Creative Problem Solving, Tuesday, period 3

[vdistinctive]

The Danger Class was made up as a small, intimate, black box style theater. Eliot and Parker stood center stage, waiting for the students to file in.

Were they breaking into the ticket booth? Maybe pulling wallets from simulated audience members? Surely they were going to be asked to do something vaguely nefarious.

"Today we thought we'd give you guys a bit of a break," Eliot said. "Y'all been workin' pretty hard in here, so we're going to keep it simple and just do some basic improv."

“Partner up, pick someone, and then come up with a scenario.” Parker bounced on her toes. “The main goal is to keep going, no matter how complicated it gets. And not to start laughing, even if you want to. Like, Eliot is a fashion designer, and I’m a model. Or, you’ve just met someone through one of those dating sites, and you can’t let them know that you’re really a spy.” She grinned. “Improv and you get snacks!”

"We're -- we're not demonstrating," Eliot said. "Parker was just sayin' that as an example. You get stumped for ideas, ask her. She's got a million of 'em." Or ask Eliot. He could help with that, too. "We've got sandwiches when you're done. Fresh turkey, homemade aioli mayo, a little somethin' for any vegetarians. . . . They're very good sandwiches."

“Eliot once killed a guy over a sandwich,” Parker pointed out. Then considered. “And a different guy with an appetizer.” Food-related food for thought!

Eliot opened his mouth to rebut, then closed it again with a shrug. He didn't want to get into the habit of lying to the kids. "Get paired off and get started. Let's see what you guys got."

Basic Mis-Intelligence [Monday, Period 2]

[doubleohblonde]

The Danger Shop theatre was back to something more comfortable this week.

"Good Morning," Bond greeted the class. "Now so far we've been looking at works that feature trained agents as their protagonists, people who even with varying levels of experiences, at least have an idea of the treacherous waters they're navigating. However there is a popular trope within the genre where the protagonist is not some elite espionage agent, but rather some hapless innocent stumbling into the plot, naturally the levels of paranoia many intelligence agencies function under means that protestations of said innocence are not believed.

"So today we'll be watching 0 Degrees By 315 Degrees, the tale of one such hapless individual."

[Class Roster]

Defending Yourself Against Magic | Tuesday, 4th period

[nuclear_snide]

The students this week would find themselves back in the Danger Shop scriptorium, with a wide open space on one end and the desks pointed at it.

"Last week we went over finding magical objects," Bob began. "With any luck, that'll give you a bit of grounding in what magic feels like. But magic's not always so straightforward. Magic is will, remember. It works very well at affecting will."

He nodded to Elsa. "Put it up here, please." ( Read more... )

Ethics, Tuesday

[saddeserthermit]

There was no particular set-up this week; just your usual view of two grown men in robes the likes of which certain types of hippie would fight for. "A classic topic within the realm of ethics is the notion of the ends justifying the means," Obi-Wan said. "There are schools of thought that consider the means true as long as the end is just-- intention being more important than the actual consequence."

Anakin, who'd spent a lot of time with Atton recently, pursed his lips at that. "And then there are those who think that sounds like 'just think happy thoughts at the problem; instead of, you know, fix it."

Hard to believe this guy fell to the Dark Side, huh? Mmm, impulsiveness.

Was that a sigh? ... Yes, that was a sigh. Anakin.

"Or, at the other extreme, it might end in extreme and harmful actions taken for some hypothetical future gain," Obi-Wan said. "There is a middle road, of course: one can commit to some less than savory options for a common goal..."

"...and then deny ever having done so to maintain the moral high ground," Anakin finished, nodding.

...Obi-Wan turned to him and shot him a look. "No."

"So explain it to the class, Master 'I Faked My Own Death'," Anakin retorted.

"Are you still sour about that?" Anakin, really. Your ability to hold grudges... "Yes, I faked my own death. So I could disguise myself as a criminal and stop a Separatist plot that, we felt at the time, could cause immeasurable harm." He took a deep breath. "Anakin here is still upset because I didn't tell him, which is hardly the level of consequence I was attempting to describe."

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Every consequence doesn't have to have galactic ramifications," he said. "Hurting people's feelings is still a consequence you need to take into account." Another sour look Obi-Wan's direction. "Even if you didn't mean to."

"Your reaction is what sold my apparent death to the galaxy in the first place," Obi-Wan said. He shook his head before he got mired in this entirely. "...But, yes, let's discuss. Does intent ever excuse one's actions? Is there an end that justifies any means? If the answer to the first question is 'yes', and to the second is 'no', then how far do you believe someone may go and still remain in the bounds of the acceptable?"

How to Develop a Personal Style [Tuesday]

[begmetwice.livejournal.com]

Students were instructed today to meet in their regular classroom, where they'd find Irene dressed in an understated black dress and plain black pumps. Of course, if they were looking carefully (or really, not even that carefully), they might notice her scarf, earrings and watch. Perhaps that was a clue!

Perhaps, also, the school uniforms that Irene had laid out -- don't ask where or how she'd gotten ahold of the uniforms that had been imposed on students a few years ago, but she'd found enough to go around -- would also serve as a clue. Perhaps also the jewelry and accessories she'd laid out on the table beside them would also serve as a clue!

Maybe Irene didn't even need to talk today, what with all these clues.

"Sometimes," she said, with a smile in greeting, "we don't get to choose our clothing. Sometimes clothing is thrust upon us. You might not have to wear these now, but at one time, people here did. And what's more, while you might not ever have to wear a school uniform in your adult life, you might be saddled with another, even less-flattering garment. A police officer's blues, perhaps. Or a sales uniform. Or -- " She gave an exxagerated little shudder. "Scrubs. Now, you might not always be able to dress it up as much as you'd like, but when we can't control our clothing, we must control our accessories. I'd like all of you to change into these sad, drab garments -- use the screens," she added, gesturing vaguely lest anyone think they were meant to strip down in the middle of class, "and then add some accessories that you think would manage to still convey your style, in spite of someone else's fashion wants being imposed upon you."

She clapped her hands together lightly, adding, "You can't modify the uniforms in any way -- from what I hear, that was a good way to get detention, even if I'd applaud you for it. You can only add things to it."

Mad Kings & Queens: Raving Royals and How To Survive Them (Wednesday, 2nd Period)

[atreideslioness]

As the students came in today, they would find that Ghanima had gotten rid of the desks in favor of huge pillows tossed about the room, and a large television at the front of the room.

"Right then," Ghanima said cheerfully. "I decided that since you've all been so busy lately, and are probably thinking about snowball-related revenge, we'll be watching Wildcat in Snow. None of them are, technically, mad, unless you count the lust for power as a madness. Horribly clever, most of them, which is part of the problem."

( Of course he has a knife, he always has a knife, we all have knives! It's 1183 and we're barbarians! How clear we make it. Oh, my piglets, we are the origins of war: not history's forces, nor the times, nor justice, nor the lack of it, nor causes, nor religions, nor ideas, nor kinds of government, nor any other thing. We are the killers. We breed wars. We carry it like syphilis inside. Dead bodies rot in field and stream because the living ones are rotten. )

[OOC: The OCD loves being king!]