Flicker at Whateley
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"I could use a glass of water and then I'm all set to go." She even has remotely appropriate gym-type clothes on, what with the shopping trip yesterday.

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Water is provided!

"When we get to the power tests proper there'll be a couple more people observing, if that's all right. I might have to hit them with a stick to get them not to watch if it turns out not to be, though. So please bear my noodly arms in mind."
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"I don't have any strong reason to object, but why will there be more people observing?" asks Bella.

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"Because my colleagues are actually enormous children in disguise, and you are a very shiny thing."

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Bella laughs, and ponytails her hair for convenience. "I don't mind being shiny. Are the tests calibrated to take into account that I have no actual training in many forms of complex Olympic derring-do? That is, my form is going to be off unless somebody coaches me on it and this will affect how good I am at running, jumping, turning cartwheels along a balance beam, etcetera."

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"Naturally. The tests are calibrated for twelve-to-fifteen-year-olds, not Batman."

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"Okay. Let's have a look."

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The tests are many and varied! There are tests of speed, deadlift capability, endurance, et cetera. Breaks are at regular intervals, including protein bars and water as necessary.

One of the later tests appears to be another test of speed. She is placed on a treadmill and set to go at a certain rate.

Abruptly, out of the console pops a boxing glove on a spring, moving much faster than aerodynamics should allow it to.
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Bella teleports off the treadmill. "What the hell!"

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"Reflexes! Excellent reflexes, by the way. You react faster than you should given your speed, unless that's a twin thing?"

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"I've practiced teleporting quickly. Evac," says Bella.

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"Ah. Makes sense. Next up is the long jump!"

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"All right."

Bella jumps. Long.
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No further boxing gloves appear for the remainder of the test, though there is a less antagonistic test of her reflexes later involving a batting practice machine.

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Bella bats things.

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And eventually the tests are complete!

"Alright, our tentative 'rating' on you is Ex-2/Wa-5:lb/Esp-2. You're an Olympic-bodied genius who can teleport a lot and has a weird interdimensional sister-connection. Which puts you firmly in the mid-tier at Whateley, slightly upper tier in terms of all mutantkind, and in the dust in terms of the super-entity community. Though you're a serious contender in terms of sheer convenience. Congratulations et cetera."
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"Cool. What is the super-entity community?"

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"Heroes, villains, all that. The ones who run around in spandex trying to save or destroy the world according to taste."

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"Noted. Thanks for the eval. Except for the boxing glove. Not thrilled about the boxing glove. Do I get my card right now?"

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"Boxing glove's standard to test for reflexive powers the subject doesn't know about, and it's made of foam, doesn't hurt if it actually hits. And we've got a card printer just down the hall."

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"Okay."

Bella goes and gets her card.
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"Ready to face the might of finger-wiggling and bad Halloween costumes?"

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"Beg pardon?"

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"The wards. Sorry, making fun of the Mystic Arts folks is our national pastime and anthem down in the labs."

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"What fun I'm sure that is, and less taxing on the intellect than coming up with decent puns. Yeah, I'm ready to see if I bounce off some wards, if that's what you mean."

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