Alton seemed to have tapped in to some mystical source of energy as he joked about their upcoming presentation, causing Ariana to groan and drown her sorrows in another sip from her thermos. "Cette classe est un cauchemar." That was about all of the French that Ariana was prepared to throw back at Alton. While she wasn't exactly enjoying the prospect of doing a presentation in a whole other language, she acquitted herself relatively well in it; she had a talent for languages - go figure, but in the morning before she'd been properly caffeinated?
Fuck that if she was looking forward to it.
The horde of students continued to flow in the proper direction towards the classroom, and so as she swallowed another sip of the liquid gold from her thermos, she took a good look at Alton, as though seeing him for the first time. Charming, loquacious, and a bit of a scoundrel: it sounded like a line that she'd heard in a movie at some point or something, but it fit him well. He was good-looking, consciously put-together as though he were attending a meeting or a sales conference. Most of the kids in the first-period French class sauntered in looking like they'd barely managed to pull themselves out of bed, but not Alton. Never Alton. So while he may have been good-looking, it was that which put her off about him. She herself put care into her appearance; the number of different styles she'd tried in the four years of high school were enough to fill a calendar, but there was something that seemed... manufactured about the boy.
That, and he was a morning person.
With two strikes against Alton as far as being a potential dating prospect would be concerned, Ariana didn't see the need to look for a third. The pretty-boys of the school weren't exactly her cup of tea anyway, and anyone who fancied themselves a smooth operator would be more likely to end up with a knuckle-sandwich than a phone number. But Alton was nice enough, so he was harmless.
Well, scratch that. She smiled to herself and nodded at Alton as he correctly surmised the presentation topic. Harmless he wasn't, but she wasn't the type to be his victim; nor did she care to find out who fit that description. She supposed she'd never know.
"Yeah, I'll be ready. Provided I get to present before everyone else puts me to sleep." Ariana cracked her neck as they approached the classroom. "Which honestly, isn't gonna be hard."
As she opened her mouth to say something else, she abruptly closed it, something he'd said niggling at her. A stray thread, so why not pull on it?
"Wait. You hope? How do you not know what we're presenting?"
A bit more intrigued and a bit more awake, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction.
Make A New Cult Every Day
October 27, 2017 discord - FhDmwQx
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
"Oh, I'm sure I knew it at some point."
Alton chuckled and reached up, rubbing the back of his head like he was self-conscious. He wasn't. Really, he quite enjoyed Ariana's consternation, but that wasn't really something to advertise. Often, self-deprecation came most naturally to him in the areas he felt most confident in. After all, if made fun of himself for something he was good at, then he was just messing around. He knew that, whatever level of sincerity his conversational partner might read into it. If he poked at an actual weakness of his, though, then that felt worse, somehow. It felt downbeat, angsty in a way that wasn't him.
"I find I do best if I give myself a little flexibility," he continued. "Know the grammar, know the vocab, then improvise. If I'm trying to go off a script, I just feel so dry. Like I'm turning into McClellan."
He did another little check of his surroundings before adding that last bit, in a more showy manner this time, craning his neck back and forth, hand sliding smoothly from the back of his head to his brow, shading his eyes like he was an artillery spotter. Mr. McClellan was not the sort to appear from the shadows slinging detentions left and right. In fact, Alton could've probably said what he'd just said to the man's face and gotten away with it if he'd punctuated it with a laugh and a wink at just the right moment. McClellan would go into one of his spiels about how, no, Alton was just being lazy, and Alton would agree with him in a humorous way, make fun of himself a little, and all would be well again.
That self-deprecation wouldn't be painful for him either, because it was sort of true but in a way a little different than what most of the teachers thought. Alton didn't blow off assignments because they were hard. He didn't skip things merely because they took up a lot of time. If something grasped his interest, he'd be at it for hours if need be. He'd stayed up late more than once pouring over proofs, trying to figure out how the fundamental building blocks of mathematics all originated from a few core laws and then justified themselves. No, the problem with most of what the teachers gave them was that it was dull, mindless, and without practical value. If Alton would gain nothing from doing it as intended, what was the harm in delegating?
"And you?" He grinned at Ariana, his hand returning to his side, thumb hooking into his hip pocket. "Has Madame Moretti worked out all her lines in advance, just so? Or will you roll with the punches too?"
Alton chuckled and reached up, rubbing the back of his head like he was self-conscious. He wasn't. Really, he quite enjoyed Ariana's consternation, but that wasn't really something to advertise. Often, self-deprecation came most naturally to him in the areas he felt most confident in. After all, if made fun of himself for something he was good at, then he was just messing around. He knew that, whatever level of sincerity his conversational partner might read into it. If he poked at an actual weakness of his, though, then that felt worse, somehow. It felt downbeat, angsty in a way that wasn't him.
"I find I do best if I give myself a little flexibility," he continued. "Know the grammar, know the vocab, then improvise. If I'm trying to go off a script, I just feel so dry. Like I'm turning into McClellan."
He did another little check of his surroundings before adding that last bit, in a more showy manner this time, craning his neck back and forth, hand sliding smoothly from the back of his head to his brow, shading his eyes like he was an artillery spotter. Mr. McClellan was not the sort to appear from the shadows slinging detentions left and right. In fact, Alton could've probably said what he'd just said to the man's face and gotten away with it if he'd punctuated it with a laugh and a wink at just the right moment. McClellan would go into one of his spiels about how, no, Alton was just being lazy, and Alton would agree with him in a humorous way, make fun of himself a little, and all would be well again.
That self-deprecation wouldn't be painful for him either, because it was sort of true but in a way a little different than what most of the teachers thought. Alton didn't blow off assignments because they were hard. He didn't skip things merely because they took up a lot of time. If something grasped his interest, he'd be at it for hours if need be. He'd stayed up late more than once pouring over proofs, trying to figure out how the fundamental building blocks of mathematics all originated from a few core laws and then justified themselves. No, the problem with most of what the teachers gave them was that it was dull, mindless, and without practical value. If Alton would gain nothing from doing it as intended, what was the harm in delegating?
"And you?" He grinned at Ariana, his hand returning to his side, thumb hooking into his hip pocket. "Has Madame Moretti worked out all her lines in advance, just so? Or will you roll with the punches too?"
Taking another sip from her thermos, Ariana was finally starting to feel the fugue of a less-than-adequate night's sleep floating away from her mind. It was just as well that she'd at least be arriving to class with a minimum of brain power, considering the task at hand. As Alton cracked wise at the expense of probably the most boring teacher in the school, she couldn't help but allow herself a sharp laugh. As the funnel of students slowly allowed them to glimpse their final destination, she simply nodded in agreement and considered his words for a moment. Alton Gerow was an interesting, multilayered individual, she decided. His casual demeanour was obviously practiced, and he was flippant in a way that most people would mistake for someone who truly didn't care.
Ariana Moretti wasn't most people, though. She thought herself to be a fairly good judge of character, and Alton certainly wasn't someone who didn't care. In fact to her, it seemed the opposite. At his flourish on her name and his question, she smiled and laughed again. A charmer, too. Naturally.
"Me?" Grimacing, she shook her head. "No, I've got the same basic idea in my head, but I think I'm good enough with the language that I should be able to just fill in the blanks. Pretty well the same way you're doing it." She smirked at him. "Context is everything, right?"
They were almost at the door now. A few students were still clustered in front of it, so getting in to the classroom itself was still but a moment away. Shifting the pack on her shoulder, Ariana grabbed her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, and glanced at the time. A minute to the bell. Looking back at Alton, she subtly sized him up once more. As her mind was starting to feel the perks of awareness (and a bunch of caffeine), she felt her curiosity piqued. There was a lot under the surface here. Perhaps her initial impressions of him as a pretty-boy were misplaced.
Still, though - whatever was under the surface, it rose another unexpected feeling within her; caution. Which, in the most absurd kind of way made Ariana more interested in just why her sixth sense was nagging at her. Allowing her body language to remain relaxed (she was, after all, still a bit tired), she blinked the last few remnants of sleep out of her eyes. As they arrived at the door, Ariana stuffed her phone back into her pocket, glancing back up at Alton as they waited to get in.
"This should be an interesting morning I'm now very interested in seeing what you've come up with," she echoed his verbal flourish with a wry smile, "Monsieur Gerow."
Ariana Moretti wasn't most people, though. She thought herself to be a fairly good judge of character, and Alton certainly wasn't someone who didn't care. In fact to her, it seemed the opposite. At his flourish on her name and his question, she smiled and laughed again. A charmer, too. Naturally.
"Me?" Grimacing, she shook her head. "No, I've got the same basic idea in my head, but I think I'm good enough with the language that I should be able to just fill in the blanks. Pretty well the same way you're doing it." She smirked at him. "Context is everything, right?"
They were almost at the door now. A few students were still clustered in front of it, so getting in to the classroom itself was still but a moment away. Shifting the pack on her shoulder, Ariana grabbed her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, and glanced at the time. A minute to the bell. Looking back at Alton, she subtly sized him up once more. As her mind was starting to feel the perks of awareness (and a bunch of caffeine), she felt her curiosity piqued. There was a lot under the surface here. Perhaps her initial impressions of him as a pretty-boy were misplaced.
Still, though - whatever was under the surface, it rose another unexpected feeling within her; caution. Which, in the most absurd kind of way made Ariana more interested in just why her sixth sense was nagging at her. Allowing her body language to remain relaxed (she was, after all, still a bit tired), she blinked the last few remnants of sleep out of her eyes. As they arrived at the door, Ariana stuffed her phone back into her pocket, glancing back up at Alton as they waited to get in.
"This should be an interesting morning I'm now very interested in seeing what you've come up with," she echoed his verbal flourish with a wry smile, "Monsieur Gerow."
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
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"Yes indeed," Alton said, with a smile and a nod. "And the feeling is mutual."
He was in fact quite interested in what Ariana would pull off. Class presentations were an excellent way to get a feel for other students and how they chose to represent themselves when they didn't think anyone was paying much attention. There were subtle little tells, indications that someone cared or didn't, flourishes or showing off or subtle notes of rebellion or apathy or disdain. It quickly sifted the creative from the dull. Alton had little patience for the latter, most of the time. Ariana had expressed a measure of skepticism towards Alton's ability to perform, yet believed she could do the same. That confidence caught his attention. The little implied slight, though he assumed she probably didn't mean it that way, piqued his interest and a vague notion that he might take a shot at competing, if the feeling persisted.
Into the room he went, sliding into his assigned desk just as the bell rang. That sound was a welcome distraction from the discomfort of the seating arrangement. Most classrooms had left-handed desks, but the French room was not one of them; if one had once been present, it had been broken or stored or swiped long ago. Alton thus sat behind a right-handed desk at a slight angle, which perhaps gave him a certain air of casualness to his liking, but made it take longer to sit or to stand than a proper seating arrangement would've.
Of course, that wasn't what really rankled about the whole situation. The desks in class just felt so childish. Freshmen had their French I classes here, and really there was little difference from the furnishings of any middle school. Alton did not see himself as a kid, not anymore. Not for a long time, truthfully, but now he was at an age where he could start to be more upfront about that without begin thought presumptuous or simply adorably precocious. He could go wherever he wanted, could take off tomorrow if the urge struck him and wake up in three days in a different state and get a job and live whatever sort of life he wanted, high school nothing but an irritating memory growing ever fainter. If it had been much longer to graduation, perhaps he really would've.
Alton didn't sigh; he made a point to keep a check on unnecessary telegraphing of his private mental state. The urge was there, though. He looked around, let his gaze linger on Ariana for a moment, then scanned his other classmates, most of them waiting attentively. Ariana was cute, he thought. Nice smile. He really probably should spare a little thought for his presentation. It might be good to volunteer to go first. The first presentation always set the bar, got the easiest grading, and benefited if the unwilling follow-up turned out to be somebody unprepared.
Where was Madame Clarke-Moone, anyways? It wasn't like her to be—Alton checked the clock on the wall—almost a minute and a half late.
He was in fact quite interested in what Ariana would pull off. Class presentations were an excellent way to get a feel for other students and how they chose to represent themselves when they didn't think anyone was paying much attention. There were subtle little tells, indications that someone cared or didn't, flourishes or showing off or subtle notes of rebellion or apathy or disdain. It quickly sifted the creative from the dull. Alton had little patience for the latter, most of the time. Ariana had expressed a measure of skepticism towards Alton's ability to perform, yet believed she could do the same. That confidence caught his attention. The little implied slight, though he assumed she probably didn't mean it that way, piqued his interest and a vague notion that he might take a shot at competing, if the feeling persisted.
Into the room he went, sliding into his assigned desk just as the bell rang. That sound was a welcome distraction from the discomfort of the seating arrangement. Most classrooms had left-handed desks, but the French room was not one of them; if one had once been present, it had been broken or stored or swiped long ago. Alton thus sat behind a right-handed desk at a slight angle, which perhaps gave him a certain air of casualness to his liking, but made it take longer to sit or to stand than a proper seating arrangement would've.
Of course, that wasn't what really rankled about the whole situation. The desks in class just felt so childish. Freshmen had their French I classes here, and really there was little difference from the furnishings of any middle school. Alton did not see himself as a kid, not anymore. Not for a long time, truthfully, but now he was at an age where he could start to be more upfront about that without begin thought presumptuous or simply adorably precocious. He could go wherever he wanted, could take off tomorrow if the urge struck him and wake up in three days in a different state and get a job and live whatever sort of life he wanted, high school nothing but an irritating memory growing ever fainter. If it had been much longer to graduation, perhaps he really would've.
Alton didn't sigh; he made a point to keep a check on unnecessary telegraphing of his private mental state. The urge was there, though. He looked around, let his gaze linger on Ariana for a moment, then scanned his other classmates, most of them waiting attentively. Ariana was cute, he thought. Nice smile. He really probably should spare a little thought for his presentation. It might be good to volunteer to go first. The first presentation always set the bar, got the easiest grading, and benefited if the unwilling follow-up turned out to be somebody unprepared.
Where was Madame Clarke-Moone, anyways? It wasn't like her to be—Alton checked the clock on the wall—almost a minute and a half late.
The last few minutes of relative freedom before the first class of the day were a slice of time for important things, like shoveling an entire yogurt and granola parfait into one's mouth.
Which was to say, Siyanda had been in a rush this morning and opted for breakfast on the go, and then "on the go" had translated into "the literal last minute". It wasn't too common an occurrence, and when it did happen, Siyanda tried to make sure that it was on the days when ze didn't have French first period. Ze was in the top ten of the class (that was top ten students, not percent, and Caroline Ford had better watch her back), so ze could sometimes get away with things like snacking in class, depending on the teacher. Madame Clarke-Moone usually wasn't one of the teachers who gave a pass on food, unfortunately.
She seemed to be uncharacteristically late herself today, though, so Siyanda was making the most of it. Ze spared a glance for Alton and little more as he took the desk next to zem. He'd always rubbed zem the wrong way for reasons ze couldn't explain. Ze just got vibes. It might have been the way ze occasionally saw him flirting with underclassmen girls that aroused some sort of hardwired older sibling distaste in zem. Ze certainly would have sooner stabbed Alton than let him weasel his way into Faiza's personal space.
The first minute of class ticked by with no teacher, and other students began to mutter among themselves as the critical seconds required for establishing order at the start of class slipped away. It was all fine by Siyanda, frankly, even if it was unexpected. It gave zem a chance to finish zir food and mentally go over zir presentation. Siyanda much preferred written assignments over oral ones, but that was a rare break to catch in the language classes. Best to milk the precious few minutes of reprieve for what they were worth.
(They were worth exactly one yogurt and granola parfait and the decision to change the opening sentence of your presentation at the last minute if anybody asked, which they didn't.)
Which was to say, Siyanda had been in a rush this morning and opted for breakfast on the go, and then "on the go" had translated into "the literal last minute". It wasn't too common an occurrence, and when it did happen, Siyanda tried to make sure that it was on the days when ze didn't have French first period. Ze was in the top ten of the class (that was top ten students, not percent, and Caroline Ford had better watch her back), so ze could sometimes get away with things like snacking in class, depending on the teacher. Madame Clarke-Moone usually wasn't one of the teachers who gave a pass on food, unfortunately.
She seemed to be uncharacteristically late herself today, though, so Siyanda was making the most of it. Ze spared a glance for Alton and little more as he took the desk next to zem. He'd always rubbed zem the wrong way for reasons ze couldn't explain. Ze just got vibes. It might have been the way ze occasionally saw him flirting with underclassmen girls that aroused some sort of hardwired older sibling distaste in zem. Ze certainly would have sooner stabbed Alton than let him weasel his way into Faiza's personal space.
The first minute of class ticked by with no teacher, and other students began to mutter among themselves as the critical seconds required for establishing order at the start of class slipped away. It was all fine by Siyanda, frankly, even if it was unexpected. It gave zem a chance to finish zir food and mentally go over zir presentation. Siyanda much preferred written assignments over oral ones, but that was a rare break to catch in the language classes. Best to milk the precious few minutes of reprieve for what they were worth.
(They were worth exactly one yogurt and granola parfait and the decision to change the opening sentence of your presentation at the last minute if anybody asked, which they didn't.)
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
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Bert was pretty much convinced at this point that she was the only morning person left on the face of the Earth.
When she woke up this morning and got ready for her walk to school, she didn't even make time for breakfast. Last night had been ice skating practice, which, at the moment, left her pretty much exhausted, but waking up she didn't even feel hungry. Her mother made a face at her when she walked straight past the kitchen and out the door after she brushed her teeth and showered. A couple of her friends had complained to her before about needing a whole lot of energy bars and/or chocolate chip toaster waffles before they got a little inkling of gas in their tank, but Bert often skipped the 'most important meal of the day' because she knew that was just a myth the coocoo for cocoa puffs bird made up to launder money for his cocaine habit.
Coocoo for Cocaine snuffs! Coocoo for Cocaine snuffs!!
Something like that. Oh, and no point in bringing up coffee. She never drank it when she needed it, only recreationally, thanks. As she strode into the building, made her way to the french classroom, and sat down, she passed approximately seven zombies, two conversing skeletons, and what looked like a mummy lost on his way to the history department. And a person who literally just, holy shit, turned a corner and bumped into a wall, and apologized to it?
The presentation didn't have her worried either. It wasn't the most lavishly decorated thing, but Madame Clarke-Moone loved her so it didn't matter. She helped with her college essay, wrote her a recommendation letter—plus a specifically in-french one for the Canadian university she had applied to, but been rejected from, but okay effort appreciated yeah?—and was all around warm and forgiving to her in a way that didn't make Bert look too much like a teacher's pet but did, she felt, draw attention.
Her assigned seat was towards the front of the classroom, two seats away from the teacher's desk. It was a little weird for her to not be here yet. Siyanda came in, Bert waved, suppressed a Selamat Pagi!, waited, Alton and Ariana came in, Bert waved a little less enthusiastically but still with a smile. Alton was a Fun Party Person, but was a real hardass about weed, which annoyed Bert because she really, really wanted to know what he was like high. Ariana was also a Fun Party Person but Bert couldn't tell whether more or less than Alton. They all sat somewhere behind Bert, by proxy. If they didn't, Bert knew she'd have a real hard time dotting her ouis and crossing her vous, hon hon.
When it became more clear that Madame Clarke-Moon was tied up somewhere, Bert took out her phone and started to scroll through Facebook.
When she woke up this morning and got ready for her walk to school, she didn't even make time for breakfast. Last night had been ice skating practice, which, at the moment, left her pretty much exhausted, but waking up she didn't even feel hungry. Her mother made a face at her when she walked straight past the kitchen and out the door after she brushed her teeth and showered. A couple of her friends had complained to her before about needing a whole lot of energy bars and/or chocolate chip toaster waffles before they got a little inkling of gas in their tank, but Bert often skipped the 'most important meal of the day' because she knew that was just a myth the coocoo for cocoa puffs bird made up to launder money for his cocaine habit.
Coocoo for Cocaine snuffs! Coocoo for Cocaine snuffs!!
Something like that. Oh, and no point in bringing up coffee. She never drank it when she needed it, only recreationally, thanks. As she strode into the building, made her way to the french classroom, and sat down, she passed approximately seven zombies, two conversing skeletons, and what looked like a mummy lost on his way to the history department. And a person who literally just, holy shit, turned a corner and bumped into a wall, and apologized to it?
The presentation didn't have her worried either. It wasn't the most lavishly decorated thing, but Madame Clarke-Moone loved her so it didn't matter. She helped with her college essay, wrote her a recommendation letter—plus a specifically in-french one for the Canadian university she had applied to, but been rejected from, but okay effort appreciated yeah?—and was all around warm and forgiving to her in a way that didn't make Bert look too much like a teacher's pet but did, she felt, draw attention.
Her assigned seat was towards the front of the classroom, two seats away from the teacher's desk. It was a little weird for her to not be here yet. Siyanda came in, Bert waved, suppressed a Selamat Pagi!, waited, Alton and Ariana came in, Bert waved a little less enthusiastically but still with a smile. Alton was a Fun Party Person, but was a real hardass about weed, which annoyed Bert because she really, really wanted to know what he was like high. Ariana was also a Fun Party Person but Bert couldn't tell whether more or less than Alton. They all sat somewhere behind Bert, by proxy. If they didn't, Bert knew she'd have a real hard time dotting her ouis and crossing her vous, hon hon.
When it became more clear that Madame Clarke-Moon was tied up somewhere, Bert took out her phone and started to scroll through Facebook.
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- Giving Alton a smirk as they entered the classroom, Ariana meandered over to her assigned seat, taking another long sip from her coffee thermos as she slid into her desk, letting her purse and knapsack rest on the floor beside her. Finally at a seated position, she assessed the room. The gang was all here - if by gang, she meant the majority of the class. There weren't any egregious absences today, outside of Madame Clarke-Moone being unusually tardy. She'd returned the wave that Liberty had given them as they'd entered the classroom. That was nice, though Liberty seemed to have an endless stream of early-morning energy that Ariana knew she'd never possess. Good on her, she mused as she took another sip of her coffee.
Alton had sat down next to Siyanda, whom Ariana knew casually, though not well. Ze was generally nice enough, but a little standoffish. Unlike Alton, Siyanda seemed far more interested in preparing for the upcoming presentation, inhaling what looked like a parfait as ze looked at zir notes. Ariana's stomach growled a little. Outside of the coffee, she hadn't eaten much of anything, and what she wouldn't give for a little snack of her own. Sighing, Ariana glanced at the clock on the wall. It was very unlike the teacher to be late at all, she was often there to greet them with whatever French phrase or greeting she had for the day. Perhaps they'd get lucky and she wouldn't show up at all. Were that the case, Ariana knew a visit to the cafeteria was in her immediate future. For some breakfast, and a refill on her coffee; though the shitty cafeteria coffee wasn't exactly to the same level as her home-brew.
After a few moments of sitting around and allowing her senses to come back to her, the teacher still had yet to arrive, so Ariana figured she'd start the proverbial spark, her voice usually loud enough to carry in the best of times, let alone a room.
"So it's what, fifteen minutes late and we can all leave?"
She took another sip from the thermos, emptying it. Dammit.
Alton had sat down next to Siyanda, whom Ariana knew casually, though not well. Ze was generally nice enough, but a little standoffish. Unlike Alton, Siyanda seemed far more interested in preparing for the upcoming presentation, inhaling what looked like a parfait as ze looked at zir notes. Ariana's stomach growled a little. Outside of the coffee, she hadn't eaten much of anything, and what she wouldn't give for a little snack of her own. Sighing, Ariana glanced at the clock on the wall. It was very unlike the teacher to be late at all, she was often there to greet them with whatever French phrase or greeting she had for the day. Perhaps they'd get lucky and she wouldn't show up at all. Were that the case, Ariana knew a visit to the cafeteria was in her immediate future. For some breakfast, and a refill on her coffee; though the shitty cafeteria coffee wasn't exactly to the same level as her home-brew.
After a few moments of sitting around and allowing her senses to come back to her, the teacher still had yet to arrive, so Ariana figured she'd start the proverbial spark, her voice usually loud enough to carry in the best of times, let alone a room.
"So it's what, fifteen minutes late and we can all leave?"
She took another sip from the thermos, emptying it. Dammit.
God, people were so whiny. Paloma was plenty used to people acting like they were dying of the Black Death. Like, yeah, you're sleepy, but so is literally everyone else in the building. If Paloma could sit quietly at her desk without falling over, so could everyone else. It wasn't hard.
Paloma rubbed her eyes again as she finished scrolling through her feed. Nothing had happened since she'd checked after getting up, but sometimes something nuts went down right away and it sucked to miss out on that. Besides, what else was she going to do? Rehearse? Babbling to herself in French was a waste of time; last minute recitations wouldn't make much difference, since she was already prepared.
People seemed to hate French. Those people were stupid. Paloma didn't get that either; all the romance languages were almost the same, and half the time they were almost the same in English too. 'Agréable' was nice, and like, being 'agreeable' was practically the same thing. Not hard to remember.
At the very least, everyone being dead in the morning meant she didn't have to listen to their stupid whatever. The class also had some people who were actually decent students, so Paloma tried to be nice to them so she could have partners that could actually spell in English, if not in French.
The teacher was still not here. Paloma put her phone screen-down on the desk looked up at the clock, and could immediately tell that 1) everyone else was doing the same thing and 2) she was right and Mrs. Clarke-Moon wasn't here. Ugh. Paloma sagged a little. She assumed everyone else was excited that they didn't have to start yet, but that was dumb; it just meant that if you hated the class, you now had to wait longer to get it over with.
Paloma heard Ariana call out and smirked. She liked Ariana; she was smart and didn't just let stupid shit go down. Paloma could respect that. She also liked Ariana for having goals like her; Paloma was going to strangle the next person who answered 'I dunno' when asked what they were going to do after school. You've got 18 years to figure it out; Paloma had done it in 16.
"I think that's a myth. I wish." She crossed her arms on her desk and smiled sympathetically at Ariana. As much as the class starting late sucked, it'd be nice to skip it entirely. The class wasn't hard, it was just boring. She had better things to do.
Paloma rubbed her eyes again as she finished scrolling through her feed. Nothing had happened since she'd checked after getting up, but sometimes something nuts went down right away and it sucked to miss out on that. Besides, what else was she going to do? Rehearse? Babbling to herself in French was a waste of time; last minute recitations wouldn't make much difference, since she was already prepared.
People seemed to hate French. Those people were stupid. Paloma didn't get that either; all the romance languages were almost the same, and half the time they were almost the same in English too. 'Agréable' was nice, and like, being 'agreeable' was practically the same thing. Not hard to remember.
At the very least, everyone being dead in the morning meant she didn't have to listen to their stupid whatever. The class also had some people who were actually decent students, so Paloma tried to be nice to them so she could have partners that could actually spell in English, if not in French.
The teacher was still not here. Paloma put her phone screen-down on the desk looked up at the clock, and could immediately tell that 1) everyone else was doing the same thing and 2) she was right and Mrs. Clarke-Moon wasn't here. Ugh. Paloma sagged a little. She assumed everyone else was excited that they didn't have to start yet, but that was dumb; it just meant that if you hated the class, you now had to wait longer to get it over with.
Paloma heard Ariana call out and smirked. She liked Ariana; she was smart and didn't just let stupid shit go down. Paloma could respect that. She also liked Ariana for having goals like her; Paloma was going to strangle the next person who answered 'I dunno' when asked what they were going to do after school. You've got 18 years to figure it out; Paloma had done it in 16.
"I think that's a myth. I wish." She crossed her arms on her desk and smiled sympathetically at Ariana. As much as the class starting late sucked, it'd be nice to skip it entirely. The class wasn't hard, it was just boring. She had better things to do.
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MurderWeasel
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- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Time ticked along. Alton took stock of those near him as he waited.
Siyanda had always seemed intriguing in a way, and not just because ze used a different set of pronouns. Ze sometimes came off as a little too distant with Alton, but so far as he'd been able to ascertain he hadn't done anything to earn their ire. That was okay. He didn't need to be universally beloved, and perhaps he was mistaken.
Bert was someone who frequented some of the same social scenes he did. She was positively tiny, which paired with her voice to make her come off as a sheer bundle of energy younger than her actual age. A shame about the drugs; so many in their class did them, but Alton could never quite wrap his head around the appeal. A way to lower inhibitions? Could they not just choose to lower their inhibitions from time to time? It wasn't quite the same as alcohol, either. Alcohol had a certain culture of sophistication about it, while weed was the screaming infant breaking up the chemical party with a tantrum of poorly-drawn leaves and lowbrow humor.
Paloma, who was barely larger than Bert, was comparatively level-headed, as she showcased by shutting down Ariana's musing about their potential release. Alton thought it likely, of course, that if Madame Clarke-Moone was actually fifteen minutes late then she'd never show up, not without someone coming in her stead to deliver a message or explanation. She was too responsible a teacher for that; an unexplained absence would likely be indicative of catastrophe, a car crash maybe, or a slip getting out of the shower.
Before that musing could carry much further or Alton could scan those at greater distance to take in their reactions to the novel situation in which they found themselves, an older man entered the room. He was perhaps three inches shorter than Alton, balding, with a bristly salt-and-pepper colored mustache that was saved from evoking Hitler only due to its considerable width. The man wore a dark green sweater vest over a white long-sleeved shirt and khakis, and the folder he carried under his arm revealed his purpose to Alton moments before he opened his mouth and confirmed it.
"Bonjour, tout le monde" the man said. "Je m'appelle Monsieur Planck, et je suis vos professeur aujourd'hui. Madame Clarke-Moone a la grippe, et..."
But that was as far as Alton could follow, because while the man spoke French with full confidence and an ease of flow, his pronunciation was decidedly different in a dozen subtle ways from their normal teacher's, combining with his speed to render him largely unintelligible. Alton did catch a snippet that sounded a lot like "Je viens de Belgique," though, and a few seconds later, perhaps sensing the wave of incomprehension that was rippling over the class, Monsieur Planck sighed and started again, this time in accented English.
"Hello, everyone," he said. "My name is Monsieur Planck, and I am Belgian. Madame Clarke-Moone is ill today, so was unable to attend. I have been asked to relay her apology for this, and to inform you that all presentations have been delayed until next week. You are to use this period to hone your presentations in anticipation of higher standards given your extra time, and to work on the homework which I will write on the board presently. As always, you may converse and assist one another, so long as you do so in French. I will be here to answer any questions you may have. Please come up at some point during the lesson and I will mark you present on the attendance. Bonne chance."
With that, he jotted a set of page numbers and problems on the whiteboard in meticulous and clean script, then settled into the seat behind Madame Clarke-Moone's desk. He gave off a vibe of mild disinterest, just how Alton liked substitutes that were not in some fashion engaging in their own rights. His favorite, of course, was the substitute teacher who spent his free time performing magic tricks and often demoed them on the class, though that man probably did not speak French.
"Pauvre Madame Clarke-Moone," Alton said, to nobody in particular but directed more or less at those around him. "Mais, c'est intéressant, oui?"
Siyanda had always seemed intriguing in a way, and not just because ze used a different set of pronouns. Ze sometimes came off as a little too distant with Alton, but so far as he'd been able to ascertain he hadn't done anything to earn their ire. That was okay. He didn't need to be universally beloved, and perhaps he was mistaken.
Bert was someone who frequented some of the same social scenes he did. She was positively tiny, which paired with her voice to make her come off as a sheer bundle of energy younger than her actual age. A shame about the drugs; so many in their class did them, but Alton could never quite wrap his head around the appeal. A way to lower inhibitions? Could they not just choose to lower their inhibitions from time to time? It wasn't quite the same as alcohol, either. Alcohol had a certain culture of sophistication about it, while weed was the screaming infant breaking up the chemical party with a tantrum of poorly-drawn leaves and lowbrow humor.
Paloma, who was barely larger than Bert, was comparatively level-headed, as she showcased by shutting down Ariana's musing about their potential release. Alton thought it likely, of course, that if Madame Clarke-Moone was actually fifteen minutes late then she'd never show up, not without someone coming in her stead to deliver a message or explanation. She was too responsible a teacher for that; an unexplained absence would likely be indicative of catastrophe, a car crash maybe, or a slip getting out of the shower.
Before that musing could carry much further or Alton could scan those at greater distance to take in their reactions to the novel situation in which they found themselves, an older man entered the room. He was perhaps three inches shorter than Alton, balding, with a bristly salt-and-pepper colored mustache that was saved from evoking Hitler only due to its considerable width. The man wore a dark green sweater vest over a white long-sleeved shirt and khakis, and the folder he carried under his arm revealed his purpose to Alton moments before he opened his mouth and confirmed it.
"Bonjour, tout le monde" the man said. "Je m'appelle Monsieur Planck, et je suis vos professeur aujourd'hui. Madame Clarke-Moone a la grippe, et..."
But that was as far as Alton could follow, because while the man spoke French with full confidence and an ease of flow, his pronunciation was decidedly different in a dozen subtle ways from their normal teacher's, combining with his speed to render him largely unintelligible. Alton did catch a snippet that sounded a lot like "Je viens de Belgique," though, and a few seconds later, perhaps sensing the wave of incomprehension that was rippling over the class, Monsieur Planck sighed and started again, this time in accented English.
"Hello, everyone," he said. "My name is Monsieur Planck, and I am Belgian. Madame Clarke-Moone is ill today, so was unable to attend. I have been asked to relay her apology for this, and to inform you that all presentations have been delayed until next week. You are to use this period to hone your presentations in anticipation of higher standards given your extra time, and to work on the homework which I will write on the board presently. As always, you may converse and assist one another, so long as you do so in French. I will be here to answer any questions you may have. Please come up at some point during the lesson and I will mark you present on the attendance. Bonne chance."
With that, he jotted a set of page numbers and problems on the whiteboard in meticulous and clean script, then settled into the seat behind Madame Clarke-Moone's desk. He gave off a vibe of mild disinterest, just how Alton liked substitutes that were not in some fashion engaging in their own rights. His favorite, of course, was the substitute teacher who spent his free time performing magic tricks and often demoed them on the class, though that man probably did not speak French.
"Pauvre Madame Clarke-Moone," Alton said, to nobody in particular but directed more or less at those around him. "Mais, c'est intéressant, oui?"
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
- Location: Here And There Along The Echo
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"Oui," Bert said, turning around in her seat, "il est très triste."
And that was just about enough French for today.
When Clarke-Moone was gone, Bert lost most of her motivation to speak French in class because it didn't feel like anyone else was quite as natural with it as the two of them. Some came close, but there was always a lilt of trying-too-hard attached. Alton was no different, and neither were the people surrounding him on this particular morning. She decided that she'd speak French to the sub and whatever, but he probably wouldn't care about English as long as they were quiet about it. Not everyone had that gusto, that, what was a word that totally sucked, that moxie that Bert found she had in the morning.
Not getting to give the presentation, that was sad. She was really looking forward to telling everybody about her summer trip up to Quebec, and getting to see Stromae perform in concert. She had a whole side note thingy about who Stromae was, for all the losers who didn't know about maybe the best current French artist. "Formidable" was stuck in her head now, but it'd be something different later. She wasn't even a huge music person, and maybe that was why he was so appealing, because he sounded kinda easy to comprehend, but he was still pretty cool.
Briefly, she considered walking over to Alton and company and sitting on the floor with them. Briefly, because it only took a couple seconds before she decided to do exactly that, bringing her French binder and notebook with her, but not her pencils.
"If I'm going to sit around bored," she said quietly, "might as well do it with mes amis."
And that was just about enough French for today.
When Clarke-Moone was gone, Bert lost most of her motivation to speak French in class because it didn't feel like anyone else was quite as natural with it as the two of them. Some came close, but there was always a lilt of trying-too-hard attached. Alton was no different, and neither were the people surrounding him on this particular morning. She decided that she'd speak French to the sub and whatever, but he probably wouldn't care about English as long as they were quiet about it. Not everyone had that gusto, that, what was a word that totally sucked, that moxie that Bert found she had in the morning.
Not getting to give the presentation, that was sad. She was really looking forward to telling everybody about her summer trip up to Quebec, and getting to see Stromae perform in concert. She had a whole side note thingy about who Stromae was, for all the losers who didn't know about maybe the best current French artist. "Formidable" was stuck in her head now, but it'd be something different later. She wasn't even a huge music person, and maybe that was why he was so appealing, because he sounded kinda easy to comprehend, but he was still pretty cool.
Briefly, she considered walking over to Alton and company and sitting on the floor with them. Briefly, because it only took a couple seconds before she decided to do exactly that, bringing her French binder and notebook with her, but not her pencils.
"If I'm going to sit around bored," she said quietly, "might as well do it with mes amis."
It took about two minutes, maybe ninety seconds even, for the class to collectively give up on trying at anything for the day. Siyanda had just enough time to go through the five stages of grief over not being able to present during that sweet spot where ze felt prepared but hadn't been able to overthink, and then get over it.
Ze closed up the container that had held zir breakfast and stowed it in zir bookbag, then settled zir elbows on the desk and propped zir chin on zir folded hands, looking down at Bert. "You could pull up a chair," ze remarked. That would disrupt the general order of the class, but sitting on the floor couldn't be any better in that sense. Of course if Bert, who probably loved French class and Madame Clarke-Moone specifically more than anybody, had stopped caring, it was a pretty good sign that the order of the day was no order at all.
...Well, maybe with the extra time, Siyanda could review zir notes for pre-calc. In a minute.
Ze closed up the container that had held zir breakfast and stowed it in zir bookbag, then settled zir elbows on the desk and propped zir chin on zir folded hands, looking down at Bert. "You could pull up a chair," ze remarked. That would disrupt the general order of the class, but sitting on the floor couldn't be any better in that sense. Of course if Bert, who probably loved French class and Madame Clarke-Moone specifically more than anybody, had stopped caring, it was a pretty good sign that the order of the day was no order at all.
...Well, maybe with the extra time, Siyanda could review zir notes for pre-calc. In a minute.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ariana's attention went from her fellow classmates to the strange man at the front of the room. As he identified himself as a substitute, any attempt that she would have made to speak French for the remainder of the period flooded out of her, and she immediately felt the same disinterest in being there as the substitute seemed to. Great - a work period; not exactly the best use of anyone's time. Ariana wondered how often teachers expected that work periods would result in anything other than students messing around and talking amongst themselves? The classroom environment wasn't exactly what she would call a great study space. For her own personal study methods, she preferred to be curled up on a couch or in a corner somewhere, textbooks and binders spread out and allowed to breathe.
Turning around in her chair, she joined the group that had formed on the floor, turning backwards and leaning on the back of the bland chair that was the same in virtually every room in the school. Settling in with a huffed-out sigh, she looked around at the gathered classmates.
"And," she stretched the first syllable out, "we're stuck here. At least we don't have to present anymore." Ariana yawned. "Just as well, I'm still half asleep. Though I'm disappointed we don't get to see what you had planned for us, Alton."
She was admittedly a little curious. Winging a French presentation wasn't exactly an easy thing, and from his earlier words, he'd obviously had some sort of clever plan. Alas, it would have to wait for another day.
Turning around in her chair, she joined the group that had formed on the floor, turning backwards and leaning on the back of the bland chair that was the same in virtually every room in the school. Settling in with a huffed-out sigh, she looked around at the gathered classmates.
"And," she stretched the first syllable out, "we're stuck here. At least we don't have to present anymore." Ariana yawned. "Just as well, I'm still half asleep. Though I'm disappointed we don't get to see what you had planned for us, Alton."
She was admittedly a little curious. Winging a French presentation wasn't exactly an easy thing, and from his earlier words, he'd obviously had some sort of clever plan. Alas, it would have to wait for another day.
Typical.
Here Paloma was, ready to do this because she was actually a good student, and the forces of the universe conspired to make it a moot point. Maybe now people would take this as a lesson and get ready for-hahaha as if. If they had all this time to prep, an extra class wasn't going to help. It wasn't not having time, it was not having sense.
Paloma had put her phone away when the teacher came in, but had left one hand on it. She'd had a sneaking suspicion that a sub wasn't going to be much of a force of authority, and of course she was right. Immediately after he sat down, she could hear people who were not, in fact, conversing in French. She could hear Ariana doing it too, and that was kind of a shame.
Still, Paloma very quickly became bored. After a brief check of her phone again, Paloma was sure that nothing was going to come of it. Instead, she put her phone in her purse, pulled out her notepad, and started doodling. It was dark outside, still, so she focused her attention on the window, spying a little alcove that was brightly lit by the light from inside.
Taking some drawing pencils from her bag, Paloma started drawing the little patch of light. She had to be quick, of course, because soon the sun would rise and then it would be ruined. She could always do a more detailed version after.
Here Paloma was, ready to do this because she was actually a good student, and the forces of the universe conspired to make it a moot point. Maybe now people would take this as a lesson and get ready for-hahaha as if. If they had all this time to prep, an extra class wasn't going to help. It wasn't not having time, it was not having sense.
Paloma had put her phone away when the teacher came in, but had left one hand on it. She'd had a sneaking suspicion that a sub wasn't going to be much of a force of authority, and of course she was right. Immediately after he sat down, she could hear people who were not, in fact, conversing in French. She could hear Ariana doing it too, and that was kind of a shame.
Still, Paloma very quickly became bored. After a brief check of her phone again, Paloma was sure that nothing was going to come of it. Instead, she put her phone in her purse, pulled out her notepad, and started doodling. It was dark outside, still, so she focused her attention on the window, spying a little alcove that was brightly lit by the light from inside.
Taking some drawing pencils from her bag, Paloma started drawing the little patch of light. She had to be quick, of course, because soon the sun would rise and then it would be ruined. She could always do a more detailed version after.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 2566
- Joined: Thu Aug 09, 2018 1:37 am
Like that, an impromptu circle formed. Bert sat on the floor, which was one of the things Alton appreciated about her, and Siyanda commented on that and the contrast that ze brought was one of the things Alton appreciated about zem. Together, they provided an instant push and pull, one that could either develop into something bigger or stabilize. Either would be alright, though he skewed slightly towards the less peaceable option.
Ariana and Paloma offered less prospect of true respite from the monotony, but were pleasant enough aspects of the diversion. He did appreciate the former's expression of interest in his now-delayed presentation. It was, upon reflection, somewhat notable that this had happened today. For some reason, every time Alton was particularly ill-prepared for a presentation or assignment in French class in particular, somehow or other circumstances would conspire to buy him more time or render his consequences immaterial. This happened in other classes too, and part of it was certainly his ability to notice and capitalize upon opportunities, but in French class it was consistent enough that he was sometimes tempted to push it, just to see what happened.
"C'est la vie," he said to Ariana with a shrug. He followed up with a wink. "I'll polish it over the weekend just for you."
Of course, he intended to do no such thing. Oh, he might roll it around his head a time or two, if it occurred to him, but he hadn't truly properly laid out and rehearsed anything for this class that didn't involve group work in a long time. Sometimes he could even slip out of it when paired with pliable partners, though they didn't always appreciate his casual relationship with the script as written.
He let his eyes wander over the others. They made for a decent enough group to pass what was sure to be a long informal study hall with.
"How are we doing today?" he asked. Then, he took an exaggerated glance at Monsieur Planck and raised his hand to his mouth like he'd just uttered a profanity in the presence of the pope.
"Or, should I say, comment ça va aujourd'hui?"
Ariana and Paloma offered less prospect of true respite from the monotony, but were pleasant enough aspects of the diversion. He did appreciate the former's expression of interest in his now-delayed presentation. It was, upon reflection, somewhat notable that this had happened today. For some reason, every time Alton was particularly ill-prepared for a presentation or assignment in French class in particular, somehow or other circumstances would conspire to buy him more time or render his consequences immaterial. This happened in other classes too, and part of it was certainly his ability to notice and capitalize upon opportunities, but in French class it was consistent enough that he was sometimes tempted to push it, just to see what happened.
"C'est la vie," he said to Ariana with a shrug. He followed up with a wink. "I'll polish it over the weekend just for you."
Of course, he intended to do no such thing. Oh, he might roll it around his head a time or two, if it occurred to him, but he hadn't truly properly laid out and rehearsed anything for this class that didn't involve group work in a long time. Sometimes he could even slip out of it when paired with pliable partners, though they didn't always appreciate his casual relationship with the script as written.
He let his eyes wander over the others. They made for a decent enough group to pass what was sure to be a long informal study hall with.
"How are we doing today?" he asked. Then, he took an exaggerated glance at Monsieur Planck and raised his hand to his mouth like he'd just uttered a profanity in the presence of the pope.
"Or, should I say, comment ça va aujourd'hui?"
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 2:18 am
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"Nah," she assured Siyanda, "I like it down here. Not much different from sitting in a chair. Or standing."
"Très bien," Bert said, meaning every syllable of it, "et toi?"
She did feel pretty good. Between not having to endure presentations (which, okay, Madame was great and all, but presentations were generally not a fun time for the whole class sans her, and that made her feel bad) and getting to sit on the floor and talk to friends and be free for a morning, Bert was having a pretty great day so far. She had AP World History later, which was so far one of her favorite classes (despite the fact that one of the few people that she actively disliked was there—they hadn't interacted with each other too much thus far and probably wouldn't have to), and then her other two periods were cakewalks. During free period, she'd work on her college essay about architecture. Or, she'd watch some anime. Either/or.
But hold on a sec.
"Wait, what was that about Alton?"
She almost missed the chance to say something about it but something Ariana had said had piqued her interest. Alton had something prepared for the class today, or unprepared, or whatever, and Bert wanted to know about it. Usually she politely nodded and smiled and laughed along to other people's presentations and ideas, but Alton usually had genuinely decent ones. When he wasn't being a little anal about some things, like parties and stuff, he was pretty nice.
Then again, she didn't know him too too well. But, well enough. That was not a roadblock, but an adventure.
"Très bien," Bert said, meaning every syllable of it, "et toi?"
She did feel pretty good. Between not having to endure presentations (which, okay, Madame was great and all, but presentations were generally not a fun time for the whole class sans her, and that made her feel bad) and getting to sit on the floor and talk to friends and be free for a morning, Bert was having a pretty great day so far. She had AP World History later, which was so far one of her favorite classes (despite the fact that one of the few people that she actively disliked was there—they hadn't interacted with each other too much thus far and probably wouldn't have to), and then her other two periods were cakewalks. During free period, she'd work on her college essay about architecture. Or, she'd watch some anime. Either/or.
But hold on a sec.
"Wait, what was that about Alton?"
She almost missed the chance to say something about it but something Ariana had said had piqued her interest. Alton had something prepared for the class today, or unprepared, or whatever, and Bert wanted to know about it. Usually she politely nodded and smiled and laughed along to other people's presentations and ideas, but Alton usually had genuinely decent ones. When he wasn't being a little anal about some things, like parties and stuff, he was pretty nice.
Then again, she didn't know him too too well. But, well enough. That was not a roadblock, but an adventure.