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fandomhigh2017-01-05 09:26 am
simply2ndnature.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2017-01-05 09:26 am
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Creative Cooking With a Focus on Pudding, Thursday 3rd Period
The Creative Cooking class assembled in the Home Ec room. Name cards had been laid out at all the stations, denoting the seating arrangement.
At the head of the classroom, an elderly man was seated behind the desk, wrapped in a heavy winter coat. An old, dusty top hat was perched atop his head. He was napping, and trembling slightly in his sleep. He brought to mind the ashes left piled after a good bonfire; something once perhaps full of light and crackling warmth, but now burned out. He could crumble away if subjected to so much as a stiff breeze. The class bell pealed loudly, somewhat harsher for the way it startled the old man awake. He even startled meekly, eyes blinking open, bony fingers drawing the graying coat more securely across his shoulders.
“Ah,” his voice creaked, “Good morning, students.” He tried for a moment to get to his feet, but couldn’t quite seem to manage it. Giving up, he settled back into his chair.
“I do hope that you’ve all had a pleasant Christmas holiday. Perhaps a few of you even helped your parents out with the cooking already? Please, one at a time, take turns introducing yourselves to the classroom. Tell us all your name, and something which you hope to learn to cook this semester.”
He waited patiently while each of the students took their turn, but somewhere in the middle, nodded off again. After the last student finished, the silence stretched on, potent and discomfiting. Just as the thought of leaving began to enter the minds of some, the teacher’s eyes blinked awake again.
“That’s everyone, is it?” He murmured. “Well, then. I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? My name is-” He once again attempted to get out of his seat, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Ah. Perhaps the old bones aren’t quite what they used to be. Hm. My name is-” still he couldn’t stand up. He peered down at the coat, and gave it a jostle. Out fell a heavy mixing stand. And a pie tin. And a pizza stone.
“Well, no sense emptying out all my pockets. It wouldn’t do to waste class time, now would it?”
In an instant, he was on his feet, coat flung off. Dust flew. A mess of pots and silverware spilled all over the floor, but he was already in front of his desk by the time it all hit the tile. It wasn’t that he moved with any particular fleetness, especially when compared to the talents at Fandom. But his hopping did not mesh at all with the man who had, not a moment ago, been quietly drooling in his sleep. A coat of violet velvet flowed out behind him, and after a couple taps on the desk, the dust fell from his hat. His shoes clickety-clacked along the floor as he walked, and he swung his cane along in wide gestures, nearly thwacking the closest students in the head with it.
“Much better! Too stuffy in that old coat, even for January. The best way to keep warm is to get the blood pumping. And to do that, we’re going to give this grisly little room the once-over, twice-over, and eleventy-fourth-over!”
He pulled a bucket of buckets out from behind the desk, filled with paintbrushes, brightly colored paints, and decorating materials of all sorts. He found a suitably bright orange pigment, and popped it open. Paint went everywhere.
“My name,” he said, head held high, paint dribbling down his nose, “is Mr. Willy Wonka. I have been making sweets and chocolates for a long time. I mixed up my first batch before your parents were teething.” He eyed a few of the time-traveling students, and added, “Well, except for those of you who have misplaced your watches and woken up in the wrong year.”
“In this class, you will be learning to make sweets and desserts of virtually every kind imaginable. With, of course, the emphasis on imagination. I’m sure that many of your other teachers have gone about mucking your minds up with all sorts of silly ideas as to what things should and should not be. But in this room, we will only concern ourselves with what is tasty and wonderful! Hang the sense of it!” He gestured with both cane and bucket, knocking over more paint and supplies.
“I will pass out the syllabuses, and you will all decorate your workstations. I don’t care what your workstation looks like, so long as it fills you with the creative juices when you look at it.”
Each student received a copy of the class’ schedule, and Wonka gave them each a more direct welcome this time ‘round, taking note of their design choices. The end of class bell found everyone considerably more riled, if not enthusiastic, than at the start.
“I will see you all next week, when we’ll really start cooking! Literally and figuratively! Until then, either wash up or take a can and liven up another classroom or locale! Your teachers won’t mind!” His wide grin was almost free of guile as he said that. Ever so nearly innocent. “Oh, and come see me if you’d like to be my teaching assistant! I don’t know what I’ll use you for, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out!”
[OOC:Incoming Open!]
At the head of the classroom, an elderly man was seated behind the desk, wrapped in a heavy winter coat. An old, dusty top hat was perched atop his head. He was napping, and trembling slightly in his sleep. He brought to mind the ashes left piled after a good bonfire; something once perhaps full of light and crackling warmth, but now burned out. He could crumble away if subjected to so much as a stiff breeze. The class bell pealed loudly, somewhat harsher for the way it startled the old man awake. He even startled meekly, eyes blinking open, bony fingers drawing the graying coat more securely across his shoulders.
“Ah,” his voice creaked, “Good morning, students.” He tried for a moment to get to his feet, but couldn’t quite seem to manage it. Giving up, he settled back into his chair.
“I do hope that you’ve all had a pleasant Christmas holiday. Perhaps a few of you even helped your parents out with the cooking already? Please, one at a time, take turns introducing yourselves to the classroom. Tell us all your name, and something which you hope to learn to cook this semester.”
He waited patiently while each of the students took their turn, but somewhere in the middle, nodded off again. After the last student finished, the silence stretched on, potent and discomfiting. Just as the thought of leaving began to enter the minds of some, the teacher’s eyes blinked awake again.
“That’s everyone, is it?” He murmured. “Well, then. I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? My name is-” He once again attempted to get out of his seat, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Ah. Perhaps the old bones aren’t quite what they used to be. Hm. My name is-” still he couldn’t stand up. He peered down at the coat, and gave it a jostle. Out fell a heavy mixing stand. And a pie tin. And a pizza stone.
“Well, no sense emptying out all my pockets. It wouldn’t do to waste class time, now would it?”
In an instant, he was on his feet, coat flung off. Dust flew. A mess of pots and silverware spilled all over the floor, but he was already in front of his desk by the time it all hit the tile. It wasn’t that he moved with any particular fleetness, especially when compared to the talents at Fandom. But his hopping did not mesh at all with the man who had, not a moment ago, been quietly drooling in his sleep. A coat of violet velvet flowed out behind him, and after a couple taps on the desk, the dust fell from his hat. His shoes clickety-clacked along the floor as he walked, and he swung his cane along in wide gestures, nearly thwacking the closest students in the head with it.
“Much better! Too stuffy in that old coat, even for January. The best way to keep warm is to get the blood pumping. And to do that, we’re going to give this grisly little room the once-over, twice-over, and eleventy-fourth-over!”
He pulled a bucket of buckets out from behind the desk, filled with paintbrushes, brightly colored paints, and decorating materials of all sorts. He found a suitably bright orange pigment, and popped it open. Paint went everywhere.
“My name,” he said, head held high, paint dribbling down his nose, “is Mr. Willy Wonka. I have been making sweets and chocolates for a long time. I mixed up my first batch before your parents were teething.” He eyed a few of the time-traveling students, and added, “Well, except for those of you who have misplaced your watches and woken up in the wrong year.”
“In this class, you will be learning to make sweets and desserts of virtually every kind imaginable. With, of course, the emphasis on imagination. I’m sure that many of your other teachers have gone about mucking your minds up with all sorts of silly ideas as to what things should and should not be. But in this room, we will only concern ourselves with what is tasty and wonderful! Hang the sense of it!” He gestured with both cane and bucket, knocking over more paint and supplies.
“I will pass out the syllabuses, and you will all decorate your workstations. I don’t care what your workstation looks like, so long as it fills you with the creative juices when you look at it.”
Each student received a copy of the class’ schedule, and Wonka gave them each a more direct welcome this time ‘round, taking note of their design choices. The end of class bell found everyone considerably more riled, if not enthusiastic, than at the start.
“I will see you all next week, when we’ll really start cooking! Literally and figuratively! Until then, either wash up or take a can and liven up another classroom or locale! Your teachers won’t mind!” His wide grin was almost free of guile as he said that. Ever so nearly innocent. “Oh, and come see me if you’d like to be my teaching assistant! I don’t know what I’ll use you for, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out!”
[OOC:
RE: Decorate your workstation!
Being Dante, he eventually got to decorating his workstation - in that he wrote something rude on it in red and left it at that.
Whatever, new teacher.
Re: Decorate your workstation!
"Is that really the extent of your vocabulary?" He tisked. "If words like those inspire you, you'll never get very far with just one of them."
He dipped a gloved finger into the can of red paint and scribbled something quite inappropriate for the classroom next to Dante's word. He frowned for a second, then decided it would be better as a plural. Satisfied with his addition, he placed a syllabus on a clean spot of the desk.
Re: Decorate your workstation!
Okay, so this one wouldn't be so easy to piss off.
Re: Decorate your workstation!