The crux, in fact, of success at Greenhill Academy.

For in the minotaur's labyrinth that is academia only the strong survive.  In a city like Greenhill, janitors are often former disciples of the art of appraisal.  Not every would-be rune master goes on to become anything more than the local panhandler.  And for very burnt out accountant or incompetent metalwork major there is a dedicated Greenhill student with the nagging fear that they too will become fodder for the scorn of another generation.  And so the adolescent mind shuns such depressing thoughts, choosing to focus of the trivial and the secure.  Dating, friends, and the oh-so important life crises presented by the appearance of pimples or a long lost love make for distractions rivaling that of the theater itself.  It makes for a decent adolescence, all in all, and most study with dedication sufficient to mold them into the next stratum of happily mediocre petty bourgeois.  Such  is the fate of a child of Taurus.

This is not a story about people like that.

This is a story about those who felt that fear, and used it.

"Mind telling me why the goddamn postal service has set a guy to camping out beside my desk?"

The woman blocking the meager light offered by his doorway was wearing his kilt again.  When she'd worn it twice in a row he's sworn that he really didn't want to know what exactly she'd done that night - given her idiotic goings on a week before.  Now.... Chamberlain Jess was convinced that Rousseau was just trying to get on his nerves.  Moronic slacker.  He had much more important things to think about than some childish theft.

"Is that any of your business?"

It was odd that he knew of her transgression against good taste, considering that her barely paused to look up from one of the aforementioned letters.  It looked for all the world to be just another heart-breakingly dull requisitions form that he dare not leave to teh tender mercies of his idiotic employees.  Alas, his assistant was not all the world.

"Hell, yes.  Now why can't you get your personal..." she fumed.  Rousseau was, he noted, quite the textbook case when it came to fuming.  The clenched fists, frustraited air, and that thing she did with her eyebrows were more than worthy to be catalogued and indexed along with the other Personas of Jess.  He really must attempt to imitate the look someday.  It might be enought to snap some illiterate moron who dared to interrupt him to his or her senses.

Illiterate moron interrupting....

She was lucky that he was in a sardonic mood.

"I'm sorry," delighting in the idiot's inability to provoke him, Jess continued to meander through his placidly happy mood while responding.  Personal Information really was a beautiful thing - almost akin to his precious Red Book.  "You must have mistaken me for someone who cares."

It had been years since he'd allowed himself to be vocally sarcastic on a regular basis. Even the dozen or so letters fanned beofre him failed to bring back so many happy memories... and they were pleasant.  There was nothing like a place where one was universally akgnolwged to be the best, and in Greenhill it was so much easier to thrive on mental superiority than in this world of fools that cared more for irrelevant character.

Two minutes later, and to Jess' extreme consternation, her reflection still marred his exquisetly varnished oaken desk.  Jess liked his desk, as it was both attractive and practical.  At the moment, his mind-bendingly stupid assistant and was neither of those things.

"Yes?"  the chamberlain did not deign to actually look up. That, he knew, would give her far too much satisfaction altogether.

"What the freaking hell are you DOING?  And what is that goddamn book?  And why the F&*@ do you want everone in the office to hate you!?!  Not that that's a problem, but..."  obviously, she was too unskilled to keep her questionings to herself.  Foolish, that.  Extensive experience with blackmail should have taught her better - but then why exactly was he surprised at this?  The world never semed to fail at giving him a new reason to think ill of humanity in general, and Rousseau in particular.

"Will you be leaving now, or once I have a bottle of scotch hung form a pole ouside my door?"

"That was low, you goddamn..."

This was no longer amusing.  the sunlight, streaming through his meagre wndow, was illuminating several ivory envelopes.  And, quite frankly, he'd had more than enough time to savor his moment of triumph.

"Tell me when Lawrence and Danae get here,"  he waved her off absentmindedly, turning back towards the sanctity of parchment.  "Oh, and Rousseau?  Have your desk cleaned out by the end of the month.  You have nothing on me anymore and.... there is no more use for your services here."

"WHAT!?!" well, now.  That certainly had bought the sought-after chorus.  Sad, that he had to alienate an assistant that he must admit was at least halfway competent, and inwardly thought of as almost a friend.  Maybe.  Kind of.  Sort of.  On a terribly exhauting day when his mind was addled somewhat, and if he dared to be that moronic.

"I said that your services will no longer be required after this week.  You will, of course, recieve severance pay.  Please have your things out of your residence by next week.  Do you wish for me to write you a reference letter?"  and when he spoke to her, his voice did not enact the betrayal that plagues so many others.  For she too was of the office, and her disdain was critical to the Plan.  The Plan, of course, must remain unquestioned... and in any case, Jess could never turn back now.

As such, the ice storm howled.

Once she had slammed the door - requisite crash of wood on stone confirming that his words had produced the desired effect - Jess once more looked to his solace.

The Letters.

The chamberlain barely noticed the furor his former assistant was causing among the staff.  It was quite unfortunate, actually.  Had Jess borne witness to the morons' general panicked shirking then his mood might have improved even more.

Anabelle, on the other hand, might have been appalled.

Among the oxlike plodding which masqueraded as carefree youth, however, one might note a few individuals sparkling through the crowd.  Not quite black sheep, mind you, but far more visible to the mind's eye than their counterparts.  Those with the attitude of a Lady Anabelle or Theresa Wisemail... natural born leaders.  And they did do their jobs very well.  Keep the flock in line, and ensure that none feel too alone for their fragile egos to bear. Invariably this potent mixture carries over to their future occupations, and the leaders become captains of industry, politicians the head crony at the local pub. And in the end, natural leaders are loved for their rare personalities and selfless, though controlling, natures.  Such is the fate of a child of Leo.

This is not a story about people like that.

This is a story about those who cannot truly lead, but refuse to follow.

"What a bunch of morons."

"You're telling me... why do they even let people like that into the school?  Yeeesh... guess they have lower standards than I thought when I applied here."

"Whatever.... It's not like we're in their classes anyway."

"Thank gawd.  How could you possibly be so stupid?  As if the history curriculum isn't beyond simple for those losers..."

"no doubt.  Then and their stupid followers couldn't write multiple choice if their lives depended on it."

"Oh, I know.  I mean, who doesn't know the difference between the Ancient Gerran War and the Ancient Gyrant War?"

"Well they certainly need it.  Half of them are on drugs anyway."

Five anonymous comments, or so it might seem to one not well versed in keeping pace with their rapid conversation.  Typical, though, of the group of twelve students seated no one of Greenhill's characteristic grassy knolls.  Most of the other students preferred to eat lunch in the cafeteria... but why in the world would they want to sit with them?  They compromised part of the more intelligent set that frequented the advanced classes, and they knew it very, very well.

"So how'd you do on the Economic Theory test?'

"How do you think he did... gawd, as if he got anything under ninety percent.  Why doesn't he just.."

"Oh would you quite your griping?  You're just upset because you only got an eighty-five in Econ last semester..."

"Gawd, you are such a jerk... and I was so right about that essay question that got marked wrong.  Adam's concepts on the capitalist marketplace.."

"Oh, cut it out," a slim boy, with a small chestnut ponytail, interrupted.  " Please don't bring that conversation back from the dead. And I only got a ninety-four.  If my dorm wasn't so noisy because of those stupid.."

"  Honestly, Jess. You're always complain about your room," the eighth player entered into group discussion, rolling her eyes as tongue playfully mocked.

"That's because my room is equivalent to the seventh circle of hell, Hazel."

"Oh please."

"Oh, and you'd want to sleep above those morons?"

"Ewww... I know what he means, Haze.  Have you ever been up there while they yammer on about that stupid librarian that's supposed to be 'rully hot, doodz.'?"

"Well, she is kind of cute."

"Would you guys just drop it?"

And so the banter of a group which thought themselves a somewhat different breed continued into the afternoon.  Some would leave them, cracking under the pressure.  Some would be added to the group upon meeting their ratlike ringleader after graduation.  All, however, would go far in the world despite their common disdain for all things beneath them.

Ambition and mental prowess are hardly useless tools..

"I- I think that maybe she might be..."

"Awww.. why don't you just hang out in the library with the other losers, Jeremy!?!"

There are also students in Greenhill who would stay hidden, trying to avoid the bullies and the rigors of everyday life.  They bury themselves in tomes and facts, never bothering to emerge and face the risk of day.  Most wish with all of their hearts that they could join the pack in social acceptability - and most never leave the confines of the academy for any extended period of time.  Keepers of knowledge, they make good teachers though they more often than not believe themselves inferior to most everyone around them.  Good - not great.  Rarely do those most unfortunate souls find any happiness in their work, unlike those with a passion for nurturing the next generation.  If these outcasts could see their own worth, perhaps they might rise above the shackles of existence as members of the scorned few... but they do not.  Such is the fate of a child of Pisces.

This is not a story about people like that.

This is a story about those who are not content to simply want it all.

That bastard.

That thrice damned, hell-sent bastard.  He just happened to waltz into her life, mess with her head, and then drop her like a bad habit. Not that she wasn't used to that, mind you.  Goddamn bastards the world over had robbed her of her due.

But she had thought that Jess was different, somehow.  Maddy had actually allowed herself to believe that he wasn't just out to use her; that he appreciated her for her talents alone.  How bloody pathetic was she, feeling that the only person in the world who might understand her mindset was the king of rats?

She should have known better.  Should have known that he was using her.  Should have known that she was meant to be alone.

Ah.  Loneliness.  The one night stands, the lust, old friends... they didn't mean anything.  Not really.  For they could not live in her world.

It wasn't the world that stretched before her, for obvious reasons.  There were all manner of people dotting the perennially busy streetscape.  But none of them saw beyond their own little paths, tiny, enclosed minds... none of them saw things for what they were.  Did she, even?  Was her own reality just as fabricated as that of some bloody brood-mare guiding her children through the streets?  To them, the poor bastards, she must be akin to invisible.

No.  But it was infinitely more interesting.  In the end, you see, the world of politics was her element.  For among the stack of papers... she e was the one who knew how to fight.  And her words made far better weapons than any metal glove or iron claw.  Power, real power... was hers, in the gilt marble halls of the bureaucracy.  Unlike most other locatin on the planet, where she was just one more little girl for a big stong someone to take care of...

That bitch.  That rat-bastard of a bitch.  All of it was falling away, surely as clouds moved in to murder the cerulean sky.

When she opened the building's ancient entranceway the hinges squeaked.  Not unusual, considering how goddamn lazy the barkeep was.  That was alright though - just as and echoing, tomblike silence was alright.

She wasn't here looking for company.  All Maddy wanted was a goddamn drink.

Maybe, just maybe, a downpour of amber liquid could yield a few drops of the waters of Lethe

There are then, of course, those who are alone by choice.  Oddly enough, they exert a strange attraction wiht their odd fashins and aloof stance.  They long for the shadows, and mystery is nothing if not their security blanket. Alas, students of this type almost never use their degrees for strictly legal or ethical work... Yet such is the fate of a child of Scorpio.

This is not a story about people like that.

This is a story about those for whom obscurity is a tool instead of a craving.
 

Perfect.  Absolutely, completely, and totally perfect.

Jess had known that they'd come through for him.  Finally, some people capable of the basic levels of rational thought to work with.  Thought it pained him to admit it - moronically sentimental as it was - he really did miss his old companions.  Not that he would ever dwell on such thoughts once having purged the concept from his mind.  Still, a joy to read nonetheless; exactly what he'd hoped for.

Leafing through the ivory slips neatly stacked beside the contrasting Book, he could not help but be pulled into the vortex of laziness that comprised reminiscing.  Yet there was no more work to do now, was there?  One an afternoon to be wasted while the inevitable caught up with reality.

The brass clock struck one.

The inevitable was certainly taking it's time.

Once more, then.  For the victory lap.

Jess,
       Hey, you know I'm in if it pays.  We both know how stingy the civil service is with it's deputy head accountants - especially down here in Tinto.  Let me know when things are arranged.  The usual deal.  I expect payment in metals, not currency, but then you know that.  You always were good with procedure.

"Thank Gawd, as if..."

Lord Jess,
                It's been a while.  You know I don't go in for this sort of thing.  Not like you guys did.  Alright, except for that time we sole books from the library... anyway, wow.  I'm just shocked, is all.  I didn't think you'd be so eager to get involved with something like this.  But if you can keep my family safe and my pocket padded... what's to lose?  This will, I assume, be kept strictly confidential.  We can't have all Two-River knowing that I'm not just that guy who owns a few popular bars...

"How do you think he did?"

Jesse,
          How long has it been?  Whatever.  Look, I know we weren't the best of friends, but I need the business that certain inside information could allow me first grab at.  Hey, I'll pay you!  Let me know... Rockaxe has always been a competitive market for weapon's salesmen....

"Well, she is pretty hot..."

 Jess,
        Told you I'd make that job in the Toran government if it killed me.  But there wasn't even any competition.  But down here you need the edge.. you know how it is.   Have Danae get back to me once you need something.  I'll even cut the usual rates...

"You're always complaining about you room..."

 A plethora of cities in Jowston and a... friend in every one?  No.  That would be naive.  People like him didn't make friends.  But contacts existed in key positions in each city nonetheless; ones which would serve Jess quite well.

There were more to peruse - four to be precise.  But impatience was wearing him thin, and another cup of coffee seemed more pragmatic.

In the later years of one's schooling, there comes a fourth type - the bully.  Neither leader nor follower, though sometimes a pretender to either role.  They exist to fight the world, for they simply do not know what else to do with it.  Even the just bully must battle something, and live for that ever fulfilling war.  For the call to arms.  For the life of petty thug or soldier - avenging angel or most base of villains.  Such is the fate of a child of Aries.

This is not a story about speople like that.

This is a story about those for whom the ends justify the means.

"Lord Jess, sir!"

Finally, the call of Lawrence broke through Jess' utter - though triumphant - monotony of existence. He would have to remember to secure something to keep himself busy, once he'd gone through the preliminaries.   The idleness of some common slacker was, Jess had decided, completely unsuited to him.

"Yes, Lawrence?"  the chamberlain checked himself before his tone took on a bit too much of an eager tint.  It was not as if he had to wait much longer in any case... the large man and his tall, half-Karayan partner entered quickly.

"Sir," Danae began..

"Well?  What is it?  We have work to do."

"Ruka Blight has razed Ryube, sir.  There... there were casulaties,"  her voice seemed oddly hesitant, beyond cultivated normality.  There must have been survivors, then.  Injured survivors.

"That's.. unfortunate,"  Jess muttered,"  Meaning that we have to go now.  To give my exit the maximum stage value.  We can't have to people of Jowston thinking that I didn't betray them, now can we?"

"No sir,"  Lawrence deadpanned, confused.  Apparently his boss was feeling rather enigmatic today.

"Alright then.  I expected something to that effect,"  Jess rose from his tortuous wooden chair for one last time, whistfully scanning his beloved office.  Taking a deep breath, and cursing his own sentimentality once again, the chamberlain paused to throw his brass clock into an already overflowing bag.

"Do you have the horses ready?"

"Yes, sir.  It shouldn't be too much trouble to get out of the city.. not with your credentials."

"I know that!"  Jess snapped, attempting for some reason to stall their stay in the tiny, conventional room now that he must leave it.  This... this was his.  This was home... and...

But what he was doing was for the good of Jowston, even if he'd tricked the entire world.  If anything, he was avenging a city destined for ruin - one which he had once been so sure was meant for him. But then ruin seemed to dog his steps despite any pretensions of  intelligence, and there was no use dwelling on that.  Or this.  Stupid, stupid sentimentality.

It made him do moronic, foolish things.  Nagging him like some incurable virus of the memory...

Destroyed.  There was no use not being sensible about it. Muse was going to be destroyed in Ruka Blight's inferno.  And why should he care about the base, pathetic inhabitants?  Their deaths... would be useful, in the end. Provide him cover for the ultimate revenge - if he just got out of here with his story intact.

But memory is a willful creature...

"Yeah... I'll help you.  Now get off your goddamn ass."

"Lawrence, Danae... I want you to meet me at the front gate.  I have something that I need to do before we leave."

"The money that Lord Dorren owes you for those pictures, sir?"

"No.  I have that.  Just go... I won't be long, and it's truly inconsequential."

Some students show a talent for medicine, and find themselves diverted to the medical program. Usually most empathetic and reasonable, teenagers of this bent are both highly intelligent and compassionate.  It takes a certain talent to be a true healer, after all. Yet  to throw one's self on the sacrifical altar of one's work that others might live is the pleasure of those born for their profession. Such is the fate of a child of Cancer.

This is not a story about people like that.

This is a story about those who do not find the world worth saving.

When Madeleine Rousseau returned - miraculously almost sober - from another excursion to the bar that night, there was a note stuffed under her door.

Rousseau,

               I don't know if you know what I'm doing, but I know that you are aware that not all is what it seems.  Not even this letter.

               But that's not the point.  Today was an act.  For that - and for assisting me somewhat - I find myself in debt to you.  Don't think that this is about anything more or less.  Despite your opinion of me, I always pay my debts.

               In any case, I suggest that you leave Muse soon.  It's not safe here. If you need help, make your way to Highland - I'll be there.

You'll find me if you look for Leon Silverburg.

 -Jess Stanton

This is not a story about people who see only in black and white.

This is not a story about people of magic or birthright.

This is not a story about gallant heroes or merciless villains.

This is the story of the children of ruin.