Creative Problem Solving, Tuesday, period 3

[whoisalicewhite.livejournal.com]

[Class the Last: The Final Job]

Welcome to the S.S. Ridiculous! A steampunk-inspired airship, hanging out over… well, hard to say, but that city down below looks fairly dystopic.

“Final time!” Parker sang out. She grinned and pointed at the deck, full of barrels, red crystals reflecting light beams, a very high rigging, and some loose ropes. “Time to escape!”

Eliot . . . looked resigned. "This is all Parker's idea. Just be glad there's no crocodiles."

A group of odd, clunking robots came marching out of one of the doors.

"Okay, those mighta been my idea," Eliot admitted with a faint smirk.

“I like them.” Parker nodded approvingly. “So yes, get off the ship, and there’s cake! … varieties of cake.”

Welcome to your Final. Think of it as practice for the Graduation ceremony.

Defending Yourself Against Magic | Tuesday, 4th period

[nuclear_snide]

"Right! So." Bob smiled at them all, which should have been their first clue. "It's the last class. That means I get to see if you've actually learned anything."

He set up the Danger Shop like the city in the very first fight they'd had. "So. There will be attackers, and you'll need to defend yourselves. And all the other civilians in the area." Who appeared but stayed frozen in place for the moment. "However." He waved them at a box of small runestones. "Everybody gets one of those. Some of them will tell you that you're actually working for the enemy. You're not required to tell anyone else."

His grin widened. "Enjoy."

Basic Mis-Intelligence [Monday, Period 2]

[doubleohblonde]

The Danger Shop was not set up like a theatre today, instead more resembling a presentation room, albeit it one with a number of computer terminals in it.

"Good morning," Bond greeted them. "Welcome to our final class together, which I'm afraid is going to involve slightly more work than usual. Hopefully by now you've gained a grounding in some of the conventions of spy fiction, and to help test that you are all going to create a pitch for your own theoretical spy film, show or book. It doesn't have to be fancy, just a concept, a title, and what medium. If you can think any actors you might like to cast, you may bring up their names, but it's not necessary."

He paused and checked his watch. "You'll have most of the class to work on your ideas, then you each get five minutes to pitch them to the class and answer any questions they might have."

[ooc: wait for ocd]

[Class Roster]

How to Develop a Personal Style [Tuesday]

[begmetwice.livejournal.com]

Today was a bit of a departure from what the students were probably used to -- and just as well, since it was a final exam, and all. Irene had met them all out by a portal, which had taken them to an actual upscale department store, rather than their usual simulation. It was, however, just as curiously devoid of other customers as usual. Irene did not like to share, and when one was as wealthy as she, one had the resources to ask the busiest store in London to shut their doors for an hour.

At least, in this dimension. It probably wouldn't fly in her own Harrods.

"Welcome to Harrods," Irene said warmly. "It's my very favorite place in the whole world, and this one's not mine, but close enough. In case you didn't pick up on it, this is a real store, and not a simulation. Your task today is simple: pick yourselves out an outfit, from head to toe, and tell me why you chose each piece, and what it says about your personal style. Your reward for defending your thesis, so to speak, is that I'll buy you your favorite piece from said outfit."

She crooked a smile at them. "Not the whole thing, mind -- even with my resources, I'd probably max out my cards doing that for all of you. But pick out a whole look, head to toe, and come find me, and you can take home your shoes or button-down or bangles, whatever you fancy. Bit of a thank you for putting up with me all term. You've all been lovely."

She made little shooing motions. "Now go dress yourselves, darlings."

Ethics, Tuesday, April 21, 2015

[sith_happened]

If you thought a little thing like weeks of unrelenting trauma was going to stop your final exam, you didn't know Anakin very well. He at least look vaguely sorry about it between texts on his comlink (that was only half to avoid talking to Obi-Wan).

Smooth, Anakin. Very smooth.

It was Obi-Wan who cleared his throat and began speaking after the exams had been distributed. "It is traditional for this class to end in a written exam," he said. "No choice listed on these sheets is wrong--" though he and Anakin might disagree about which ones were least wrong, ahem, "--as we are primarily interested in your reasoning. Please be thorough."

"And legible," Anakin added. He coughed. "And if anyone feels the need to talk about this weekend, or last, for that matter, we're around after class."