Problem Solving and You!, Thursday, Period 3

[wrongkindofsith]

The danger shop was set up to look like ye older tavern that your teachers might look more at home in, with a good number of NPC patrons milling about.

"Hail and well met, students!" Magnus said, picking up one of the chairs. Maybe to inspect the make of it.

Cara also picked up a chair, definitely not to examine the fine carpentry. "Normally this is where there'd be introductions." Because she'd been here for far too many first weeks by now. "But that's kind of boring."

Most people didn't react to boredom by flinging a chair into a packed crowd of very surly looking NPCs (including NPCakin, oh how we'd missed you and your terrible hair), Cara.

"Bar fight!" Magnus cheered, immediately changing his grip on the chair to use as a weapon. With bonuses because carpenter/fighter.

Aw yeah.

Cara might have pointed out that none of the class should've been surprised by this. Not even the newbies, the class description had not been subtle. But she'd flung herself after her chair by now.

Have fun kids.

Ballet for Beginners; First Period [01/04].

[died8yearsago]

The chain of events that actually lead to Rosa standing there in front of her class in the dance studio (that was suddenly getting so much use) had been filled with internal debates, a lot of creative swearing, a handful of near cancellations, and an office moose almost getting punched. But there she was, black tights and leotard, hair pulled up, looking every bit the picture of the ballet teacher she was apparently supposed to be.

...assuming that ballet teacher also looked about ready to murder a person at the drop of a slipper.

And just when she thought that, hey, at least it couldn't get worse, she got a look at who was actually in her class.

Oh, this was going to be just great.

"Alright," she said. "So this is going to be a ballet class." There were words she hadn't expected to be coming out of her mouth pretty much ever since she was about fifteen. "Ballet is a form of performance dance that got its start during the fifteenth century," she continued, sounding like she was reading from a Wikipedia page with extreme boredom, "and developed into its current form throughout the nineteenth century, mostly in Russia and France. So a lot of the terms we'll be using are based in French, Russian, or Italian. I'm not going to require the classic black leotards and pink tights for this class," especially since one of them wasn't even wearing clothes at all, "but I recommend you wear something you can move easily in and, preferably, something tightly fitted, so that it's easier for me to see how your alignment and your muscles are turned to make sure you're not doing something stupid and get yourself injured. Right now, I'm definitely not planning on using a stick to correct you with, like my lovely ballet instructors did when I was your age; whether or not I start is entirely up to you guys."

It wouldn't be ballet class without the threat of violence, right?

"If you actually have your own ballet slippers, great. If not, turns out there's a box of them you can borrow from. And they even seem mostly unused. You're going to want them, because they'll help you to move across the floor in the ways we want better. If for some reason, there's nothing in here that fits your or works for you," because you have, say, a giant yellow claw toe, "we'll figure something out. So go ahead, take a moment to find shoes that fit, and then we'll get to stretching, because it's important to warm up and cool down after each lesson. If you're not dressed to dance today, why the hell not? What were you expecting?"

She didn't exactly give a chance for answers.

"We're not doing introductions, because, honestly, I don't care who you are. Let's just get your shoes and then get started. Warm up stretches, then you'll be learning the five basic positions, then a cool down. It's not going to seem like you've done enough to need a cool down, but, trust me, even though it doesn't seem like much, if these are muscles you're not used to using, you'll feel it in weird ways tomorrow."

Rosa gave them a few more minutes, glancing dolefully at the clock that hadn't moved nearly enough, then sighed before instructing them all to find a spot on the floor.



[[ocd on the way up]]

Life Lessons Through Screen Time, Friday

[captainskullpoopl]

When the students arrived for today's class, they would find their teachers eating cheesecake. Straight off the cake, with forks. "It's okay," Vanessa assured them. "We got another one for you...although we might have forgotten plates. Figure that out yourselves. Anyway, this is...what did we call this class?" she asked Wade. "Did we go with our working title of, 'I Dunno, Movie Day?'"

"Let me pull up the post," Wade said with a deeply put upon sigh, digging out his phone for it. He stabbed his fork right into the cheesecake to stake his claim. "Spring... 2019... no, not ours. Nope. Wow, two dance classes? Weird synergy. Here we are! Life Lessons through Screen Time. That's pretty thinky for us, though."

"The moose must have changed it," Vanessa said with a shrug. "Welcome to 'Life Lessons through Screen Time!' We're your teachers. I'm Vanessa. He's Professor Deadpool."

"Excuse me..." Wade broke in. "Detective Deadpool. I'm a Pokèmon now."

"Sure, babe," Vanessa said. "Only it's not Pokemon week. We'll get to that," she assured the students. "But first, you have to introduce yourselves! It's traditional. We probably won't remember your names, but whatever."

"I'm a Pokèmon," Wade whispered at the class before continuing on like it never happened. "Unless you make it interesting. Make it pop. Be like one of the classic protagonists from the shows that shaped our lives. Raised us. Made us think about killing a studio head. Whatever it might be."

"That's right! Tell us which stock character you are," Vanessa encouraged the class. "And, you know, your name or whatever."

Practical Diplomacy, Friday, January 4, 2019

[sith_happened]

The class would find themselves in the Danger Shop, which had been set up like a diplomatic reception: drinks in the back of a too large, too bright, room with much too long a line; a variety of languages being spoken with various degrees of expertise; waitstaff circulating with varieties of mid-level snacks on tiny skewers (and no, they don't know what they are either); and people standing in pairs, singles, and small groups looking uncomfortable.

"Welcome to a networking opportunity," Anakin said, making a slight face, "otherwise known as roughly 40 percent of your life as a diplomat. Today's assignment is to introduce yourself to three people in this room, including me, exchange business cards--" he passed them out to every student as he continued speaking, "and come away with three ways to remember who they are for the next reception."

He smiled a little evilly. "Because there will be a next reception."