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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Aw, it was kind of cute. "Your name rhymes," Jean-Paul observed, then turned to Tinker Bell. "I named the last one, Mademoiselle, would you like the honors?"

Ooooh, Tink loved being called Mademoiselle. Well! She would suggest "Ron" but they had a Ron, that virgin that she shouldn't pick on too much because he was Barney's grandson.

She pulled the wand out of her cleavage, thought for a minute, and then wrote in midair. Randy Miller. It was sort of blah, but then, he was a student, he deserved a blah name.

"My name does not rhyme," Ronan said, icily. "Unless you're some American tourist idiot who can't hear the difference in the 'o' sounds." A couple short words in the speech should cause the 'Randy Miller' floating in mid-air to dissipate swiftly -- and then rearrange into 'Ronan Nolan'. "I'm quite fond of my name, thank you. Perhaps you'd like me to go around calling you 'Sparklebutt'."

Tink felt the tug and shift as her letters started moving around, and zapped them firmly with her wand until they restored.

All right. The suck-up should listen, and listen good: if he was going to call her Sparklebutt, then his name was going to be Egbert Franzibald Loserface, and more importantly, if he ever messed with her writing again, he was going to enjoy his stay in detention.

Ronan raised one eyebrow carefully. "I never said I was going to call you Sparklebutt," he said. "Merely asked if I should. The answer, clearly, is that I should not."

He drew himself to his full height and gathered up all of his not-inconsiderable Irish chip-on-the-shoulder superiority. "And to think," he said, "that I was going to come back to your store to buy more clothes. And bring you absinthe. I suppose I'll simply have to take my patronage elsewhere. Somewhere the proprietor is more... accommodating." He smirked, and shrugged ever so casually. "Of course, using my actual name might have me bringing a few friends by to buy new wardrobes. Lots of money for more absinthe, there."

Oh. Oh, he thought she ran her store for money.

"What? No, of course not," Ronan replied. "I thought you ran the store so you could buy more alcohol. And also because the clothes are fabulous."

Honestly. She didn't want him to suck up, and she didn't want him to be bitchy (as well as he could be, as out of practice as he was). What did she want from him?

Mostly, his teachers wanted him to admit they were far more fabulous than he could ever hope to be, really. "The clothes are fabulous, non, Egbert?"

Honestly, Tink ran the store because it was very, very amusing to mock the people who came in. And then somewhere behind that, because she liked the pretty clothes and it made the people on the island far less ... unpalateable, visually. But the mocking and abuse was top priority.

Much like her teaching!

She had thought that that was ... well. Obvious, really.

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

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