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fandomhigh2005-09-19 07:32 am
jerusalem-s.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2005-09-19 07:32 am
Journalism Class - Monday September 19
This morning, Spider is properly dressed, looks far too awake and chipper, and is seated on the edge of his desk, reading what looks to be a short stack of print-outs. The cat is frolicking beneath some of the desks, chasing invisible two-faced mice and batting at anything she might find on the floor. There is a small box on one of the desks, neatly labeled 'Medusa St. Clair'.
Duce arrives at class just slightly over one hour early.
Engrossed in his reading, Spider glanced up only long enough to be certain he knew who was there, before going back to his reading. He crooked a finger at her and indicated the package.
Duce tilted her head, eyeing the box for a moment before realization dawned. "Ah. The bottle. Thank you. Wednesday would have our a.. butt on a plate if we didn't get that back."
"I enclosed a thank you note," Spider told her absently, still scanning the pages. "Please be sure to read it thoroughly."
Nodding, Duce takes the box to her seat and places it under the desk. "We'll be sure to do that." She then gets on with class per usual.
Waiting until he appears to have a full class for the day, Spider begins to speak, not looking up from his reading. "First things first. Because there's been some unrest on campus and a number of complaints from concerned students and staff, we've all been stripped of our weapons. Therefore, lesson one today is to please be fucking responsible or your fellow students and/or faculty will also be paying the price because Principal Connor believes in being fair. Now, unless you, like I, are accustomed to armed death squads breaking through your door and invisible assassins visiting on a regular basis, I don't want to hear a single goddamn complaint - not because I'm a company drone, but because I will regard it as gutless whining. If you can't defend yourself without a weapon or manage to improvise on the fly, then I have no confidence in your ability to defend yourself, period."
Looking up from his reading, he continued, "This all boils down to the simple fact that if some people exercised common sense and responsibility, we'd all still be armed. I'm hoping that if everyone behaves their damn selves instead of acting like a bunch of puling, spoiled brats, we might eventually be allowed to get our weapons back. However, childish or irresponsible behavior on the part of any one person, could easily get all weapons banned permanently, including from the firing range and fencing salle. Please do not fuck this up for the rest of us, and please feel free to spread the word."
The cat chose that moment to interrupt, leaping onto the desk and beginning a hunt for cigarettes. Spider found and lit one for her before turning back to the class and holding up a print-out. "I assigned no homework for this week because there's been a great deal of flux in the student body, so you can all save your extra-credit points to spend on skipping your homework next week. Instead, I'm going to offer you a chance to score big."
Spider fended off the cat as he stood and gestured to one of the screens where a website popped up. "This, my children, is The Weekly Tentacle. This is a class about Journalism and I feel that this is the perfect opportunity to get you to demonstrate that you understand what that means. Submit something to the Tentacle this week and if it turns up in the next issue, you get extra-credit. This will require spying, bribery, sneakiness and the ability to prove to me that you did the work and that whatever scurrilous gossip you actually submit has a solid basis in truth. For today, I think that class would best be spent articulating your views on the articles in this week's rag. Discuss."
((OOC: Spider's player is rather grossly sick this morning and probably will not make it into work and will instead go back to bed. He'll probably be available on AIM this afternoon, if that's the case, and the Townie backlog will be dealt with as will any other admin-type things that built up on his day off. Sorry, guys.))
Duce arrives at class just slightly over one hour early.
Engrossed in his reading, Spider glanced up only long enough to be certain he knew who was there, before going back to his reading. He crooked a finger at her and indicated the package.
Duce tilted her head, eyeing the box for a moment before realization dawned. "Ah. The bottle. Thank you. Wednesday would have our a.. butt on a plate if we didn't get that back."
"I enclosed a thank you note," Spider told her absently, still scanning the pages. "Please be sure to read it thoroughly."
Nodding, Duce takes the box to her seat and places it under the desk. "We'll be sure to do that." She then gets on with class per usual.
Waiting until he appears to have a full class for the day, Spider begins to speak, not looking up from his reading. "First things first. Because there's been some unrest on campus and a number of complaints from concerned students and staff, we've all been stripped of our weapons. Therefore, lesson one today is to please be fucking responsible or your fellow students and/or faculty will also be paying the price because Principal Connor believes in being fair. Now, unless you, like I, are accustomed to armed death squads breaking through your door and invisible assassins visiting on a regular basis, I don't want to hear a single goddamn complaint - not because I'm a company drone, but because I will regard it as gutless whining. If you can't defend yourself without a weapon or manage to improvise on the fly, then I have no confidence in your ability to defend yourself, period."
Looking up from his reading, he continued, "This all boils down to the simple fact that if some people exercised common sense and responsibility, we'd all still be armed. I'm hoping that if everyone behaves their damn selves instead of acting like a bunch of puling, spoiled brats, we might eventually be allowed to get our weapons back. However, childish or irresponsible behavior on the part of any one person, could easily get all weapons banned permanently, including from the firing range and fencing salle. Please do not fuck this up for the rest of us, and please feel free to spread the word."
The cat chose that moment to interrupt, leaping onto the desk and beginning a hunt for cigarettes. Spider found and lit one for her before turning back to the class and holding up a print-out. "I assigned no homework for this week because there's been a great deal of flux in the student body, so you can all save your extra-credit points to spend on skipping your homework next week. Instead, I'm going to offer you a chance to score big."
Spider fended off the cat as he stood and gestured to one of the screens where a website popped up. "This, my children, is The Weekly Tentacle. This is a class about Journalism and I feel that this is the perfect opportunity to get you to demonstrate that you understand what that means. Submit something to the Tentacle this week and if it turns up in the next issue, you get extra-credit. This will require spying, bribery, sneakiness and the ability to prove to me that you did the work and that whatever scurrilous gossip you actually submit has a solid basis in truth. For today, I think that class would best be spent articulating your views on the articles in this week's rag. Discuss."
((OOC: Spider's player is rather grossly sick this morning and probably will not make it into work and will instead go back to bed. He'll probably be available on AIM this afternoon, if that's the case, and the Townie backlog will be dealt with as will any other admin-type things that built up on his day off. Sorry, guys.))
no subject
His eyes scan the page, honing in on the word werewolf in the basement. He squirms a little in his seat, hazel eyes darting around the room. What if they know... He feels his heart rate increase, adrenaline thumping.
The werewolf in the basement has either found or created a new friend. There appear to be two, if the howls and growls last night were any indication. Rumor also has it there's a weresnake somewhere on the grounds.
"Found or created?" he muttered, not loud, but anyone close might hear him. "How the hell could a new friend be 'created'?" He shoved the paper to the edge of his desk and got to his feet, eyes seeking out the professor, or someone in charge.