Library, Monday

[faithandscience.livejournal.com]

William had... woken, or come to, or whatever it was, last night in the library. The library without any broken windows, or smashed shelves, or books scattered haphazardly about.

...Okay, there were books scattered haphazardly about, but only because the fiction section seemed to be ganging up on the alternate history books today. Apparently they had feelings regarding the past week.

Study Hall: Monday

[multi-madrox.livejournal.com]

Study Hall was very quiet today. There were also no dupes around just Jamie. Being quiet.

"Hey! Get your feet off me! I'm a desk not a foot stool!"

Correction: It was quiet in Study Hall except for the talking furniture.

[Please note: Talking furniture is limited to Study Hall.]

Poetry 101, Monday, 7/30

[withoutverona]

Romeo gave the students a tired smile as they came in. He'd been dead the week before, which was frightening to think about but relatively easy to live through. As far as he could tell, he'd gone to bed the night of Sunday the 23rd and not woken up until the 30th.

But it was already clear to him that Yurika had not been so lucky.

"I understand," he said, taking his place in the circle of desks, "that the last week did not tread lightly on many of you. If its weight is such that you need to take this session and walk in the sun, or write in your journals, or anything, I've been here long enough that I'll not fault you for it."

"For the rest of us," he continued, "this week is about sonnets. A sonnet is a 14-line poem written in a highly stylized manner. In English tradition -- though of course there are other traditions -- they are written in ten-syllable lines of iambic pentameter, with a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g. And within the corset of that format, great beauty can unfold. Listen:

Fair is my love, when her fair golden hairs
With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark:
Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears,
Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark:
Fair, when her breast, like a rich laden bark
With precious merchandise she forth doth lay:
Fair, when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away
But fairest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight,
Through which her words so wise do make their way,
To bear the message of her gentle sprite.
The rest be works of nature's wonderment,
But this the work of heart's astonishment. 

"That's by Sir Edmund Spenser," he said, when he was done. "And your assignment for today is to write a sonnet of your own. Don't chain yourself too firmly to the rules, if they don't suit what you have to say."

Practical Philosophy, Monday

[endsthegame]

Class had been informed by note to head out to the lawn today ('if they felt like it'). If they did, well, Ender was already there, sitting on the grass, sunglasses perched on his head. He wasn't looking too great, and he wasn't alone.

Ben was leaning against a tree, eating an apple and looking unaffected by the last week as long as you didn't notice how intently his eyes tracked what Ender was doing.

"Morning," Ender said, as soon as he was reasonably sure everyone who would make it here was there. "I know we've all had a rough week, and everyone is trying to process what they've been going to. So here's what we're going to do: if you want to talk about it, let's talk about it. If you don't, we can just lay around here, and next week we can put it all into perspective." He held up a saran-wrapped sandwich. "There's food and drinks for anyone who wants them, too." A pause, and he glanced towards the tree. "That's Ben Skywalker-- he's just here for the food."

The joke fell a little flat.

Ben's lips quirked up slightly, mostly to make Ender feel a little better. "I recommend the apples," he added.

"But please keep in mind," Ender said, returning his attention to the class, "Whoever we were this last week is not who we're supposed to be right now. Please don't take anything your other self did personally-- that would be ridiculous, and inviting more responsibility on your head than you really deserve."

Ender'd be doing that enough for everyone. Ever.

Art Games, Monday, P2 [Week 5]

[flashesforinfo.livejournal.com]

No one at the front of the classroom this morning was looking particularly peppy or energetic this morning. For these two, that was very unusual. Alternate universes were traumatic and exhausting.

Everyone should know what was coming on classes after those kinds of weeks by now. There was a television set up at the front of the classroom and several comfy beanbags in front of it, giving everyone a good view.

“Okay guys, I know you’ve probably all had a rough time, so we are doing nothing taxing today,” Angela promised. “Pull up a beanbag, watch the movie if you want to... Take a nap, if you want to...”

“If you need either of us, we will be here.”