Adventures in Literature, Wednesday, Period Three [Class One]

[carpe_demon]

Drake wanted to make a dramatic entrance for his first official class. He was also running late, so shimmering was perfectly acceptable. One minute there was no one standing in the front of the classroom; the next Drake appeared, wearing the black robes of a professor over a suit and tie. Rubbing his hands together, he said, "Fresh young minds to corrupt. I mean teach. Did I say that out loud? Never mind. Anyway, I am Professor Dèmon, and this is Adventures in Literature. Now, I want each of you to introduce yourselves and tell me why you're taking this class."

He waited as each student made their introduction, nodding thoughtfully. When the last had finished, rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, vanishing the black robes and revealing that the "suit" was nothing but a false shirt front. He yanked the dickey off and tossed it aside, now wearing just jeans and a t-shirt. "Now that we have that boring part over," he said, moving in front of his desk and hopping up to sit on the edge, "I want you to tell me what your favorite work of literature is. What story ignites your passion? What tale makes your blood start pumping? Why do you love it?" He leaned forward, very interested in what each student had to say.

Class was almost over by the time the last student finished. "Next week we'll start to dive into some classic works," Drake said. "We'll start with the legend of Robin Hood. I have it on good authority that the vice principal is actually the Sheriff of Nottingham, so we may have to do something about that. Oh, and you don't have to call me Professor Dèmon. Way too stuffy. You can call me Drake, or if you're slightly more daring, O Captain my Captain." He grinned. "Saw that in a movie once. I always wanted to say that."


[Syllabus | Class Roster]

Infantry Tactics [Wednesday Second Period]

[furious-maximus.livejournal.com]

"Good morning," his voice boomed. "Some of you may have taken a course with me before, and that's nice. Some of you may have met me in some other venue, and that's nice. But whatever you think you know, is wrong. When you are in my classroom there is precisely one correct way to refer to me, and that is Centurion. It is my rank, and it is a sign that I know more than any of you are likely to learn about the fine art of killing men on a battlfield." His eyes narrowed. "If any of you refers to me inappropriately... well, let's just say that things will get ugly."

"I understand that some of you may have formidable skills you think may make things easy for you here. Let me assure you that you do not. Some of you may be excellent fighters, or even warriors, but that doesn't make you soldiers. This class will shape you into soldiers, and soldiers understand tactics in a way no mere warrior can. So forget what you think you know."

"This course is divided into two parts. The first part will be focused on what are called regular infantry forces, and the second will be focused on irregular infantry forces. If any of you have military training, it is likely as irregulars. I will discuss that in more detail when the time comes. For now we will focus on regular infantry forces, and that means you must all understand the first and most important lesson: your job is to follow orders and protect your teammates. Your job is not to kill the enemy. Your job is not to be a brilliant fighter. Your job is not to be brave and heroic. You will follow orders and keep your teammates alive. That is all."

"Soldiers are professionals. The work you do is scientific, and you will learn to do it properly. Or," and here Max paused to grin evilly, "I will be glad to provide supplemental instruction."

"The reason regular infantry forces are called 'regulars' at all is that each of you has the same job to do. If any one of you falls then each of the others can take their place. It will not matter where in a formation you stand, or who you stand with, because you are trained as a regular you will know how to do your job." Not that Max would ever call them all 'cogs in a machine', but that was very much what he was trying to convey.

"That is all I intend to say today, and that leaves us with some time in this period." Max's cruel smile was back as he flipped some switch and the Danger Room reconfigured itself into a running track. "And that means we can get in some running today."

"Now run! Don't dawdle! You can stop to breathe when the period ends!"

Classical Genre [Tuesday, 1st Period]

[cuff-me-once.livejournal.com]

( Cut because Rick loves the sound of his own voice. )

Art 101 - Wednesday, 9/2 - Fourth Period

[notsobadatall.livejournal.com]

If anyone asked why an art class was being done in the Danger Shop, it would be hard to say if Nick would have an answer. At least, an answer he could give.

All the same, the room was set up in the style of a very pretty, somewhat rustic art studio with lots of windows and many easels and supplies stacked in the corner. There were desks, but only so many as the students might need and they took up a relatively small section of the studio that seemed to have a chalkboard added to it.

"Good afternoon, class," he greeted them as they walked in, a copy of the syllabus on every desk, "and welcome to Art 101. As the description on the class said, we will be studying art history... but we will also be applying those lessons in our own self-expression and the expansion of our understanding of what art is as well as what it has been in various times and cultures."

He half-sat on the desk, a little slouchy but still professional.

"Today, however, we start with introductions, of course, and a bit of free expression."

[ocd up!]

The Cafeteria, lunch

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Dinah had done another look around the theater before she left last night, then checked every place she could think where Edward might be in the dorms (he wasn't hiding behind the washers).

Now she was investigating the food in the cafeteria, waiting on Priestly and Adora, and deciding that Luke's was definitely better.

[expecting a few, but open]

Swordplay - 3rd Period - 9/2

[mouthy-merc.livejournal.com]

The class was a greeted by a man in bright red pajamas with a pair of swords strapped to his back. He would snuggle them like a security blanket, but that would totally ruin his street cred, yo. Playah haters gonna hate.

"Goooood morning boys and girls! Welcome to your very first ever, bestest, most awesome swordplay class. With me. Me, who makes it better than anything ever."

Live the dream, Deadpool. Live the dream.

"So, you've done this in probably every class up until now and out of class and sometimes in your sleep. But we're gonna fall into the need for us all to get to know each other and blah, blah, blah... Names. Past experience with swords. Whether or not you enjoy watching So You Think You Can Dance or not. The last question is the most important, mind you. Without that, how will we know your deep, innermost thoughts?"

A beat.

"Oh right, and since this in Fandom and I'm sure you got 'em, any super special secret powers that will screw up how I pair you guys off for my own amusement," Deadpool added cheerfully. "I'll even go first. My name is Deadpool and I enjoy long walks on the beach, nights spent at home watching bad reality TV and Blues Clues. My favorite books are those Twilighty one. I mean, c'mon. Who doesn't wanna read about a Byronic douche woo a mentally unstable chick?"

Wrong answers!

"...Iiiii mean, Deadpool. I've been a mercenary longer than most of ya'll have been alive and if it can kill ya, I can use it. And how. I hate that show with a fiery passion and yet find myself unable to look away from the trainwreck. Aaaaand I have a healing factor that means if you accidentally or 'accidentally' hit me, I'll heal in a few minutes and smack ya back depending on my mood. I'm like a forest fire in the winds with my moods..."

He pointed at a student at random. "Your turn. Tell me everything, but only the stuff that'll be fun. I don't care about your deep emotional trauma or daddy issues."

Ethics [Thursday, September 3, 1st period]

[sith_happened]

Anakin walked into his classroom precisely on time and gave the students assembled there an appraising glance as the door clicked shut behind him. If you were late, you weren't getting in. "I'm Master Skywalker," he said in a voice that was intended to carry, "this is Ethics, and we're going to skip the introductions--I'll figure out who you are--and move straight to our first discussion."

He paced around the room, cloak flaring out behind him, as he handed out the syllabus. "Today's topic," he said, pointing to the top of the page. "Self sacrifice: knowing the difference between saving people and being a pretentious twit."

"Any time I ask a a group of people what they would do to save someone they love, they all blither on about how they would set the world on fire, lie, cheat, steal, kill, die, et cetera, et cetera. I've been at this school too long to believe that half of you haven't already been put into this situation and I'm in no mood to hear adolescent ramblings about how wonderful you were or might hypothetically be. Instead I want you to give me a concrete example of a time you admitted to yourself that a problem cannot be solved, and that to sacrificing yourself wasn't a statement, but merely pointless?" His gaze swept the room. "How long does it take for you to realize you can't fix everything by yourself?"

He would hear the replies and choose his TAs from there.