Fandom High School

Tyrion’s uniform, while well-tailored, still itched. He loathed cheap fabrics.

It was small comfort to know the rest of the school was suffering along with him.

“Good afternoon,” he said briskly, as he passed out the test. “Today is your final exam in this World History class so—obviously – there is no time to waste. If you have further question or comments about the test, or about the class in general, I will be in my office on Thursday.” When, hopefully, the visitors would be long gone.

He paused, managed a tired smile for the students. “I genuinely enjoyed getting to know each of you. For those of you who are leaving school soon, I wish you the best.”

And then there was nothing to do but watch the students write. He trusted they’d be bright enough to realize that the questions, while passingly “normal,” did not depend on knowledge of any specific world.

The girl standing before the assembled group did not precisely appear prepared to talk. In fact, she looked a shade terrified of public speaking. Tyrion was certain she hadn't gotten that from him.

At her father's insistent nod, Joanna finally began to speak.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Joanna, Lord Tyrion's daughter. He's having me run class today because ..." She didn't really understand the because, and she trailed off there to look to her father.

"Because public speaking is an essential life skill," Tyrion supplied. "No one will take you seriously if the cat steals your tongue when you're nervous." That last bit was aimed at all of them, not just his daughter.

"Right," Joanna said. "That. So you're all, guests included, supposed to stand up for three minutes and say something about your child or your parent. If you have neither, spend your three minutes talking about..."

She looked to Tyrion again, and he shrugged. "How lucky you feel?" he tried. "If you feel lucky at all. Anyhow, it is a class presentation day, as the lady said. I'm sure you're all ingenuous enough to come up with something to say." He glanced back to Joanna to finish. "Do you want to wrap this up?"

Joanna nodded. "Take a few minutes to prepare, then begin with" -- she stabbed a finger into the group -- "you."

The class met in its usual classroom today, though Tyrion was not in the best frame of mind. It wasn't that he had so terribly minded being Tito -- he suspected he'd like the player, if he met him -- but there was always a certain hangover that came from not being yourself.

"Hello," he began. "I hope you're all feeling like yourselves today. If you aren't ... at least it should be an easy class."

"In every culture," he said, "there are certain games of skill, though the details of how they're played vary. Mastering one has several benefits. They train your mind to think through possibilities. There's also a certain amount of value in dedicating yourself to rote memorization. In this world, chess is one popular such game; so is a board game named Risk."

"Today," he continued, as he gave a stack of handouts to the first student in each row for them to pass along, "we aren't playing either of those, since we only have an hour and I'm spending some of it talking. Instead, we'll be working on a game that may seem simpler -- a card game called Blackjack or 21. It works like this: You play against the dealer. Each of you starts with two cards: You can see both of yours, and one of the dealer's. Your goal is to get a score of 21 without going over -- or to make the dealer go over, before you do. "

He would have dealt a hand so the class could see what he meant, but he feared fumbling with the cards. They'd have to imagine. "You have a choice: Hit or stand. Hit means you take another card. Stand means you're content with what you have. You can also split -- break up a pair -- or double down -- increase your bet. There's much more to it, but those are the basic elements."

He talked through the handout's chart of options for different hands, then passed out a deck of cards and hundred dollars in fake money to each student. "Pair up today, and play the game. Take turns being the dealer and the player. If you leave with more fake money than you started with, consider it a job well done."

“I hope you’re all awake after your week off,” Tyrion said cheerfully as he sauntered into the classroom. He had reason to be cheerful; he’d had a full week to explore the mainland with no responsibilities whatsoever. He saw no reason to prolong the idleness by giving students an easy day.

“We’re playing a game today – at least, I think it’s a game, and I’m good at it. We’ve had a bit of time as a group, and now we will be judging each other’s characters.”

He gave that a moment to sink in as he went to the first seat, starting a bag of candy circulating around the room. “Take five pieces each. Don’t eat them just yet. In the game we’re playing, you will pair up – with someone you don’t know well already, please – and tell your partner three things about him or herself that they’ve never directly told you. They can be anything at all – hopes, dreams, fears, ambitions, memories, whatever comes to mind. If you’re right, you get a sweet from them; if you’re wrong, they give you one. The winner is whoever has more candy at the end of the exercise.”

“There are a few principles to remember as you judge each other. First, take a moment and read this.” Done passing around the candy, Tyrion moved on to distribute a handout. He’d done some reading on the game over the weekend, and had been not at all surprised to find it had a name in this world.

“In most studies, people rate the personality description in front of you a four on a scale of one to five. A bit over a four, actually. The trick, of course, is that everyone got the same statement. Most people like to be agreeable. You want to agree with what you’re told about yourself.” He paused, went quieter. “It takes strength to fight it.”

He was back to his usual pace when he spoke again. “Second and similarly, clichés are clichés for a reason. A lot of whores had mothers who did it first; most adventurers were never satisfied at home. The violent usually become that way early. Almost everyone is motivated first by fear, then by love, though money can sometimes trump either. And a great many people either have never satisfied their parents, or – if they’ve found the trick of that – are terrified of one day disappointing them.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s as much guidance as I’ll give you now. If anyone is shy a partner and wants to play opposite me, I look forward to taking your candy. Now, pair up.”

Tyrion had spent the weekend exploring the mainland, and found much of it confusing but to hs liking; he was almost cheerful as the class gathered.

"Last time we met," he said, once everyone was seated, "I gave you an assignment for the next class. You were to spend some time in the last week working together to teach each other something. I hope you made some time to do so. Take ten minutes to sit in pairs and check in with each other, and then you have a choice: Either demonstrate what you learned from each other, or write something explaining what it was. You're also all to explain, either verbally or in writing, what strategic uses you can think of for whatever it is that you learned. Or, if you never quite got around to working together, strategic uses for whatever you were meant to teach each other."

He hoisted himself onto his desk. "Get into your pairs now, please."

As the students took their seats, they would each find a book being rather firmly placed on their desks.

"Books," Tyrion informed them, once he'd finished the process of handing them out, "are the greatest tool there is in sharpening a mind. You may not think you need a sharp mind; perhaps you can get by on charging at things with a sword. And certainly that will work for some of you some of the time. For the rest of the time -- and especially for ensuring you have a properly full mind in a time of crisis -- there's nothing like reading."

"I am aware that there are other ways to obtain and store information on the island, but from what I can tell plain words on paper retain some popularity. Let's stick to those for the day."

"Your assignment is a simple one. Take the book I've handed you at random. Read as much as you can from it in the next half-hour. Then turn to the person next to you and have a discussion about what you read, and how you can see using the information in the future. And, sometime over the next week, pick out a book from the library or bookstore that talks about something you know nothing about, and be prepared to explain it to me when we next meet."

"Blysse, please see me for an alternate assignment."

Class met in the Danger Shop today, which had been set up to look like a dimly lit dungeon, deserted save for a swarm of small, ugly beasts that looked a bit like purple bears with lizard heads.

"Last week our subject was acknowledging things about ourselves we can't change or forget," Tyrion said without preamble, and with some pride he'd gotten the wolves to show up in Danger Shop again. "This week, we begin a unit on making the best of what you have. You may be strong. You may be clever. You may be lovely to look upon. You may be rich. Unless the gods gave with both hands at your birth, it's unlikely you're all four. It's far more likely you're weak, stupid, ugly or poor -- relatively speaking, of course."

"Your choices are two. You can either concentrate on what you have a gift for and hope it's enough to get you through anything, or you can spend your life trying to master the things you're worst at in hopes of balancing yourself out. All things being equal, and assuming you're being honest with yourself about having tried to improve, I'd say you're usually better off focusing on your skills and making them as good as they can be. A swordsman does not prepare for battle by reading, nor should he, and it makes no more sense for a weakling to spend his days fiddling about with a sword. He might hurt himself."

"But -- because this is my class, and I have the right to be perverse sometimes -- today we will start with a single kind of skill, and pretend we're all trying to improve our strength." He pointed to a beast. "Your job is to fight these lovely fellows. They've no ability to speak or reason -- all you can do is find a way to bash your way out of this one. After you've done that, we'll talk some more."

Before he released the class to fight the beasts, he added, "And by the way, because this got me into trouble last time, I must add these creatures are not real. They're a kind of film and can't hurt you. Don't ask me how it works."

"It's good to see all of you again," Tyrion stressed. "Anyhow, this should be finals week, but I doubt any of us quite have the stomach for an exam. I know I don't. We were lucky and -- some of us -- brave, and that's why we're still here."

He paused for a moment, pacing. "We're going to have a conversation today. My question is this: Knowing what you know now, what would you have done differently from the start of the Nothing? I would have begun the retreat to Special Collections far earlier and based operations there."

He pointed into the front row. "Your turn."

Tyrion goggled at the students as he came into the classroom. He'd half expected most of them to have been either eaten by the great unknown or decamped to help out at home, if they had homes. He would have decamped to see what he could do at home, if the Causeway hadn't refused to route him anywhere but the parking lot of some horrible place called a Walmart.

"You're all here," he said, curiously, then righted his posture as he made something up out of the whole cloth. "Of course you are. Well. We have a game today. Those of you sitting on the right side of the classroom, you each have a small bag of gold. Those of you sitting on the left, you need that gold to finance some important personal business. Pair off, and use whatever means you have at your disposal to get the gold from each other."

As an afterthought he added, "Or sit about and strategize about what's going on at home, if you'd rather. I wouldn't blame you."

Class met in the Danger Shop today, which had been programmed to resemble a nondescript flat field. The observant might notice two sets of shelves off to the side; one was full of pillows, the other of cream pies.

Tyrion had a red mark on his cheek where he'd fallen asleep on a pile of books in the library the day before, and ink smudged along the edge of one hand. His younger self had even less sense than the adult Tyrion about pulling himself away from his books and going to bed -- which was very little sense at all.

"As I promised last week, today we're starting a unit on military strategy," he said, only a bit grumpy. "We'll begin by exploring the pros and cons of different weapons." He went through a reasonably detailed brief description of swords, shields, and arrows, concluding by handing out a flier showing many different kinds of blades.

"As this is a strategic class," he finished, "and as I am not actually insane enough to set you on each other with weapons, we're shifting to a different kind of weapon for the class activity." He gestured to divide the group roughly in half. "This side of you will get pillows, this side pies. You have ten minutes now to swap sides if you wish to be a traitor, to elect generals, and to otherwise plan your strategy. When the time is up, we go to war. You're out when you get hit in the head at all, or in the chest hard enough to stagger you. Be honest. The team with the most people standing at the end is the winner."

He glanced to the clock on the wall. "Begin ... now."

Class met in the Danger Shop today, which had been transformed to look like a sailing ship. It was only after a few moments spent exploring the vessel that most students might notice the obvious: A huge, jagged hole in the side of the boat was letting water into the lower decks, and smoke was creeping up from that area.

"Welcome," Tyrion said, once he was confident the situation had become apparent to most of the class, "to a sinking ship. As this got me into trouble last time, I must stress: The ship and the sea are feigned. None of you will drown on my watch."

That point made, he went into his main lecture. "Your situation is as follows. A group of four of you have chartered this boat for a weekend trip. None of you have much sailing experience -- if you do, pray put it out of your mind for the moment -- so the ship is being sailed by a hired captain and his mate. Overnight, a fire broke out on the boat. When the ship's crew went down to investigate, they were swept away and are presumed lost. Because it happened overnight and the boat has been adrift for several hours, you've only the faintest idea where you are. Your best guess is that you're about a thousand leagues southwest from the nearest land."

"The fire is out, but the ship won't float much longer. Most of the ship's supplies have already been damaged by the water and smoke. However, you have saved a wooden lifeboat, plus the following items" -- he gestured to a pile of things to his left -- "and whatever's in your pockets, with one exception: Due to our remote location, your telephones are useless. However, you may assume at least one person in your group has some means for starting a fire."

( List of rescued items back here )

"Your job for this class is to try to come to consensus with your group about the five things you'd want to save the most. After that, climb into the life boats and set off in hopes of rescue."

[OOC: OCD up, come play!]

Tyrion was pleased and refreshed by the weeklong break from routine; he was almost cheerful as the class gathered.

"Last time we met," he said, once everyone was seated, "I gave you an assignment for the next class because I'd lost track of when the trip was. Asa far as I'm concerned, the trip just means you had an extra week to work in your pairings. Take ten minutes to sit in pairs and regroup, and then you have a choice: Either demonstrate what you learned from each other, or write something explaining what it was. You're also all to explain, either verbally or in writing, what strategic uses you can think of for whatever it is that you learned. Or, if you never quite got around to working together, strategic uses for whatever you were meant to teach each other."

He hoisted himself onto his desk. "Get into your pairs now, please."

As the students took their seats, they would each find a book being rather firmly placed on their desks by a teacher who had switched to modern dress for the week, though he wasn't quite sure he understood the point of his tie.

"Books," Tyrion informed them, once he'd finished the process of handing them out, "are the greatest tool there is in sharpening a mind. You may not think you need a sharp mind; perhaps you can get by on charging at things with a sword. And certainly that will work for some of you some of the time. For the rest of the time -- and especially for ensuring you have a properly full mind in a time of crisis -- there's nothing like reading."

"I am aware that there are other ways to obtain and store information on the island, but from what I can tell plain words on paper retain some popularity. Let's stick to those for the day."

"Your assignment is a simple one. Take the book I've handed you at random. Read as much as you can from it in the next half-hour. Then turn to the person next to you and have a discussion about what you read, and how you can see using the information in the future. And, sometime over the next week, pick out a book from the library or bookstore that talks about something you know nothing about, and be prepared to explain it to me when we next meet."

"If you cannot read, please let me know and we'll work out an alternate assignment." Probably it would be learning how to read, but that was a detail.

Tyrion had dragged himself back to his apartment for long enough to bathe and put on vaguely Medieval normal clothes, but he couldn't do much about the circles under his eyes.

"I spent the night with a broken neck and gunshot wounds at the bottom of an inexplicable stairwell in the park," he greeted the students, once they were assembled. "I spent the day before that up a tree shooting at people. These are not situations I ever expected to find myself in. As such, I've postponed my planned lecture to next week."

A pause. "Dolf, Lucrezia, and Tony." Oh, Gods, he couldn't look at them if they were even there. "If you wish, you're excused for the day with full marks."

It was the least he could do after having tried to kill his students, or let them hire him for an assassin.

He paced a few steps, then: "The rest of you, write a two-part essay. In the first part, if you feel your weekend was worse than mine, tell me about it. If you were unscathed, tell me how you managed that. Either way, use the second part to tell me what you'd do if you woke up one morning and realized you'd spent the last two days trying to kill people -- and not even done a very good job of it. When you're done writing, you may leave or quietly study at your desks."

And then he was going to sit back at his desk, rest his head in his arms, and try to think his way to a happy place. Not the one full of naked girls, the other one. The peaceful one, where everything was okay.

Tyrion was already standing on his desk as the students got to class. He wasn't concerned about them noticing he was a dwarf; that would be blindingly obvious even if he carted the Iron Throne in and stood on top of that. However, being below eye level tended to put him at a disadvantage that he saw no need to start from today.

( Cut because he is a very wordy man. )