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The biology lab in Meadowview was pretty comparable to other schools as far as public school bio labs went: the equipment was generally outdated, the tables were chipped and stained with equally chipped and stained heavy wooden chairs stationed behind them. There were Gary Larson cartoons taped under the door-handle and posters of things like the nitrogen cycle and the energy pyramid, on the far wall there was an ancient, yellowed pinup of one of those "Evolution of Man" pictures that followed the development of humankind from the humble lobe-finned fish to a long-haired, Roman-looking "caveman" holding a spear.

A couple of weeks ago some unkind person had pinned a cutout of Principal Johannsen's face over the head of the lobe-finned fish. Dr. Westerman either had yet to notice this, or had noticed and didn't really care. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

But as amusing as the principal's supposed place in the evolutionary line was, students going to Dr. Westerman's 11AM biology section today would be quick to discover that today they wouldn't be sitting in the classroom to cast the occasional amused glance at it. There was a little post-it note next to the doorhandle, informing his students that his class wouldn't be taking place indoors today -- they were supposed to meet him out at the bleachers by the running track.

Well, it was a nice day.

Perry was out waiting by the bleachers as expected, wearing his plaid and his easy smile, giving students beckoning waves as they drew near. He had a cardboard box tucked under one arm -- it was kind of curious, and sounded like it could have been full of Christmas decorations; whenever he moved a wave of faint merry jingling noises could be heard from within. He also had a small handful of handkerchiefs bunched into one fist.

"Alright gang, gather round, how are we all doin'," he was saying, flashing an easygoing grin and dropping the box on the ground with a small, noisy burst of jingles. "Nice day, isn't it. Now, gimme a show of hands, here, who actually did the reading for today or at least tried to cram it into their brains during passing period?"

Ughhhhh. Outdoors. Why had she waited until last semester senior year to take this class? Tate glared at the note like she wanted to burn a hole through it with her eyes--and then ran out to the track. She was not going to have to sit front row if she could help it, goddamn it straight to Hell.

She made it in time to sit midway up the bleachers, close enough to hear but not enough that it looked like she wasn't taking notes in her binder. At his question, she raised one hand around shoulder height. During passing time was an accurate descriptor of what she had done. What with moving into her new apartment, getting attacked by giant centipedes and midgets, she hadn't really had much time to actually keep up on her homework...

Tate shifted in her seat, leaned on her knuckles. Jingle bells and handkerchiefs. Hopefully they were not racing frogs or something.

Carter Martin was among those who, upon seeing the delightful sticky note, immediately let out a "WHOOP!" of victory before hustling to the other side of the school, ducking and diving between students and avoiding teachers in order to pay a short visit to his locker. He was going to be outside, so why should he bother with his books? Literature was too heavy to haul around, and that class was done so in it went, followed by his math book (he'd need to return for it after class), biology book, and history book. His binder made it into his locker too before he paused, stared at it, and yanked it back out again and returning it to his backpack. It would not do him well to show up without a paper or pencil to a pop quiz!

Carter jogged over to the bleachers, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and tossing it onto the bleachers. He then jumped up and scrambled onto the fourth tier, kicking his feet up onto the seat below him. Whew! That was a good run, even if he was a minute la- no, no he wasn't, unless his watch lied to him.

Either way, the boy merely shrugged and gave a lop-sided, apologetic grin when the teacher asked his question, casting a curious look at the jingling box before glancing at the rest of the class. He couldn't have been the only one who didn't read it, right?

Science and Vanessa had always been incompatible. Teachers, as well as her classmates, learned very quickly that she was too impulsive and too careless to be trusted with chemicals or machines or complicated math equations. This made it very difficult for Vanessa to pass class, although she sometimes managed to scrape just by, and even harder to find lab partners.

Of the science-y classes that she was forced to take, as per her father's well-meaning orders, biology was her favourite. She enjoyed this particular class because Dr. Wes was nice. He smiled a lot and didn't make her feel stupid, which Vanessa liked. Plus he wore plaid and liked nature. Vanessa didn't wear plaid, but she thought that plaid and nature probably went together like baked potatoes and sour cream.

The golden-eyed girl was stretched out on the bleachers, long legs propped up on the tier in front of her and a curious expression on her face. Half of her attention was on Dr. Wes as she considered his tinkling box of unnameable goodies. The other half of her attention was on the piece of paper she'd dug out of her binder while waiting for the rest of her classmates to file in. Patience was a virtue that she lacked significantly. Boredom was easier.

She chose to ignore Dr. Wes's question, as she had not done the reading she was supposed to, and did not raise her hand. Instead Vanessa, with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated, started production on a paper aeroplane.

Calintha had been perfectly fine just spacing out in the bleachers when a loud bang had abruptly broke her daze. Just a few feet away a backpack at existed, followed shortly by Carter, if she remembered his name correctly. Laughing quietly and shaking her head a little, Calintha returned to listening to Dr. Wes's lecture. She liked Dr. Wes as a general rule, he was good looking and enjoyed nature (which were always pluses in her book). It also may have been in part due to the fact that she was good at biology. Well, plant biology at the very least, but it was more of a solid base than most of the other students.

At being summoned to the front of the class, Calintha left her backpack in the bleachers and walked haphazardly around various students sprawled out around her. Thankful that Dr. Wes hadn't told her to wear a blindfold, she reached over and grabbed a little bell on a string. It reminded her of the little tail-less cats bell that she'd fed a few nights before; it made her smile a little.

She chose to loop the string a few times around her wrist, so that the bell ended up dangling over the top of her hand. When she moved her hand, it jingled merrily just like the kittens had. Calintha moved her attention from the little bell and back to Dr. Wes, waiting for the class to resume. She'd done the reading, sure, but it was hazy in her memory. The blonde only knew partially what was going on.

Vanessa was a physical sort of girl. She was not obscenely strong, but years of playing outdoors (she didn't have Facebook, or even a computer for that matter) and a fast metabolism had left her very fit. She was tall and slender, but sturdy, and knew her body well. She liked pushing boundaries and testing its limits. It was a large part of her ambition to be a super hero- saving lives was hard work, but somebody had to do it.

When Dr. Wes whistled, Vanessa responded to it like a well-trained dog. She neglected her paper aeroplane and her books and hopped down the bleachers one at a time, and then smiled as she joined the rest of her classmates. The purpose of the bells and the blindfolds eluded Vanessa, but she was unconcerned. It was clear that Dr. Wes had decided to turn this class into a game, like Mr. Gordon had with his Mardi Gras beads and that Hamlet loser. Vanessa didn't need to understand why they were being asked to wear bells to know how to win. And she wanted to win.

"Is this kinda like Marco Polo?" She flashed a grin at Dr. Wes as she grabbed a bell and looped it around her neck. Then, she turned to the person nearest to her before he could answer and told them wisely, "I bet its kinda like Marco Polo."

Tate did not actually know that it was usually a case of monkey see, monkey do inaccurately with Charys and Mr. Gordon, but unless you'd seen the pattern of behaviour for a long time it was hard to tell. Charys Murphy had also been saying douchey things since freshman year. It was Charys Murphy. The only one who was dumb enough to put up with her for more than ten minutes at a time was Charlie Boyle. In any case, she was already wading forward for a bell.

"Excellent," she said, and was tying it around her throat. "Slave has secured a slave-bell for her slave-neck."

"Sounds like someone's quick on the uptake," said Perry, in response to Vanessa's guess at their activity for the day. "Just give everyone a minute and we'll see how this'll play out."

The minute or so happened; all the students save for Carter and Tate had a bell on them somewhere. Dr. Westerman still had one more blindfold bunched in his hand, which he uncrumpled with a fast flick of the wrist and proceeded to block out his own eyes with. This looked a bit silly, and if anyone had wanted to take the last-minute chance to skip class, now would have been the time to do it -- except the bell jingling would have made it kind of apparent someone might have been trying to leave.

With his head turned vaguely in the direction of the gathering of his students, the teacher began. "Here's the sitch, gang. Carter, Tate and I are your Marcos, and we're hungry for a Polo or three. Problem is our intelligent designer thought it would be a fun prank to make our entire species blind for some reason, so we can't rely on our sight to hunt like a normal predator and the Taco Tsar don't got a braille menu."

At this point, most of his students were probably able to guess what the bells were supposed to be for.

"Fortunately for us, Polos are noisy enough critters that we do well enough to catch 'em without needing to see them. Rules are simple: we try to catch you, you try to not get caught. If someone tags you that means you were delicious and got sent to Bleacher Heaven." He gave a wave in the -- well, it was close enough to the direction of the bleachers to get the point across. "There's no rules other than that besides the stuff that'll get you in trouble at a high school. No tackling, groping or tripping anybody or anything like that. Just tag them. If you're a Marco, no peeking out your blindfold, you should only be able to catch food you can hear, everyone got it?"

There was a smattering of nods, and Perry gave an "okay, alright."

And a pause.

"You know, you guys should probably start running or something."


((Feel free to assume NPC students and junk))