Underrated Sports [Mon, Period 3]

[doubleohblonde]

The three simulated judges from earlier in the semester were making another appearance in the Danger Shop today, however Svetlana was nowhere to be seen.

"Today we'll be looking at discipline that is as much an art form as sport, the not so noble Tactical Revenge," Bond told them. "In this event, you must concoct an overly elaborate revenge in response to a petty slight, then present your plan to the judges. Points will be awarded for creativity, ability to improvise on the fly, and and how disproportionate your proposed retribution is to the original offence."

Shop, Tuesday, period 3

[vdistinctive]

The Danger Shop was back in the now-familiar landscape of the junkyard with the shop tables and power tools arranged in the center.

Mostly because no matter what Eliot tried to do this week, it kept resetting to this. And he was tired of fighting with it.

"Before we get to work this week, I wanted to run somethin' by you guys," he said at the top of the class. "Y'all've been makin' some interesting -- and damn impressive -- things in this class." Yes, even your giant . . . sculpture from last week, Isabela. "Seems to me like it'd be a shame to keep 'em hidden. I thought it'd be nice to do a sort of open house thing last week of classes, invite the rest of the school and maybe the town to swing by and see what y'all have come up with. Now this ain't a final. I won't be mad if you don't wanna show off. But think it over. I think it could be a lot of fun."

He clapped his hands, dusting them off, and then rested them on a covered work table in front of him. "Course that's weeks away. In the meantime, let's keep makin' some shit. I've noticed a good chunk of ya prefer to work on practical projects, and Fandom bein' what it is, there ain't a lot more practical than weaponry. I still ain't got this place set up to be a forge, so we're not set up to make anything properly bladed or balanced, but there's plenty other ways to put the hurt on a monster and keep it at bay, usin' just what we've got out here. Plus, you know, flingin' food around at high speeds is fun." Let's be real now. "I got plans up here for a compound bow, a trebuchet, and a potato cannon. I've also got --" he whipped the cover off the work table dramatically, revealing ingredients for a full thanksgiving feast, including a variety of vegetables, three types of potatoes, several squashes and gourds, and a small unfrozen turkey. "Projectiles. Ya ain't got to stick to my plans. You do gotta figure out something that can launch your projectile of choice at least 20 yards. Something that ain't your arm." Because throwing a tomato twenty yards wasn't that hard to do, at least not as far as Eliot was concerned. "Basic safety rules apply to the building. As for testing: aim away from your fellow students. Make sure no one is standing directly behind your trebuchet or air gun when it goes off, in case it misfires. And I want to hear you shout a countdown and warning before firing or launching anything, so everyone else can be on the look out and not get brained with a turkey or drenched in cranberry juice. You get me?" He smiled. "Get to it."

Culture Shock: Adjusting to Life on the Weird Side | Tuesday, Period 2

[voiceoverdue]

Instead of meeting in the classroom today, the class was being redirected to the Danger Shop, which was set up today to resemble a farm. Complete with corn. A lot of corn.

... And apparently a few racing chickens. Kanan wasn't sure what their purpose was, but he hadn't tried terribly hard to program them out of this simulation, either. Presumably they added to the whole charm of the farm scenario. Kanan just shook his head a little at them before kicking into the lecture.

"Since last class we were talking about distractions, this week we figured we'd let you leap into one and get some hands-on experience," he said. "In a way that I'm assured is very... American?"

He was very not American, so he was rolling with it.

Cecil was eyeing the corn a bit dubiously. "It's really...visible." He shrugged. "But whatever. Apparently some places, that's a thing! But then they make paths in it and everything, and there's a maze! I think it's a metaphor for life or something."

"Corn as a metaphor for life," Kanan echoed, dubiously. "Why not? Anyway, there's the maze. Somewhere in the middle of the maze is pizza. Get past one, you get to dig in to the other. Pretty straightforward distraction, right?"

The kind with food. Those were often effective.

"And apple cider," Cecil added. "That's supposed to be traditional."

Whether it went with pizza was anybody's guess, but this was Cecil.

"Enjoy!"