"For fuck's sake," says the someone.

"Seems pretty fucking likely, yeah. What year is it? On what planet?"

"It's, it's 2015. Earth. Massachusetts. America."

"I, not- not p-personally, but there's, there's ways. There are ways to do that. Round one?"

"This is the second time I've been suddenly transported to another universe. The first time it was a small cult looking to sacrifice me to their false god, so in that sense you represent an improvement. Well done."

"But I would still rather be back in world number two. I was starting to get used to it."

There is a loud knocking at the window, behind the curtains.

Mark calls loudly through it, "I catch fire in direct sunlight. Please go around."

"He fainted," the vampire says dryly, exhibiting no sign of fear.

She doesn't seem to be amused! However, after a moment of sizing up the situation, she relents and returns the rod to a guarding position. "I apologize. You are from another world; I shouldn't apply local assumptions of vampires to you. Speaking of which, I apologize for my student's behavior and assure you that it will be remedied as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

"Until then... I would like you to explain to a psychic what abilities you have at your disposal and whether or not you intend to harm anyone here. If you are credibly not a threat, I will apologize again for my suspicion and you will be hosted here without incident. If you are something of a threat but do not appear immediately or intentionally harmful, you will be hosted in a higher security area and possibly allowed to wander under supervision." She refrains from listing the third option, in which the psychic tells her that he's pure evil and she destroys him. He probably picks up on it anyway.

"I can fly you over to Louis' tank in short order if you let me carry you. And protect you from the sun while you're there. If you'd rather not, we can take the tunnels. It's your choice; flight is quicker, but I will understand if you'd rather not hop into the arms of the woman most recently threatening your bodily integrity."

...He giggles. "Went looking for my name, did you? Oh, that's hilarious."

"Really?" he says, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"The threat assessment is not even slightly about the slaughter of vampire cults," Louis says. "Slaughter as many evil cultists as you like, so long as you take care with the bodies. We're concerned about the safety of the students, here. For instance, if a gentleman by the charming moniker of 'Powerhouse' decides that you 'look like a fag' and need correction for it, and tries to rearrange your delightful face, will he find himself crying for his mommy with a dislocated pelvis, or will he be found with a broken neck? Bearing in mind that many of the threatened parties attack with such speed that to retaliate you would most likely be acting on instinct, and bearing in mind that your instincts are those of an assassin."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Louis notes. "But the amount of credit you should be giving yourself still isn't quite enough to let you roam around unsupervised. So, should you wish to wander the campus, you're going to need a guide-cum-bodyguard-cum-murdernanny. But the options are all fun and delightful people, so you shouldn't feel bad about it."

"Murder nanny," he snorts. "All right. What are the options?"

"...you can tell her," sighs Mark. And if she wants to know how Louis knows that, Louis can provide as much of the surrounding context as she asks for, and Mark will just deal with whatever may result.

"I'll get right on that, then," says Louis. "But for the time being, I think Peter might work best. He's just upstairs; would you like me to call him down?"

"No, but I've known the man for almost thirty years. I'd like to think that gives me some insight."

"And?"

"Oh, fine then."

The illusory puppet exults. His double appearifies himself a small and tasteful party hat.

Mark giggles. Louis is adorable.

Mark shakes Peter's hand. "Mark. Likewise. I might mind Louis's idea of tact more if he wasn't so fucking adorable about it."

"I'm actually from two parallel universes," he says. "I picked up vampirism in between home and here. That universe is absolutely crawling with 'em, and they are mostly bloodthirsty assholes. I won't claim I don't thirst for blood, but I'm not inclined to kill anyone over it."

"Very few of us were purpose-made to do anything. Mutants are naturally occurring. Louis is of the opinion that I'm like this because my thirteen-year-old-self thought it would look cool, which is believable. Also, he was a bit more ambivalent on the subject of murder. I mean, killing people is all well and good, but if there's no good reason behind it it just seems a bit pointless, you know? Sort of declassé."

"Thank you." Peter preens, showing off his spiny plumage. (Louis, man and monster both, look terribly smug.)

Everyone is adorable.

"Suits me," he says, still outwardly unruffled. "Is whatever that other person did to prevent me catching fire in sunlight still active?"

"Elizabeth says it's a 24-hour charm," relays Louis after a moment. "A more permanent solution can be gotten from Mystic Arts when it wears off."

"Thanks. All right then." He looks up at Peter. "Lead on."

"How convenient."

"I'd introduce you to the other residents, but most of them are in class and the three who aren't aren't really fit for polite company, so it might not be the best time."

"I qualify as polite company for this purpose?"

"Polite company, in this case, is anyone who looks human. And objects to potentially having their face ripped off."

"Let's suppose that I would object to that. All right. Although I can look less human if it would help."

"Oh? How much less human?"

"This much," he says, demonstrating. Yellow eyes, snarly forehead ridges, fangs.

Peter nods. "Fun. Won't get you much shrift with the Monster Cabal, though, especially since you turn it on and off. You have the unfair advantage of not being made of acidic Jello."

He shrugs and turns it off again. "True enough."

"There's a few places we could go from here. If you're hungry, I can introduce you to the cafeteria. Otherwise, there's a library and various classrooms and a forest and such."

"Oh, let's see the cafeteria. Do they serve blood?"

"Who?"

"Alexander Richardson, codename Hemomancer, declines to be called Alex. Capable of manifesting an apparently infinite supply of human blood and doing various interestingly awful things with it. He'd give you a pint or so if you asked, but that would entail interacting with Xan."

"Is interacting with Xan very terrible? I don't need human, anyway, I can get by perfectly well on land mammals."

"He is, in my professional opinion, a little shit."

"Lucky me not having to depend on him for sustenance, then."

"Honestly, I've got no idea if you'd like him or not, but if you didn't you really wouldn't."

"I'm content to avoid testing it for now."

And here is the Crystal Hall! It sparkles in the nonfatal sunlight. Peter heads in, points Mark at the "exceptional needs" station and makes a beeline for a line bearing a picture of a happy cow, which contains enormous quantities of variously cooked meats.

Mark investigates "exceptional needs".

It is: a service window staffed by a bored teenager with compound eyes! "What's your poison?" he asks.

"The blood of medium-to-large land mammals."

"Any preferences, or d'you just want a pint of cow?"

"A pint of cow will do fine."

The teenager places a paper cup under a tap and pulls a lever, producing a quantity of blood which flows into the cup. Once the cup is mostly full the teenager caps it with a plastic lid, conscientiously tags the "blood" bubble on the "this drink contains:" section of the lid, and slides it over to Mark with a bendy straw. "Thank you, come again," he drawls.

"Thanks," Mark says cheerfully. He takes his drink and goes to locate Peter.

Peter is sitting with a young woman with strong facial similarities to someone Mark knows! She spots him and waves a fried drumstick of absurd size.

She sticks out a hand. "Hey! I'm Ariel, codename Stormhammer. Peter tells me you're a vampire from space. A spacepire, one might say. This intrigues me."

"Mark," says Mark. "No codename. Not from space, either. I grew up on Earth, just not this Earth." He eyes her hand nervously and doesn't touch it.

Here we go then. Mark waits, drinking his cup of blood and otherwise not moving at all.

"...sure," says Mark.

Hug. Ariel is slightly cooler to the touch than the average human, but she is practiced at hugs.

She rubs his back comfortingly, in a gesture Mark may recognize.

Oh, fuck it, there he goes with the silent tears. He puts down his empty blood cup so as to cling to her more effectively.

This is not an entirely unexpected outcome! Ariel continues hugging and makes kind sounds.

Mark is such a fucking mess. He does not understand why these people like him so much. Now there's two of them, even. And they live in different universes. Which means he is always going to be missing a minimum of one person he is atrociously in love with. No wonder he's crying all over her in the middle of the cafeteria.

Well, nobody who knows what's good for them is going to judge; Ariel is known for uncompromising destruction in defense of small emotional men. And various other persons.

Okay then. Weepy clinging will continue.

As will kind sounds and the rubbing of Mark's back.

"Man, don't apologize for feeling things. You have had the shittiest day of all shitty days. 'Sides, crying on me isn't even a problem, I don't get mucky or anything. Benefits of a TK shell and superhydrophobic clothes."

"I have had shittier days in my life. But yeah. Thank you."

Mark looks... well, nearly expressionless and like he has just been crying.

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I prefer the tour."

"Is this a friendly or a genuine feud?"

"What variety of devil in particular?"

"Thank you for this information," says Mark.

Ariel waves a hand dismissively. "You're more'n welcome to the campus roadmap, especially when it comes to people who should be stayed the fuck away from. Mostly that list is her and her clique, bar her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

Ariel claps her hands together. "Anyway! Enough about the Wicked Bitch of the East, a tour was discussed and I don't feel like watching her probably win another fucking game of Capture the Flag anymore. Where d'you feel like going? Mystic Arts? Dorms? Visit the heap of junk the lab techs want to be a giant robot? The world's your oyster, man. I mean, the couple thousand acres of world surrounding this immediate area is your oyster."

"Is it a particularly interesting heap of junk?"

"...It's shaped like a giant robot? For what that's worth?"

"Well if it were a functional giant robot that would be worth looking at. If not," he shrugs, "I've no strong preference. Pick something fun. For whatever definition of 'fun' you like."

"Hm... Jeez, you live here for years, but the second somebody visits it's just pop! Nothing of interest at the superschool. There's a library? It's got, like... history books? You could learn about how mutants fucked up history?"

"Ooh. How did mutants fuck up history, pray?"

"Well, I mean, I don't actually know how history went in your world, but one of the big effects is that everybody's kind of fucked-up about mutants. There's prejudice, but there's also this weird kind of fetishization, but then you've got the fact that the market's saturated with mutant-made supertechnology and shit... Complicated feelings. So a lot of that shows up in, like, the Nineties; that's kind of the defining feature of the decade. That and costumes with a ton of pouches."

"I'm unusually well versed in the history of this approximate era for someone from the thirtieth century, but I couldn't give you an overview off the top of my head. Fucked-up history is one of my favourite kinds, though."

"Well, the library's just a few blocks away. Wanna check it out?"

"Sure."