fandomhigh | Advanced Journalism (Tuesday, February 28

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Advanced Journalism (Tuesday, February 28 - 2nd period)

"Hello, boy and girls. Today we're talking about our midterm. You'll have a test on journalistic techniques and the material we've covered thus far this term - and no, nothing involving animals or hats will be on it. I suggest you go over your notes and projects from this term."

She smiled sweetly. "Questions? And I brought you all biscuits, should you want them." She waved vaguely at a box on her desk, which had sugar cookies from J, GoB.

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"Can you bring the biscuit to me?"

"No, I cannot."

"I got hurt yesterday," John says and tries to pull the pouty face. "Please?"

"Yes, I know. But you walked in here just fine."

"I was being brave like a soldier," John says. "I didn't want you to think me a wimp or something. C'mon, please? One biscuit?"

Rita huffily hovered one over to him. "There. Now stop whining."

"Yay thanks!" John gives Professor Skeeter a thumbs up. "I would've gotten it myself but I'm kinda broken and no one's been holding me up, you know. You're pretty cool, ma'am. When you're not being mean and...well, visibly hostile."

"Thank you," Rita said dryly. "Any thoughts on your midterm?"

"Of course," John says. "I'd love to chronicle my investigation of yourself."

Rita just sighed.

"You don't want the students to know that you've overcome the odds in the face of an absent husband and two kids who don't like you to become the most senior professor to be famous?"

"That sentence doesn't even make sense," Rita said.

"Yes it does," John says. "You are a senior citizen therefore senior therefore oldest therefore the most senior famous professor. Hey, you can even add that to your radio broadcasts. Professor Mrs. Rita Skeeter Senior."

"I'm only thirty-six!" Rita protested. "And that's younger, in wizarding terms. I know a man who's one hundred and fifty at least."

"Embrace your seniority, Professor." John nods. "I can get you some information on AARP, if you'd like."

Rory sighed and moved her desk a little away from John's.

Rita rolled her eyes.

"Would you mind standing up, Mr. Crichton? Please?"

"Um." John swallows. "My feet are kind of cut up and stuff. Do I really need to stand?"

"I could levitate you, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, that's all right." John pulls himself up and tries to stand somewhere comfortable. "Ta-da!"

And with that, Rita turned his desk into a fishbowl with water (presumably saltwater) in it, and with a muttered incantation and a wave of her wand, she turned John into a seahorse and dropped him into the bowl.

John...is underwater! His first thought is to immediately swim to the surface and, when he does get to the surface, he finds that he's wants to go back down and swim.

He has the sudden urge to sing Under the Sea and...he's a fricking light orange seahorse. ORANGE. That is not his color.

He goes to curse at Rita...and blows wee tiny bubbles.

Rory mushed her cookie up and dropped a few crumbs onto the surface of the water for the wee seashorsie.

And then she snapped a picture, a little sadly.

Under the sea
Under the sea
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter
Take it from me
Up on the shore they work all day
Out in the sun they slave away

The soft crumble of something on the surface breaks John the Seahorse out of his song and he zooms up to the surface to chew on the cookies. When Rory takes a picture, he becomes confused and runs into the side of the bowl.

Ouch.

"Oh noes!" Rory said sadly, peering into the bowl. "Are you okay, John? Can you even hear me?"

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