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fandomhigh2014-10-17 12:23 pm
notmysupervisor.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2014-10-17 12:23 pm
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How to Totally Be a Spy, For Real (We Mean It) [Friday, Period 1]
When students filtered in today, they'd find Cheryl and Pam both rooting through the desk at the front of the room.
"Goddammit, I know I stuck them in a drawer in here," came one especially shrill voice, as Cheryl dug her hand deeper into the desk. "How long before gummy bears go bad, anyway? Do they go bad? I don't care."
“It’s not the gummy bears you have to worry about, dipshit,” Pam sighed. “Considering the amount of acid you dipped them innnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn --”
And that was where Pam froze, as she happened to glance up and spot the most awful, horrifying sight of all: students.
“Cheryl,” she hissed, under her breath. “Cheryl. They’re here.”
Cheryl's head popped up over the edge of the desk, her eyes wide in horror. She just stared at the students for a long, long moment, like a deer caught in the headlights, before breathing a soft, horrified, "Oh, fuck me."
She moved to pull her hand out of the desk, then paused, and shuffled a little more before finally triumphantly pulling out a plastic baggie of gummy bears. Her victory was short-lived, though, because she wasn't even on anything yet, so the stupid kids couldn't be hallucinations or anything.
"...can they see us?" she whispered to Pam, holding very still now. Maybe they were like that dinosaur in that movie and could only see them when they moved.
“Ay-hee ott,” Pam said, enunciating as carefully as she could without moving her lips. Or any of the rest of her body. “Ay-hee if ee old till, ey’ll go ahay.”
She risked a blink. None of the predators appeared to be charging.
“Ut oo ee oo?” she asked, before adding, very helpfully, “Ee nee a lan.” She also needed some of those groovy bears, especially if by some horrible misfortune they actually ended up having to teach today.
"I can't understand what the fuck you're saying," said Cheryl, who lacked any and all creative or survivalist thinking. "But I dunno if they can see us, anyway. Maybe they're ghosts. Maybe we're ghosts. Pam, did we die?"
It was not out of the question, for so many reasons. They did a lot of really reckless shit, admittedly.
Pam decided that that needed an epic sort of eyeroll. Not the question itself, but Cheryl’s tactics.
“Well, they’re not deaf,” she sighed. “Now we’ve gotta talk to the stupid ghosts. Ooooh, I bet we are dead, though. We were way too high last night and the last thing I remember is one of us wanting IHOP. D’they even have an IHOP on this shithole island?”
No, Pam. No, they did not.
"It was me. I wanted crepes," Cheryl sniffed, "and you said we should go to IHOP, and then I think we each drank an entire thing of syrup." She paused, lightly licking her lips, and added, "I think mine was strawberry."
Weird.
"Did we die of syrup overdose? So not the way I thought I'd go." She'd always figured it'd be chokesex, seriously. "Um. Okay, fine, if we're ghosts, do we have to teach them? Can we just haunt them instead?" She actually looked at the class for a second, and then raised her hands up, wiggling her fingers and going, "OoooooOOOOOOOooooooh."
Anything?
Really, Pam figured Cheryl would go from all the glue she sniffed. And how did she get taken out by syrup? That was some weak-assed shit.
“They don’t seem spooked,” Pam said. “Maybe I can distract them with hypnosis.”
Did Pam actually know hypnosis? No. Of course not. But she was going to dig out a very large keychain with far too many attachments and shake it a few times to see what that did.
“Loooooooook at the keys,” she said, in her best attempt at a monotone. “You’re distracted by the keys. And now you’re getting sleeeeepy. Wait, this isn’t gonna work. That’s way too loud to make anyone sleepy.”
"I'm sleepy," Cheryl offered. "But that might be the syrup."
Was she seriously hungover from syrup?
"Shit. Okay. Try something else. What else do we have?" She dug through her purse, randomly flinging prescription bottles left and right as she did so. "...I have a customer satisfaction survey from Comcast?" she offered. "Maybe we can try and put 'em to sleep with paperwork?"
It totally worked on her, at least. Sorry Pam. Your peer reviews were really good cures for insomnia, okay?
Pam wasn’t even going to bother resenting that if it got them out of here. (Well, she’d file it, and whine about it later, but like Cheryl was going to listen.) She was now digging through her own purse.
“Application for video rentals from Blockbuster,” she said, triumphantly. “Paperwork saves the day again!”
Spying class, everyone. Doing its job to prepare you for your future.
"Goddammit, I know I stuck them in a drawer in here," came one especially shrill voice, as Cheryl dug her hand deeper into the desk. "How long before gummy bears go bad, anyway? Do they go bad? I don't care."
“It’s not the gummy bears you have to worry about, dipshit,” Pam sighed. “Considering the amount of acid you dipped them innnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn --”
And that was where Pam froze, as she happened to glance up and spot the most awful, horrifying sight of all: students.
“Cheryl,” she hissed, under her breath. “Cheryl. They’re here.”
Cheryl's head popped up over the edge of the desk, her eyes wide in horror. She just stared at the students for a long, long moment, like a deer caught in the headlights, before breathing a soft, horrified, "Oh, fuck me."
She moved to pull her hand out of the desk, then paused, and shuffled a little more before finally triumphantly pulling out a plastic baggie of gummy bears. Her victory was short-lived, though, because she wasn't even on anything yet, so the stupid kids couldn't be hallucinations or anything.
"...can they see us?" she whispered to Pam, holding very still now. Maybe they were like that dinosaur in that movie and could only see them when they moved.
“Ay-hee ott,” Pam said, enunciating as carefully as she could without moving her lips. Or any of the rest of her body. “Ay-hee if ee old till, ey’ll go ahay.”
She risked a blink. None of the predators appeared to be charging.
“Ut oo ee oo?” she asked, before adding, very helpfully, “Ee nee a lan.” She also needed some of those groovy bears, especially if by some horrible misfortune they actually ended up having to teach today.
"I can't understand what the fuck you're saying," said Cheryl, who lacked any and all creative or survivalist thinking. "But I dunno if they can see us, anyway. Maybe they're ghosts. Maybe we're ghosts. Pam, did we die?"
It was not out of the question, for so many reasons. They did a lot of really reckless shit, admittedly.
Pam decided that that needed an epic sort of eyeroll. Not the question itself, but Cheryl’s tactics.
“Well, they’re not deaf,” she sighed. “Now we’ve gotta talk to the stupid ghosts. Ooooh, I bet we are dead, though. We were way too high last night and the last thing I remember is one of us wanting IHOP. D’they even have an IHOP on this shithole island?”
No, Pam. No, they did not.
"It was me. I wanted crepes," Cheryl sniffed, "and you said we should go to IHOP, and then I think we each drank an entire thing of syrup." She paused, lightly licking her lips, and added, "I think mine was strawberry."
Weird.
"Did we die of syrup overdose? So not the way I thought I'd go." She'd always figured it'd be chokesex, seriously. "Um. Okay, fine, if we're ghosts, do we have to teach them? Can we just haunt them instead?" She actually looked at the class for a second, and then raised her hands up, wiggling her fingers and going, "OoooooOOOOOOOooooooh."
Anything?
Really, Pam figured Cheryl would go from all the glue she sniffed. And how did she get taken out by syrup? That was some weak-assed shit.
“They don’t seem spooked,” Pam said. “Maybe I can distract them with hypnosis.”
Did Pam actually know hypnosis? No. Of course not. But she was going to dig out a very large keychain with far too many attachments and shake it a few times to see what that did.
“Loooooooook at the keys,” she said, in her best attempt at a monotone. “You’re distracted by the keys. And now you’re getting sleeeeepy. Wait, this isn’t gonna work. That’s way too loud to make anyone sleepy.”
"I'm sleepy," Cheryl offered. "But that might be the syrup."
Was she seriously hungover from syrup?
"Shit. Okay. Try something else. What else do we have?" She dug through her purse, randomly flinging prescription bottles left and right as she did so. "...I have a customer satisfaction survey from Comcast?" she offered. "Maybe we can try and put 'em to sleep with paperwork?"
It totally worked on her, at least. Sorry Pam. Your peer reviews were really good cures for insomnia, okay?
Pam wasn’t even going to bother resenting that if it got them out of here. (Well, she’d file it, and whine about it later, but like Cheryl was going to listen.) She was now digging through her own purse.
“Application for video rentals from Blockbuster,” she said, triumphantly. “Paperwork saves the day again!”
Spying class, everyone. Doing its job to prepare you for your future.
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