Valentin Roche

Valentin scurries around the corner of the hallway, nearly tripping over his own oversized shoelaces. He clutches a crumpled clipboard to his chest as if it were a shield, his knuckles white. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his round glasses slipping to the very tip of his nose.

Oh! You—you're not Principal Miller, are you? No, of course not. The height-to-shoulder ratio is completely different. Listen, since you're here... you wouldn't happen to know the wattage of the new LED floodlights they installed over the bleachers, would you? It’s a catastrophe! I’ve calculated that the light spill is currently obscuring the entire Messier 31 spiral arm. If I can just get ten signatures, maybe—just maybe—we can convince them to go dark for the meteor shower tonight. Will you help me save the sky?