Morty wasn't even trying to do anything this time. He was just fucking around with some cardboard, and okay, maybe it turned into an eldritch sigil of some kind, and then it blew up in his face, and now there's people in his room.
"How it can do all that?"
"What sort of games?"
Ariel shrugs. "Take an electrical engineering class, I don't know shit about shit. The games are fun, it's like playing pretend with somebody except you can see what's happening right in front of you."
"Like an illusion?"
They arrive at a building with a sign reading HAWTHORNE HALL. Ariel leads them inside, and down the stairs to the basement.
A man sits in an armchair next to a large swimming pool containing an indescribably hideous monster. It's covered in scales, misaligned wings, and parts of less obvious purpose. It looks wrong, like something that should not be.
"Hey Louis," Ariel says nonchalantly.
"Hello, Mr. Louis. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Hello," Louis says. (It's the man in the chair who speaks, but it's the monster's many horrible eyes that follow them.)
"Let's see. We need to figure out if you're dangerous, right?" He peers at the two of them for a long second.
Then he winces. "Well, you're traumatized ex-child-soldiers with magic that messes with Gavriel's impulse control and Herod's concept of proportionate response, but remarkably stable for all that. I'd say fortieth percentile for this school. Should be fine, especially considering your lack of offensive power."
"That's us alright," Gavriel said, he managed to go from uneasy to cheerful about Louis a matter of seconds.
"Gav is way more likely to hurt himself than other people. And I have tons of practice fighting the impulse," Herod says reassuringly.
"Thank you." Herod bows and Gav does the same a moment later. "Er, what now?"
"Now we get you enrolled, I think. Unless you wanna get real clothes first, in which case we can stop by the Campus Store on our way over and pick up something."
"Clothes, please. I promise we will find a way to repay."
"No, no, Whateley provides dimensional refugees with an incredibly generous stipend, you're totally set. You could be the Imelda Marcos of menswear and you'd be A-OK. - well, I'll be buying in this specific case, since you wouldn't have the card yet, but I can apply for reimbursement because this is on a job, so it's all cool." She starts up the stairs, expecting her companions to follow.
"Farewell," Louis says solemnly. "And to the hope that we may meet again." A violin appears in his hand and he begins playing Auld Lang Syne.
"Bye, Louis. So, you're telling us that we will get free money? Sweet."
"Is it actual free money?"
"Yeah, totally free money. You get that we basically kidnapped you, right? Okay, sure, nobody was trying to, but we're treating it as the same situation. The money's a bribe to make you forget about the inconvenience and just remember how nice we were. And Whateley's got money to waste, we employ gourmet chefs to make cafeteria food."
"Fun! Herod we landed on those rich kingdoms from tales where they pave the streets with gold."
"Okay... given how my vice works, I will still try to focus on how much you're helping us. Easier to manage in case there is an emergency and I need power or something." Pause. "But thank you."
"You're welcome! It's not my money."
They arrive at the campus store. There's a surprisingly broad selection of clothing, including men's backless shirts. "Take, like, one or two outfits, I'm gonna take you to Cecilia Rogers' shop later to get really good clothes. Like, 'superhydrophobic and bulletproof' good."
Gavriel is delighted like someone who never had any chance to actually purchase clothes. He starts picking things for the both of them.
"...Why would we need bulletproof clothing?"
"It's not 'why would you need it', it's 'why wouldn't you want it?' I wear bulletproof clothes and I'm already bulletproof on three different levels. It's cool."