make it a hell of a pain in the ass for the next person to reach the level of weights he has.

tThat said, as he finishes he does seem a bit heaved. It was one thing to use qi, the accumulation of one's physical efforts. But that had never helped sustain him. That was something his magic did, and not now trying to keep with that spirit he does keep with using solely the basics of what his body can output even if he was just a traditional fighter from his world.

    When asked whether he'd be quitting out or continuing for the more powerscaled events there's probably a bit of a surprised look that any staff would have found surprising given it was being said for an Elite."I'll take the next floor, I'm trying to get into Arx Zenith..."

    Regardless of what was said, Touta continues running through the test with the same mindset in mind. Focusing solely on what his body outputs as he's made to test his speed, actually able to run across water. Slowly making it a balancing act of trying to keep raising the bar, but conserving himself. At the very least again setting the trend on his turn with a decent lead left for others to follow.

    By the time he's made it to the third floor, it's just more of the same. Though the chambers are something that even against the best candidates he seems to excel at. Go figure that the immortal guy who's constantly taking excessive beatings as part of the daily regimen wouldn't have as much of an issue there. Though through it all it's becoming apparent that for once he is having to focus more heavily on his breathing. There's no sweat on his person but that's not exactly something he can force himself to do.

    By the time he's done with his stages, returning back to the first floor he's asked if he wants to retry again and honestly he's less inclined still thinking on those words he recalls from that certain instructor. At least...Until he finds himself catching a look of Lilian again. That strange thought that lingers with her voice in his head.

    Isn't that the point of the magical evaluations near the end though...?

    The thought has him delay his answer to the instructor, instead of answering immediately he finds himself looking from Lilian back to the one that asked the question as if that might give an answer. Regardless of what comes of it, he does choose simply to go back after the fact. It's true he's definitely try-harding this time around, but wasting effort on fractions of a score seems too excessive even from his point of view...
Lilian Rook     'Ms. Rook? Are you okay? ... I'm sure it must be nothing to you by now. You're too much of a hero for this to really matter, right?'

    That question catches Lilian off-guard. It distracts her from changing down to her athletic wear, with the effort of actually answering it.

    "Yes. I'm fine." she says at first, almost automatically. "I'm not worried. You're right that this barely matters anyways. So . . ." Lilian slowly closes her mouth as the next set of words fails her. She takes a moment to come up with different ones instead. "I suppose that's it. I remember coming here every year and being full of determination; to surpass the last year, and to show everyone what I was worth, and force them to acknowledge it. I suppose I . . ." She presses her hand to her face, rubbing as far back along her cheek as she can before hitting hair. "After Sakura and Nika, knowing that Ash is out there; with everything going on in your world, and what Angela and Petra and those girls in the Refulgence are going through; after my academy commencement and the solstice trial and everything else . . ."

    "It just seems . . . small. When was the last time I needed a certification to be let in? When was the last time any of these accomplishments made anybody listen to me? So it's hard to get excited. That's all."

    It takes Lilian only a little bit longer, studying Rita's face, her posture, just to see what she thinks of those words, for a much more serious realization to hit her. It registers as just a simple fact at first, like the prick of a needle, and the cold floods her bloodstream over long seconds of eye-widening realization.

    "You aren't-- . . . Rita? There's . . . everyone is here, and-- Not that you should have to pretend if you don't want to, of course, but that's . . . that's a lot of your own work, that you're going to . . . you're really going to discard all of it? You know that even if you never stopped, I'd keep helping you with it forever, don't you?"
Dysnomia     The Dame Commander was a bright, vibrant figure in multiversal politics, Mia had never seen anything of the graduate's world before, and most alluring of all, she was feeling very, very bored. She was reassured by their intense level of security, an easing of tension in her shoulders as she saw the world as it really was; paranoid and hidden behind layer after layer of falsehood.

    As she walked, a thin wisp of smoke trailed just behind Dysnomia as she followed, eyes scanning oddly curated landscape around her. Artifical. Who are they trying to fool? The answer came to her, even as the question did. No one. It's not here to convince, and they don't care of it does. It's here to obscure. Her mouth took a melancholy twist as she studied a flower before she pulled her focus away.

    She muses at the uniforms for a moment. Then shrugs, picking up something for herself. Her suit iteself seems to slip away from her body as she dresses up, leaving only the collar around her neck, bearing nine circles, in orbit around one, larger than them all. Dysnomia gripped the collar a moment, biting down on her lip, then makes a sharp TUG. There's an angry whirring as she lifts it away from herself, briefly revealing a silvery cord burrowed deep into her spine.

    Then, with a sharp, protesting sound, it ripped from her skin, the silver cord ripped free, writhed like a living thing, and retracted. She placed the collar in the locker, on top of her jacket, and shut the door, as if what had just happened was banal.

    Because it is.

    She snorts slightly to herself, looking onto the varied obstacle courses. "Obstacle course, huh. Reminds me of when I was a recruit. Some things never change, do they?" The girl murmured, not expecting an answer. Was this feeling nostalgia, or something more sour? She didn't know.

    And she wasn't intent to stick around and find out, either. But she does them. It's a little pointless to separate what her body can do from what her abilities could let her do, but for the benefit of this charade, she did her best to try. Even then, she finds herself outpacing the little tryhards doing their best to prove themselves, and she slows herself down, to not push past them TOO far.

    It wasn't their fault she wasn't normal, after all.

    On the second round, she let herself be a little more honest. She permeated effortlessly through the obstacles in her way...Until she impacted a cage that must have been spelled against intrusion. Her teeth gritted, feeling eyes on her back, before forging onward. Refusing to show them hesitation.
Meika Kirenai     Meika could tell herself that coming out here for this, with the myriad mumbled excuses she'd given and smidgen of leeway to leave town she'd squeezed out of the Holy Refulgence, was something useful to build constructively on, to test and grow from in a way that'll help her duties back home. Really, though, Meika is just absolutely, positively desperate for a chance to stretch her legs that won't have people's lives hanging on the line.

'...your ability to represent yourself in interviews and answering questions...'

    Meika can't hide her instinctive grimace upon hearing that aspect of the procedures. Obviously, it's important. But that's not something she's prone to believing as possible to succeed at, herself, without cheating it in ugly ways. She doesn't groan, but only because shuffling through an unusual and official building demands a hush that the teenager can't quite stomach breaking.How much of the grade is that?

'Honestly, they *should* make an exception, because I'd make a passing grade on 'knowledge' anyway,'

    She suddenly can stomach it, though, to quietly snicker at Kale's comment. "Chevalier Hearthward, y-you can't seriously be *wanting* to take a more boring test, can you..?"

    As soon as she can slink away to go change, Meika does so, practiced efficiency helping her achieve her goal of spending as little time in a locker room adjacent zone as physically possible. Once she's out, a plain grey quarter-zip warmup jacket, embroidered on the back with the logo of a youth winter sports festival takes the place of Meika's usual letterman. Judging by the fidget of tugging at its sleevehems to cover her palms and wrists, it's an old enough acquisition to be just a bit outgrown. White running shorts with black leggings beneath them illustrates her discomfort with bared extremeties more conspicuously than her changed-from casual clothing had.

    Aside from the ribbon still tying her hair back in the same close-enough-to-hurt attempt at how she wears it transformed, there's a garish lack of red in her getup.

    It hurts to stow her bag and the precious sketchbook within it in the depths of a locker, but it's counteracted by the air of slight giddyness from getting to face down a treasure trove of physical athletics. And she'll be back for it in time.

    Once she's stepped out onto the testing floor, already absentmindedly beginning a remembered routine of stretches, a flash of ugly, bitter thoughts cross Meika's mind when she sees Rita there, not having bothered to dress for the occassion. She's really not trying to hide, huh.

    "Chevalier Rook said there were sweatclothes you could rent, Miss Rita. In case you forgot." Spoken quietly, it just takes a bit of unconscious shaping to make the sound hit Rita's ears, tone colder than reminders of advice ought be. And that's it, Meika turns to look away from her, to finish her prepwork, and start her first, mundane run of the trials.
Petra Soroka     Petra is *so* into the appealingly grandiloquent.

    The House of the Seven Worthies has been on Petra's radar for some time, as a leaky curiosity, with airs of 'Haha, what if? But nooo, I wouldn't, I couldn't'. The idea of being actually certified to do any real work in the Hidden Continent, rather than just some weird stowaway creature that Lilian took home one day, has been a not-so-subtle fixation that's heavily tempered by both Petra's past encounters with the elites (lowercase) of the Phantom Circle, as well as her keen awareness of her capability in comparison to them. The only time she's ever engaged with the rank and file of 'Immunes' was when a full squadron of them was called in to arrest her, after all.

    ... I really hope Satsuki and Arina aren't here.

    But, no matter how poorly Petra thinks of herself, an invitation to the Elites as a whole changes things-- if all *those* clowns are being invited, then of course she's welcome too! So after very anxiously preparing, and giving Qetra cases full of basically every trick Petra has in her arsenal just to be *totally* sure she has them available if she needs them, Petra heads to Lobotomy Corporation to join the other three agents in the trip over.

Petra, who's trying her hardest to steal Nonon's ansi, shows up with her EGO suit with Blue Star's glowing heart on the chest, but beneath that-- because no matter how near-invulnerable a suit is, it's still a suit-- she has a more typical exercise outfit on. So, when getting to the lockers, and choosing one right beside Cinder, Petra hesitates for just a second before stripping off the suit until the time comes that she needs to be shot, stabbed, or enflamed at. Throughout the walk there, she's bubblingly nervous, clearly missing out on the lack of Lilian as a tour guide, seeming like she could ask a dozen questions about any given part of the building as they walk through.

Petra, beneath the suit, is wearing a simple set of grey athletic sweatpants and black sports bra, a level of skin-uncoverage almost entirely unseen for the past year, given her usual outfit including either a bomber jacket or a trench coat. Beneath it, on nearly every inch of exposed skin below her neck, is a tapestry of ridged red and shiny white scars, jagged in some places, and neatly lateral across her forearms. Wrinkled, circular welts of burn scars are similarly scattered across her torso, around her collarbone and all over her back. The black leather collar stays on. She's also, noticed almost certainly after lingering on all of that for a few seconds, surprisingly fit! A lot of her day-to-day activities involve running, jumping, and fighting, and intentional training has been a focus for her recently, too.

    All in all, physically, she's practically unrecognizable from a year ago, which was likely the last time anyone saw her skin.

    Adjusting both to the mentality of physical exertion and being physically perceived, Petra wraps her arms around her chest and squeezes, rubbing her shoulders and breathing out in a little calming exercise. A utility belt-type thing, stocked with various such magical trinkets as a plastic gun and compact mirror, is hung up in the locker as well, before Petra finally swings it shut. Even before stepping out there, she's very obviously closer to the type who's striving to impress, like she's a little overawed by all of it and a little over-determined too. She clearly has no intent at all to hold anything in reserve.

". . . SOP is to dispense with 'knowledge', because there's no way an outside entrant would know the academia . . ."

    "That's, like, magical academia, right? Like the stuff you studied? As in, not political, or... yeah. Anything else." Subtextually, as all Petra's text is, within her question is the thought that it would be really cool to learn magical academia.
Petra Soroka     "You know, I feel like it's been so long since I've gotten any idea of how athletic I am *without* some weird magic thing." Idle chatter with Cinder, while the two of them get ready for the gym. "There's always some shit like, the EGO gear, or the Kamen Rider suit, or weird weapons or whatever. It's like, going all out, basically every day recently, you know?"

    Rita gets a wave, and gives in return a sudden spike of previously under-control self consciousness at how Petra looks. It's still important to draw Rita's attention to Petra briefly, even if it makes her sweat and want to put a coat on-- it gives opportunities to be asked to step out for conspicuous stretches of time if she needs to.

    "Hey, Rita! Are you, um," Mid-sentence, Petra's brain summons the command to avoid any and all mention of Rita's physicality. What it conjures up as a polite question in its place doesn't quite work out grammatically. "-- been here before?"

    Seeing Lilian's lack of energy about the tests immediately drains all of Petra's away, suddenly making her unsure of how she's supposed to feel about being here. Breaking away from Cinder finally, Petra wanders over to join Rita in asking how Lilian's doing.

"When was the last time I needed a certification to be let in?"

    Indirectly, seeing as Rita's already asked directly, and all Petra has to add to that is a secondary nod of wondering if she's okay. "... I guess, I sort of did have that thought a little bit, too. I mean... it's not like most of us--" That's just a guess, since she wasn't here for any previous certifications, but she knows at least *she* wasn't. "-- were certified for this when we were going for Nika. And, obviously, like-- if anyone had said we needed to, it wouldn't have mattered anyways, because getting to her was important enough to ignore them."

    A short pause, that stretches longer when Petra takes a slower scan out over the other entrants. "... A lot of stuff is important enough, huh." Then she quickly scoots away before any Rita-sensitive topics are allowed to reach her ears.
Rita Ma <J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma swerves from queasiness into sharp alarm. "Ms. Petra?! Are you...?"
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "... Well, I'm happy for you. But I need to talk to you about something."
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "In the next little while, it's going to get a lot harder for you to be the person you've been to me. For us to be... like this, to each other."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Well-- yup. Yeah. ... Yeah."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Fuck, if I'd known, I would've-- I mean, I can still, like you asked."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka suggests, like she's very nervous that it won't be enough, "... Look away?"
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma laughs uneasily. "I'm not going to ask you to sit out. Don't be silly, Ms. Petra. Actually, I..."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Well we're not... *are* we on a time limit? Do we have a time slot, or something?"
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, guiltily yet firmly, "Listen."
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "You've made me so happy, Ms. Petra. I've really treasured what we have. Honest. But... I'm going to have to ask you to look away a lot more often, from now on. It's going to be harder. And I'm not sure that's fair."
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "If you keep looking away, I'll treasure it. Just like I have. But if you look..."
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "... I won't be able to blame you. That's all."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "If you're going to-- Okay. Well..."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "Um. I-I'd like you to trust me, too, then. That I still think it's worth doing, and I'm-- I'm willing to put effort into doing it even if it's hard. Right?"
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma bubbles over into a laugh. It's hard to say if it sounds more relieved or teary.
<J-IC-Scene> Rita Ma says, "Okay, Ms. Petra. I'm trusting you."
<J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka says, "I sort of don't care what's fair, so I'll-- just do both. I can help with both things at the same time."
Rita Ma      "Hey, Rita! Are you, um,"
     "No, it's my first time," Rita says, managing to act almost like a normal human being. She'd turned dead pale when she first saw Petra, but now she's keeping it together. "I missed out on the other ones because I wasn't sure I was enough of a hero to count. But this one feels important."

     "What about you? It's your first one, right?" Rita leans in, and even now her smile manages to seem encouraging. "I just know you'll do great, Ms. Petra." She's more confident of that than she is in herself.

     Her eyes keep wandering down to Petra's collarbone. Through some inscrutable effect, those scars make Rita feel a tiny bit safer. 'Terrifying warrior woman' is still a ways off, and yet...

     ----

     Nonon's boisterous laughter brings a smile to Rita's face despite herself. She wiggles in place with an uneasy, shy joy, and her eyes slide away. "Oh! Well... the last couple of times, I didn't come. But with how things are going, it felt important. Does that make sense, Ms. Nonon?" The pat on the back both surprises her and perks her up: She'd still touch me like that? There?

     "Friends," she echoes firmly, once her surprise fades, and gives Nonon's arm a squeeze. "I brought some food from home, even, so we can have nice things once it's all over. You'll have some, right?" An awkward second passes before she clarifies: "Um, normal food."

     When Gebura catches her staring, she jolts upright and shakes her head vehemently. "Um- no, Ms. Gebura! You have a right to be here, after all. I just... well, nevermind." Her smile is fake, but her queasiness does seem a tiny bit relieved.

     ----

     "It just seems . . . small."
     "Yeah," Rita softly commiserates. "People listen to you for better reasons than a piece of paper. Or don't listen for worse ones," she adds with a little laugh. She rocks from leg to leg, swaying in place with hands clasped behind her back. "But it means you've grown. So even if you don't feel happy, I'll be happy for you, okay?"

     "You aren't-- . . . Rita?"
     Rita's eyes widen at being read; then she turns them aside uncomfortably, and checks to make sure Petra isn't in earshot. "Everyone's going to know soon, Ms. Rook. In just a couple of weeks. You know that, don't you? That... that everyone's going to be counting on me, and everyone's going to be watching, and..."

     And there's no excuse anymore. Rita swallows uneasily before looking back up at Lilian. Her eyes sting, but she keeps them dry. This is the fakest her smile has ever looked. The determination's still real. "I want to pull the bandage off on my own terms, Ms. Rook. And get a little paper saying I'm a hero, for it. That'd mean a lot to me, because I'm not as grown as you."
Rita Ma      When her time comes, Rita takes the course with the smooth concentration of someone half-dissociated. Her spine is straight, bearing glassy. "Thank you, Chevalier Vermillion, she says in elevated formal tones while she crouches at the starting line. "But there wouldn't be any point."

     Rita's skin and hair and clothes unravel into thirty-foot-long tentacles before the starting beep. They gradually stop pretending to be anything but clammy boneless jelly-meat. At their center is what most of the Elites, and nobody else, has seen before: a moment of consumption frozen in time, a human body half-digested by the Other.

     Her eyes flit to the officials, to the other people on the course. Ms. Rook said there aren't any Antegent like me. Nobody will think that. Nobody's going to yell 'monster', 'monster'. It's stupid to feel this scared. Why do I?

     "Ready," she says.

     Race tracks come apart in a blur of shear-gel, shredded by galloping on all fours and tentacle-slingshooting around obstacles. Strike dummies come apart in splattering metal, steel acting like soft butter under the impact. There are houses lighter than the first barbell to give her trouble, and then the tentacles all wrap around it and brace against the ground, and that's a sure thing too.

     "I'd like to take the next level, please," she says a half-dozen times, and each time the bittersweet flatness of it makes clear that she isn't doing it for pride.

     She walks out of a pressure chamber that hit 'three times the bottom of the Marianas Trench' and re-weaves her tentacles into a simple white sundress and human disguise, Safe For Petra once more. "I don't have any magic or gear, sir," is the coup-de-grace given to the official who asks.

     Then she sits down on whatever kind of bench she can find and basks in a deeply complicated afterglow while she watches the others. Expressions that wistful belong on someone far older.
Lilian Rook     'Happy New Year...'

    "A bit late for that, isn't it?"

    '...Congratulations on the graduation.'

    "Everyone should graduate school. Even if it's an elite academy, is it really worth congratulating me, with my abilities?"

    'Guess that makes sense for people training to go out onto the field...That'd be the kind of students they want.'

    "Who knows. I never show anyone anything, and Gerart seems to notice." She shrugs apathetically."

    'Obstacle course, huh. Reminds me of when I was a recruit. Some things never change, do they?'

    "A recruit of what? Do they put collars on those now? Am I going to have to tell Petra not to listen to thirty year old army bachelors?" Despite the attitude, Lilian does actually ask the first question sincerely.

    'here's always some shit like, the EGO gear, or the Kamen Rider suit, or weird weapons or whatever.'

    Lilian gives Petra a Look that says 'what do I keep fucking saying?'

    '... A lot of stuff is important enough, huh.'

    "There will be plenty of important things left afterwards. The kind that do care about your documentation." A common line. She applies it nearly halfway seriously to herself, too.

    'That's, like, magical academia, right? Like the stuff you studied? As in, not political, or... yeah. Anything else.'

    "'Nine years of school' sorts of things. I'm afraid your encyclopedic knowledge of how to offend women won't be on the test."

    'People listen to you for better reasons than a piece of paper. Or don't listen for worse ones'

    "I'm glad you've noticed." Half dry sarcasm, half sincerity. "I'll be happy about it eventually. It's just . . . there's a lot going on right now. And even less I can show them."

    'Everyone's going to know soon, Ms. Rook. In just a couple of weeks. You know that, don't you?'

    "I know." says Lilian, and for a split second, sounds just as queasy as Rita. "That's . . . okay. If it'll soften it later. If you have to. But . . ."

    "It's not a death sentence. It isn't some irreversible thing that'll change everything forever. I know you can't believe me, but you at least have to trust me. It'll hurt, but less than you think. People will look at you differently, but less than you imagined. And you don't owe it to them to acknowledge it. You don't have to show anyone else after. How you look to other people is something you get to choose. Always."

    'I brought some food from home, even, so we can have nice things once it's all over. You'll have some, right?" An awkward second passes before she clarifies: "Um, normal food.'

    That alone makes Lilian smile, even tentatively, before departing. "I look forward to it. There's an incredible place to picnic on the top floor."
Meika Kirenai     Passing by on her way out of the locker room, Meika doesn't quite muffle the small gasp at seeing Petra as she is, and quickly look away. She still gives her friend a small wave, though, and a mumble of 'Good luck', as she tries to pretend to go back to a wall-facing deltoid stretch.

'But there wouldn't be any point.'

    A silent snorted exhale marks Meika's discontent with that reply, but that's all. Palpable, still. She pointedly waits a good long while before 'finishing' her warmups, to not have to watch whatever display is in store.

    Actually out on her first round, it's quick to see that Meika's proficiency in weight training comes only as byproducts of the musculature strength needed for the aerobic sports she prefers, and the rigours of magical girl combat. Her maximums, just as herself, don't factor even *close* to the 'tons' marks, and while still Good for a highschool girl, are themselves unimpressive in any grander scale at all.

    Anyone watching her get a chance to run, though, will spot a rare moment she actually lights up and smiles. It's different than with skates underfoot, but breakneck sprinting and extended exertion are as close to an athletic forte as she has. Her timings are properly exeptional- for a mundane highschool girl.

    That's the gist of the actual physical metrics, for Meika. Without transforming, her bests are remarkable, and even without good, structured practice over the years she's had to substitute most training for combat experience, the fact she really could have had a future in it is easy to see.

    But she's still just a mundane kid. Records wouldn't be broken in a mundane way, and especially won't be in an Elite way, by Meika. She's fine at coordinated climbing. She has a high enough pain tolerance to last longer than might be expected, in most of the environmental endurance chambers, and is stubborn enough to try and push that. She can throw well, and hard (thanks, off-season softball), but when it comes to whacking combat dummies around, she's obviously completely clueless. Despite her (fairly accurate) delinquent appearance, she's never been the kind of girl to know how to throw a real punch.

    As Meika, winded far past 'warmed up' for a run that ultimately won't matter, still carries a selfish little smile back towards the lockers. Her shoulders only slump a little, when the pushed-away thoughts of all the assessing stares and tones come back, face-first with her locker. Meika hesitates, when she takes the sketchbook out from her bag. Is it really worth it? Coming here is one thing, but... Once she's resigned herself to it, it's an even faster change than to workout clothes, the flash eating up one of her too-few remaining sketchbook drawings, bringing about the shape of her transformation. It's fine, so long as I don't have to change back. I can't afford it more than once. She stands taller, brighter, squarer, her hair is neatened up, and her armor quite literally gleams in the light.

    So when Chevalier Vermillion steps out onto the training floor for her second round, it's a completely different story. 'Weightlifting' isn't a battle against gravity anymore, but a test to not match the resonance frequency of the metal she easily holds up with the magic forced through her limbs to do the holding. 'Tons' come easily, now- in smaller incriments, Vermillion even considers trying to juggle.
Angela "I getcha... Though if it wasn't for the EGO Gear I don't think I'd even close to match up with anyone here... I'll just have to be the best at using magic shit instead." Cinder smiles at Petra but gives her small wave when she makes her way to Rita, not wanting to interrupt her from chatting up with her in the slightest.

Nonon says, "If anybody gives you grief, I won't punch them 'cause I get the feeling you wouldn't want me to, but I'll think about punching them, real hard." Of course if they actually threaten Rita, she'll just punch them for real. There ARE beings like Rita in her own world, sort of, but at the same time--Nonon's not aware of any quite like Rita. And even if it did, well, Nonon sees her as a comrade first--even if it means forgetting about the test for a moment.

Nonon starts to answer Rita about 'having some nice things'--Nonon never turns down food and is about to enthusiastically agree--but Rita hurriedly clarifies. "Well sure, if you don't mind! I only brought some jerky and my water bottles." Nonon seems hopeful Rita will agree to giving her food in spite of this.

Gebura frowns as Rita gives her a fake smile but remembers Lilian's request and doesn't comment. So it's alright for you to lie politely huh?

Cinder is oblivious to the Dsiciplinary Drama but stops what she's doing to gush over Cinder approaching Rita. She doesn't hear what they talk about and tries not to eavesdrop but... "Ahh... Petra's always looking out for the Girls... She's so cool..." She tells Justin Rook.

"...She does good work, just don't forget your surroundings." Justin advises even though he's skeptical this will gain any traction with Cinder.

Angela hears her name and looks back from what she's doing towards Lilian. It takes her a moment to realize Lilian didn't say her name in order to give instructions or make a request.

''It just seems so small''

Angela thought this was important to Lilian but ... maybe it wasn't. She mulls on this for a moment and adds, "You've outgrown it."

Then Judgement Bird breaks out again and she turns her attention away from the monitor to tell the Manager to send a team to deal with it before half of Welfare kill themselves.

She ends up hearing what Lilian says to Rita too and she simply confirms. "You can trust the Dame Commander, Rita." with the kind of focus only applied to someone who actually doesn't really know the full story behind the conversation and simply is defaulting to the truth that she does know.
Meika Kirenai     Speed comes easy, too. It's one thing, for her to have those magical skates on again, for her to treat the world as nigh-frictionless as ice. It's another to fuel her daredevil speed-setting with bursts of percussive force as a makeshift propulsion trick, even if it poses a threat to anything right behind her- and on the obstacle-filled coordination tests, she navigates more like a pinball than a clambering runner. There's hoots, there's hollering, and she tries to pay very little mind to where her feet-first rebound kickoffs leave silently gouged-out chunks of any material not strongly fortified.

    Vermillion is, evident to any onlooker, having fun. It doesn't feel the same as doing it the mundane way, though. It can't. She's burning a gift meant to serve others with, on acrobatics, on games of strength. It's not something to enjoy, simply and costlessly.

    There's less of a stark variance, in the extreme environments. tIn some of those rooms, she lasts longer. Gravity, she has more strength to push against. Pressure, it's longer before her ribs feel like they're squeaking and straining. But for cold, something familiar and normal enough and tied to fond things that she *ought* to be okay in, she pulls out faster than before, those split second f-f-flickering moments of guilt catching up. When Vermillion sees the time differential, and curses the hypothermia room under her breath, she storms out of it, trudging on and up to where she can find a boxing dummy. All it takes is a quick welling-up of blistering, echoing sonic magic to help a sloppy punch aimed at it spall its rubber flesh-analog off the back of the dummy's frame, like floppy shrapnel. The room echoes with ever-faint thunder, asynchronous from the eerily silent blow.
Lilian Rook     Ishirou has to be 'gently reminded' that the first round is done without external assistance, but is allowed the RESCUE on the second run, as anyone. A certain amount of inquisitve eye is given to the ostensible facade of machinery. Like it's an eccentric fashion choice. Kale is, surprisingly, welcomed back by a few faces that actually remember him. He'd left an impact, apparently. One person out of the crowd of observers and administration takes the time to thank him for coming back. That it means more to him than a stamp and never-return.

    The Agents actually really blend in. They have to prove the wrist device isn't a special help, but they're by far the most ordinary, receiving casual conversation from passing entrants while waiting. Touta's mention of wanting into Arx Zenith receives a mixed reaction; they've certainly heard it plenty enough to dull their expectations, but the idea of it is laudible enough that they say so for him trying, and do encourage him about his results. Dysnomia's show of blowing the youth out of the water earns her an unpleasantly triumphant noise or five of schadenfreude from her last second collision.

    There are, it seems, some magical girl fans around. Seeing so many adult professionals that magic becomes a job, a few, scattered admins watch Meika with a certain kind of light-up fondness from the purity of 'Chevalier Vermillion', even under her attitude, tugging on their imaginations. Petra's hideous tapestry of scars, for once, earn her a certain kind of bland deference, as people assume she must be a very hard-working, well-trained warrior type.

    Rita is doted on like someone's adorable eldest daughter finally having the courage to try and take her role seriously. The observers and operators openly glow and encourage her into everything. At first.

    Nobody knows what to make of her when she moves on. She can feel that. They have nothing to complain about, given her scores, but the fact is that what they've seen sits poorly in place alongside their first impression. She can feel the eyes on her back. There are no harsh words, no sickened stares, but she feels their own grappling with a nameless misgiving. The fact that they still have it in them to praise her at the end has to be enough. Praising her bravery, especially, takes on an uneasily ambigious tone.
Lilian Rook     After being given enough time to cool off and grab the rest of your stuff (a place this huge and expansive is not without decent showers), the next couple of floors are broken up into a densely packed assortment of sealed chambers, containing near-identical setups. Overall, it's built for capacity to handle likely nearly a thousand people going through a peak day of the year, thus marking this as the most in-demand step there is.

    Just the one room is reserved for all of you; it'd be pointless to make everyone go off on their own without instructions. The reason there are sealed doors becomes obvious, when the inside is clearly lined with heavy layers of materials that should be capturing basically any kind of radiation, traces of magic, sound or shock, to isolate everything from every other room. It's reminiscent of the setups used for experiments on gravity waves and neutrinos, albeit far more compact.

    The isolated room is defined by a series of circular steps leading up to something akin to a pedestal, sized like an end table, made up of too many shades of metal all at once. Copper and silver, iron and gold, form countless mechanical components and extrusions, visible in layers like the gears of a watch, but densely packed enough to have the feeling of looking at an engine block, and inset with jade and diamond and other things unknown in countless facets and bezels.

    The main fixture the metallic pillar supports is a perfectly spherical, mirror-polished stone, set into the top surface. On closer examination, you'd think of it as more of a crystalline shell, however, filled with something like grey fog or desaturated static. It's just big enough to lay two hands on.

    That appears to be the purpose, as Lilian reconvenes with the group to lead them through it; this step seems to not require (or perhaps allow?) a supervisor. The subtle signs that she'd only rinsed off while apart from the group, avoiding getting her hair wet, suggest her intent for the rest of the day, and paint a subtly different picture of how she thinks of the process.

    "This is still the standardized setup we use for determining broad view of someone's progress in cultivating the substrate behind their arts." Lilian says, dipping barely audible for the space of one word. "It's a simplified, thin slice sort of thing, meant to fit on a card. Which is for the best, in many regards. And it does at least apply across most Traditions. Fundamentals are a useful thing to know, and do correlate to development, but . . ." She trails off from sounding as if she's trying to convince herself too, and resumes in businesslike manner.

    "The seven Stations and five Hues. Before testing the execution of any specific powers, these are keyed to receive whatever energies you can direct, and to gauge the quality, quantity, and degree to which you can control them. I usually say that the Stations aren't a sequence of 'power tiers', but a cross-culturally agreed on idea of the journey from apprenticeship to mastery of the mystical paradigm. But I'm not certain anyone has ever believed me when I did. So give it your all."

    Lilian places her hands on the glassy orb, and straight away the grey fog becomes a shining white light, pure and untinted, which causes tiny sensors in the walls and ceiling to gleam. She begins an explanation in rehearsed tones, reciting something textbook perfect, and finding it a welcome reprieve from thinking anything deeper. "White is where everyone starts. White light contains all other colours and kinds of light, not being any one thing, but containing the potential to be just about anything, once it's focused and refined. It illuminates the world around you, but reflects back the qualities of the things that you can now see, more than it illuminates yourself. The intensity here is usually seen as latent potential. Whatever that means."
Lilian Rook     The white light then becomes a deep, shifting, shimmering silver. "Silver is what you progress to. White becomes silver as insubstantial light becomes a metal, hard and defined and tangibly interacting with the world. Silver is a substance associated with purity and driving back evil things, indicating mastery enough to manage the risks and dangers of power from coming back to you, but it's still an impressionable metal that needs care not to break or tarnish. The brightness here is interpreted as how diligently you're maintaining and refining your power."

    The silver then becomes brilliant, glimmering gold. "Gold is where power has matured and revealed its inherent value. It's solidified into something weighty, permanent, and allegedly imperishable. It's malleable like the metal, easily shaped without breaking, as mastery over power is said to allow you to skillfully craft it into any form. The degree of shine here is typically interpreted as how much work you've put into polishing and molding those talents."

    The light then loses its metallic cast and becomes glaring, fresh blood red. "Crimson comes after gold, and indicates when power has ceased to be something external to you, which you polish and sculpt and define, and become something intrinsic to you. Crimson is said to represent blood, for being an integral part of yourself; diminishment of that power is diminishment of you, you should know better than to expend it without reason. Crimson comes when power palpable rather than modelled; felt rather than imagined. The intensity of the colour here is usually thought of as hinting at your inner capacities, whatever that means."

    Finally, the light is sucked back in, and the room goes dim. The orb becomes a sphere of pitch blackness interspersed with tiny, glittering stars. "Lastly, black indicates that there is nothing new to internalize at your current state of enlightenment. You've transcended the metamorphosis of power into a part of you, and achieved a glimpse of some facet of the fundamental nature and origin of power. It's revealed one of its deep, black secrets to you, and opened to where you can see the stage of Enlightenment beyond this one. Like seeing stars in the night; in sight but not yet in grasp. For these people anyways. The number and brightness of the stars you can see here is supposed to be how close you are to further Enlightenment."

    The pedestal's top surface then begins a series of ratcheting clicks and glassy chimes, gradually rotating, reconfiguring, exposing new surfaces, rows of esoteric gems, raising small structures, and then turning the white of a single star within the orb into a whole cast of shining white all over again. "Then it goes back to white again, when you breach into a new level of enlightenment. It signifies when everything so far is mastered and internalized, and now you're working on yourself anew. Each new stage needs a different kind of control and mastery, so commensurately, the input changes. You can have plenty of latent power, but be at a lower Station for now. Growing is the process of breaking and rebuilding yourself over and over, after all."

    Lilian gestures to the exposed gems. "The jewel is the first station, representing where inner power is searched for and first discovered, with the metaphorical dirt cleaned away. It's appraised and polished, and you begin to have an idea of what's within yourself, gaining a priceless core of power inside."
Lilian Rook     After cycling through a full white to black sequence, the setup rotates and clicks again, going completely flat and exposing concentric surfaces of polished, glassy diamond. Lilian already looks tired of it. The energy is slowly seeping out of her voice. "The mirror is the second, where you're working on grasping the shape and dimensions of your power, and coming to see it alongside yourself. It's said to be the station of self-reflection and understanding, polishing your skills until you know what you are."

    More mechanical swiveling and reconfiguring follows the next white-to-black sequence, where the edges raise, the center depresses, and the pillar narrows, like having hands on a bowl on a pedestal. Lilian's eyes aren't even watching it anymore, no matter how eye-catchingly dramatic and elaborate the machine is. "The station of the chalice is third, which is supposed to represent 'questing'. It's when you know who and what you are, or at least think you do, and is the stage at which you're meant to go out seeking challenges, knowledge, experience; to achieve and to better yourself, bringing you up from your beginnings. Creating a story worth telling."

    White chalice through to black chalice, and the pedestal flattens again, slowly unfurling rings of silver extrusions like blades in sequence. "The station of the blade comes after. This is where your 'questing' is over they say, and the best way to achieve further Enlightenment is meant to be taking on a cause. Some resilient purpose or goal. You'll make no more progress by changing yourself until you take your first steps into changing the world around you; to conquer challenges and bleed in the process. Honestly, not a lot of people reach this station at all."

    She sighs, then drops to low-energy verbal fry as she goes on. "My first year in the Paladins, it was Blade Crimson. Two years ago, it was Blade Black. So . . ." Somehow, it doesn't excite her at all to see the extruding blades turn upwards along the entire rim, and form regular standing prongs, raised up from the surface. A star within explodes, and blackness becomes white. "After that comes the crown, where you've supposedly achieved some pinnacle of 'human' development. You're no longer learning what there is, but meant to be leading; pushing the boundaries of what is possible, and adding new dimensions of yourself. Few people get this far. If you compare it to martial arts, the crown is where it's time to start a new school."

    The pillar will react no further, and upon her releasing it, it returns to grey mist and cylindrical shape. Lilian doesn't seem to have pushed, but she seems confident there was no point. "Theoretically, there's the throne and the tower. The throne is where you've transcended the humanity inherent in that power and become something that sits above humans. Most people don't even have the theoretical potential to do that. The former is where the height of 'human achievement', and you're defining the new imposs . . ."

    "Whatever. It's just for an ID card. We're here so people won't harass you and keep you out of things. A little machine like this isn't going to tell you some big truth about yourself and the nature of humanity."
Lilian Rook     She didn't speak incorrectly when she said it's more nuanced than just jamming raw magical energy into it. The table readily soaks up energy at the jewel stage, so long as you can bring it out, but the mirror stage, it starts only accepting power into increasingly fine and specific channels and patterns. At the chalice stage, it starts actively resisting you doing so and requires the ability to sense or figure out which will work. Anyone getting to the blade stage finds that it requires tremendous focus and clarity to do much of anything, and feedback becomes extremely painful if slightly mishandled; enough to force hands off and ending the test prematurely.

    Someone theoretically getting to the crown stage finds that it no longer accepts energy in anything but a single, uncommunicated pattern of esoteric manipulation, different for each individual. You'd imagine it requires keen intuition derived from all previous stages, and ample experience to mentally construct. But something about knowing what to do by intuition is . . .

    The hypothetical throne is even more esoteric, taking on a tiered vertical appearance and demanding so much focus and mental management that no amount of talent matters any longer; it separates a genius from the rest and that's that."

    Lilian makes no mention of the erratic appearance of iconography within those colours. Years ago, she'd have said something about 'personal alignment' interpretation, but it seems she's long abandoned the idea of its legitimacy. Whatever show of runes or glyphs or symbology, emblematic icons or silhouettes, light shows, symbolic displays, or occult iconography flicker for someone in the orb, she leaves it to the Elite alone to interpret.
Ishirou Ishirou is slightly embarrassed to have misunderstood the instructions, and he goes back for his gym clothes.  Though he looks uncomfortable in them.  Without his suit, he does far more poorly, and his weaknesses are far more pronounced than without it.  What RESCUE does is enhance the base he can perform at, though a lot of things are inherent with Ishirou themselves.  

Moving on, and taking some time to drink some water (it's not like he's thirsty, but it does remind his body to wind down and let self-healing algorithms do their thing.)  He walks over to Jason and waves at him.  "Hey Jason, you did good out there!" he says, upbeat and wanting someone to talk to.  "I think I need to work on my stamina... but what else is new..." he mutters.  

He also gives Rita a wave but doesn't... get involved with her.  What transpires between her and Lilian, and then her and Petra looks important and he feels slightly akin to an outsider. He does, however, clap for her and comes to congratulate her without any hesitation after her tests.  

Moving on with the tour he listens, as he grows a little nervous.  Nobody expects him to be toppling charts or anything.  He's not strong or fast, but something inside him wants to be /better/.  But... he tried that and failed.  He hit the ground so hard he's still picking himself up, to be honest.  He gives a glance to Lilian and slowly speaks.  

"I'll... try my best.  I think... I still have a way to go myself," he says, earnestly.  He takes a moment and reaches for the orb.  He knows it's not all about forcing power, in fact... he's really poor at forcing things.  That's not how he works, he looks for solutions, and he finds ways that pure force can't work against...

He steadies himself as he navigates this test.  It goes from white and moves onto silver.  There are beads of sweat, and perhaps it won't move beyond silver... but it does.  Soon he's into gold, but gold is where it stops changing colors.  Then the hue starts to form.  It goes from jewel to mirror, and regardless of what Ishirou does at this point...

It stays there.  Finally, he releases the orb and takes a step back.  He's... it's hard to tell if he's disappointed in himself, or if he's expected it'd be this far after the explanations were given.  Or maybe he's disappointed that he let Lilian down.  It stays on his face for a moment, and then...

"Well, I guess I have a long way to go!" he says, upbeat and with a sort of forced smile on his face.  He moves back and watches the others, releasing a sigh.  It's hard to face your limits, knowing you could do better but can't.  But...

He finds this better than where he was even half a year ago.  Floundering and malding that it was everyone else... that he let power get to his head, that he let a lot of people down.  This disappointment in himself was nothing compared to that.  
Petra Soroka <J-IC-Scene> Petra Soroka makes a cheerily affirmative noise. "Yup!" Then a pause. "So, uh, *do* we have a time limit?"

"So it's hard to get excited. That's all."

    Rather than enthusiastically bounding up to the starting line with all the others, and pushing herself in an overeager display of her abilities to show off to Lilian and the authorities of Lilian's world, Petra instead, by the words of two women, retreats out to a bench in the hallway outside the physical training room. Anticipatory heart pounding slows, as she positions herself carefully beyond a soundproof wall, one foot propped up on the bench for a knee to lean on, while the other swings down, scuffing against the ground on each arc.

    She didn't remember to put a top on over her bra before coming out. Or tell Cinder where she was going. It's not like she can go in to fix either of those things, now, and even stepping into the locker room to grab her phone and text her seems like an unnecessary risk. The idea that she could say all of that, and then *accidentally* hear or see something she wasn't meant to, is really just too pathetic for her to even consider.

    So Petra stares at the steel floor, tracing patterns with her eyes, while the rhythmic swing of her boots scrapes,   scrapes,   scrapes. Fired-up enthusiasm and competitiveness drain away with each second she spends out here, maybe replaced with something better. Because even if it *is* small to Lilian, Petra's small in comparison to her too. It's still an upwards path that Lilian herself had to take, to get to where she is, and Petra can't just skip every step along the way and expect similar results.

    A bit of time passes, and Petra idly considers that she might end up taking the entire series of seven (five) trials isolated from the others. If they're shuffled into the next room after completing the physical, they probably wouldn't just wait for her, alone, to finish up her fairly mediocre times before continuing. Mentally running through what other examinations there are is difficult for Petra, until she specifically recalls Lilian's voice saying them; then they come to mind no problem.

    It sort of feels right, for her to take them all alone. It's hard to put a finger on exactly why, when there's people she's fond of in the group, so it can't just be wanting to be opposed to a culturally hostile group of Elites. It's not like she really ever intends on doing anything in the Phantom Circle without Lilian's direct command, besides murdering one of its members, so there's no benefit to being separated from her, of all people, for this.

    Maybe it's just because it feels like less of a communal game, without the others all hyping each other up. With the other Elites around her, even Ishirou or Touta, there was an implicit sense of cameraderie in that they were *all* new, and *all* from somewhere else, and *all* 'just trying out for a certification'. Like a pack of friends-- friends or not-- descending into a gym, the real test comes from managing to keep it up alone. 'Alone' is almost certainly more similar to how Lilian took her first tests, too.

    Eventually, it's finally her turn. Rita is in Petra-Safe mode, so the only reason Petra would have to avoid looking at her is the one that the Bible says she should gouge her eyes out for. Petra feels a little guilty about missing Cinder's trials, but she comes back in looking more steady and determined. It's likely that everyone's in the showers by the time she feels safe to come back in, with an abundance of caution timing-wise.
Petra Soroka     None of Petra's unequipped physicals are particularly impressive, though they're not embarrassing by any metric. The only one that she manages to move to the second tier of difficulty on, beyond entirely mundane, is the obstacle course, to which she takes with a lot of the excitement that had gone away earlier.

    Hopping between platforms, Petra's occasional slip-up from being hit by one of the swinging obstacles is *always* recovered from, no matter how improbable it seems. Inertia through the air is slower or faster than expected, and she barely manages to catch herself on a platform with the edge of her boot at a catastrophically-unsteady angle. Jumps are a little higher, steps lighter, and it really seems like she manages to change direction slightly mid-air when spooked by a swinging beam, but there's no magic detected, so in that sense, it's unassisted. She's worked up and sweating by the end of it, exhilirated despite herself at the workout.

    *Equipped* is an entirely different matter. Rather than changing into her EGO gear, Petra just comes back out with the utility belt alone strapped around her waist. It's totally just because she didn't want to get her suit sweaty, and not because of how the torture scars were being completely misinterpreted by the crowds. Since the primary trait being tested now is physicality, Petra's main tool of choice is the transteam gun, drawn out and activated with its electronic-boosted cloud of smoke and small fiery explosion.

    As Sting Silver, black, purple, and sickly-yellow armor running with rivulets of morphmetal, Petra's strength is multiplied exponentially. Lifting multiple-ton weights is, though nothing close to Rita's display, fairly easy for her, and as a flourish she tosses one of them up in the air, triggers Pence the ratbot to scurry out of her pocket and catch it floating, then lifts a second one to stack them on top of each other in her arms. After Pence's anti-gravity generator shuts off, she very hurriedly puts down the weights with a loud thud.

    Jumping multiple times in the air is a much more clear-cut possibility with Sting Silver's repulsors, whips and flechettes of morphmetal obliterate dummies and concrete blocks alike, included in physical ability rather than combat prowess because it still feels, a little bit, like blood to her. The endurance trials, though manageable, are dramatically underestimated at first. Cloaked in the morphmetal-- now that she thinks about it, it's a little bit for both of their benefits that she and Rita's trials were separated-- it was easy for Petra to forget that she was still meat inside of it. She's got resistance, as much as easily clearing the boundaries of what 'equipment' would typically get a human, but environmental vulnerability sneaks up on her much faster than she expected.

    There's no one for her to show off to, anyways; just to demonstrate what she can do when pushing herself to her limit. She stumbles out of the little room, detransforms with a streaming cloud of glittering smoke, and hunches down to lean on her knees, catching her breath. Qetra is pulled out into the gym, wrinkling her nose at the smell, equipped with a duffel bag, a dozen holsters, a spear on her back, and everything else Petra saw fit to bring. A quick, routinely-practiced check over her inventory later-- Silver FullBottle latched shut, none of that potentially-dangerous exhaust leaked inside the gun, weapons handed off, clips of specialty bullets and her belt, all stowed with Qetra and then returned into the compact mirror. Then she's off for a quick shower and a rushed lack of relaxation to make sure she catches up to everyone.
Rita Ma      Praising her bravery, especially, takes on an uneasily ambiguous tone.
     But it is praise, and that is enough. Enough, at least, to get Rita to smile tenderly and draw her feet up onto the bench, hugging her own legs like she's cradling that warmth to her chest against a greater chill.

     "People will look at you differently, but less than you imagined."
     She hadn't been able to answer Lilian at the time; just nodded in a queasy daze. But those words have been rattling in her head in the minutes since. And they're coming true already. "Thank you, Ms. Administrator," she says timidly to the staff member praising her. And she wants to say I don't think I'm brave, but for once the words don't come out, and instead her lips say shyly "I try my best. It means a lot that you think so."

     She very slowly stands, leans up on tiptoes, and tries to give the employee a childish hug. Part of her is hoping they'll recoil. Most of her is hoping they won't.

     ----

     Rita 'strangely' didn't sweat at all, so she's able to skip the showers. That lets her catch Lilian just after retrieving her bag and sun-hat. While walking, she gravitates to Lilian's shadow in that little-sister way she often does.

     "You were right," she says, warmly drained but bewildered. "Ms. Rook, how did you know?" I know she's struggled with being seen the way she wants to be, but... it wasn't like that, was it?

     Maybe it's the residual fatigue she senses, or the fact that Petra's hair might not be fully dried, but she magnetizes to Petra next and rummages in her bag. "You did your best, didn't you? I wish I could've seen it," she says, blissfully unaware of what form 'Petra's best' takes. She pulls out a mini-thermos of hot seaweed soup and sunnily foists it on her: "Oh, here, Ms. Petra! You can have this a little early. It's salty, so it's good for warriors. That's what everyone always told me."

     In the silence afforded by snacking, she still can't take her eyes off Petra's scars. Around the time the group enters the orb chamber, she murmurs "Lobotomy Corporation is so dangerous..." in awe.
Dysnomia     "A recruit of what? Do they put collars on those now? Am I going to have to tell Petra not to listen to thirty year old army bachelors?"

    Dysnomia grimaced, wondering when Lilian had overheard. Maybe it'd been stupid to think she wouldn't. A defiant spark rose in her eyes for a moment, then fell, as she turned her eyes back to the course. "Doubt you'd know about them, anyway. My world isn't well Integrated. I was part of the Nine Moons' military." Dysnomia opens her mouth to say something, then, grimacing, thinks better of it. "It's not like it matters anymore." Said the girl whose collar still had their symbol engraved on it, as she stormed off to continue the tests.

    As the ordeals passed her by, and it all finally concluded, she doesn't see Rita start. But she's around to watch her progress. She observed from a distance, not turning away. Silently, she observed, feeling compelled to...Witness? Yes. Witness. A frustrated feeling welled up in her, escaping as a sigh. Nothing she saw here could match what she saw when Rita had devoured the whale. What she'd felt. Now, it just felt like she was watching a girl punish herself. Mia punched feebly at the railing, shutting her eyes.

    It felt longer than it really was. When Rita was done, Mia was there, waiting for her to return from the last test. She threw away a hundred potential praises and assurances, and just gave Rita a small, awkward nod. A tendril of smoke, curled around her, almost protectively, and was gone.

    "Sturdy walls." She said, of the orb chamber. "Afraid of cheaters?" She mused aloud, laying her hand on it. "Or trying to block ambient interference? Well designed, either way."

    "...You don't buy this, do you." She nodded to the machine. It was impossible not to pick up on it. Lilian's psyche was as opaque to her as a river-smooth stone as ever, but she didn't need it to tell. "You sound like an instructor reading off a state-mandated lesson to get it over with."
Kale Hearthward Kale wasn't expecting fans here. Normal, non-elite-sphere fans are one thing, those are just background noise (and try to make him say weird things). Those that see all sorts coming through, and remember him specifically, that's something notable.

"I really wanted to see how I was going to measure up after last time," he says. "The first time wasn't long after my world unified... I was still figuring a lot of things out."

Rita catches his attention. Kale's finished his courses while people were talking, so he has a chance to stand nearby and watch her go...

... he's not looking at her much differently before or after her transformation and attempts. Which is to say he didn't look at her very kindly to begin with, but at least it's not *worse* now? Kale's never cared about what Rita looks like, or whether she's a monster or not. He's not as shallow as that. He simply dislikes Rita for being Rita.

He does queue up for each of the courses she was faster than him at, though, and attempts those courses again at least once each.

---

Lilian starts in on the explanation. Kale's heard it before. He actually got a cheat sheet last time, which he kept and then dug out prior to this trip to refresh himself on the hues and stations.

Though... did she sound this... out of it, last time?

"Well - you reached the next stage?" he says, somewhat awkwardly. This is a cause to celebrate, right? "The crown? I remember you reached Blade Black when I was here, so - crown's new, and this is where you're supposed to be telling us all of your plans for your new school, right? The Lilian Rook Tradition?"

Kale deflates a bit. Then de-deflates. "I still need to see where I am now, though."

Ishirou takes his turn. Kale hmms. "It's... a journey, Ishirou. A measure of potential and enlightenment. If you were meant to be at the end right when you started out, it wouldn't be a journey or enlightening right? It's like they say, if you meet the Buddha on the road, you're on the wrong road."
Kale Hearthward Kale steps up to take his turn next, politely going around Dysnomia if needed. "I got mirror and silver last time.."

He forms a condensed ball of wind in his hands, and presses it up against the sphere.

It glows - skipping past white and silver almost instantly, in blink-and-you-miss-it fashion, and landing on gold for a few seconds before pushing up to crimson. "It should-" he starts to say, but then it immediately rolls over into black before he can finish that sentence. "There."

And then the black changes into white. "Okay. Mirror. This is where I was last time..."

The white takes a bit longer to change to silver. "Polishing my skills. Learning how far I can push myself. Not relying on where others lifted me up to, and learning to stand on my own feet. I can- oh."

Gold mirror. He looks pleased. "See, a journey. I made it further than last time."

"Gold mirror. Let's see how far I have to go to red-"

He focuses, drawing more of his power in, pushing...

Power felt rather than imagined...

-and the ball shines crimson - brightly, and then dimly, as if it's on the edge of the next stage.

"That's - whoa!" Kale loses concentration, and drops the spell (literally drops it, where the wind knot unravels on the floor and briefly turns the chamber into a storm simulator.)

"Sorry - one more time, I think..."

Jewel - quicker this time. Then mirror, passing to crimson in less time than the first attempt's jewel. And then...

Power felt rather than imagined...
And there's nothing new to learn with it.

... black mirror. Kale focuses. He works his power through the patterns he knows, bolsters it, pushes it. The black becomes a more pure black, but... still just black.

"So that's the final step..."

So that's the limit?.
That appears to be the limit.
I'm not satisfied.
I wouldn't be satisfied.
I already know it, don't I?
I've already glimpsed it.
I've already *tasted* it.
And if I've already been there...

The black... gradually, slowly, gives way to brilliant white, and Kale holds it there for a few seconds before it all fizzles out.

"... It's just a matter of figuring out that I need to go further than the final step."
Petra Soroka     Petra catches up to the group only after running through hallways, with her cute mechanical rat sent ahead to make sure she doesn't lose track of them. Running, right after a desperately inadequate shower, after which she didn't bother spending the multiple minutes that would've been necessary to dry her hair and put her suit back on, leaves her buckled over again, hands on her knees. Of course neither Lilian or whatever administrative suit led them out of the gym would've slowed down for her.

    "Buhhh-- hhhhhh-- huhhhh-- h-hey... Rita...." From her wheezing as she tries to catch her breath again, it sounds like she either did really well on the physicals, or really, *really* poorly. A few seconds late, the word 'warrior' finally crosses her brain, and she ducks her head down for reasons other than sweating. "I... I-I mean... w-well, you kn-... know, it's like, electrolytes, so...."

    Petra straightens up, and swipes a mop of sweaty strands of hair out of her face while catching her breath. With her sports bra surrounded by 'battle' scars, decent amount of toning, and obvious signs of recent exercise, the gesture is-- it's an absolutely, completely, uncharacteristically and unacceptably, unfair way to describe Petra, as actually kind of hot. Not that she's thinking it, or capable of thinking it.

    She takes the thermos from Rita with a breathlessly murmured thanks, drinks it down, and gradually returns from pink to pale while slowing down to enjoy it. It's followed by her battered metal water bottle being taken out of her mirror, completely drained too while she waits her turn at the orb, and then finally calmed down and centered, she notices that Rita is admiring her almost entirely unclothed torso and not just making generic comments about Lobotomy Corporation.

    The pink returns, way faster than it left. "R-right-- I should-- I should put a shirt on, I totally-- I mean, I was, like, thinking-- you know, you'd all showered way earlier, so I was like-- I was running behind, so I just-- sorry, give me a--" Hours of nervous preparation gave Petra access to nearly everything she could think of. The CREATURE MODE shirt is drawn out of her inventory, and quickly shrugged on, though the sweats stay-- and unlike the other Agents, she's not using her EGO for this trial.

    Maybe she should've. When it finally comes her turn, Petra isn't *exactly* certain what power she's going to be channeling. If it's not her connection with the Silver, if it's not her resonance with her EGO gear, then all that's left for her is the power that she'd already lost. So she puts her hands on the orb, realizing a second too late that she's set herself up for disappointment.

    What she doesn't expect, and doesn't feel herself, is the immediate flare up of intense, maddening itch that fills the room when the orb attempts to draw power from her. The white doesn't budge at all at first, not even on the Jewel Station, but even the attempt to channel anything from herself has everyone in the room assaulted by millions of pinpricks of under-skin crawling, full of needles burrowed into muscle, hot with infection and shifting and twinging with every tiny contraction and movement that Petra makes. Dull at first, but growing louder as she obliviously tries harder, a tinnitus ring like resonating glass shrilly echoes at every frequency, telepathic at first, then in audible ranges, numbing psychic senses and aching in the onlookers' teeth.

    The orb feebly shifts to Silver. Petra drops her hands and exhales heavily, drooping as if she's totally exhausted by that.
Angela Once you've seen Rita soul vore a whale, everything else she does seems pretty chill comparatively as far as the Agents are concerned--and Nonon at this point sees her as a true friend. Gebura isn't bothered by her having tentacles or being monster (3/4) anymore, no--it's just Rita's personality she has issue with! But, still, that doesn't mean she doesn't feel a kind of strange attachment to her--she remembers Rita's reasons.

As they head into the new room, Gebura can't help but remark, "This is unusually broad. This adaptation for the multiverse or just how it always was?"

''But I'm not certain anyone has ever believed me when I did.''

Gebura wrinkles her nose. "What? They don't respect you properly here or something? ... Fat lot of good all this effort to check people out does if it missed you. You wrecked the Blue Star."

It's at about the point of 'Whatever that means' that Cinder (alongside Rook, who knew early on) that Lilian seems down on the process. This makes Cinder nervous, like she is expected to both do her best and also not give a shit simultaneously. She is uncertain at how to handle this. She settles on doing her best after thinking it over because what else can she do?

''Creating a story worth telling''

The results of this next particular test are miserable for everyone in Lobotomy Corp. None of them make it past Jewel. As far as hues go, Cinder and Nonon get to Gold but Justin doesn't manage to get past Silver.

"Are our stations broken?" Nonon can't help but wonder.

"No," Angela says. "You simply have failed to manifest your own EGOs. You are still using the EGOs from Abnormalities. This sort of failing is why Lobotomy Corp exists. Do not worry about this exam for now." Angela says blandly.

She looks somewhere off camera.

"Don't look at me," Gebura says. She can't conduct this test through a pad but Angela doubts it'll confirm anything about Gebura that she already doesn't know already.

''I should--I should put a shirt on, I totally--''

Cinder bites at her lip.

But as they step back, Petra unleashes that maddening itch. Cinder scratches at her skin, not maddeningly--absently, like she doesnt even realize she is doing this. Nonon yelps in surprise. Justin Rook preemptively stepped to the edge of the room and squeezes his own arms tightly preemptively and tightening further when the effect goes off.

"Oh don't worry," Cinder tells Petra. "This test seems kinda broken." She seems to believe it too, in the moment of things, though she is mostly saying it to try and reassure her.
Rita Ma      "Thank you," Rita finds a moment to whisper to Mia, while they wait to be tested. "For not looking away."

     Rita has lots of practice hiding bad feelings, and none at all hiding good ones. So when Petra does that hair-swipe, her eyes almost sparkle with awe. She takes a half-step closer to thoughtlessly take it in, even.

     "N- no! You shouldn't put a shirt on! I mean, really, don't worry about it! You've seen how Ms. Kana dresses! Not that I think you have to be like that or anything, but it doesn't bother me at all, honest!" But then the mirror trick briefly stuns her, and then the CREATURE shirt's return mollifies her, so that train of conversation is mercifully aborted.

     If Petra turns around quickly enough after the test, she might catch Rita flinching in pain. But when Rita realizes she's been caught, she does her best to smooth it over, force a smile, and give her friend a meager thumbs-up of encouragement. It's almost convincing.

     Is this part of what I'm not supposed to know about her? I can't let her feel guilty about hurting me, either way.
Rita Ma      In general, Rita seems far more relaxed about this test than the physicals. That's less because she's confident, and more because-- "I really don't think I have any special enlightenment in the first place, Ms. Rook. But I'll give it my best anyway. It's supposed to be important, right?"-- she doesn't have anything to prove.

     When it's her turn, she only needs a small breath to steady herself before she steps forward and lays a hand on it. I'm not sure of myself. I don't really know what I'm doing, she thinks, and it's plain to see on her face. Underneath all the ugliness, the nicest thing you could say is that I'm kind of ordinary. If I could get past Jewel, that'd be nice.

     Her hand glows white when she presses it to the orb. Others have seen that as the prelude to one of her beam attacks- processed life-energy, violently regurgitated. For a moment, there's nothing. Confusion flickers on her face. If it's stolen energy, does it even count as 'me'?

     Then it (clack-click) forms the White Jewel, and Rita softly gasps. She shuts her eyes and focuses, oh-so-carefully working her way through the colors. When it shifts to the Mirror, she makes a sunny noise of pride and intensifies her hand's glow. White... silver... gold... Mirror Crimson, and it grinds to a halt. 'Self-reflection', 'internalizing power'. That suits her.

     Rita whips around with her hand still on it, positively giddy and bouncing in place. "Ms. Rook! Look! I got it! It--"

     CLACK-CLICK-CRUNCH.

     Paralyzed, Rita looks back at the orb out of the corner of her eye. It's skipped straight to Throne White. The color utterly drains from her face. Shouldn't she look happy, instead of eviscerated? Why are her fingers trembling?
     "... transcended the humanity inherent in that power and become something that sits above humans."
     something that sits above humans
     something that sits above humans
Kale Hearthward Kale, who almost caused a tornado when he misfired during his first test attempt, is very tempted to give Petra grief about her misfire.

The agents don't get past gold jewel. That's about as expected, in Kale's ranking that he's keeping up internally (while insisting externally that it's not a contest).

Rita steps up. She gets... crimson mirror. Huh. Kale, despite himself, is impressed - she's doing well. She's someone to watch out for.

And then there's the click-clack-crunch.

Kale stares at the pattern on the orb, one he'd only ever seen on the explanation materials and never encountered in person before now. Throne. A full tier above Lilian's new spot. Three tiers above where he's had to push himself for months and years to get to.

Kale stares.

"That's bullshit," he says.
Touta Konoe     

    "Probably, but...I wanted to say it all the same."

    At the note of finishing school, there's a shift in his gaze, there's not an immediate response. The same with Gerart till he speaks up again.

    "Ya know, I did some reminiscing when I got here. Must have been like...five...Six years ago? A few of the Elites actually ended up getting a tour from Gerart and all of a sudden he starts nudging in the direction of the training going on. There you are, going up against this guy half a foot taller than you...Though I imagine for anyone hearing that now, they'd just laugh. Still, you really knocked the shit out of the guy. A cup check, rolling punches, double heel kick...Did it all without the stops. It was skillful but...More than that I remember something else..."

    At the moment there's probably a few of those people that were still there in the Multiverse, even fewer here now. One could even question if anyone remembers it much, but he's still talking about it all the same...

    "...It felt like I saw a bit deeper. The part that backed up everything you did. The conviction, the purpose, the focus...Stuff I should have looked deeper for back then..." Not just the overconfidence but what backed it up. What made sure it wasn't just hubris that it could have been, even if certain people saw it as such. Even if she's still apathetic to his words he keeps speaking with sincerity to his voice. "If anything, with your skills you could have probably just moved on from here and no one would have doubted it. But you stayed. You grinded through it even when it grinded through you...And so did the Multiverse..." There's another bit of silence before he finally speaks up again. "Since I've been back, I thought I saw that look again recently..." It was a time back in Lampport, but he imagines saying that aloud or when he saw it wouldn't be too pleasant. Instead, "Maybe it's no longer just worth it if people see what you're showing or not, versus just noticing the people that see your worth...Speaking of, you got a few of those still around my way that hope you noticed. Wasn't any issues with those cards, right"

    It looks like for a moment she's going to have to deal with his words a moment longer before they begin calling up for the next test. There's a small sigh looking to that direction before looking back the other way, others clearing wanting to spend their time with the host of this 'event'. "Anyway...I gotta. I remember Gerart saying that his policy was if you were late it was like minus five points on the final grade. Definitely be a problem if they're keeping the same standards. Would be a problem if they thought I was possibly a delinquent student, right?"

- - - - -

    Somehow Touta's able to shower in that brief span of time and be able to get back with the group with no issues. There was probably a trick to it. He's just in time to hear the explanations of Lilian going over the hues and stations, something that definitely does feel lackluster to see her elaborate on compared to last time. But not for him to say either. It's just a matter of everyone finding their own, which for the most part goes unimpeded until the mishap with Petra's. Touta feeling like he's getting shocked and pricked is a sensation that reminds him again of that familiar time again till, though literally feeling the sensations all the way till it rattled his bones. It's an actual mercy when it stops and a sigh of relief escapes him. He checks himself over for a moment. As if checking to see where the hell he was hit...He wasn't. All of that being non-physical damage was just...Dangerous.

    Surely there weren't going to be anymore surprises as Rita showed off her Mirror Crimson.
Touta Konoe     As Rita ends up bouncing in giddiness, Touta ends up giving a small smile. It was still nice seeing someone getting some genuine joy out of this. Though that smile turns to eyes gone wide as it turns to the Throne White. Everyone at this point is getting pretty impressed at that point. Rita definitely becomes a star in the moment even if she believes the results were 'wrong'. Though it seems that there's already plenty of people reassuring her. So with that commotion...

    Touta can't even remember what he got the last time he did this. Though this time as he places his hands down, letting his power be taken...He can feel things developing very fast. Which might be for the better, not like he's trying for a crowd anyway, and he was one of the last ones to be finishing up. The sensation of the jewel forming first and going through the hues in quick succession. The mirror starts to form a little slower, it's shape solidifying first but taking it time to work through the colors. It's as things come to the chalice does he need to focus. "Y-Yeah, I'm feeling it..." As it begins to form, the colors beginning to run through his hands feel like any wrong touch could mess this up. It feels as if he's trying to mold a chalice out of clay on one of those spinning cycles. At the same time...The rotation, the speed of it, making sure not to let it go out of control...It's a similar sensation to what he's used to, if not something external to him...By the time he finishes what he ends up sustaining in his hands is what appears to be Chalice Crimson.
Dysnomia     "...It's just for an ID card." She said to Rita, stepping up to put a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't mean anything." The wisp of mist coiling around the girl grew a little more distinct, without Mia's realizing it. "Let's just get all of this over with." She growled, stepping up to take her turn.

    She stepped up to take attention from Rita, laying her hand upon the orb. Her eyes closed, and she breathed out, and in. Let her focus fall entirely on the orb. She had no magic, but if this was as universal as Lilian said, then maybe...

    ...Her hands glowed. She thought of it like she thought of her body, her power. She filled the empty spaces, the crevices, the the channels and pathways with ease. It was like when she reached through the gaps of a ventilation shaft, or filling the white space around someone before materializing around her. Jewel barely had time to show before it flickered to mirror, and into chalice.

    Dysnomia took a breath she didn't need, in focus, searching for a way forward. Realized that she knew exactly what she needed.

    ...She didn't have it anymore.

    When she opened her eyes, she stared upon a silver chalice. "Just for an ID card." She said again, to herself this time.
Meika Kirenai     Despite it probably being proper to, Chevalier Vermillion doesn't transform back just to shower or rest easier. If anything further down the line needs something serious from her, it's not on the cards to trasnsform a second time, and heaven forbid trying-

    Overheard and overheard whispers of fond purity cause Vermillion's carried posture, as she wanders the allowed areas for cool-down, to slightly slump and falter. Finding a quieter corner to lean in -and then slide down the wall of to clutch at her knees, she pulls out a cigarette to light. She barely pays any attention to how each of her skate blade's footfalls ever so slightly mars the flooring, and how their constant, soft ringing hums to dampen whatever other noise finds her corner for that long moment.

    Once ashes or interruption mark the time to get up, and get going, Vermillion is quick and quiet to hop back to her feet and carry on through the facility.

    She finds somewhere to put out the stub of her cigarette, before they all get to the absolutely impressive chamber. Vermillion is (only a little) ashamed to have oo'd and ah'd at the construction. It's pretty, and fancy, and everything feels like the kind of things she shouldn't ever touch.

'Afraid of cheaters?'

    "Doesn't this all matter, for... dangerous things? Cheating seems stupid. Wouldn't it weed itself out one way or another? Why's that on your mind, huh?" Vermillion has utterly no room to talk, for how quite literally the other day being on the radio bands cheating on other forms of- Homework isn't a test, though. It's fine. It's basically nothing-

    Petra's touching of the orb elicits an immediate flinching response in the magical girl, her skates click as she backsteps away from nothing, and grabs at her own forearms. "..Ah, h-hey-" Quickly, she silences herself. No, she's trying, just watch. It looks like it's hard.

    Power comes easy, transformed as she is. Almost before Vermillion's hand is even on the orb, there's a spark, bridging the milimeter gap in the moment armor makes contact with it. The jewel stage flashes from white through silver and gold to sit a few breaths longer at crimson. At baseline. Regardless of the color themeing similarities, Chevalier Vermillion is, at the very least, tied to and resultant of inherent and internalized power. She gives off enough of it to shift it that far (albeit, not particularly far overall) without effort.
Meika Kirenai     When she stares down at the orb, though, and tries- properly, to push a bit of her power, of anything, into the reader, it starts to flicker black- and flashes over into white again, the threshold passed to the mirror's station. God's blessing comes with duty, and a duty to be- It teeters again, as if it wants to head back down, but as bile-like guilt washes over Vermillion, it flashes silver, again sitting there a moment, and Vermillion is almost relieved. Silver, a duty and role pure and strong like metal, to confront evil with... that's not bad, I can live with trying to- It rushes past gold and even crimson all the way to black, Vermillion's hand on the orb f-f-flickering for a brief moment- no, that happened first.

    For a breath that feels like eternity, Vermillion ponders just pulling her hand off the orb as it resonates just-audibly, and not letting it get any further. Stop. Don't seal it like that. Please- With a for-some-reason ashamed look on her face, the orb's imaging shifts all the way to Chalice Silver. Her hand pulls away, and that's that.

'Whatever. It's just for an ID card.'

    Lilian's earlier disparaging of the concept gives Vermillion a strange bit of comfort where maybe it shouldn't. She snorts. "What's even a good score, Chevalier Rook..? Is- is that one alright..?" She almost winces, saying it. It's a fool's errand to try and pass off discomfort just at the skin-itching, as she scratches at her forearms through her bracers, but that's exactly what she tries.
Lilian Rook     'Well, I guess I have a long way to go!'

    "That's fine. Go wherever you want."

    '...You don't buy this, do you. You sound like an instructor reading off a state-mandated lesson to get it over with.'

    "Of course I buy it. It's not a mood ring. I know how it works." Lilian says, with just a hint of offense. "How much I feel like it matters right this instant isn't your business."

    'crown's new, and this is where you're supposed to be telling us all of your plans for your new school, right? The Lilian Rook Tradition?'

    Kale Hearthward of all people trying to prod her in a cheerier direction raises the ghost of a confused smile, at the corners of her lips. "It's a big deal. There'll probably be a party. I'm going to get keys and fast tracks on a small list. It's just . . ." Somehow, she uncannily looks eastwards. "Even this world is bigger than I thought it was. Knowing there are others who are a little like me, and just don't get to participate in any of this . . . it sort of makes me wonder why I'm the one who takes these tests."

    --intense, maddening itch--

    "Fucking stop. You're not going to get anywhere. You know it feels awful when you try like that."

    'Don't look at me'

    "I wonder why she would . . ."

    'Ms. Rook! Look! I got it! It--'

    Rita's infectious joy is finally enough to force the smouldering coals of a tenth-of-a-smile extinguished earlier to flare back up again to half of one. "You really did. I keep telling you. You aren't that same helpless--"

    Lilian can read the room when it changes again. She gently takes Rita's arm and guides it away from the orb. She looks vaguely stricken herself. "It's fine. These things aren't really calibrated for outsiders anyways. You know Xion got absolutely nothing, and she's really magic." Lilian says, trying to sound reassuring.

    'What's even a good score, Chevalier Rook..? Is- is that one alright..?'

    "You're doing wonderfully." says Lilian, unaware of the immediate future. "No one taught you anything, and you're keeping up right where you should be."
Lilian Rook     After something that esoterically heavy with Lore, what you're lead to next is so shockingly mundane it feels offputting. The stairs into a lobby into a reception room that then splinters along numerous hexagonally laid-out corridors only seem avant garde in architectural design; all that's actually in them is an ordinary series of semi-identical conference rooms and small waiting areas.

    It feels more like the building Lilian would have maybe wanted to take you to instead, but the release from nameless malaise for her seems to be only slight. A lessening of tension only for knowing the impending challenge is something equivalent to passé.

    "Don't worry. The next part is boring. I'm certain you'll figure it out on your own." says Lilian, baselessly. "You should either be used to it already, better off if you don't score highly--" It sounds like she deliberately chose away from 'do well'. "--or you've been studying up for the last two years, haven't you?" Walking away with a refreshingly normal (coy and self-satisfied) finger wave over her shoulder, Lilian unfortunately halts long enough to cast a worried second look over her shoulder at Rita. It might have been better if she just callously forgot.

    After Lilian splits off again, you're all lead to individual conference rooms, where you're literally sat at a desk, and at first given papers to fill out with a pen. It looks dreadfully like a written exam, save that onc you get going, it asks oddly open ended, yet strangely particular questions.

    The written material concerns itself with personal questions first, largely revolving around describing oneself and their experiences, then gets into sort of abstract 'ink blot'-esque interpretations of metaphors, thought exercises, parables, and koans, a few of which are probably familiar to some (the Original Face, a version of the Trolley Problem, the Ship of Theseus, and so on). Apparently a mere warmup, it eventually culminates in asking for what amount to fifteen minute 'essays' on three major questions, regarding:

'The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it'

'The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is'

'What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe'

    The undertones are vaguely yet menacingly moral, yet lack any pretension to scoring you on ethics.

    The second half is equally mundane, but with a sort of uncanny element to it. Each person, after having their papers finished, has a trio of people brought into a room with them. Qualified examiners, to a one, if unassuming outwardly. They're different for each person, but there are always three, and they appear to have a certain pattern to them.

    The trio of examiners for each participant begin an interview. Questions where they're looking for correct answers, and closely scrutinizing how well; how promptly; how sincerely (or convincingly); how consistently, and how coherently they're answered. For a while, they're fundamentally all the same questions as the written portion, with some twists and alternative takes that might disguise them as something else with a different answer, but soon they cease being 'answer the question', and force you to argue and defend an outcome.
Lilian Rook     After a while, the roles of the three become more and more obvious. One is always assigned to be hostile and critical, attacking the validity of answers, skewering ideals, and doing their best to shake and shoot down everything you say. They are, refreshingly, the most straightforward to deal with.
    One never objects to what you say at all. They're always accepting, seemingly interested in or impressed by your answers. They repeat your conclusions for verification, asking 'if they've got it right', but always subtly off what you're trying to get at. They provide 'outs' whenever you seem stressed, or offer slightly different worded alternatives to your points that are immediately accepted by all three, despite not quite being what you really mean.
    One challenges every answer with a question. They meticulously record everything you say, and then constantly refer back to it; throwing your own words in your face, citing your own scripture to argue against you, and demanding that you justify every little thing. Endless examples and hypothetical cases put you through elaborate hoops that track back around into the answers you've given, slowly becoming a convoluted web made of the volume of 'things you've said', increasing as the interview continues.

    There is one more trick to it too, limited as the opportunity is to realize.
    One is always, mentally, fairly mundane. One is always on guard against manipulative behaviour and has naturally talented resistance to glamers, compulsions, and the like. One is always 'actually properly trained' against all forms of non-verbal suggestion and command, and to veil their thoughts from being read.

    This is seemingly intentional. There is always a weak link, always an anchor, and always a middle ground. They expect the possibility that unfair advantages may be leveraged here, secretly and without saying so. 'Cheating' only reveals a new layer to be graded on.
Kale Hearthward > "--or you've been studying up for the last two years, haven't you?"

Oh. Studying. Right. That... thing Kale probably should have done.

He's not going to get handicapped points for this being his second attempt, right?

ORIGINAL FACE: Kale writes a rambling answer that doesn't really address the question.
TROLLEY PROBLEM: Kale absolutely would push one person onto the tracks to save five other people.
SHIP OF THESEUS: Kale gives a concise answer that aptly demonstrates that he doesn't really understand the question.

Okay, warmup done.

> The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it

"Power... has a direct correlation to responsibility. While those with the most power have the most responsibility, it goes all the way down to even those with some smaller fraction of power having some proportionate amount of responsibility. It falls on you to find ways to *use* that power responsibly in service of those with less power, and you need to deal with it or give up your power to someone who can."

Yes, Kale's talking to himself for these as he writes. It's good that there's individual rooms.

> The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is

"I need to expand the definition of 'human' here for obvious reasons, but some amount of reasoning ability? Some ability to be creative, maybe. As far as the purpose of people, the purpose of people is to be of benefit to other people. Your existence as a person may depend on your ability, but your *worth* as a person is dependent on your actions and their results."

'What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe'

"Results. Everything is subjective, definitions of 'good' and 'evil' are made by people trying to push an agenda, and intentions don't matter. The only thing that's right are actions that cause results that provide a benefit to people, and the only thing that's wrong are actions that solely provide a benefit to oneself at the detriment of others."

And then to the examiners. Kale *does* remember this part, and more importantly he remembers his post-testing 'I should have said this and this' thinking and reflection, because he flunked it hard last time.

... And so, expectedly, he goes into it with higher confidence and thus falls into the traps all over again, even harder this time.

Only after he's started taking this seriously does he rally, and he doesn't really start scoring (curve-adjusted for the difficulty) points until he gets past that first yomi layer and *starts* having confidence in his responses again, speaking them with true belief and assurance even when he's anticipating someone throwing the flaws in his arguments back into his face.
Ishirou Ishirou disagrees with Lilian that the next part is boring!  He thrives in these kinds of tests, written and exercising his brain as opposed to his body.  For once it seems like a dream come true... until the deeper part of the test comes through and he's sweating over these questions.  Things like the trolly problem, he always chooses to save many lives over one.  

However, the nature of power is a bit more difficult.  However, his stance on power is that power should be used by those who have it to protect those who do not.  Power is anything that you have that gives you an advantage over those who do not have it, meaning things like enhanced senses are power, but even things like training with a sword are power.  Anything can be power, rather it's a natural ability or something you trained and focused on.

As for the nature of human beings, human beings are those who can think for themselves, and believe in community.  Humans desire to develop a community over destroy it, desire companionship and togetherness over isolation, and strive towards the betterment of these things.  However, he does indicate that it's also a failure of humanity too, eventually, they decide what is 'right' and what is 'wrong', and anything that doesn't exactly neatly fit becomes wrong even if it shouldn't be or a person who embodies that wrong is very much more human than not.  

As for what the purpose of people is, there is no 'purpose' to a person.  A person's life is theirs to live how they see fit, to experience the world and universe around them, and to live to obtain happiness.  What defines a person or consciousness is a deeper question that Ishirou himself isn't one hundred percent sure of yet, though when he writes he tends to ramble on about points here.  It is what will get him smashed in the next section.

For the part of what is right in the universe, what is right is to use your power to fix what is wrong with the universe.  To try and make things better for everyone, and not just a binary 'the society' or 'the individual'.  What is right is to protect others, and to defend the weak.  What is right is to create bonds and family, and to protect those bonds however you can.  What is wrong is the reverse of this, abandoning family and friends you have created being at the top of this list.  

When dealing with the questioners themselves, he does pretty well in defending his points.  He's more than willing to go toe to toe against the aggressive one, however, he tends to be easily overwhelmed with how hard he goes.  He tends to fall into the traps of the second one, taking time to back himself out of corners and restart, but always seemingly losing the plot.  The one who questions everything he tends to do the best on, answering every question and using the prompts put down to expand his points if given time.  

One slams his arguments into his face repeatedly, the second manages to worm his arguments away from saying anything at all, and the last manages to get some back and forth, which lets him expound upon his efforts a lot better.  
Rita Ma      For once in her entire life, Rita agrees with Kale. "It is 'bullshit'," she says quietly, after Lilian's escorted her away by the arm. The word doesn't come off her tongue right, but she means it.

     She rests against the corner between the pair of Paladins. "I'm sorry," she says after a long pause, to both or neither of them. "I didn't mean to be a bother."

     When she leaves for more sterile halls, she breathes out in relief. Then Lilian's backward glance of concern makes her suck it in again, shoulders drawing back and spine straightening. Her eyes fall to the tile, and her hands fret with her straw sun-hat.

     "I'll be fine. It's just questions, isn't it?" she says, misinterpreting the concern on purpose.

     ----
Angela Gebura's head turns back to Lilian at the 'I wonder why she would' but she doesn't seem inclined to come up with an answer herself as to why Angela would consider where she stands.

''The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it''

Nonon and Justin Rook have a similar attitude here: Caring for those under you. It is a fitting response for those that have actually had responsibility over people under them before. Nonon rambles on a bit more than Justin's curt but complete response but it's Cinder who likely has the most interesting answer.

''Power isn't fair, it doesn't always go to those that are deserving and nenither does responsibility. Some of the most powerful people I know don't really have any responsibilities at all. It's often those that don't have power that have the responsibilities. People who are just stuck on the bottom rung. They'll have multiple jobs, they have to do the shit work nobody wants to do. That's what responsibility is to me and any power I get is to help me deal with that kind of responsibility. In this case: Monster fighting. People who have responsibility and true power are so rare that they are often tied together and the moment they let down their responsibilities, the power goes away with it. Even if they can still freeze time or kill whomever they want, the world moves on without them because the power they have and the power that I find way more common are entirely different kinds of power. They might think they have a responsibility to those below them but power will always assert itself when it's convenient for those on top to do so. The ones that hold both power and responsibility... It's one and the same. The almighty janitors of the multiverse who are too busy to lord their strength over others. You get in the way of their work and they bash your head in with the mop and then go right back to cleaning.''

''The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of people is''

Cinder stares at her paper a lot for this, Rook's is intensely clinical. Cinder's ends up the opposite, suggesting that anyone you can strike up a conversation with is human enough. Nonon however...

''HA! I've met plenty of monsters more human than any human and plenty monsters more monstrous than any human. There's no purpose to people--what, you think we were made by Gods? Who would make a place like the multiverse intentionally? Asking what a human is is the wrong question it's 'who can I get a beer with?' There's only one life out there to live, aren't we all a little too busy getting on to look up our own asses and wonder who is human and who isn't? Once you start asking 'what makes a person a person' you are putting other ''persons'' on the other side of that line. We're here be happy, be sad, angry, fuck up, succeed, be pathetic, be incredible, and probably die in a way that's terribly sad and terribly quiet. Even suns burn out eventually. And new suns explode into being. It's beautiful and scary isn't it? I think we all know what makes someone a son of a bitch, in your gut, but those sons of bitches...even if they've murdered their own heart, even if they weren't born with one--they're still people buddy! GA HA HA!''

Yes she writes the GA HA HA on paper.

''What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe''
Angela Nonon's answer is basically just: Hedonism mitigated by being good to your mates. Cinder's largely amounts to doing the best for the people you love. Justin Rook has been thinking about this one for a while though.

''You can see what is wrong with your eyes as a child. You are then taught to avert your gaze. Even if you commit to hundreds of good deeds, one sin will remain. The best you can do is to live amongst those good deeds and make the sins have purpose to them so that those that come after have something to look forward to and a better world. The universe might not have a sense of right or wrong in of itself but it has a way of punishing those that sin. And punishing those that are good. They are different punishments. Bear the weight, build something for tommorow. Eventually the echoes of your deeds will fade beyond your sight and ears but it still happens on and on to an infinitesimally small point--but it is still there. That is how one sin can become hundreds of good deeds. Writhing in pain about what is good or evil when the only choice is to act and take the responsibility is taking responsibility for no sins and no good deeds.

When it comes to defend their arguments, Justin is the best at it rhetorically and Nonon is the worst and least interested in doing so.
Dysnomia     For a hateful, strangling few hours, it felt like she was confined behind bulkheads in orbit. It was a familiar, teeth-grinding pressure. There were no obvious 'right' answers. There were DEFINITELY right answers. She found herself falling to the old standbys.

    Where do you send the trolly? Toward the few. To abstain from choice is to abstain from responsibility. What remains of the original as its pieces are gradually replaced? Nothing. Its original spark is lost. A slow death, piece by piece, without the original ever realizing.

    In the interview room, Dysnomia sat, straight-backed and at attention. Listening to the examiners with her hands clasped.

    She absently rapped her knuckle on the table, a motion that could have possibly been an unintentional gesture of thought, drawing attention to herself, beckoning a moment of silence. Her glowing eyes sliding from interviewer to interviewer. "There is a weight to human thought, and will, that persists. Call it the collective unconciousness. Call it culture. It's the closest thing to divinity. The closest thing to justice. We either contribute our part to the broader momentum of humanity, or, in faltering, we become a burden to it." Her tone was matter-of-fact. Almost rote.

     A clarification, a question, leaning forward toward Dysnomia. The girl's eyes weighed them, carefully.

    "No." She shook her head. "Humanity is the true originator of the spark of thought and conciousness. All others are derivitive copies." A challenge. Mia hesitated. "...It's not that they don't matter, no. But the collective 'human' soul is the heart of what makes a person a 'person.' To lose track of this is to lose all that is worth living for."

    Energetic agreement, a smile that managed to coax a meagre--insincere--grin from Dysnomia.

    "You've got the gist of it, yes. Ultimately what is 'good' comes down to contributing to that collective soul of humanity. Service to exalt them, to bring humans to new heights." Another examiner spoke up, perhaps intending to misunderstand. But-- "Exactly. The purpose of human lives is to exalt humanity. To sacrifice up your body and life to it is the greatest nobility. To sabotage it is to be a traitor to humanity."

    As the debates rage on. The secret layer of 'cheating,' by itself, sabotages Dysnomia. She finds herself reacting to the undefended mind, her arguments sliding into its own. But her actions lack a sense of deliberateness, as she finds herself slipping toward who they want her to be, without even realizing that she's doing it.
Rita Ma      ----

     Being in a nice little room alone is relaxing. Her mood steadily improves. Rita is charmingly naive about the old chestnuts, but puts down sincere answers. You should pull the lever, but also feel bad about it. Your original face is neutral, right?

     Only the Ship of Theseus gives her trouble.

     The live-judged segment is different. She doesn't have any way of influencing them, except for her precious goodgirl little-sister act. She puts that on thick whether she means to or not, immediately anxiously asking them if they have a spare pen, and where she should put her hat, if it's impolite to wear it.

     She keeps picking at the straws.

     'The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it'
     "That's obvious, isn't it?" Rita says, anxiously looking for approval from the judges. Has she missed something? "Power is... getting to pick who lives and dies. Defining the way things are. And you should use it to protect the people, and take good care of them."

     'The' people. Not just people. When grilled further, she squirms glumly. "You know. Ordinary people. The workers, and the beggars, and the refugees. They come first. Powerful people just looking out for each other isn't good."

     She is dimly aware that she shouldn't voice her full-throated opinions about the powerful in a place of power like this. The judges can probably sense her squirming to not say it out loud: The wealth of the wealthy is taken from the poor. You can't confuse that with only violence. It's worse.

     'What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe'
     "Most people are what's right with the universe. And some people are what's wrong with it. When people share and help each other and form community against the world, I think that's right. And when they abandon each other to the world, I think that's wrong. The world can't be right or wrong. It can just... leave a lot of sharp rocks around, for people to pick up."

     'The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is'
     Rita smiles like she might throw up. She fails to give a good answer to 'what is a person', over and over, smiling guiltier and guiltier. They can't get to harshly cross-examining her here because the gentlest touch is the only one that works to coax her out without instantly folding.

     "Isn't it just obvious? What's a human. What's a person. And what isn't. You know it when you see it," she says, unable to lift her eyes from the desk. "You are. And I'm..."

     "... The purpose of people is to thrive and be happy. That's all," she finishes, with a quavery little voice.
Meika Kirenai 'No one taught you anything, and you're keeping up right where you should be.'

    The flash of relief across the magical girl's face at that last addition is palpable. So rarely are there metrics she gets to be privy to, that aren't just brought up as things she's falling short on.

'You should either be used to it already, better off if you don't score highly--'

    "What's... that supposed to mean? Better off not scoring high..? Is it better to fail..? And- and give bad answers on purpose? That can't be right, right?" Brows furrow, worried. It's got to be important to try, right? "There wasn't... a study guide to practice with first, right..?"

    It's weird for Chevalier Vermillion to sit there, reading over a test booklet, in an examination room, fully in the armored costume she uses for combat. Whatever comfort it provides her isn't easy to see on her face, as it feels awkwardly out of place to even be in an environment like that- let alone how vulnerable and uncomfortable feeling written exams make one to begin with.

    The thought excercises outlined in the beginning parts of the exam largely show the magical girl's not-quite understanding of most of them, beyond half-remembered phrases she reiterates in sloppy wording- except for the Ship of Theseus and its wonderings on the continuity of existence. Whatever she first put in the answer block, she furiously scribbled over again with a pencil, indenting the paper itself with the pressure applied over its area, over and over until- *Snap*.

    "...Um. Are... there more pencils..?"

                                   - - - - -                                    

'The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it'

    1) The Lord has a role he's given to each and every person, knowing they should have it within them to fulfil their own. Power is when that role's choices carry consequence for others and not just yourself, and the responsibility of those who have it is to place those others above themselves, and choose the right ways to act and be. Power lets you hurt or save, and responsibility means you must choose to be hurt to save, and leaves you at fault for letting it come to pass if you don't.

    The first essay prompt is the only one Vermillion answers in a way that comes across as genuine. 'Responsibility' and 'power' are things she's come to ideas on herself, with far less monolithic influence and far less demand for certain expectations on the shape of her ideas to be met. It still oozes bitter guilt.

'The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is'

    2.) Man is God's only creation made to serve and reflect His gifts back to Him, and shaped in His image in body, and blessed with a soul that can freely choose to love God. Man is a person, but modern times and doctrine dictate that God created other inhuman beings who can think freely, that the term must apply to, too, even if they cannot share Man's purpose and grace.

    She's pulling as much as she can from endless immersion in half-remembered Catechism study and lectures on doctrine, stilted and messy, to try and get something that feels like the right answer, on this test. She carries on in a similar fashion, filling out the angles she can with the regurgitated information over and over.
Meika Kirenai 'What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe'

    3) The only 'right' in creation is what is godly, and 'wrong' exists in the failure to pursue and achieve that.

    This answer, short and simple, takes no time at all to pen to page. There's little elaboration- like she thinks it answers everything, no matter the time given for complexity, in the way some tests throw out questions assumed to just be free points, known like the back of one's hand. No 'what the bible outlines', no discussion of prophets, nor officials, nor everyday assumptions in that moralism at all.

                                   - - - - -                                    

    The interviewers can each, easily, blatantly note the stilted, unsteady nature at which Vermillion answers their questions out loud. Only the more proficiently guarded, however, will notice the way her words and answers lace themselves with her magic, revising and editing what she says and has said retroactively in the same moments she flinches from blatant dissaproval- and eavesdropping just to check where that lies, in the obvious likelyhood she messes up without a clear chastisement or muffled chuckle. It's a test. And it'd be better if I get this correct, even if I do it wrong. This isn't home. It doesn't matter. It won't be on a real report card.

    The more the one interviewer who always questions and presses does so, the more she siffens up, the worse her tone grows, and the more she slips into overhearing thoughts and rewriting what everyone there has been saying, even to the point of trying to make that questioner seem to completely misunderstand simple things, undermined in validity. It's sickeningly easy.

    Of course, she can't hide the stress and worry on her face- and she can hide less than she means to, in the face of practitioners who know to expect mental manipulation and trespassing. It's far greater a weak spot than her mental manipulation- her magic is overkill, to incomplete defenses, like a hot knife to grey matter, but all the retroactive alteration won't rid even the completely vulnerable from jumping to assume something shifty is going on with her.
Touta Konoe     The conclusion of the stages test is met with some interesting results to say the least. People spanning all different kinds of results. What follows though is...

    Don't worry. The next part is boring. I'm certain you'll figure it out on your own. You should either be used to it already, better off if you don't score highly--or you've been studying up for the last two years, haven't you?

    A written exam...

    On its head, being brought to that mundane reception area somewhat eases things after the group nearly been caught up in whatever psychic feedback response had happened before. It was a moment to reset maybe. As everyone gets split off and Touta's asked to simply start filling out personal questions, and those that are more philosophical in nature. The questions almost seem to just be asking about where one was on a moral scale and what was in their headspace. It almost felt kind of pleasant compared to what had been done thus far.

    The three major questions do take time to think of an answer though. His responses on those fifteen minute essays feeling like while there's certainly some thought there, it was nothing...Solid. A surface level 'I think this' but the backing to it feeling like it was provided more in the moment rather than something that should have been solidified with the answer itself.

    The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it: "The nature of power...And it's responsibility. I think the nature of power is the power it can provide change. That the more a person or group has the more possibilities they can open, the more difference which can be made whether good or bad. So it ends up becoming a matter of having a level of responsibility to match it, right? Enough responsibility to know when to use that power, and when it shouldn't?" If perhaps this was a time later down the line, maybe his answer would have also included that power could be ephemeral in nature, and it is something to which must be recognized still, less one not take the appropriate level of it.

    The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is "The nature of human beings...You mean more like the nature of 'humanity'? I think that nature is...To be curious. Throughout the history of this world and others, people have explored places, experimented with foods, with just about anything they're not familiar with to see what could come of it. People want to learn what they don't know, they want to see if they can push limits, to find...Alternatives to the problems they have. As for consciousness, it's a little tricky. If it's just coming down to a definition I think consciousness is some sort of thought or instinct that makes you consider existence. I think it's something that can develop and mature, but at its base has to be something simple. Otherwise would you consider something like babies to be a person or have a consciousness? And for purpose that's...I think that's just something people define for themselves."

    What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe: "Right and wrong...In the universe? I don't think there's much on the scale of right and wrong when it comes to the scale of the universe. If there's something that's universally right, I guess it'd be that there are multiple potential ways to reach that right answer that people end up seeking as their purpose. The only wrong I can think of is when...Not when two purposes collide and have to contest, but...It's wrong when one's purpose is erased not because it failed, or it impeded with the purpose of something else but...It was a purpose that was erased without purpose...If that makes sense?"
Touta Konoe     When it comes to the trio of examiners, admittedly Touta finds himself realizing where the grueling part of this examination truly comes from. For someone such as himself that already struggled to argue his points...Or even have them...There are times where he definitely finds himself flat-footed. Times where he ends up having his argument feel completely obliterated. It's during those times that rather than just outright choose to have one of the interviewers attempt to provide him an out, there's just an honest admission that he didn't consider a point, or that he'd like to take a moment to think on what was provided. The only time he finds himself taking the out is when he feels like the answer that's been slightly adjusted, actually still feels to keep with alignment on some form with the previous one.

    By the time the questions are over, he feels like while he /might/ have been able to defend a few of his arguments, he ended up having more to think about after the fact than even before it. At the same time, he doesn't feel bad about the situation either. "That was...That was good. In like, a totally terrible to be in kind of way."
Petra Soroka "N- no! You shouldn't put a shirt on!"

    If Petra's half-dressed and scarred look seemed cool for even a single second, this is where that ends. She pulls back with her hands up and mouth hanging open like she's being held at gunpoint when Rita steps forwards, and then frantically twitches between wrapping her arms around her torso and fumbling with her mirror to retrieve her shirt. She holds it up in front of her like a shield, like she's showing off the specific quality of the shirt as a bargaining chip for Rita to 'permit' her to get dressed, and then scrambles inside of it as quickly as she can.

    Afterwards, she somehow looks more winded than she was when she sprinted to the Stations and Hues chamber.

"Fucking stop. You're not going to get anywhere."

    That, more than the admonishment in the radio, makes Petra flinch. Both because it's Lilian, and because of the obvious fact that she shouldn't have even tried it in the first place.)]")]

    "S-sorry. I'm sorry, you're right. There wasn't any point." Petra crosses her arms and squeezes, filtering to the back of the room, then pausing as a less beaten-puppy response comes to her. It's both a true thought, and an intentional choice to avoid making Lilian feel bad for scolding her-- not that she necessarily would, but Petra's whining could be seen as an expectation that she should. "And... like... I don't even know what I would've gained even if it worked. I'm more aware of the details of it all than something made for 'everyone' would ever be."

    Written tests are something Petra can get at least a little bit more enthusiastic for. She was *more* excited for the gym, but that was quashed pretty quickly by Lilian's demeanor, but at least for this she seems like she's feeling a little better...? Petra desperately wants to say something to her to help, but 'saying something to address a complex emotional malaise' is, perhaps, the most prominently-absent tool missing from her toolbox. Trailing behind Lilian in the office building, her stress over trying to think of words to say overheats her brain in a way that's almost literally visible, as she sweats and worries with basically no filter to her expressions.

Thought exercises and koans:

    You wouldn't expect Petra to be good at these, and she isn't. Not in the act of putting words to pages, at least. What she manages to convey through clumsily and spotty wording is a surprisingly abstract sense of identity and an extremely relativist sense of morality. Things relate to themselves in terms of their functions to others, and 'good' or 'bad' mostly depends on who those 'others' are rather than what those 'functions' are. She could be the trolly herself, and there could be a thousand people on the track, and it still comes down to her assessment of the individual.

'The nature of power and the responsibilities of those who have it'

    Now she sweats more. Petra is a philosopher without a belief system or any amount of intrinsic verbosity. Her ability to have a coherent and specific answer to... pretty much any long form philosophical question is dependent on Lilian, and she's more shaken from Lilian being unhappy than she is enthusiastic about answering a bunch of essay questions.

    In the end, what she writes is a stumbling, rambling essay about the need for people with power to determine a course of action that they want to put their efforts towards, and then developing rules and techniques that guide them towards that end without wandering. She's thinking of Eggman and Lilian primarily, though it's also how she treats her own slowly-reconciling power.
Petra Soroka 'The nature of human beings, what defines a person/consciousness, and what the purpose of 'people' is'

    This is obvious. Most human beings are entirely worthless until they choose to actualize themselves through intense effort; a 'person' is someone who distinguishes themselves from the tumerous mass of 'humanity' to develop culturally abhorrent interiority; the purpose of 'people' is about devotion and codependence without much responsibility to 'humanity'.

    Petra's writing, poorly worded and unsuccessfully translated from her thoughts and beliefs as it is, comes across as far more intense and two dimensional than she means it. She still *mostly* means it, but she's a lot better at acting out devotion than she is writing about it.

'What is right in the universe and what is wrong in the universe'

    Some people deserve better than they get, and some people deserve worse than they get. That's not a question of equity, but of violence. Good is found in other people and the things that are 'good' for them, and if that's not true, and 'good' is determined by cultural consensus, then Petra still distinguishes 'evil' from 'wrong', and argues in favor of the former. Poorly. Still.

    That part is all incredibly difficult for Petra. It's two of her biggest weaknesses combined, and at this point she's feeling drained enough to be woozy and faint. She can feel the pressing need for a cigarette building to intolerable levels inside her, but the office environment passively prevents her from asking, even if she totally could.

"You should either be used to it already, better off if you don't score highly--"

    When the interviewers start their routine, Petra finally understands what Lilian meant by that, and rejuvenates. These are Enemies. Her goal, theoretically, is to not fall into their traps, but play their game successfully enough to navigate all of their conflicting quirks well enough to 'escape failure' rather than 'answer correctly', a goal she chooses not to pursue at all.

    It's almost stress relief, to decide not to chase a 'good' grade in this part of the test. Petra loves being scored well by people that register as something adjacent to researchers in her mind, but she's stressed and distracted enough by 'bigger' things (Lilian being unhappy, the continual repetition throughout the test that people as a whole are worthless and anathemic to her by choice) to choose violence from the start.

    Partway through the interview, when the judge-who-only-makes-things-confusing demands she justify something she's said, she scoots her chair back and lays a land on the table, tilting her head to the side. "You know what I meant. I'm not really any good at arguing it, I know that, but I know I can *do* it. I'm going to step out for a cigarette break."

    It's not eloquent, or particularly smart, but Petra knows exactly what she wants even if she can't say it, and 'what she wants' can be summarized as 'fighting endlessly against the entire world to make it any amount better for Lilian Rook specifically'. And that's not really something meaningfully judged in the House of the Seven Worthies.
Lilian Rook     Your individual tests wrap up, discouragingly, much the same way. These people are highly trained and even more highly paid not to encourage or shame you even implicitly or by minute gesture. Having them drop kayfabe, thank you for your time, politely gather up your papers, and see you out, feels strangely hollow. Like reaching the end of a game you'd invested too much into, and can't quite absorb the fact that there's nothing left of it to see.
    You're made barely aware that this is the point at which you've skipped another step. As Lilian had said, it'd be pointless to grill you on academic and arcane knowledge if you don't even come from here; she'd disclosed that at the same time as dispensing with your combat scoring; itself already optional. Ordinarily you'd stay here with actual tests and a real interviewer for more objective topics, but, appropriately for who brougt you here, you are instead accelerated forward into the unavoidable worst part of your day.

    At the stairs to the next floor, Lilian says in recital tones, with a certain amount of grim pleasure at repeating herself, "If you're currently enjoying yourself, you'd best get ready to stop."

    The next step is the much-whispered about, and grievously maligned, 'Mental Fortitude' virtue. Lilian grimaces distastefully at the sign, and says "This is the worst by far. Please don't be stupid about it. I tell people this every year, so I'll be even clearer than usual: When it gets uncomfortable, leave. It sucks, and the prize you get for winning is being trusted to handle more. Like anywhere else."

    After the last respite, you find yourself in a sealed chamber again. They're relatively small, private, and dimly lit. Your party is split; have to enter them individually, rather than being able to share one in turns. Inside, you find each one is strangely connected to an intercom system, where a calm and soothing-voiced professional on the other end tells them that the process is reassuringly very simple.

    You sit in the middle of the room, and every so often they'll ask you if you want to continue the test. If you say yes, they clear the stage and start you on the next. If you say no, they cross off the stage you're on. You don't get points for finishing a stage but declining to go to the next. There are seven stages in total. Good luck.

    Why this testing room exists as it does becomes very obvious very fast. There's nothing in the room beyond a single chair to sit in and a door that locks ominously from the outside; and yet only moments after it's shut, you become aware that 'something else' is in there with you. Whether it wasn't here at first, or you just didn't notice, the sudden recognition of its existence is enough to raise every fine hair on end.

    That 'something' isn't visible. Isn't tangible. Isn't human. But it wants you to stop the test.

    At first, all this amounts to is 'asking nicely'. A gentle mental presence pokes and nudges to call this off and just leave right now. Spare yourself the effort and be smart. It isn't very powerful, but it is faint enough to be somewhat subtle, pushing and prodding to answer no when the instructor asks five minutes later. An utterly mundane person would immediately answer negative, then wonder 'wait why did I stop?' a second later, but it's far from bad.

    The stage after that is much more subtle by comparison, in that all that happens is that you get to take a break. Did they say there'd be breaks between? What comes to mind is little more than the usual static of intrusive thoughts that would be generated by the boredom of sitting in a chair for five minutes with nothing happening. Lilian is kind of a nasty liar, huh?
Lilian Rook     This is sort of dumb anyways, isn't it? What's the point of this? Does this actually matter? It can't affect the grade that much. Wouldn't bailing out early be convenient? If you think about it, that way you wouldn't have to get to the stressful part. The later stages are probably going to be horrific, after all. The physical was exhausting too. Just come back fresh. Plus it's not really fair to do this right after that entire harrowing interview.

    It's like there's nothing in the room at all. It's your own rationalization. Bargaining. The mental ability to justify a 'cheat day' or weasel out of a commitment.

    So it gets a lot worse after that. Past the second affirmative, 'something' comes back in force. Whoever answers positive is sledgehammered so hard by blunt-edged mental force that it feels like having the wind driven out of your brain. The contest is quick, brutal, and incredibly straightforward, as another will than yours attempts to pry the words from your mouth by force. The feeling of the Other is strong now; trying to get in, take over, straining your force of will to an exhausting, headache-inducing degree. There is no way through but to fight it. It's pure, straining, miserable Work to do so.

    If one can answer positive a third time after that, and express their willingness to subject themselves to worse, the next stage begins inducing not just thoughts, but vivid visual, auditory, and tactical hallucinations. It's no longer about control. You're no longer in the contest at all. The only thing this is about anymore is making sure you never want to spend a second in that room ever again.

    For ten solid minutes, the presence does everything it can to shock, to horrify, to terrorize, to confuse and beguile, to bully or tempt you, into leaving. Nothing is off limits. It brutalizes your senses with everything that makes you want to cringe, recoil, panic, or flee. Crass shock and scare tactics are just fine by whatever tenuous thing you could construe as 'standards'. Whether worms under your skin, razors dragged over your eyeballs, terrible ear-splitting screaming, or sights and smells of horrible violence and gore, it's all worth trying once. What's worse is when 'something' starts playing smart.

    Sometimes the Other takes the shape of some horrible thing in the room; it switches off the lights, shorts the intercom, and then the exact means you would expect from a nightmare indirectly informs you that the test has gone wrong; it fakes the sounds of the instructors banging on the door to try and get in, while the thing inside moves in for the kill.

    Sometimes, it mutes the comms instead. 'Something' suspends the outside world for the precious few moments it can create to frantically explain how it's trapped here; how you've been deceived, who set it in motion, how the others you came here with are all gone already, and what the supervisors are really going to do to you under the veneer of this fake 'test', because they know you're proud enough to say yes and that's all they need to get in.

    Sometimes it even takes on something entirely pleasant. Relaxing. Dreamlike. Euphoric. Addictive. To those it judges can't be intimidated, and who aren't susceptible to doubt, it instead provides the Butterfly Dream; the feeling that everything is absolutely wonderful and the time just flies, all the way up until you're prompted to answer whether you want to throw this away and go back to the grinding, exhausting misery of the rest of this day-- this month-- this decade-- and the temptation to answer 'just five more minutes' is completely overwhelming. And not 'yes'.

    Though really, it isn't above taking the form of an obnoxious little kid screaming and making insanely annoying noises over and over again in the corner for ten minutes solid if that's what it takes. It just wants you Out.
Lilian Rook     If you're masochistic enough to keep going, the presence dispenses with all its previous indirect methods and finally assumes the mantle of command. As if it were always naturally suited to simply Telling You, and you could only naturally obey. Its singular demand fills the room with the violence of an explosion, rebounding off the walls and crushing you again at the center.. It doesn't struggle and wrestle with you and try to take control; it has overwhelming, irresistible, dominating power, fit to make you feel exactly as utterly irrelevant, woefully out of your depth, and laughably out of place for coming here, as mit must see you.

    It might be the closest thing to vision from God, if judged only by the splendor and wrath inherent in its Absolute Order, and in the dire Consequences for refusing which are so obviously implicit it need not indicate.

    Someone who can overwhelm even that is rewarded by being plunged into total darkness. Total silence. Total numbness. Complete, floating sensory deprivation. Worse. You can't feel your own heartbeat. You can't tell your orientation. You can't even tell if your eyes are open or closed, no matter how fast you blink. You could be pinching your cheek and not even know. You could have in fact have fallen out of the chair and hurt yourself, or someone could have broken in and stabbed you, and you still wouldn't even know. Anyone or anything could be doing anything imaginable in this state of total, complete, utter vulnerability. Even the crazy hallucinations the human brain is supposed to experience in times like these, to preserve some vague proximity of sanity, don't come. All sense of time vanishes too. Have they already asked for the answer? Saying yes doesn't do anything. For all you know, you might be dead. Like this forever.

    The sound of being asked one more time is the first thing that breaks it; and this time they triply ask that you're absolutely sure about continuing, requiring you to complete a full statement of consent. Anyone who has somehow gotten that far and still wants to keep going is finally subjected to sixty seconds of full-immersion cognitive hallucinations which defy description, defy understanding, and defy basic sense. Not only the five senses, but additional specialized senses, and then senses you never even knew existed, are tapped in unison to synthesize a gestalt that is completely and totally anathemic to every basic tenet of human experiential paradigm.

    You're either spending sixty seconds experiencing what it's like to be a P-Zombie, Basilisk Hacked, or Rendered Mad, if those things weren't all completely fake. There's no sense of urging to it anymore. There's no intent to tell you to do anything in particular, because it's really just torture at this point.

    It really is. It's excruciating. It's terrifying. It feels like your mind is trying to think itself apart in a million different directions. Whatever your identity is made of, it's doing its best to atomize itself so thoroughly that you won't remember you existed. It's roiling, inchoate chaos so intense that it ends at sixty seconds for personal safety.

    You get a towel, snacks, and free beverages after, though. That's nice. They also check your blood pressure and pupil response to make sure nobody had an aneurysm or something. You're only deprived of the small comfort of Lilian coming back drenched in sweat and looking completely sick this time. "I suppose it's official. I'm already completely mad anyways." is all she has to say about it. "We get to stop on the floor above. Come on."
Ishirou Ishirou is subtly nervous about the next test, he's heard about it and people are even talking about it now.  He swallows, trying to make himself calm about it before his turn comes.  It's fine, it won't hurt him... probably... Though he can't help but be nervous about it.  How long will he last?  Will it make it so he can't participate..?  

He enters the room for the test and sits down.  He knows the other presence is there straight away, which... makes this somewhat easier to stomach somehow.  Knowing there is something else there that is an adversary is better than not knowing anything at all.  It's him versus this presence...right?  

The first checkpoint, Ishirou doesn't seem to be hard-pressed, the amount of mental effort isn't enough to make him stop the test.  During the second, he's irritable and turns over and looks at things, anything to cure his boredom or get the intrusive thoughts out of his head.  It's hard, trying to focus on something, anything else, and to get those thoughts about Lilian out of his head.

He says he's fine at the end of the second, willing to go forward.  That is when the third hits.  This is where Ishirou's mental fortitude fails him.  The sheer force and power behind the other entity is too much, he's unable to resist the aggressive force, the overwhelming presence.  When the call comes, he's almost grateful to say he's done, rushing out of the room in seconds after acknowledging he's leaving.  

He rushes outside and would be blushing if he could.  Well, he would be once he realizes he's outside.  Shaking the mental effects off, he shakes a little bit and hugs himself.  It's hard to acknowledge a weakness in yourself, but Ishirou knows that his mental fortitude isn't a particularly high strength for him.    
Kale Hearthward > "This is the worst by far. Please don't be stupid about it. I tell people this every year, so I'll be even clearer than usual: When it gets uncomfortable, leave. It sucks, and the prize you get for winning is being trusted to handle more. Like anywhere else."

Kale gives this some real, considerable thought.

He has Persephone's mental shielding. He could in theory go through a *lot* more with it, not even counting any natural growth he's had since he was here last.

Last time, he didn't get very far before tapping out. He got to sit and watch everyone else come out looking increasingly distressed, for however much longer they sat through it. He gets to experience all that first hand now, instead of wondering what they were facing.

"I think..."

"... I'm good. I'm going to skip out this one. Let my grade from last time stand, if that's an option."

He shudders and grips one arm with the other, despite his attempts to not do so.
Petra Soroka "If you're currently enjoying yourself, you'd best get ready to stop."

    Petra takes note of the shift in Lilian's tone and stops to really absorb her words. Approaching the sign, she can't help but start awkwardly smiling, though it's not much different in feeling from Lilian's grimace. She almost never has this kind of twitchily anxious reaction; she's anxious quite often, but there's a particular kind of shivering dread that comes from purposefully submitting yourself to something with no goal other than torturing you.

    It's... she can't downplay how terrible it'll be, not with how Lilian looks when talking about it, but there's a certain kind of excitement to it, right? The anticipation of knowing exactly how far she can go until she breaks. Being beaten for no reason besides wanting to be. The senselessness is a little alluring, if also terrifying.

    Petra is sitting in a room, with her EGO re-equipped. The door slams shut and locks. There is nothing in the room.

    There is nothing in the room. Petra waits for the first round of testing to start, while it's already halfway complete. She assumes they're probably busy with one of the other Elites and just forgot to start hers.

    "Eh? Uh? Already? Yeah, um, I'm good for round two."

    There is nothing in the room. Petra's thoughts are intrusive enough even without psychic influence. She starts wondering whether this is intentionally modeling her solitary confinement, like it's reading her worst fears and playing them out in the chamber. There's no magical influence affecting her at all, and the room is flooded with buzzing psychic needles that no one's around to feel, but Petra is freaking herself out regardless. Is it going to be time dialated to feel like a full month, like it was before? Will she even know?

    A few minutes later, she's asked if she wants to continue to the third round. "Oh-- cool. Yes. No problem."

    There is nothing in the room. At this point Petra can start to guess why. With how short the timer's been each round, and the dawning realization that this is mostly psychic based-- something she probably should've picked up from 'Mental Fortitude'-- she's getting confident enough to start wondering if her mental defenses are unprecedented even compared to Lilian's. That can't be right though, can it? Sure her fucked up tangle of a heart is practically impenetrable, but *Lilian* still says it sucks.

    "Yeah. Round four. Yup."

    The jump from zero to four hits her that much harder for not being braced. The silent room is rent in half by deafening screaming, skin flaying away, bones twisting and squirming under her skin so she can feel each tendon pop and tear against wet muscle. Petra sucks in a sharp gasp and instantly tears up, too gutpunched to even get out a pained squeal, and slides off the chair to crumple to the ground. On her hands and knees, the choking scent of vomit and repeated hammerblows to the back of her head force her to follow suit non-illusorilly, tears squeezed out of her eyes.

    Pain isn't the worst thing in the world; Petra's *been* tortured before. It still leaves her a pallid, shivering mess, trailing snot that she can't seem to wipe away-- is that an illusion? Is any of this? There's no way they'd toss her out after this with all these spears punched through her chest, right?-- and for some reason, that failure to wipe her nose gets to her even more than the pain, which the Other picks up on quickly. There's a limit to how severely hallucinations can trigger a sense of loss of control over her body itself, but it's still possible.
Petra Soroka     Visions of gore aren't that striking-- moreso when it's Lilian, though less than you'd think; *more* when it's Cinder-- but visions that don't go away when she closes her eyes are worse. Words aren't too effective at convincing her of its horrifying scenarios, but hearing her own voice come out of her mouth in response to them, without saying anything herself, is worse. Petra curls up on the ground with her hands clamped over her mouth, hyperventilating to feel the rush of oxygen in a place the hallucinations can't reach, while feeling her fists slam against the door and her voice begging to be let out.

    "Hhhh... hhh... I--... next. Y-yeah."

    There is nothing in the room. Petra uses the time to gag and readjust her breathing, crinkling at the mess she left on the floor. She wipes at her eyes until they're raw, gradually moving from being slumped against the chair to sitting in it again.

    "Next. Next. What's this one? S    

Oblivion isn't unfamiliar. It's not entirely unwelcome, either. She sort of imagined it'd be like this, more often than she'd ever be willing to explain. In her daydreaming, she'd thought she'd be unable to think, too, but how do you even imagine how that feels?

Helplessness is a kind of relief too. It's not losing control she's scared of, she's scared of control in a lot of ways; it's being responsible for it. It's not being used that makes her feel violated, it's being used wrong. The absence of her 'self' is what she's been asking for all along.

    Petra comes to with her hand in something wet and slimy. Readjusting to having a body again, it takes her a few more seconds to put together the realization of what it's resting in. "..... Ahh--! *Ewwwwwwwww*! Ew! N-- er-- yes. Yes I mean. Yeah, I'm sure."

    Ten seconds later, Petra staggers out of the examination room sobbing. Her nails dig into her forearm hard enough to bleed, and she can't stop shaking or respond to anyone for some time. Trying to force words through her throat feels like they're something physical and alien, crawling up from her larynx like parasites the size of basketballs, bringing on new waves of shuddering each time someone prompts her to try.
Angela Nonon follows Lilian's advice and quits after enduring three affirmatives, quitting during the fourth (she probably should have quit right after completing the third but she IS actually a bit of a masochist). "Stopped being fun after the third time." She says completely honestly. "Three times is good enough for anyone, I think! Yup!"

She may be the wisest of all three Agents today in her own way.

Justin Rook has support from the Army in Pink EGO Armor (and a weapon that restores mental endurance for that matter). The first three tests don't bother him--the path to the third affirmative more endured than enjoyed.

The path to the fourth...

Ah, Justin thinks. It's torture. Remember your training.

He was told to not be stupid. The worst part for him isn't the pain. It was the offer of bliss.

The Heart is Pink. The Heart is Pink. The Heart is Pink.

Yes, when something threatens to paint his heart black, the Army in Pink is there to paint it pink again. The flesh is torn and wormed. The world around him becomes lava and heat. A child screams at him in the most shrill and annoying voice. He tries to be strong and tough through the pain but it is pressing past the impressive resilience of the Army in Pink. It hits him muted in some ways, and harsher in others--particularly with the bliss which nearly lets him sink into it.

What is bliss for him anyway? It's a warm light, he thinks, a warm light that you can sleep in forever like a cat. An eternal sunbeam of the soul. At some point, blood started dripping from his nose that he doesn't seem to notice. He would have said to stop if he noticed right? But he didn't. Or did he not want to because he feels he has something to prove.

And he says yes again.
Angela Maybe he is a masochist too. Maybe he has a point to prove to himself. Maybe he thinks 'well I'm over halfway through how bad can it be?'

The singular demand is somewhat easier. He's accustomed to this from Abnormalities. It's just COMMAND and Justin Rook's professionalism is because he believes in the cause, not a higher order. If it's just going to be increasingly loud screaming from here on out, he thinks he can--

It's the Oblivion that breaks him. He can't speak. He can't hear himself talk. He can't even feel his breath. He can't hear his heartbeat. Is he dead? Is he dead? He said that he was ready to die before. He felt that he was ready to die. But was he actually ready? No, of course he wasn't actually ready. He was a fucking idiot. There's nothing after, he thinks, it's worse than nothing. He can still hear himself think. He rejected his duty and this is the punishment.

Is he...crying...? Of course not, he can't cry. He no longer has tearducts.

The only thing he can think is what the EGO tells him.

The heart is pink, the heart is pink, the heart is pink

He's asked the question one more time and before he can stop himself he says, "No, no, end the Wingforsaken test /no/." He can only imagine that what would ever come next would just plain up and kill him.

He stumbles out eventually. He doesn't say anything but his expression is dark as he is forced to contend with that he might not be ready for a choice he made his peace with ages ago.

rHe quietly sits down, his suit stained black with blood. The tears and sweat have been left alone.

Cinder sees Petra coming out and rushes over to her, sitting down next to her. She tries to hug her and say, "Shh shh shh.... You don't have to say anything, you don't have to think anything. Just...feel the warmth right now. Just breathe. Just breathe. It's over, it's really over, I promise."
Meika Kirenai     Oh. Being thanked at the conclusion of the interview is uncomfortable. Guilt flares up, from how she tried- and how obvious it should've been that she shouldn't have bothered like that. Nothing of substance, nothing to bite into.

                                   - - - - -                                    

    Between exiting the interview and reconvening with the group, she chose to end her transformation, no doubt with its obnoxious, gleaming flash that always feels more hollow than starting it up again does. Walking through hallways balanced on ice skates, though, felt silly enough the first while she'd been doing it- even if the choice to stop now feels like a waste.

'It sucks, and the prize you get for winning is being trusted to handle more. Like anywhere else.'

    "...Isn't that a good thing..?" Meika mumbles, just above audible. Wouldn't it be nice to be seen as trustworthy enough? If others can look at you, and know you can handle yourself?

    The door's external lock echoes, uncomfortable already, in the dull, empty room. It's comforting when the intercomm crackles to life, in the fraction of a second before the speaker's voice starts to explain the rules. Calm, reassuring instructions like that don't mesh well with the previous warnings about the test. The little bit, about how you don't get credit for what you back out after, snags in her mind, reverberating there.

    It's just like an athletic assessment. Easy before it's hard. Why stop at uncomfortable, though? That's still a long way before impossible. It's not the best framework for her to compare it to, if it leads to hhat aspect of warning being minimized.

    Meika sits, quietly, kicking her legs back and forth in the chair, and silently drumming the seat's armrests with her fingers, shrinking her shoulders up to disappear more inside her letterman jacket. Needing patience in absence of of stimulus is too familiar to be one of Meika's virtues.

    As such- it's almost comforting when something starts happening, even as it's awful, and skin-pricklingly odd. She can't help but whisper out "Hello..?", can't help but look around, can't help but try and feel out where something could be hiding if it was only doing so from eyesight- but there's nothing. But it's not that hard to fight against that nagging want- even if she has to bite her tongue to make sure her response to the first stage's prompt is the right one.

    When it cuts off, at the 'break' that the second stage consists of, Meika has to swallow back a moment of panic. I said the right thing, right? I didn't mess that up? Why isn't anything happening? I know I didn't say no, I-

    It's easy to wander circles around the thought, and wonder what you did wrong, when you're primed to assume that's a given. Maybe it's done early, for some reason. Do I really need to wait around in case? I'd just be wasting time. Chevalier Rook said this one sucked, anyways, and I've still gotten past the first bit, so that's something, right? But if this one's going, I've started it, so the end of it is in sight, and higher is better, if I can prove something with it...
Meika Kirenai     She returns to anxiously drumming her fingers, silent again, just in case anyone would be listening in. The moments drag on enough, chewing on the inside of her lip and counting seconds like sheep, before the intercomm finally crackles on again. Meika answers- her lips moving, silently, for just a second, before realizing her mistake and answering with "I'd- I'd like to continue."

    Meika doesn't scream or shout when the third stage batters her fortitude, if only because she can't make a sound. It's easier than just fighting her own thoughts on it all, but Meika's mouth is bleeding from where she's biting an already-silenced tongue, the idea to pass the test slipping out of her mind, with only the stubborn drive not to be made to fail it now. Her knuckles hurt, squeezing the chair's armrests, and her head spins, she hates it- hates that something, but it's easier to just hold her breath, and stop it from getting that chance-

    Mixed fury and relief flow out from the startup of the proctor's intercomm, but she chokes up at that little hitch- that all of that won't count unless she can say 'yes' another time. She really doesn't want to- It'll be worse. Everyone said not to be stupid. But I did it, I earned that, I should- She sniffles- it's the first audible sound she's made the whole stage, as trembling fingers wipe bloody spit from her lips. "I- I can do one more, please."

    --Blistering cognizance of the fibers that make up muscle twisting and shearing and melting away. Mannequins of people she knows or once did, with flesh rotting down to the bleached bone under faces she can't remember the details of. The feeling of too many eyes on you when nobody is around. Her church's roof engulfed in flames--

    The last tiny fraction of her resolve crumbles in the first few seconds of the fourth stage's nightmares, and shouts that were muffled and silent just moments before crackle and distort, reflexively reversing that hope to not fail early with a desperate flare of her magic to make sure the proctor knows she's tapping out- don't mind that it's in triplicated words, overlaid by shouts that don't match her grimacing face, if cameras see into the room at all- and wants to leave.

    Her frantic breathing, panicked eyes, and once-more utterly silent motions carry that fear with her, even as she stumbles out of the testing chamber. It doesn't matter how far that was, how far she could have or should have gotten, the feeling of tapping out at that carries embarrassed shame enough for her to slump down in the nearest chair and hug her knees, until her heartbeat can slow itself and her thoughts can focus.

    Snacks help, at least. Meika just wishes the inside of her mouth didn't sting from fresh cuts, trying to choke potato chips down.
Rita Ma      Rita, at the examination's conclusion, breathes out so deeply she might be at risk of exhaling her soul. She takes the steps up without raising her eyes, and only a feeble smile.

     "If you're currently enjoying yourself..."
     She is not currently enjoying herself, or anything else.

     Rita furtively squeezes Lilian's hand before they split up. She casts one last anxious look back at the party while being led away to her room. 'Mental fortitude'. I don't have any of that. I'm fighting really hard, all the time. If I were strong, wouldn't it be easy?

     Ms. Rook told me there's a difference between a strong person with big problems and a weak person with small problems, a long time ago. But I'm not sure I can believe that at all.

     She sits in the little chair, very straight, and folds her hands. "I'm ready, miss."

     ----
     Rita is a sensible girl. There's a bit of cathartic self-harm to her participation at the House of Seven Worthies, but that has limits. She taps out a few seconds into the hallucinations.
     ----

     So she finishes guttering and utterly drained, but not traumatized or having thrown up. For a second after the door opens and she steps out, shuffling like a zombie, she looks almost okay. Only...

     [Petra's] nails dig into her forearm hard enough to bleed

     Rita takes a half-step towards her sobbing friend, face completely blank. Her hands groggily stretch out, like a sleepy girl reaching for her warm stuffed animal. An adorably needy sound croaks from Rita's throat.

     An employee swoops in to check Rita's eyes. Her pupils are completely blown. She still tries to reach, ineffectually, around them. "Mn... mnnnn..."

     Oh. Snacks. Like Ms. Rook said. That's so nice. They're so kind here...
Dysnomia     She didn't relax when the interview was done. It was just another layer, she thought. There was always more layers. Would always be more layers, until she was out of their sight and out of their mind completely, the test never, ever stopped. That was how it worked. That was how it always worked. Before and now and forever. She smiled thinly. Politely shook their hands. "Thank you for your time." Leave them nothing easy to complain about. Make them work for it. "I'll be on my way, now. I'm sure I need to meet up with the rest of my group." I have a reason to leave as fast as I can. You can't protest, can't drag this out.

    She played chess with herself like this, even after the examiners had packed up and left, until she met up again with the rest of the multiversal elites. Dysnomia was relieved to get it over with, but that relief was extremely short-lived. "Psychic resistance," Dysnomia breathed as Lilian mentioned mental fortitude, as though the two were the same thing. Her lip curled into an unpleasant grimace. "My favorite."

    A room with nothing in it. She walked stiffly into the center, sitting herself down in the chair, looked up at the intercom.

    "Just get it over with," she growled. And so it started.

    It's only her constant self-vigilance that keeps her from saying 'no,' the first time. They're watching, after all. They're waiting for her to slip up. They're prepared to cast their judgments, to throw her away. They've already decided what she is, waiting for her to prove them right. "Keep going." She said, impatiently, and nothing continued to happen.

    What was she doing here, anyway? Trying to prove herself to these strangers like this, in a foreign world, answering to people who had no power over her. She chewed on her lip.

    Who cared what they thought of her, really? What if this is the influence? What if this is part of the test? What if this is what they're watching for? Then who gave a damn! This was all just a charade. It wouldn't give her a damn thing at the end, would it? Lilian had said it herself. Why was she trying? Why was she going through all this effort to prove herself to these strangers? They aren't worth it. They were never worth it.

    They asked the question again, for the second time. Her face tore, in open conflict with herself. Then, it settled into a scowl, and she glared up at the intercom. "This whole thing is stupid, anyway." She pushed herself out of the chair, storming out of the test.

    She told herself it didn't matter. She told herself it wasn't worth it. She told herself she'd made the decision on her own. Couldn't quite believe it. The longer she had to think about it, the more her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Touta Konoe     This is the worst by far. Please don't be stupid about it. I tell people this every year, so I'll be even clearer than usual: When it gets uncomfortable, leave. It sucks, and the prize you get for winning is being trusted to handle more. Like anywhere else.

    The way that those words pass through the air, even he gets what she means.

    Less trust, and more burdened with...Right? Still...

    Since his return, Touta's been wanting this. A chance to show Arx Zenith what he can do, a chance for consideration into that class. Even if they still define his attempts as laudable. A word that as it was said before could only be remembered as it was uttered to him by Lilian so long ago.

    "Yeah, whoever made this part of the test was definitely some sort of sadist weren't they...?"

    As he thinks about it, he can't help but think of the option of just opting out.

    <J-IC-Scene> Lilian Rook says, "Backing out isn't the same as failing immediately. It's a declination to be judged. It's favourable, I think."

    It's a fair assessment and given how well he did on the last test, there's a tingling of a sensation that potentially having two poorly had tests back-to-back might be a poorer decision to acknowledge that one can be skipped knowing that it's not something favorable. And yet, there is a part of this that's more than just wanting to do this to prove something to them, but...For himself.

    He knows that this is a weak-spot for himself. At the same time though...

    If that happens again, I want to know where I stand... More than I care about where it puts me... While the fact of the matter was that this was being 'graded', this was an exam. A method to gauge progress all the same, and of the many trials and tribulations that all the tests could be offered, this one was in a sense the most unique as it was one of the few ways that he knew to 'safely' test this sort of mental fortitude.

    As long as I don't go overboard, that's fine...

    And with that decision made, each footstep brings him into that sealed chamber, watching in those final moments as lights go dim, and the sound of that professional goes over the procedure. Sit down, wait, and listen if they ask you if you want to continue into the next one. Though, it's all things that he remembers from once upon a time. Including /that/ sensation. As every hair starts to stick on end, with a hesitant smirk Touta starts speaking up if only for his own sake. To hear something within the void of this chamber.

    "Been a while, huh? Wonder if you even remember me..."

    There's no response to the remark, just a gentle sensation that gently pokes. It nudges Touta in his seat not enough to feel it physically, but enough to feel its influence and its desire in the back of his head.

    "Sorry...We're going to be bearing with each other a little while longer, and then I'll be out."

    The soothing voice eventually comes back on.

    "Would you like to continue?"
Touta Konoe     "...Yeah, keep going please."

    And so the next stage begins. Touta finds himself sitting, arms crossed at this point, foot tapping on the floor. And those mundane thoughts start to sound like.

    Why did I agree to this test...Do I even remember how far I got in the seven stages? Then what was the point of doing it this time?!

    There's an exasperated sigh as he has that minor realization.

    They'd...Have a record of it somewhere probably, right? No, I can do this. If anyone can kill time doing this it's me. I know I can. I want to see where I am from before. That's something worth sticking around for. Besides, I managed the pearl I can--

    What part of 'Don't be stupid' were you not listening to before?

    No, no, I'm not gonna go that far...Just...

    I don't need to torture myself to figure this out, I'm not a masochist...

    The arguing continues along for the duration of the stage before the question comes up again.

    "Would you like to continue?"

    The question he ultimately has to answer is as he thinks of responding is simple, 'Was he uncomfortable.' Mildly maybe, but not in the way that he knows this exam can be. And thus...

    "Keep going..."

    And as if to reprimand him for even saying such a thing, he feels it. That head-splitting, sledge-hammer slamming, force of pain that buries into his thoughts. It's enough that he finds himself clinging to the chair, his nails practically calling at the arms of it as his teeth grit.

    "Y-Yeah, there you are...I remember this n-Aaauuugh...!!!"

    Once again, the attempt to shit-talk through the worry is trifled as the thought of talking is replaced with pain, and only pain. Just pain. But pain is something if one of the very few things that he can manage, and thus he does strain himself, stomaching the prolonged suffering that isn't as easy as simply letting a wound heal through regeneration. If it's a matter of willing through such discomfort... Despite what people might have thought, there is reason enough here that drives him. Something that he clings to in this moment.     "Would you like to continue...?"

    This is part where he'd been uncomfortable. Where pain had been inflicted. This is when, if he had truly taken Lilian's advice seriously, he could have stopped. There was going to be no reward for this right? Maybe not, but in some deluded part of his mind, the part that had forgotten or just simply repressed what tortures had followed next...Or it was an ill-begotten pride to think he could manage right up to the peak of where the pearl might start. That so long as his mind isn't broken down in such a manner, that he can handle 'uncomfortable'.

    "I can keep going..."

    It's as he says those words, does Something ring through his mind once more. Words transmitted directly into his mind in the most uncomfortable, unsavory way he could have imagined.

    You should have left...
            ...Tourist.
Touta Konoe     Nothing is off limits. It brutalizes your senses with everything that makes you want to cringe, recoil, panic, or flee. Crass shock and scare tactics are just fine by whatever tenuous thing you could construe as 'standards'. Whether worms under your skin, razors dragged over your eyeballs, terrible ear-splitting screaming, or sights and smells of horrible violence and gore, it's all worth trying once.

    Again, torture, pain, when you've become a splatter so many times, even the most lethal wounds are just something to become numb to...

    What's worse is when 'something' starts playing smart.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The events that follow in stage 4 are those which feel as if they end up going beyond the time limit of ten minutes. As reality and hallucination meld into what would be one of the longest ten minutes of Touta Konoe's life.

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Touta Konoe, do you wish to continue?"

    His eyes bolt open, barely on the cusp of consciousness looking to the incom as that soothing voice pulls him back once again. His eyes dart from side to side as he realizes that he'd put up a fog within the chamber. He remembers doing that vaguely. But the time between moments feel like an eternity with the hallucinations that 'something' had put together. What had been a mere ten minutes dragging on like a cruel eternity...A part of him remembers that he was trying to do something. Anything to keep that thing from continuing to dig into his psyche. But the thought doesn't come, and while it might have been a feeling of eternity during that time, time was constant now and not responding in an appropriate amount of time to the incom was the same...Was the same as responding no. Still...He forces himself to speak

    "No...I'm done...I'm so done..."

    As he says the words, he can accept that he's marked at the 3rd stage. The chamber opens and with it light spills into the sealed space. His hands reach to cover his eyes and as he does so he can feel a damp sensation across his cheeks. He wipes them gently as he slowly steps out and lets his eyes adjust. It's as he does so, and the first sight he sees is that of Petra crying so profusely does 'something' echo back into his thoughts.

    No...I didn't...Right?

    A way to mitigate the effects of that 'something'. A way to alleviate if only for that moment that unending discourse. But at the same time a method that would have cost him more than what any reward this test could have given him. "I have to look back in the chamber, I have to see if there's--" He looks back towards the chamber, the door already shut, and no way to see back inside. No way to check whatever it was that needed to be found. Not without asking them to open it again. Not without asking the staff to check if there was blood inside. Not without needing to potentially explain what he might have done to try and cheat the exam, and what 'something' had done to possibly bring him to that point....
Touta Konoe     As the staff take his blood-pressure or check his pupil response, there's likely nothing they can find. To be fair, even if he had ended up getting an aneurysm or something of the sort, it would have passed by now.

    I suppose it's official. I'm already completely mad anyways.

    Touta finds himself on the tail end of seeing Lilian's return. The look on her face truly looking drained, but even more than that is the words she uses as she speaks about her experience. One could only imagine what the hell she had ended up seeing from that thing.

    As she calls to them to begin the stop to the next floor, it takes Touta a lingering moment before he even attempts to catch up with the group. His eyes still veer back to the chamber, feeling like he has more questions now than when he had entered it. Was it just part of the hallucination...Or, had he really done what he thought he did because of /that/.