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fandomhigh2012-04-17 06:43 pm
badnewsandwit.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2012-04-17 06:43 pm
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Debating: In Defense of Rhetoric, Tuesday
To say Alistair was twitchy in his new uniform would be massively understating it.
For one, it didn't quite... fit. For two, it was itchy. For three, it meant leaving his armor at home for the day, which felt wrong. He'd tried to compensate for it by wearing his shield on his back, but the whole affair still felt light and wrong and... ... he scratched at his arm. "Hello everyone," he said. "Today, we'll be having your final. We talked about this last week, obviously..." Had they?
He couldn't remember. The uniform. It was itching.
HE didn't have to wear these pumps or whatever on his FEET. Morrigan was not amused. In protest of taking away her leathers, she'd stuck some raven-feathers into her usual hairstyle, and let her various bangles and necklaces chime freely. She'd rolled up the ridiculous sleeves so she could at least feel the air on her arms, if nothing else.
"We did," she stated firmly. "For those members of class today who are NOT normally enrolled--" Fade-cursed demons that they were, "--students were to pick a topic near and dear to their hearts, and today either debate for or against it, and prepare to defend themselves against their classmates using the proper rules of debate."
"Which we have been teaching them," said Alistair, who had affected something of a hop as he attempted to scratch his ankle, "these past few months-- I'm sure they'll be-- good at it--"
"And if they aren't, they fail." Way to be cheerful, Morrigan. "In the light of sharing and continual learning aspects of Fandom High School, we also invite our school board members and benefactorsif they are here to participate as well."
That's right, students. Morrigan just declared Open Season if any of the observers arestupid brave enough to join the debates today. She and Alistair figured it was a civilized method of revenge.
Yes, they agreed on something. Don't faint.
Alistair had at last scratched the itch on his ankle, and was now lowering his foot with a mildly guilty expression on his face. "Sorry about that," he said, "You know-- plaid."
Actually, he didn't know about plaid. Except that it was itchy. "But yes, you are all invited. We'll be starting with whoever's first at the front, unless someone would like to volunteer, and you're all invited to debate whatever point has just been raised. Everyone at least try to have something to say, please?"
Alistair beamed at the class. "Get to it," he said encouragingly, and rolled his shoulders to get rid of some of the strain the uniform was putting on him.
At which point the stitching tore and half the sleeve came off. "Oh, Andraste's flaming bloody sword, again?!" Beat. "Pretend I didn't say that."
For one, it didn't quite... fit. For two, it was itchy. For three, it meant leaving his armor at home for the day, which felt wrong. He'd tried to compensate for it by wearing his shield on his back, but the whole affair still felt light and wrong and... ... he scratched at his arm. "Hello everyone," he said. "Today, we'll be having your final. We talked about this last week, obviously..." Had they?
He couldn't remember. The uniform. It was itching.
HE didn't have to wear these pumps or whatever on his FEET. Morrigan was not amused. In protest of taking away her leathers, she'd stuck some raven-feathers into her usual hairstyle, and let her various bangles and necklaces chime freely. She'd rolled up the ridiculous sleeves so she could at least feel the air on her arms, if nothing else.
"We did," she stated firmly. "For those members of class today who are NOT normally enrolled--" Fade-cursed demons that they were, "--students were to pick a topic near and dear to their hearts, and today either debate for or against it, and prepare to defend themselves against their classmates using the proper rules of debate."
"Which we have been teaching them," said Alistair, who had affected something of a hop as he attempted to scratch his ankle, "these past few months-- I'm sure they'll be-- good at it--"
"And if they aren't, they fail." Way to be cheerful, Morrigan. "In the light of sharing and continual learning aspects of Fandom High School, we also invite our school board members and benefactors
That's right, students. Morrigan just declared Open Season if any of the observers are
Yes, they agreed on something. Don't faint.
Alistair had at last scratched the itch on his ankle, and was now lowering his foot with a mildly guilty expression on his face. "Sorry about that," he said, "You know-- plaid."
Actually, he didn't know about plaid. Except that it was itchy. "But yes, you are all invited. We'll be starting with whoever's first at the front, unless someone would like to volunteer, and you're all invited to debate whatever point has just been raised. Everyone at least try to have something to say, please?"
Alistair beamed at the class. "Get to it," he said encouragingly, and rolled his shoulders to get rid of some of the strain the uniform was putting on him.
At which point the stitching tore and half the sleeve came off. "Oh, Andraste's flaming bloody sword, again?!" Beat. "Pretend I didn't say that."
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