Editing Warhammer High (section)

==A Day With Isis==

Isis moved through the halls of Imperator Junior High, ducking and weaving through the rows of plasteel lockers, ducking low whenever one of the Administers or their ubiquitous servoskulls flittered by. Five minutes late, of all the bad luck. She'd anticipated having to help Hana with her broken moped, but hadn't expected the thing to nearly explode on the both of them. Hana herself was already in class, having the great fortune of having her opening classes on the other side of the school. Isis wasn't so lucky. She heard the tolling of the bell as she entered the reinforced adamantine doors, its sound as lyrical as a funerary dirge. It might as well have been if... she turned. Someone was watching her. Smelling the almost overpowering scent of exotic perfumes and unguents, Isis rolled her eyes as Victoria, belle of Imperator High, rounded the locker she was using as ad-hoc cover.

"Well well, if it isn't the golden girl? You're gonna be rust when Ahriman finds out you aren't on the roll. Oh," she said with mock worry, "whatever will daddy think? I'd think he'd practically turn to heresy when he finds out." What Victoria didn't realize was that Isis was smiling. And not at her. Feeling a creeping sense of being watched, she spun on her stilettoed heels and beheld and awe-inspiring sight. The man that stood before her was as close to a god as can be imagined, an image of glistening purple and gilt edifice, more the image of a statue than a living person. But as beautiful and well-crafted as the armor was, it was a trifle compared to the figure beneath. He was fair skinned, and white haired, like a passing winters breeze. It seemed to shimmer and flow as if being caressed by the kiss of an unseen wind. The man, as far departed from humanity as he was, was upset. The scowl on his face marred the otherwise perfected features of his visage. Leaning down, a seemingly titanic feat for a being as large as him, he said with a voice as clear as springwater,

"Yes, Victoria. What WOULD daddy think?" Victoria's features were riddled with fear, a fear that made her look as ugly on the outside as Isis knew she was within. "To your scholam. Now." Fast as lightning, Victoria faded from view. "And you, child?" Isis bowed respectfully.

"Yes, Mr. Fulgrim, sir." The patrician features of the man changed from a condemning scowl, to a smile so large and genuine, that she had trouble believing that the same face was capable of instilling terror in Victoria, a girl with a heart as cold and frigid as Freya's favorite drinks.

"I see now why my brother speaks of you so highly. Off with you now." He gestured with his massive gauntlet, and Isis ran, making good speed to Professor Ahrimans lecture. From an unseen shadow, a hand reached out and patted Fulgrim on his shoulder pauldrons.

"Brother, you need to watch out for your Victoria. I feel she's heading down a dark path." The primarch registered the voice as Corax's, lord of the Raven Guard and his brother.

"Yes, I know, you and Vulkan give me no end of grief about her. Perhaps she needs a spanking..."

"Fine...but what about punishing her?" Fulgrim turned and saw a wide, toothless grin on Corax's face.

"That's not funny."

"On the contrary, brother, it's hilarious."

Isis looked inside the scholam. Professor Ahriman was lecturing to the class with his back turned, discussing something about the principles of Warp telemetry. Perfect, she thought. Isis recalled the more useful lessons she learned from Cora about sneaking into class without Ahriman suspecting. Which words had hard consonants to click the doors lock on, which ones he droned on to mask the sound of the hinge. Paying painful attention to Professor Ahriman's words, more closely than she did during normal sessions, she noted, she waited for the perfect words...and opened the door. It was just as Cora had told her. Waaarp. Professor Ahriman took forever saying it. She wondered why sometimes, but at the moment she was more worried about getting into her seat before Professor Ahriman...looked straight at her.

"Good to see that you weren't taken by Orks, Ms. Isis. I trust you have a...wonderful explanation for your tardiness?" Isis gulped. Deep. It hit the back of her throat like a bolt round. And it slid down like ancient sludge, worse than Morticia's cooking. The class was looking at her, though some, Furia being a prime example, were too caught up in other entertainments to be bothered. Sweat, like droplets of liquid nitrogen began to build on her neck, and she stammered, trying to concoct a reasonable answer. She wished that Miranda were here to slip her something telepathically, but she had classes elsewhere. Just as Professor Ahriman was opening his vox to the Principals office, a whir of augmetics entered into the noise.

"Professor Ahriman?" It was Farah.

"Yes, Ms. Manus?" he asked, off-put by the declaration.

"Isis was late because Hana's moped exploded on them...again."

"Oh," he said, the vision slits in his helm beginning to burn with a light blue flame, "and how would you know about...oh." and noticed she was twiddling her fully mechanized hands and playing with her pink hair, making sure to flick it away to give the professor a good view of the cybernetics underneath.

"Well then, I suppose it's alright then. However, Ms. Lupercal, the next time altruism such as that comes across your mind?"

"Yes, Professor?" The blue flames erupted into novae of black and red infernos.

"DON'T!"

The rest of the class was mercifully short. Isis made a mental note to get the lecture from Farah when the bell tolled. It wouldn't be much of a request, she considered, since Farah was as much a walking cogitator as well as one of her best friends. The locker hall was a sprawl of activity as the girls grabbed their gear to leave. Isis noticed Tanitha and Cady talking about how badly dressed Valhilda was, and was about to intervene when the freezing chill that only seemed to come by when Victoria was around settled across her like a black frost.

"You got lucky, big shot. Lucky and that's it."

"Yeah, watch yourself, golden girl!" That snow turned yellow when that nasal voice hit her ears.

"Still following Victoria around like a little puppy, Petra?" Isis turned around and saw Victoria's little posse. Angela, Athena, Kiara, Petra, and Morticia were standing there, waiting patiently for Victoria's go-ahead. Petra was now Mechanicum-red with anger, and had a vein that looked like it was going to shoot off her bandanna like it was a taut rubber band. The others were giving her snide looks.

"Now now, girls, remember: royalty must stay in it's place." Isis was growing tired of this catty banter.

"Look, just because my dad got titled with 'Warmaster' doesn't mean I'm any better than anyone else." Victoria cast her a confused look.

"Who says I'm saying anything about you?" she flicked her hair and lifted her chin to drive the point home. Isis felt like she wanted to kick that perfect chin of her's so hard into her skull that she'd have dreams about her own teeth. That's when she felt a gloved hand around her shoulder.

"These skanks bothering you, Icy?" It was Furia, and was Isis relieved to hear her sultry voice...and smell her lho-breath

"I, um, well that is..." Furia cut her off and nodded beside either row of lockers, and four other girls walked in, making a cordon of sorts around Isis. To her continued relief, she saw Venus, Hana, Farah, and Cora, arms crossed, take their positions beside Furia. Victoria's smug demeanor evaporated, replaced with incandescent anger.

"So, I see Squad Ugly is reporting for duty."

"Right," Furia replied, flexing the leather of her gloves. "Girls, I wonder how pretty that face would look with a nose dislocated in five places?" She pointed straight at Victoria while the others laughed slowly. Victoria's face reddened.

"I...uh! A lady wouldn't be caught dead engaging in streetfights like some trashy brawler. Girls, let's find somewhere decent to spend our time," and began walking away. Furia cupped her hands around her mouth.

"The city dump's a nice start!" To which Morticia replied with some very...un-ladylike hand gestures.

Isis was happy to see Victoria and the rest of her ilk leave. She wasn't so happy to see Furia and the rest of them staring at her.

"What? What is it?" she asked, her concern genuine. It was looking as if she had gone from bad to worse.

"My dad's not too keen on yours getting gramps' attention." This was acknowledged by a small chorus of 'yeh's' and 'uh huhs'.

"Mine either," Cora piped in. "Tactical brilliance like that, and he gets put aside just like V and Farah's dads? Not looking so good for you, Isis Lupercal." They were closing in on her. Isis was almost beginning to backpedal, when she lost her footing and fell, the rockcrete cold against her flesh. Something wasn't right about this, and she knew it.

"Girls? I thought you were..." and that's when she noticed it. Hana, who up until that moment was as las-focused as the rest of them, let up an imperceptible crack in her frown, like a hairline fracture running through marble. As Isis concentrated on it, Hana noticed and began to chortle under her breath, her ruse seemingly undone. The rest of them began to emit stifled laughs, until, at last, Venus, copper skinned and ebon haired daughter of the Forgefather, let out a deep, cathartic laugh that spread like a virus to the rest of them. Isis tried to join them, but felt like she'd walked outside of a Gellar Field for a moment, as if all semblance of sanity had swallowed a laspistol. Furia waved her hand to try and regain some order from the cackling bunch.

"Ah, hells, Isis, we were just messing with you!" and she let out her hand to help her back onto her feet. "We don't really care about your dad getting the promotion, we just wanted to see if that would work."

"And it did, didn't it?" Hana said, her coat almost black from oil stains.

"You thought this up, Farah?" Isis asked, her demeanor easing up in light of the joke.

"Yep."

"Hey Farah? How did you know about Hana wrecking her moped?" She smiled and cocked her head.

"What do you mean? I made it up, silly, you don't mean to say..." she stopped and cast a long glance at Hana, who was busy tenting her hands and staring anywhere but at her. Her pistons nearly cracked as she clenched her steel fists.

"What. Happened. To! That! MOPED?!" Steam was almost literally escaping from Farah's ears and Hana was about to bolt, no pun intended, for the door, when the distinct sound of a match striking a box and the acrid scent of sulfur entered the air. Furia lit up her lho and released a rough circle of smoke.

"Aw, come on, girls, it's Friday, and I'm not about to knock you two out over some little mixup with some dumb bike." Both of the girls were preparing to disembowel Furia over the insult to Hana's well-maintained piece of mechanical excellence, when a wheezing screech blared above them. A maintenance servoskull blared above them

+FIRE HAZARD. ALERT FIRE SUPPRESSION TEAMS+ 

And the water ejectors activated, dousing the lot of them.

"Well," Venus mused, "at least bathing's not on our worry list anymore." Everyone looked deadfaced at her.

The sun was bright outside, or at least as bright as it could be through a fog of thousands of years of nuclear winter and global warming. The girls, now drenched, waved each other goodbye for the moment as their lifters came to escort them back to their homes. Cora's sleek, jet black escort darted in from seemingly nowhere and took her before she could even say her goodbyes. Venus was then whisked away by a transport that looked like not even gramps himself could put a dent in it. Farah left in a similar transport, although her chauffeur was hardly as human as Venus' was. Hana almost had to jump to catch her transport, a blur of bone white and red marks. 

While Isis and Furia waited, the air grew pregnant with conversation. Not wanting to continue the awkward silence, Isis chimed in.

"Furia?" The blazen-haired girl in the messed-down shirt flicked her spent lho-stick to the floor and stamped it down with her iron-toed boots.

"Yeah, Icy?"

"Thanks for helping me back there. It's good to know I've got friends like you when it's really important." She let out a ghost of a smile, as if the genuine expression were alien to her.

"Don't think about it, Icy. It's a good sign of a friend when..." she was cut off by a blare of a horn. Like something primal cut loose from a cage of eons. Like a death scream that never ended. Suddenly, like a blazing dagger, a jetbike swooped down, nearly crushing Isis, who was saved only at the final moment by Furia, who tossed her to the side. As she picked herself up, she was met by a leering, horned face that spoke of unrivaled brutality and horror. Fortunately, it was just a helmet. The helmet spoke, with a voice that came from a throat that must have swallowed molten copper a second before.

"She's cute. What's her name?" Furia clicked, and got the helmet's attention.

"Eyes here, Kharn, she's off-limits, got it?" The helmet moved, if with some reluctance.

"Yeah, yeah. Hop on, babe, we've got us a party to crash over near Sicarus." Furia looked at her.

"But Kharn, I'd promised the girls I'd visit them this weekend!" The helmet spoke again, this time with threat pure and unfiltered in its' voice.

"Sicarus, Furia. We're visiting Sicarus, understood? Now...get on." The helmet's arms patted the extra seat that seemed to materialize from nothing behind him, although the seat itself looked just about as uncomfortable as the helmet. Furia gave Isis a glance, with what almost looked like a tear welling up in it. She seemed to almost say something when that horn, like dying angels and cackling devils, blared out and silenced any further communication.

"Sorry, Icy, I gotta go. Sicarus, y'know?" Isis didn't respond as she saw Furia ease herself onto the painfully spiked seat and wrap her arms around the helmet's torso, with no small amount of reluctance. It sped off in a trail of flame, and disappeared behind some Munitorum complex. Isis barely had time to register this, when a modest, grey transport hovered nearby, its' doors sliding open with a comforting hiss of hydraulics. As she entered the lifter and felt the pressure of takeoff, she then felt a hand, massive and callused, but soothing and supporting at the same time, pat her on the head.

"Father," she said, with a twinge of disorientation, "school is a weird, weird place."