Editing Warhammer High (section)

==Petra's art exhibition==
Perturabo was baking bread. Some would call what he was doing an art, but the Iron Warrior disagreed. It was a science, cold and hard, a science which relied upon exact mixes of time, thermal energy and raw material. Chemical engineering for those afraid to deal in truly important compounds. The act relaxed him. The fact that you could eat the products was also a nice bonus.

When Petra returned home she found her father removing golden loaves from the colossal stone oven dominating their kitchen.

"Daughter, your arrival is anticipated. The glazed buns you like so much are beneath that cloth."

"Thanks Dad."

"Please stand aside, this tray is exceptionally hot. Now report. How went the day?"

"It was fine."

"Your studies progress well?"

"I haven't got my physics paper back yet, but the teacher has been sick and hasn't had a chance to look over it properly."

"He is weak. He should do his duty. That is what they pay him for, correct? What else? Anything important?"

"Well... Ms. McCann, my art teacher, she thinks I'm doing really well this semester. She wants to put up some of my work on display."

"I said 'important', daughter."

"DAD! This is important to me."

Perturabo rolled his eyes.

"Oh very well. What is it, an exhibition of technical drawing?"

"No."

"Sculpting?"

"No. Besides, I told you, that's Victoria's thing."

Perturabo began to sweat slightly .

"Architectural planning? Botanical illustration? Surely not installation work?"

"Daaaad... come on... I told you all this."

"I am sorry, daughter, I do not know."

"GRRR! YOU NEVER LISTEN! YOU NEVER TAKE ANY INTEREST IN ME!"

"Petra, wait! Don't storm off!"

Perturabo moved to intercept the girl but thought better of it at the last moment. As he heard the sound of the front door slamming he noticed flyer his daughter had left behind on the table. The school art fair was less than two weeks away. The primarch studied the paper for a few moments more before walking purposefully to his office. There he took a diary from his desk and wrote in small, neat letters:

Petra's art exhibition. Important.

=== Alternate Ending ===

"Well... Ms. McCann, my art teacher, she thinks I'm doing really well this semester. She wants to put up some of my work on display this weekend."

"Your work", rumbled the primarch like stone on stone.  "An exhibition of technical drawing?"

"No."

"Architectural planning? Botanical illustration? Sculpture?"

"No. Besides, I told you, sculpture is Victoria's thing."

Perturabo turned, facing her fully. In one long glance he took in a snapshot of Petra and ground methodically through its contents. His daughter's face, hopeful but dejected. Her fingertips, dusted almost indelibly with graphite and lead. Her notebooks, carefully ordered by subject. The tiny, detailed sketches along their margins.

Petra coughed uncertainly. "It's not going to be a big deal anyway. Victoria and Venus always come up with better art anyway." She started out of the room.

Head still oriented towards the doorway, Perturabo's gaze took in the rest of the stonework kitchen. The grand marble countertops, the unadorned cut of the entryway arches. The walls he'd built himself, buttressed by heavy I-beams of plasteel that carried the weight of his new life.

The flat, featureless panels he'd rasped clean of his carvings.

"Daughter." Petra halted, poked her head back into the kitchen. Perturabo paused, longer than he'd done in years.

"I shall be there."