"The bubble wrap, or, well, whatever's inside it. I think it was a spirit's Hallow, which would make sense if you're currently possessed by that spirit. I don't think it's a ghost, it feels more... elemental? Can you hear me, spirit?"

Well damn.  Teddy hopes the doctor's wrong.

She shakes the bubblewrap package out into her hand. Now she holds a weighty gold disc, bigger than her palm and as thick as a pancake.

Okay, now she's starting to see how this must look.

Okay, to a bystander (hello, Parvati!) it might seem obvious. Your teeth magically grew gold, you have a big mysterious gold medallion in your purse, put it together. But to Teddy, the disc, or coin, or whatever it is, is old news, part of her life. For a long time, it had just sat in a display case in her dad's office, but eventually, when Teddy was about six, it became the thing her dad distracted her with while he was busy. Even now, holding it here, Teddy is recalling long summer afternoons spent rolling the disc across the carpet, knees buzzing pleasantly from the rugburn of it all, as her dad did unknowable, financial things on his sleek black computer.

It looks exactly how she remembers. Its surface is worn down smooth, with the barest hints of vanished engraving here and there. Teddy used to cross her eyes and see faces in it, or animals, or flowers, like looking at shapes in the clouds. Now she's having to look at it a little differently. It's like if someone told you the cookies you made with your grandma were haunted. That your baby blanket was cursed.

The spirit, such as it is, does not appear to hear Dr. Tenent. It doesn't appear at all.

Parvati does look pretty concerned about the medallion.

Dr. Tenent is also concerned, and makes a few more mystic passes over the coin with her hair. "I'm getting... satisfaction... luxury... competition - no, victory. A spirit of victory. Teddy, where did you get this?"

"It was– My dad kept it in his office. I took it with me when I left." It's hers. Some things you can just feel yourself inheriting, mothers abroad be damned. "He'd had it since before I was born, with a lot of other expensive junk." Teddy is now wondering if her home is full of cursed swords, goblets, and belt buckles. Wild.

Teddy's not really looking, but when Tenant says victory the light starts hitting the medallion just a little differently. Vague shapes on the surface look slightly less vague, and slightly more like leaves. Are Teddy's eyes glimmering, or is she just a little weepy? There's likely to be a corresponding magical shift, to anyone with magical hair sensors.

Dr. Tenent looks increasingly concerned. "It's having some kind of effect on you when I say the word 'victory'. Have you been - hearing voices? Having unusual impulses? Do you find yourself absentmindedly doing things that don't make sense until later?"

Teddy's irises are solid rings of gold. They're the same color as before, but it doesn't look like flesh anymore. In Teddy's hand, the medallion shines like it's just been polished.

"Victory," echoes through astral wavelengths only Dr. Tenent can hear, reflections of her own voice, garbled and accented. The world feels like it has raised an eyebrow at her.

The girl in front of her with the golden eyes is oblivious.

"I don't– oh! I might have heard a voice? Once? I thought it was just, like, glossolalia," Teddy says. It was when she was talking about what-was-it-called-anodization with Alice Carver. "It was Latin, I don't remember the syllables or anything."

Teddy is concerned that she's concerning Dr. Tenent, who didn't ask for any of this, but she's also feeling a little wary. Her grip tightens slightly on her father's medallion. She's avoiding looking at Parvati.

Teddy doesn't know how to explain, to a relative stranger anyway, that she does most things absentmindedly. Things usually just work out, if she's trying. You have a plan, you do it, and then you check back in on yourself when it's done. It;s like when you're running, you don't focus on your feet, you focus on where you're going. It's called being goal-oriented.

"Sapientia vivit corpus tuam," says a voice in Teddy's head, and in the magic.

"That's what makes you such a good home," Teddy finishes, voice ringing and accented, and then blinks. "What the fuck! What?"

Parvati startles. Dr. Tenent's hair assumes a defensive posture. "Spiritus! Revelare te ipsum!" she barks, her hair shining with purple light.

Gold glitters from Tenent's hair, to the medallion, to Teddy, and so on. For a brief moment, there is a short, golden silhouette visible inside of Teddy. It vanishes. Gold sparks dance around Teddy's mouth.

"I am having a magnificent tribulation with following which language we are using,"  Teddy continues, the cadence of her words Romantic. "And if you insist on mangling the name of me, I will do as– no– as– no. No. I'm me. This is my voice. I– Shut up."

The sheen vanishes from the air, from Teddy's eyes, from the medallion. The magic goes silent.

Teddy is panting, and a small bead of sweat peeks out from her headwrap. The silence continues.

...Hello?

Impressive! Well, impressive and rude. Not even gotten a chance to apologize you.

Oh.

I, Victoriatus, apologize you for me illicit usage of the language centers of you. Wait. How do I indicate gender. I am male.And I apologize you.

"He... says his name is Victoriatus?" Teddy manages. It's hard to talk and talk at the same time.

Accept you my eloquent apology!

Quiet.

––––

After a moment, Teddy heaves an explosive sigh. "Doc, I bet you've done this before, but I'd really prefer if you'd talk to me instead of the gold-plated ghost in my head. He's excitable, apparently." Teddy sits, somewhere. The medallion sits, dully, in her lap.

Dr. Tenent calms her hair and smooths her skirt. "Of course. I'm sorry, I thought- it doesn't matter. You've contacted the spirit?"

"Well, yeah, that was him doing the stentorian voice, and the grammar. I think he got tired of switching between English and Latin? He kind of grabbed my brain for a second before I made him stop."

Teddy starts putting her non-Hallow things away. The spider corpse goes in a wastebasket.

"I can kind of just talk to him in my head, now? I think he just learned English. I made him stop talking because it was, well, incredibly distracting. He talks in gold." Speaking of. Teddy starts checking herself over for diamond incisors, platinum leg hair, etc. She's thorough, and she finds nothing. Phew. "I'm not turning into sapphire or something, nice. I'd have to have a chat about that and I just got him to pipe down."

Teddy looks to Parvati. "So this was a fun way to see magic for the first time. How was it for you?"

Parvati gives her a slightly shaky thumbs-up. "Seriously considering changing my class schedule so I have any idea what's going on."

Dr. Tenent nods slowly. "Please do talk to the spirit, and see why he's doing what he's doing. It's possible that he's making uncontrolled changes to your body, which could be very dangerous, because you're not an Avatar. In that case we'd want to provide you with some magical protection from transformative magic. If he's making these changes on purpose, then presumably he has a reason for them, and you can talk to him about that and possibly get an idea of what other changes he might make, and maybe argue him into something more useful - maybe coherently diamondlike nails rather than crystals growing out of your nails? I'm just spitballing, though."

But Teddy doesn't want to talk to him. She wants to ignore him. If she ignores him then it's like he's not there, like he hasn't been living in her brain or whatever for, what, months? Years? See this is why she doesn't want to think about it!

And she could! Teddy is very good at doing what she wants and not doing what she doesn't want. She could just proceed like this didn't happen, ignore some admittedly weird looks from hypothetical-Parvati, and pretend that the heavy weight in her lap was still just a keepsake from her dead dad. But... she did come here today for a reason. Is she just going to give up because things got a little complicated? Teddy's life got a little complicated. She needs to own it.

"Alright," Teddy sighs. "I'll try to keep the ambient glitter to a minimum." She puts her fingertips to her temples in a way that she assumes is important.

Listen.

...

Are you listening?

I'm listening.

It’s like a dream, in that Teddy doesn’t know what’s happening, but she isn’t questioning it.

The… space she’s in is more like several spaces all at once. It’s like her dorm room, but Parvati’s stuff isn’t there; it’s like her bedroom back home, but the door isn’t where it’s supposed to be; it’s like the gym, which is what she calls the refurbished greenhouse where she does sword training with Jean-Paul. It’s a lot like the gym, actually, between the dappled sunlight and feeling of being outdoors, indoors, but the gym isn’t gilt like this. Gold highlights every surface, like twines of metal ivy growing on a fence.

In the middle of the room(s?) sits a little round figure. He looks like pictures of Teddy’s dad, from his childhood, or maybe more like a younger brother Teddy never knew about. He has the chubby look of someone about to have a lot of growth spurts, and a little wreath of green leaves half-circling his head, pressing into a short afro.

He looks up at Teddy, and his eyes are caught somewhere between gold dust and the milky way. He blinks, and his hair wraps itself into cornrows. He blinks again, and his eyes are human. Teddy realizes he had no clothes until this moment, where now he wears an odd wrapped-cloth skirt, and a t-shirt.

“Teddy,” he says, and she recognizes Victoriatus’s voice.

Awareness trickles in like rain getting into a coat.

"Am I having a dream right now?” Teddy asks. She’s waiting for the weightless feeling that comes when you have that kind of realization, the impending wake-up, but it doesn’t come. She considers pinching herself, but decides not to. “When did I even go to sleep? You better not be doing more bull–“

“Peace! Peace!” Victoriatus interjects, holding up two peace-signs. Confused, he folds his fingers back down before continuing. “You wanted to talk. This is what that looks like. I imagine it’s what you wanted, if you were to stop and think about it.”

He’s right. She wishes he wasn’t reading her mind, or whatever, but he’s right. This is, so far, so much easier than sitting there and thinking a conversation while the doctor and poor Parvati watch.

“So. You’re an ancient Roman ghost made of gold and you lived in Dad’s private museum until, what, you couldn’t resist switching from a giant gold Oreo to a teenager?”

“Well. How to explain. The medallion is comfortable, but comfort is only part of what life requires. Ooh. My English is coming along well. But I, ooh, I digress. I digress. You are, essentially, the perfect vessel for me. The Highball glass to my Harvey Wallbanger, as it were.”

“What.”

“Oh, you understand, I know you do. You’re just. Well, look at you!” Victoriatus sounds like he’s watching his only child graduate college. “You’re so driven, you crave after heights most mortals never consider! And your propensity for intuitive action is so luxurious!” He reclines on a bean-bag chair of uncertain origin. “I simply will not apologize for moving in, you might as well shame a goat for climbing a mountain.” Now he’s eating grapes?

“So you just own me now? I’m your new house? Do you have any idea how dehumanizing that is? I’m not a coin. I’m not yours.”

“Oh, Teddy, no. No! Look around.”

Against one wall, her Sword. Against another, her bed from home, with the bedding she brought to Whateley piled on it like it’s been slept in. Snack food, hidden but hidden where Teddy would hide it. The floor under her feet feels just like it does when she spars, rough and easy to grip and fling her body under Jean-Paul’s guard.

“Look at me.” Victoriatus stands up, all five feet of him. Teddy looks down. She’s briefly distracted, again, by his strange sort of half-toga skirt, but then she focuses on the shirt. It’s a baby-blue tee, with white lettering. It says:

IT’S TEDDY’S HEAD

What?

Victoriatus turns around, both thumbs pointing at the text across his back:

YOU JUST LIVE IN IT

Teddy bursts into laughter. What? “Did you… make that? It’s cute!” she manages through gasps.

“No, I didn’t. This is your head, Teddy,” Victoriatus says as he underlines the text on his torso with one hand. “And I have no idea what a t-shirt even is.” He smirks, and then a more complicated emotion plays across his childish features. “...if you really tried, I’m sure you could push me right back into the medallion. But I hope you won’t.”

Teddy sighs. Then she sits. She is in the outfit she wore to the reading of her father’s will. “I have terms. And a magic doctor backing me up.”

“Naturally. This was bound to happen.” Victoriatus sits cross-legged on the floor. Sunlight plays in the leaves of the laurel branches he wears. “I am glad it has.”

They negotiate. Teddy wins.

Teddy wakes up from what, to Dr. Tenent and Parvati, must have seemed like a very ill-timed five-minute nap. She’s smiling.

The developments, in short:

Victoriatus is an ancient spirit ‘best known as a Roman genius ideae but of course much, much older’ that lived in the medallion for lack of more lively options. He claims Teddy’s dad knew he existed, although Teddy’s not sure about this.

>Teddy’s nails, hair, etc. will be growing in at a regular rate now, in defiance of her Exemplar powers. She will no longer need to think too hard about why her self-image cares so much about the hair between her eyebrows. It’s a weight off her mind, which apparently is enough motivation to convince Victoriatus to change something.

>Relatedly, Teddy’s nails will be solid diamond, over a layer of keratin, going forward. Victoriatus is delighted, actually, since the boulders-in-the-nail style he had been doing up to this point was his attempt at a compromise. He might be kind of a dumbass, Teddy tells anyone who will listen.

>If Vic has any additional ideas for ‘sprucing up the place’ he will be relating them to Teddy in her dreams, and, she insists, waiting for permission ‘even if it’s a genius idea, ha ha’. He has a lot of plans, and is very excited. (He has already begun dissolving the gold fillings, which he bashfully admits was an embarrassing fit of pique on his part.)

>Victoriatus clarifies, at swordpoint, that he cannot actually listen to Teddy’s thoughts, anymore than Teddy could read the intentions of her dorm room by standing around in it. It’s difficult to get him to explain any of this clearly, since it appear to be the only way he knows life can be.

>Victoriatus is apparently very excited that Teddy is going to school and doing difficult classes. He’s honestly probably too invested. Teddy thinks he need hobbies.

Teddy explains all of this (or at least what’s relevant) to Dr. Tenent. She politely, attentively, but very firmly acknowledges-but-leaves-to-one-side any advice the doctor has to offer qua handling Victoriatus: Teddy has this under control, now, and can take care of it by herself. But she appreciates the support, if she might ever end up needing it. Don't call us, etc. etc.

And then, stunningly, after all of this, it's time for Teddy to attend her first class at Whateley Academy.

Her first class is Powers Theory!

They're talking about the Exemplar trait today. Blah blah blah personal ideal, blah blah physical strength, blah blah blah usually regenerates at a power level one or two below their Exemplar rating.

Teddy sits towards but not at the front of the class. She's mildly surprised by how regular (well, Exemplar regular) everyone looks. It's possible that living in Whitman for several days has given her a skewed perspective on how many cockroach students there are per capita.

Exemplar lecture is interesting! Well, the information is interesting, at the very least. Teddy takes detailed, copperplate notes on what kind of mutant she is, her Sword sticking out of her bag at her feet. She's a little rueful about how she's getting this information right after she convinced an ancient gold casper to start messing around with her Exemplar power's expression, but hey, such are the risks of leading an interesting life.

And she would never admit to it, but Teddy is semi-automatically sizing up the competition. Between sentences inked in her notebook she is casting assessing glances at her fellow students, at least those of them who are in her field of view. And if she's using any of the various glass surfaces around the room to look behind herself, well, it really is just to fill time between notes.

Most of her fellow students are no threat to her bored. You can get a lot of this information on Wikipedia, and many of them obviously already have - certainly most of the Exemplars. There's a low susurrus of chatter that the teacher doesn't care enough to deal with until it gets too loud, at which point he turns around and glares at the chatterboxes until they shut up temporarily.

Her next class is Basic Martial Arts. The dojo floor is one big padded mat; there's an area to the right of the door where students have left their shoes, and a handful of students are sitting seiza. The rest are mostly cross-legged. The instructor isn't here yet.

Well, the lecture is still news to her. Teddy does not really use the internet much, especially when she's acclimating to a parkour mutant college campus for teens. Which has terrible secret sewers. The information she'd getting here is at least better than whatever this-isn't-my-area, here's-a-pamphlet nonsense her doctors shoved at her when it all went down. And her notes can't look nice if they're short.

The dojo might offer an opportunity to correctly apply some of this enthusiasm with which Teddy currently overflows. Nice. She sits, diamond toes aglitter, criss-cross: her martial arts training has been distinctly Renaissance European, and she's not seeing an advantage in pretending to know things she doesn't know. Teddy looks about. Again with the sizing-up of her peers.

Internally, Teddy wonders if she'll get to use the Sword, which is still bagged. She wonders when this gi starts being optional, and if this is Whateley's way of convincing students that wearing costumes isn't goofy. Not that this is any worse than a fencing uniform. Hm, hm, wonder, wonder.

A few minutes after she sits down, an extremely tall woman wearing a black bodysuit with her hair in pompoms strides into the room, followed by a younger man in a karate gi.

She looks over the class. "I am Sensei Amanda Tolman. Everyone who wishes to remain in this class will purchase a gi for practice. Unless otherwise notified, you will change into your gi before class. When the bell rings, you will begin in seiza position, lined up, as you see the more experienced students here. We will practice in a variety of situations, including street clothes, costumes, and real-life situations. However, most classes will be taught here, and you will be wearing gis. Any questions so far?” She does not pause for questions. "The students in this class have a variety of skill levels, and an even wider variety of powers. This will require the use of some unique training tools. In the dojo here, we will use a variety of tools and weapons. Everything from a simple bo staff to the bokken to simulate a sword. There will be similar substitutes for knives, guns, or even gas and explosives."

“The single greatest benefit of this training is that it will teach you to think. You will be constantly planning ahead, assessing danger, planning escape routes or attacks. You will study tactics, learn to sense weakness and danger, and change your view of the world. This training is actually more important than the hand-to-hand skills. You will also learn that any power and any technique has holes."

“This is a good time to mention waivers. By virtue of the fact that you are here at Whateley, I know that your parents or guardians or, in some cases, you yourselves, have signed damage, injury, and liability waivers. That means that I am not responsible if you get hurt in this class! And you will get hurt, every last one of you. This is a rough class. But it is also worth it."

"There are many more advanced martial arts classes, taught by a wide variety of instructors, in a wide variety of disciplines. You may ‘graduate’ to those classes, once you have mastered the basic concepts of this beginner’s class. You should also know that Survival, with its own forms of 'combat training', is still open. You may transfer out of this class and into Survival anytime through next Wednesday. After that, you will simply receive an F in this class."

Teddy was pointedly ignoring the fact that some of her fellow students weren't dressed out. She could change for a sporting event in her sleep at this point, and the gi's been in her bag since she bought it.

By this point in Sensei Tolman's speech, the fact that Teddy's eyebrows are only raised instead of actually physically bursting through the dojo's roof is down to a triumph of will on her part. This might be good! This might be Sword! It's been a while since Teddy's had instruction from someone who wasn't a drunk, incompetent, lazy, or some combo thereof (Bless Jean-Paul for sticking to one at a time.) That several of Teddy's fellow students look close to fainting is a secondary concern.

Teddy does keep most of her wonder and excitement off of her face, but she's kind of jittering otherwise. One foot taps until she stops it, then her fingers drum the mat, and so on.

Sensei Tolman continues as she picks up a bo staff. "My predecessor, Tatsuo Ito, felt it important to demonstrate during the first lesson that a well-trained baseline can take down a powerful mutant. I have no powers enhancing my body, no TK shell or Exemplar strength. Terrence Washington!" she calls abruptly.

The boy in question jumps when she calls his name. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Come onto the mat. And my title is not ma'am, it is sensei."

Terrence comes onto the mat. He's an inch taller than the already very tall Sensei Tolman, and he looks like a bodybuilder. "Sorry, sensei."

"Do not apologize. Just improve. Mr. Washington, you are an Exemplar-4 and a TK-3b: you can lift up to three tons, fly, and resist low-caliber bullets. As an Exemplar, you are also much faster than the average human, and your mind works at superhuman speeds. However, you are untrained. I want you to fight me."

Terrence blinks. "Sensei, I'm really strong. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then fight to subdue," she suggests. She snaps her fingers, and a large cage descends from the ceiling. "This is the 'capture cage'. If you maneuver me into it, I will consider myself neutralized. Conversely, if I do so to you, you will be neutralized. Do you understand the rules?"

He nods.

Sensei Tolman nods as well. "Good. We will bow to each other - but do not take your eyes off of me. Then, my assistant Michael-" (the younger man nods) "-will shout 'Hajime,' and the fight will begin."

The instructor and student bow to each other. Michael shouts 'Hajime!'

Terrence comes at Tolman with a bear hug. She ducks under his arms fluidly and hits him in the shins with the staff. He yelps and goes down. "Do better than that," she snaps as he rises.

He tries to kick her, but she flows past him and sweeps his feet out from under him. He falls again. "I believe I mentioned you can fly," she says. "That attack should not have worked on you."

He rises into the air, then swoops down towards her. Having prompted this attack, Tolman dodges him easily and allows him to plow into the mat. She allows him to rise again, only to grab him by the arm and swing him bodily into the capture cage. It sways gently with the force of her throw.

"Do you yield?" she asks.

"Yes, sensei," Terrence says sullenly. He climbs out of the cage and returns to his spot.

She turns to the class. "Mr. Washington is, by my estimation, among the most powerful students in this class, but it took me less than a minute to defeat him. No matter what your natural abilities, you can learn to fight."

Teddy is giddy about this. She does think that the difference between her super-strength and this Terrence guy's is basically irrelevant in this context, but, yeah, okay, point made. Good thesis. And poor Terrence. And, well, the cage is a little WWE for her tastes, But still, fighting, giddy, yay.

She hopes that the more tremulous kids are getting the vibe. Cause she wants to fight all of them and if they drop out she will glare at them in the crystal cafeteria.

After that, Sensei Tolman divides the class into two groups, "has done martial arts of some kind in the past three years" and "has not". The latter group is given over to Michael and starts learning how to fall properly. The former is encouraged to show Sensei Tolman their moves.

Teddy can go first. She puts herself through the kind of exhibition she'd do in front of a mirror at home. She's not primarily a bare-handed fighter, but she has her bases covered.

Her head is down, like a boxer's, and her punches are close-range and not very showy. Her kicks either scrape along the ground or go way, way up in the air, and her legs stay in the air, sometimes, to deliver several blows. Her movements are lunging, advancing, almost geometric. Her body never rotates or spins, just turns ninety degrees or flips one-eighty or bends. She uses whichever leg is in the air like it's a pike, like her foot is its heavy blade. Her torso stays upright the whole time, Everything lends itself to a swift, aggressive advance from far range to close, as if she'll need to go from six feet to six inches from her target as quickly as possible. Some truly heinous things are happening to imaginary knees, and it looks sometimes like Teddy is holding an invisible knife in her left hand. Old habits!

Teddy basically fights exactly like she did unpowered. It's violent French boxing, done quite competently. She's seen no reason to adapt, and any advantage her Exemplar reflexes might lend her is nil against an imaginary opponent during an exhibition.

When she finishes, Teddy's clearly expecting to be debriefed by her Sensei, but it's also exciting that now she gets to see other people do martial arts. It's been a lonely road so far, and this feels great already.