Westbrook Academy for Metahumans: Forums

December, 2011

“Alright girls,” Mrs. Byrna clapped her hands, “what with the lovely weather today, and the class before you already having the targets set up, I thought why don't we head outside for class today and do a little archery?”

There was excited chatter from the thirty-odd girls who'd been cooped up inside the entire day. Several gushed how they were going to be just like a their favourite character from the latest popular teen book.

Miranda followed rest of her class out into the sunshine and onto the back field. Sure enough, a temporary archery range was already set up along one edge of the school's yard.

It was oddly warm for December, and more importantly, dry. Several containers were set up behind a line that had been chalked across the grass, bright plastic fletching giving tell to what was inside. A folding table set up at one end of the range was piled with bright orange-red plastic bows.

The girls swarmed over the items; chatting while they strung their bows – some with more difficulty than others – and spreading out along the line on the grass.

Miranda let the voices flow over her, not really paying attention to specifics. She tested a couple of the bows on the table before she found one that didn't feel too worn out, and strung it quickly. Her pickiness with the bow had caused enough of a delay that most of the other girls were already lined up across from their targets, and some were already shooting. She shrugged and made her way to the end of the row, somehow snagging a target all to herself.

The twang of bowstrings soon competed with the chatter; Miranda mostly tuned it out to pay attention to what she was doing.

Her father had brought her to the archery club in Atlas once a month or so since she'd Pacted with Sagitta. This was completely different though, and her accuracy suffered: the bows were worse quality, this range wasn't as sheltered from the wind, and whenever she'd gone to Atlas, she'd always called on her magic for the actual arrows. Here, she dutifully used the plastic arrows provided.

Her first couple of shots went wild, the first overshooting the target and hitting the sheet that had been hung behind it for just that purpose. The second one at least stuck in the heavy foam, but was closer to her neighbour's target than her own. Her third shot finally stuck into the black ring on her own target.

She wrinkled her nose and reached for another arrow. She could hear her father's disappointed comments even though he wasn't there. She set her shoulders and shot again.
Miranda lost track of time, falling into a rhythm: grab an arrow; adjust stance; nock; draw; sight; aim; shoot; analyze; repeat.

She must have been at it for a good half hour by the time something happened to remind her that the rest of the world existed.

“Not bad,” she heard a man's voice say.

She hadn't noticed him approach. She pulled her eyes from the target long enough to get a good look at him.

He was young – probably in his early twenties – with black hair pulled into a short pony tail that hung halfway down his shoulder blades. He was wearing a dark brown suit that somehow gave the impression of being old and worn, despite not looking it at all. He was tall – towering over Miranda's five-feet-on-a-good-day by a good foot or more.

He smiled when he noticed her looking. “Don't stop on my account. Go on: keep shooting.”

She nodded – silent – and nocked another arrow. She drew the bow, taking careful aim, and let fly. Six points, she noted, the arrow firmly lodged in the inner blue ring.

She shot a couple more, and was reaching for her next arrow, when she realized that the man was right behind her. “Draw,” he told her, “but don't shoot.” She obeyed, her right hand held next to her cheek, the fletching from the arrow barely grazing her nose. He then started to circle her, examining and adjusting her stance: moving her left foot back a little, straightening her arm, and so on.

Her arms were shaking from the strain before he retreated behind the firing line. “Alright, try that.”
She finally allowed herself to fire, and was rewarded with a nine point shot: still halfway into the red ring, but scores were always rounded up.

He approached again, but passed her by and instead pulled one of the arrows out of the quiver sitting next to her.

“It's not entirely your fault, you know,” he said. “These arrows are horrible. Look at how bent they are.” She examined the arrow he'd pulled from the quiver, and sure enough it was bent in a noticeable arc. “Don't you have anything better to shoot?”

Miranda nodded and drew the empty bow. Why was I even using those arrows in the first place? She wondered, taking a quick look around. It's not like there's anyone here but me and him. Something about that thought seemed wrong: but she was having a hard time focusing on it and in a few seconds the feeling had disappeared.

Miranda sighted across the empty bow. “,” she commanded smoothly.

White fire erupted between her hands before settling down into a faintly pulsing white glow that resembled the shape of an arrow. Aiming was different with this arrow than the normal one. A thin filament of magical energy extended from the tip of the arrow, showing her exactly where it would end up. With a thought, she could pull at that string, and affect the direction of the arrow, even turning it at impossible angles in the middle of its flight. She lined up the shot, aiming for the dead center of the target, took a deep breath and fired.

The magical arrow flew true, and embedded itself in the target, square through the X marking the middle. Though these arrows weren't physical objects, they still created a bit of an impact: the heavy foam rocked a bit when the arrow hit, but Miranda knew that there would be no hole in the paper target.

Before she could take her eyes off the shot, one of the plastic arrows rocketed through the air, hitting the target in the same spot as her magical arrow. The spell shattered from the impact; the released Star Dust twinkling as it floated softly to the ground.

She whipped her head around in surprise. The mysterious man was still in his post-shot stance: left hand stretched out in front of him holding the wooden bow that he had acquired from somewhere, right hand next to his cheek.

He lowered his arms slowly – grinning – obviously proud of the shot. He tilted his head to one side when he noticed Miranda looking.

“Nice, isn't it?” he said, holding his bow out for her to examine.

It was a beautiful piece; delicately carved into deep red wood were reliefs of horses winding up and around the bow. She could swear she saw them moving out of the corner of her eye, but when she focused on any spot in particular they resumed their motionlessness.

The patterns reminded her of something; as if she'd something very much like it before. She wrinkled her brow, trying to remember, but the thought was gone.

“It's beautiful,” she answered, having a hard time pulling her attention from the winding curves.

“Did you want it?”

That got her attention. Her eyes snapped away from the bow, and looked up into the stranger's face. He looked completely serious. “I... I couldn't,” she whispered. “I could never afford...”

He chuckled at her hesitation. “No, see, I think you could afford my price.”

For a second, Miranda was confused. But then the fog finally lifted, and she was suddenly very aware of exactly what was going on and more importantly, who this man was.

Except it was no longer a man that stood before her, offering her the weapon, but a great black-haired centaur. A hide quiver was strapped to his back, and his long black tail twitched impatiently.

“You're...” was all she was able to manage.

“Did you want it?” the Archer repeated.

“Don't ever enter into a Pact you don't have enough magic for,” her father instructed. “If you don't have enough magical energy to fulfill the Pact, it will start draining your life energy. And then you'll die.”

Miranda swallowed nervously. This wasn't a Pact she'd sought out herself. She had no idea if she had enough power to make even a minor Pact with the Archer. But she could all but hear how disappointed her father would be if she let this opportunity pass.

She nodded, and reached out to grab the bow.

Pacting with Sagittarius felt nothing like Miranda's previous experiences. An invisible hand reached inside of her, and pulled at her essence... or soul... or whatever you wanted to call it. She fell to her hands and knees, gritting her teeth against a sensation that wasn't quite pain, but somehow much worse.

Something gave, and she could feel her magic start to flow out of her. It started slow, but it drained faster and faster until she was sure she had nothing left. And even then the flow still increased. She tried to call out, tell Sagittarius to stop, but she couldn't make a sound.

Too late, she regretted her decision.

To her surprise, she stayed conscious through the entire thing, though it probably only lasted a couple of seconds. She stared at the ground, catching her breath; drained.

“Hmm...” she heard the Archer say.

She closed her eyes to stop the world from spinning... and almost threw up when everything turned upside down.
Miranda opened her eyes. She panicked, and sat up straight, frightening the crowd that had gathered. Her head darted around, looking for the Archer, but all she could see were worried and scared faces, all focused on...

on her.

“Randy!” she heard, and a familiar face emerged from the crowd.

“Mom!” she answered, or tried to. It came out as barely a whisper.

If Miranda had been a little bit more aware, she would have noticed her mother's hesitation before she finally embraced her daughter.
“You understand, Mrs. Collins, that we don't really have the... resources to handle something like this on a daily basis?”

Miranda sat in a chair in the school's outer office, trying not to fall asleep.

No one seemed to know what to do with her. They were going to call in someone from MAGI at first, or maybe even just send her home, but she somehow sounded convincing enough in her assurances that everything was alright that she'd instead ended up here, listening to Mr. Crane and her mother talk about her through the thin door of his office.

“We are not equipped to handle Meta humans at this school.”

Miranda tried to ignore the faces pressed up against the window in the outer door. The story of what had happened had of course spread, and now everyone was making a detour to see for themselves the Meta that had been hiding in their own school.

She absentmindedly swatted at a bit of Star Dust that lazily crossed her vision. It passed right through her hand, leaving a warm, tingling feeling in its wake. It also didn't help that now fragments of her magic were orbiting her like tiny, visible stars.

“I know how difficult this can be. If you would like, I can direct you to some schools that might be a better fit for Miranda.”
They only spoke for about fifteen minutes before Marie Collins emerged from the inner office.

Miranda fell asleep in the car on the way home, and didn't wake up for three days.