fandomhigh | How to Be a Complete Bitch Without Trying, Workshop 1, Period 2 (Monday, July 7)

A few minutes after class was supposed to start -- well, they didn't call it "fashionably late" for nothing, children -- a very, very chic pixie zipped through the open doorway, carrying with her a bottle of absinthe which was much larger than herself. What, did other teachers attempt this job sober? In that case, they were far braver than Miss Tinker Bell.

A lean man with black hair, blue eyes, and a black and blue side of his face stepped in after her. "Bonjour, children," said Jean-Paul. "This is How to Be a Bitch. The loser classes are being held in different rooms. Please adjust accordingly."

Tink applauded cheerfully. Yes! Yes, this class was all about becoming a bitch. Of course, the children were still losers, because only a loser would need to take a class on how to be a bitch, but at least they were trying. And trying was what mattered most, right, children? ... Well. Trying wasn't nearly as fabulous as winning, but they were teachers now and they had to pretend that sort of garbage was true.

"Indeed," Jean-Paul said, even though he'd really only gotten about seventy-five percent of it, because not admitting weakness was part of being a fabulous bitch. "Now obviously you're not there yet, or you wouldn't need this class, unless you are in fact there yet and are here for the easy A, in which case Ms. Bell and I approve, do we not, Mademoiselle?"

They did! They approved very much indeed. Being a slacker and coasting on your achievements was a very good way of being a bitch. And Tink simply adored being called Mademoiselle. Anyone who was French was automatically doing very well on the Bitch front, because the French were ever-so-chic. Non?

"Oui, oui. And I am French-Canadian, which was even better," but getting back to the actual class real quick. "I suppose," Jean-Paul sighed, "even though it is terribly bourgeois, you should all introduce yourselves. As a formality. I will be calling you by the wrong names anyway."

Oh, Tink never bothered learning names. None of them had names half as fabulous as Tinker Bell, so what was the point? But yes, children. Introduce yourselves, pretend that you have interesting characteristics, tell the class you would like to be a doctor or an astronaut when you grow up, instead of the middle-management drone you should hope you become, as that's far improved over the fast-food work that Tink sees in your future. Make it quick, as Tink has a short attention span.

"You might also," Jean-Paul added, "tell us why you took this class, as it will provide valuable insight into exactly how far you have to go, and possibly make Ms. Bell and I laugh and laugh."

Yes! That could be very amusing. Did Jean-Paul want any of her absinthe? It was simply yummy, and it went well with humiliation and misery and the sweet, sweet tears of pathetic children. See, children, they were learning about bitchiness already! Wasn't this the best class ever?

"Oh, no thank you," Jean-Paul said. "I do not drink before five." He was stuck-up like that. Also, possessed of a freaky metabolism. "In case any of you are wondering what happened to my face, I did this 'headdesking' when I saw the roster for this class." He really didn't, but there was more bitchiness for the students to learn about!

Ugh, the roster. Could it be more pathetic? Well, it was after five somewhere in the world, so Tink was going to start on the absinthe while the boring children talked. This was going to be a long term.

(OOC: please see here if you want more information on the class. HOORAY, BITCHINESS.)

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Warren wasn't going to stand up. Warren was going to sit in his chair, narrow his eyes, slouch back, and grunt.

"Warren Peace. Credits. Whatever."

Having gotten the stupid introduction thing out of the way, he could now resume leveling nasty, slightly disgusted looks at the other students in the class.

Jean-Paul had seen the name on his roster, he just...hadn't quite believed it. "Your name is what?"

Ooooh. Tink gave this one two points for attitude, but she had to subtract five for being stinky.

She couldn't smell him from over here, but he looked stinky. Didn't he look stinky?

... Warren hated this class already.

"Warren," he answered. "Peace."

The next look that he affixed to his features was a slight variation of the previous 'I hate you all' look, with a bit of 'die in a fire' thrown in for flavor.

Or 'flavour,' if the Canadian teacher prefers.

The teacher was French-Canadian, thank you very much. "Your name is Warren Peace. I am so sorry."

Tink really didn't think the middle class should be allowed to name their children any more. Did he see some of the atrocities they came up with? Horrendous little namesmashes, abhorrent spelling, and cutesy puns like this.

They should rename him. It was their duty, as teachers, and it meant no puking when they read the roster. She'd suggest "Georgio," but he wasn't nearly fabulous enough for that sort of thing.

"Let us name him Logan," Jean-Paul suggested. "He reminds me of a Logan. Although he's taller." But no less likely to take his hand off.

The die-in-a-fire-look was complimenting Warren's desire to pick up a desk and crush the pixie with it.

"Just Warren, then."

Knock off the Peace. It didn't even matter. It wasn't like he shared a last name with either of his parents, anyhow, or his last name would be 'Battle.'

... Which was almost worse, really.

Come to think of it, he'd almost take Logan, instead.

Wasn't he paying attention? The Warren was gone. Poof! He was Logan now.

Logan Peace. It was ... well. It wasn't chic, or very impressive, but it was much nicer than that dreadful pun they were never going to repeat again.

Hooray, Logan! Welcome to your new life!

"He could be Warren Logan. Logan Warren? No, it rhymes. Better to stick with Logan Peace. It really is so much better, believe us. We know these things."

"Eat shit and die," Warren growled under his breath, leaning back in his chair and working on that go-to-hell look he'd been perfecting for years.

This class was going swimmingly already, wasn't it?

"In a fire," he added. For good measure.

There, see? He'd only been Logan for two minutes and he was already doing so much better at this bitch thing.

Warren's response was simply a grunt.

Fine. He'd be Logan in this stupid class for the term, and then he'd never have to look at them again.

That would show them all.

How to Be a Complete Bitch Without Trying, Workshop 1, Period 2 (Monday, July 7)

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