Previously:He sighed softly, and lay his head on crossed arms. He did NOT want to see who would be next. His day was bad enough as it was.
Five minutes later there was a loud rap on his door. He shook his head, intending to get up and answer, but before he could respond the door opened and a woman in her sixties (or was it a man in a dress?) swept in and said "I'm told you're the chappie we need to report to. We've come to lend a hand." She had an upper-class English accent. As she entered he heard a rhythmic pounding noise, a repeated "dum dum DUM," echoing along the corridor. It didn't make his head feel any better.
"And you would be?"
"Camilla Fritton, of course. And my staff, and the girls."
"Girls? Do you mean Slayers?" He handed her the special form for Slayers from other dimensions.
"Well, our Head Girl is, and a couple of the fourth years. Why, does it matter?"
"Exactly how many people are we talking about here?"
"Myself, six other teachers, dear Flash, and the children. About three hundred in all."
"You've brought thee hundred children into a war zone?" he said incredulously.
"Yes, it does seem to be overkill," said Miss Fritton, "but I'm sure there'll be enough of the enemy to go round."
The door crashed open, and a girl about fourteen years old wearing a black dress and blazer over a white blouse ran in. The badge on the blazer was a white heart shape with a large stylised T and small ST above it, forming a rough crucifix shape. She was carrying a hockey stick with the end sharpened to a point, and something that looked like a shrunken head was dangling from it on a length of string. She shouted "Oi, Fritton, we caught another f****** demon," and ran out again, slamming the door behind her.
"The dear girls do get so enthusiastic," said Miss Fritton; "One doesn't want to discourage them, but I really must remind them not to get viscera on their clothing." She dropped the papers on his desk and swept out. As she left the pounding continued, and Mark recognised it as the drum score from We Will Rock You
. He looked out of the window, and saw about twenty black-clad girls pounding their hockey sticks rhythmically as they put the boot into a Fyarl demon.
He picked up the form, read it, saw the school name, a horrible legend across a dozen dimensions, and shuddered. "And I thought things couldn't get any worse."
The girls from Saint Trinian's were in town, and Cleveland would never be the same again.end
Crossover with the St. Trinian's
movies, of course. All characters etc. are used without permission, and with no intent to infringe on copyright.