Where There's Smoke...

[Westbrook Academy]

McHenry was two hundred dollars up when the call came in.

He let out a long, slow sigh as the others scrambled to gather equipment and run checklists. Then, with a shrug, he tossed his hand -- trip aces, too, damn it -- onto the table and moved to join his teammates.

Last week of the graveyard shift, and they had to catch a call on poker night. Worse yet, it had to come when he was on a hot streak. With his luck, the cards would be long cold before they got back.

"Where's the fire?" he asked, as he joined the others.

It was the oldest joke in the world, but you couldn't go wrong with a little black humor in a firehouse. It got a laugh. Someone tossed a helmet at him, and he caught it without looking, which earned him a bonus golf clap.

"Northern sector," said Eismann, already sliding into position in the cab of the truck. "The Westbrook Academy."

McHenry frowned. The name sounded familiar. The question must have shown on his face, because Robbins, the new kid in the crew, served up the answer.

"Super school."

"Oh, Jesus," said McHenry. "Hope to hell we don't have a burner."

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[It's 3:30 in the morning on Monday. You're fast asleep (or you ought to be). Then the fire alarm starts clanging. The emergency lighting switches on. You can smell smoke, and it's thick in the hallways. In the interest of avoiding OOC panic, we're compelled to tell you that there is no fire and the school is not burning down. We know -- sadface, right? Nevertheless, where are you? What do you do?]

[Aglakti Hale]

Aglakti was, indeed fast asleep. It was a proper sort of sleep too. Shirt off, flat on his face, arm dangling off the side of his bunk. When the fire alarm starts ringing and emergency lighting switches on in the dorms, he snorts awake and rubs his tired eyes with the back of his hand as it takes a moment or two to register what's going on. "Huh?" he started to say before spluttering a cough at the smoke that was collecting on the ceiling of the dorm room. As he slept on the top bunk, his head was right in it.

The boy jumped down off his bed, giving Ar a shove on the way if he wasn't already awake. "Ar! Get up! Fire!"

Ag didn't remember protocol for a fire, he didn't remember that one was supposed to crawl on the floor where the fresh air was. He didn't remember that one wasn't supposed to touch possibly red hot door handles either. And so that's what he did, ran over to the door and threw it open. Smoke came billowing in from the hallway and through it he could see panicked kids running out to the balcony and down the stairs into the commons.

"Oh shit... what are we gonna do?" He said through his coughs, holding the door a-jar. It didn't even occur to the sleepy teenager that he could summon weather. Wind or rain or something to try and help...

[Arthur Rawlings]

"Ar! Get up! Fire!" Panicked voice, check. Ag's voice, check. Fire, check. Nothing for it but to get out of bed. This was exactly why every pair of underwear had to be the best pair of underwear. One never knows when one will be making a late night - scratch that, early morning - appearance in one's boxers.

Ar slid out of bed in a crouch and pulled the holsters by his bed up onto his shoulders while he adjusted to seeing in infrared. It had been a while. The bright reds, oranges, and yellows that made up his roommate's form were thankfully the hottest things in sight. There would be time to enjoy the double meaning there once they were outside.

"Duck. We're going to the balcony and then down."

[Roach Copeland]

Roach always hated showers. Always hated the feel of the water against his skin and the memories that it would drove up while he was there scrubbing away. He hated the way it was needed, that he had to waste time doing it. He hated how his scalp always felt afterwards and how his skin would always goose bump all over when he left the shower.

Most of all, Roach hated the audience.

No, naturally, he wasn't selling tickets to his own bathing session, but it seemed everytime he showered, someone would be around to take note. And naturally, they'd be happy about it. Proud of him -- as if showering was ever the accomplishment, seriously.

So, he had begun taking his showers late at night. Away from the jokes and the 'cute' comments of his quad mates.

Which had worked wonders ... until the night Westbrook caught fire.

As soon as the alarms sounded and the emergency lighting kicked in, Roach was out of the shower in record time! The smell of smoke was already in the air and the panic was something that was just chiseled into his minds. People were scared -- heck he was scared.

So, he did the heroic thing.

He ran.

Throwing a towel over his waist and not bothering to rid himself of his shower cap, he ran from his room and out into the hall. Spotting a few teenagers calmly gathering into the predetermined 'fire drill' lines, mostly all half awake, Roach skidded to a halt in front of them.

This wasn't the time for fire drills. This was a time for leadership. Roach was that leadership.

"Fire, bitches! Run! RUN!" Roach screamed before taking off passed them.

His voice carried some weight, clearly, because it didn't take long for the calm 'line gathering' students to toss the rehearsed plan out of the window and adopt Roach's new one.

Roach led the charge out towards the doors. Towel in all.

[Taylor Brenton]

"Stay calm!" Taylor called into the hallway. "Stay to the right! Leave your doors open!" Not many people listened. There was smoke, and smoke meant fire even if they couldn't see any flames. She rolled her eyes as people hurriedly carried laptops, purses and personal belongings. The smoke was thick and getting thicker. She covered her mouth with the collar of her TMNT T shirt. Fire she could handle, flames she could help contain, but smoke was another story. Most fire-related deaths were actually caused by smoke inhalation, and pyro or not, she still needed oxygen to breathe. She wanted to help, but she also knew that sometimes the best way to help was to stay out of the way and let people do their job. The fire department was there. Going outside and being accounted for would be the best way she could contribute - looking for kids playing hero would just make their job that much more dangerous.

[Mia Cobol]

Dead sleep. That's the best way to describe the state Mia was in. Laying on her side, on top of her bedspread, her notebook and pencil still next to her. Too many late nights, researching arcane charms and spells had finally caught up to her.

Still when the alarms started clanging, Mia sat bolt upright in bed. She rubbed her eyes a couple times, trying to clear the haze of sleep as she reached over to shut off her alarm clock. She hit the button once, twice. Then looked down at it. As she covered her mouth coughing, the realization hit her and she was on her feet.

"Jess! Jess, get up. Fire alarm." Without waiting to see if her roommate was moving she quickly moved through the bathroom shared by her quad and started banging on the opposite door. "Sondra! Peyton! Are you okay? We have to go!"

With that she turned back to her room, trying to see through the haze if Jess was up out of bed yet. As she wrapped a scarf around her mouth and nose, she grabbed her phone and notebook. Taking a deep breath of the relatively clearer air, she nodded to Jess and flung open the door to the hall, making her way through the smoke to the stairs.

[Lauren Lombardi]

There was no mistaking the fire alarm for anything else. Lauren swiveled out of bed, and dropped to the floor. Taylor was already at the door, checking for heat. Leave it to Taylor to remember every little detail about fire safety, while Lauren took much of it for granted. She had some resistance to toxins and smoke, but she wasn’t totally immune to them. It’s not like she should go strolling into a burning building with no protection for herself or anyone else like she didn’t need to have a care in the world.

Sometimes, you really are blonde.

There was smoke in the hallway. Thick, dark smoke, hugging the ceiling. This wasn’t a drill. Lauren reached beneath her desk for her laptop bag. Yes, you weren’t supposed to stop for anything. Just get out, and get to safety. But her laptop bag had all of the evidence and notes she was keeping as part of the investigation into Derrick’s death.

She had stayed up late Friday night digitizing most of it, scanning what wasn’t already in electronic format, typing notes, adding cross-references, brainstorming even. All of that had been uploaded to her Cloud Drive, but she wasn’t willing to risk the chance she had missed anything.

Besides, with all of the warnings to be careful and watch her back playing through her head, Lauren had to wonder about the timing of this particular fire.

She slipped the backpack onto one shoulder so that it hung in front of her, and wrapped her left arm around it in a death grip. Time to go! A sudden thought occurred to her as she turned toward the door. Rhode Island. February. In the middle of night. It was going to be freezing out there. She ripped the comforter from her bed, paying no attention to pillows and other blankets that might have fallen, and threw it around her shoulders as she followed other students toward the exit.

Lauren knew for certain she would get a lecture from Taylor later.

[Wyatt Wyborn]

The smoke in the hallway was so thick Wyatt couldn’t see more than a couple feet in front of him. Working with others he went door to door pounding on the closed ones, checking to see if they were unlocked and if they were not, busting them down and shepherding the occupants out.

“Don’t push! Go downstairs! Hurry! Don’t push!” Wyatt shouted it over and over, never realizing that “hurry” and “don’t push” used together were a bit of an oxymoron.

At every door he braced himself for a blast of heat and a wall of flames, but so far it hadn’t happened. Only smoke. Lots of smoke. It filled his lungs and coated his tongue. Smoke. He had tasted so much of it over the past two weeks. Smoke from tires and barrels full of scrap wood and paper in Boomtown. Smoke from the cigarette habit he had taken up. But this smoke didn’t smell or taste like any of that. Wyatt couldn’t place it.

But no time to think of that. A few shouts from DeWalt and Mike confirmed that the rooms on the boys floor were emptied and the occupants were churning down the narrow corridor, bottlenecking at the stairs where they made the turn to head down. Wyatt went the other way, going up, squeezing against the stair rail, swimming upstream against a current of agitated girls.

“Mia!” he shouted...

[Lorne Hazlewood]

Lorne sat bolt upright in bed when the alarms went off. His eyes flew open and he immediately covered his ears.

"Dammit! Not another drill!" he though as his ears adjusted to the noise.

He pushed himself sleepily out of bed. He rubbed his eyes a bit and looked up to see Roach come running out of the bathroom. Roach nodded to him momentarily before running out of the door in a towel and a shower cap.

Lorne had to laugh. "Only, Roach" he thought. He stood up and took a sniff at the air. He could smell the acrid odor of smoke in the air. His eyes went wide. This wasn't a drill. From outside the hall he heard Roach yell, "Run, Bitches!" Then it seemed like all hell broke loose out in the halls. Lorne grabbed his glasses and ran out the door to join it. He ran so fast out the door he slammed in to some one who was in the process of leaving their own room...

(anyone can feel free to pick up on this.)

[Aglakti Hale]

Aglakti was ducking through the hallway of the boys' dorms with Ar close behind when Roach cut him off with a yell of "Fire bitches! Run! Run!" He wasn't running, but walking quickly was nearly there. Just as he regained his bearings, Lorne slammed into him and without pause for thought he grabbed the other boy by his furry wrist and dragged him out to the balcony where he and Ar were headed. There they could all jump down to the ground.