fandomhigh | Advanced Journalism (Tuesday, Jan. 10

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Advanced Journalism (Tuesday, Jan. 10 - 2nd period)

"Good morning, children," Rita said with a smile that was at least intended to seem benign. "Welcome to Advanced Journalism. Please, sign in as you enter."

To her left, a peacock plume quill scratched away behind her as she spoke. Every few minutes, the parchment that had been scrawled upon would flip neatly into a growing pile on Rita's desk, and the quill would begin writing on a fresh piece.

On the corner of the desk rested several more sheets of parchment, a slender piece of wood and an acid green feather.

"I'll go out on a limb and assume all of you took Mr. Jerusalem's class last semester, and that's why you're here. If you didn't, I suggest you see me immediately after class in order to test in. I certainly would hate for anyone to be taking this course who really wasn't up to snuff. To fail a dear little boy or girl would simply break my heart."

Her smile widened. It wasn't particularly nice.

"I'm still making copies of your syllabus," she said sweetly, waving a hand at the busy quill. "You will have them when we meet tomorrow."

She perched on the desk. "For now, we're going to work on an imporant journalistic property: the profile. I know this will surely be review for advanced children, but as it's the first day, I thought you might appreciate it.

"Now. I want you each to quickly introduce yourself. Name, age, where you're from, what you want to be when you grow up, and something vaguely interesting about yourself. I'll go first."

She cleared her throat. "Rita Skeeter, thirty-six, most lately of London, England. Renowned journalist and acclaimed former writer for the Daily Prophet. Enjoys Quidditch, pedicures, and is entirely willing to turn nasty students into animals if they misbehave."

She pointed one long-nailed finger at random at a student. "You now. Go."

[ooc: I'm working on a big ol' comprehensive syllabus, but here's the deal: Sign in. Interact. If you have a writing assignment, I expect to see it. But given I know the two people in this class who...aren't me (shut up, omg), I doubt that we're going to have an issue.]

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John bustles into classroom, runs into a desk and manages to sign without killing things.

Rita stared.

"Trouble, love? I know grace isn't a gift all of us share."

"I'm graceful," John protests, "just not always full of grace."

Being the good little minion she is, Callisto showed up to do the TA thing. She also happened to be carrying Cam-molluc's squidbowl under her arm since she'd hadn't had time to drop him off in her room.

"Mrs. Angel-Callisto!" John waves from his desk. "You're here too?"

Callisto carefully put down the squidbowl, then frantically made cut it out gestures. "" she hissed before continuing in more normal tones. "Journalism TA."

"In front of who?" John realizes it's gotta be Professor Skeeter because there's no one else here. "But, you should spread your love far and wide! You love Angel and everyone should know it!"

"Angel? Why, Callisto, darling. Do you have a little boyfriend?" Rita asked, eyes gleaming.

"I bet she'd tell you there's nothing little about him."

You could kill great big blabbermouths in the name of justice right?

"No, ~~he's not little,~~" Callisto replied rather too quickly.

Rita looked from John to Callisto and smiled somewhat frighteningly.

"How adorable. His name is Angel?"

The quill might have scribbled that down.

"" Callisto muttered, glowering at Rita, Crichton and the quill.

"She's embarassed about it for some reason," John says. "Like she's afraid you're spying on her or something."

Callisto fingers were not twitching like she wanted to throttle her boyfriend's roomate.

"Why don't you tell her about the date you guys had?" John suggests.

Callisto mght have lunged across Crichton's desk with the intention of strangling him.

Rita snatched up her wand and calmly said, "Arresto Momentum," pointing it at Callisto.

If she was sucessful with her aim, Callisto's movements would slow significantly.

In any case, it would probably be a good idea for John to move far away while he could.

Despite the fact the she suddenly felt like she was moving through molasses, Callisto continued to attempt to strangle Crichton.

Very, very slowly.

John does a bad thing.

He laughs.

Callisto glared and muttered "I'll get you for this Johnina!"

Very, very slowly.

"Now, now, Callisto, sweetheart. You are a TA for this class. You need to set an example for the poor, confused students like Mr. Cricton."

"I'm not confused," John protests. "You just don't understand me!"

Callisto grumbled and crossed her arms.

Very, very slowly.

John might point and laugh again.

"Callisto, you can move normally again when you tell Mr. Crichton you're sorry for trying to hurt him. There will be nothing like that in my class, thank you," Rita said.

Callisto might have glared at Rita. "I'm sorry, John, for trying to ~~and failing~~ to hurt you."

"You're forgiven, dear Callisto." John smirks.

Rita smirked and waved her wand at Callisto, muttering something under her breath ~~because the mun doesn't know the incantation for the reversal~~.

"There. We all learned something, didn't we?"

"Yes. ~~That I should beat John up after class not during.~~" Callisto ground out.

"" Callisto wondered if Aeryn would understand why she killed her boyfriend.

Chloe comes in and takes a long look at the new teacher as she signs in. Rita isn't quite what she expected, but she's learned better than to judge from appearances.

Rory signed in.

You heard the woman. Profile. Go.

"I'm John Crichton and I'm seveteen years old. One more year and I'm legal!" He smiles and gives a thumbs up. "I'm from North Carolina which isn't South Carolina. I'd like to be an astronaut when I grow up. That or a pizza taster."

"Vaguely interesting? Um...I can hold my breath for two and a half minutes!"

Rita smiled.

"Lovely."

On the desk, the green quill bounced up and began to write.

John Crichton, twelve, hails from the desert wasteland of North Carolina, where he spent a devastatingly lonesome childhood. His eyes shine with hope as he whispers his deep desire to see worlds beyond his own tiny one, or to perhaps sample delicacies his tastebuds have yet to experience. As an additional skill, youn Crichton's brain seems to require less oxygen than most people's. One cannot be certain as to why.

"Thank you," John replies. "I can keep going, if you'd like. Tell me about my father's first time in space and cartoons and wormholes and math. I really like math. Should I keep telling you things?"

"That's perfect, dear," Rita nodded.

The child sadly reminisces about his absentee, delusional father - and hallucinations seem to be hereditary, as he continues to babble about things which surely must only exist in his imagination. One can only hope that the youth will seek professional help.

Chloe's still focusing on the whole "turning students into animals" thing, so it takes her a moment to realize it's her turn.

"Oh, I'm Chloe Sullivan, and I'm 18. I'm from Smallville, Kansas, and no, the name isn't a joke. I'm going to be a reporter when I finish growing up, and my vaguely interesting fact is that I'm one of the editors of the paper here. Which, I guess I need to talk to you about after class," she says to Rita.

Rita nodded. "That's fabulous, Ms. Sullivan. And yes, certainly. After class. I'll be available."

The quill began to scribble:

Chloe Sullivan, twelve, has arrived in Fandom after a tumultuous and difficult childhood living on a farm in Kentucky. She has aspirations to model her life after that of the acclaimed and beloved Ms. Skeeter, known far and wide for her astounding investigating skills.

Rory stared at the strange, slightly gaudy woman.

"Um. Rory Gilmore. I'm seventeen and from Stars Hollow, Connecticut. I want to be an overseas correspondent, and...I've read more books than most people have actually seen in their lives."

"Wonderful," Rita smirked.

The fragile, helpless waif called Rory Gilmore, age twelve, appears to be woeful as she reminisces about her childhood in Vermont. She confesses that she was antisocial and unliked by her peers, which is why she sought comfort in books, her only friends.

...what? Someone might actually want to chat with her, omg.

After class is over, Chloe stays behind, and waits for everyone else to go before approaching Rita.

"Hi," she says, smiling. "I was hoping I could speak to you about the newspaper? I wasn't sure if you had a specific way you wanted things done this year. I thought Jake Gavin would be here - he and I did the paper together last semester."

Rita nodded. "However you ran it before would be fine, I assume. Unless you ran into any major problems." She frowned. "Let's say we run a few issues, and if I want to change anything, I'll contact you? It's entirely possible I'll be wanting a column."

"That's totally do-able. We didn't run into any problems last semester, so I hope we won't have any this time around. And there's certainly room for another column." This was certainly easier than Chloe had thought it would be.

Because we might need it. Much as I need to actually make an OOC icon.

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Advanced Journalism (Tuesday, Jan. 10 - 2nd period)

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OOC