Correspondence Scholarship, Class Three [Tuesday Morning, June 24th]

[theexdisgracedacademic]

This week, The Academic was on time for their own class. They’d cleared the chalkboards, refilling them with an extensive list of symbols. Though each clearly corresponded to The Correspondence, not one was scarcely more complex than the radicals they’d learned last week.

“While technically correct, you will almost never see any of these symbols on a plaque or temple wall. We’re still one step away from proper symbols." The Academic stepped away from the display, inviting the eyes of the students to begin to roam over the writing." But put your goggles on now, and look! You can see it now, can’t you?”

Not all of the symbols were rendered in plain white chalk. Every tenth symbol or so, there were tinges of something else, something reddish, or violet, or-

The Academic smacked the dust from their claws. “Yes, there is a touch of violant pigment in some of the chalk. I’m making very, very sparse use of it, in order to assist you in memorization of these patterns and connections. Under regular circumstances, it would take a scholar roughly a year of back-breaking expeditions to The Forgotten Quarter, or Bazaar Back-Alley deals to find and collect scraps of symbols from under the watchful eye of the government.” The Academic clasped their hands behind their back. “Don’t try to memorize it. Simply take your time with it, as you might glance at a broadsheet on your way to the green grocer.”

It wasn’t impossible to look away from. These symbols were laced with neither compulsion nor trickery. If anything, it was little more than a word search. There was no need to read from right to left, when the pattern is as interesting upwards, or diagonal. 

But the longer you look, the less the symbols seem to be aligned into strict rows and columns. The entire thing feels convex. But that can’t be right, because each one is right above the other. Some on either edge of the entire grid have more in common with one another than the ones that are next to them. But why does the noun for “light” have so much in common with the verb for “to commit violence?” Why is your stomach so tight? How does your gut balance that with the satisfying scratching under the surface of your skull, the itching sated again and again by noting which symbols connect to which ones connect to which ones connect to which-

A snap as wood clatters against wood. You aren’t done when The Academic pulls down a second layer of boards, filled with another grid. But when you glance at the wall, over an hour of the class’ time has fled into the void of the past. That feels wrong both ways. You’d only just looked up. But you’d also been playing for days. Playing? Yes, of course. If it hadn’t been fun, you would’ve looked away. But your mind feels as though you’ve finished solving a fiendishly tricky puzzle. Indeed, as you look back to the new symbols, you’re about to connect new information. You’re not just looking.

You’re reading.

The Academic clapped their hands, startling any new reveries before they began. “You may wish to stretch your legs before diving into the next set. These ones shouldn’t take quite as long, but you’ve already been working very hard.”

Faces stirred around the classroom, the other students managing to blink. Each stirring snap of eyelids knocked tears loose to stream down their faces, landing and pooling in the cups of their goggles.

Oh. There was a tickling sensation on your cheek, and a coldness at the rim of your googles. You too. 

Perhaps that break wasn’t such a bad idea.

Once everyone had a good chance to stand up, get a good drink in and a good cry out, The Academic reconvened class. 

“This is applied use of The Correspondence. Heavier usage of violant pigment can force a reader to recall certain words, and there are ways to inscribe symbols in a way that conveys, conducts, or enhances meaning.” The Academic gestured back to the board. “This grid system invites the reader to draw connections, and the use of the faintest dash of violant helps the mind to hold onto important information while continuing to read. This effect is only temporary, but the best study happens when you are able to begin employing the symbols on your own terms. Perhaps the effect could be made permanent if I’d written the entire thing with a stronger shade of violant...” The Academic clucked their tongue against their teeth. “But I’m not looking to burn my readings on these symbols into your mind. It’s much better for me to pass on what I know as a foundation, and to get you building your own voices as quickly as possible.” They tapped their boot on the stone floor, and lifted an eyebrow. “If we wanted everyone to simply agree with me, we might as well throw me into a Rubbery vat and attempt to make copies. But your perspectives are valuable. Irreplaceable. Don’t forget that, while you look at the next set of boards."

As before, the end of class came before anyone was quite done. The Academic rolled up each and every board, spiriting the grids out of sight.

“That’s it. Don’t ask for any more time with them. The correspondence can be highly addictive, but looking at these grids won’t teach you anything else you don’t already know. If you’ve still got the itch, look over your study materials this week. Next week you’ll begin writing in earnest.” 

The Academic gripped their lectern. “You may be experiencing the dread beginning to overtake you. This is normal. Learning languages opens up new ways of thinking. Learning The Correspondence opens up venues of cognition man was not meant to know.” Claws adjusted their monocle, like fingers worrying at a cuff. “And the speed with which you have all broken new ground this week will be…trying. Your sleep tonight will be unpleasant. That is one side effect of studying The Correspondence. Thus, you have two homework tasks this week. First-“ The Academic added this to an empty chalkboard, “-write down one of your nightmares. Especially if a particular vision proves to be recurring. You don’t need to do anything but be aware of it. If a dream repeats, there is a kernel of truth in it, and it’s better to be aware of what it’s telling you.

Second assignment: get rid of the nightmares.” The Academic underlined this, twice. “If they get worse, you’ll be forced to take a stay in hospital, and that will get in the way of your studies, and effectively waste MY time, too. So. Find something soothing. A good meal, time spent with someone you think you can trust, several bottles of opiates. I don’t care what you use, so long as it works. You don’t need to bring it into class; I’ll be able to look in your eyes next week and tell. Anyone who comes into class with a haggard and haunted look will…” The Academic looked from face to face, then smiled.

“…not receive homework points!” They tossed their chalk back to the lip beneath the chalkboard. “That, of course, is all the punishment which I care to offer. If you choose to ignore my warning, then tonight you will immediately receive a somewhat more natural incentive.” They took up a rag and an atomizer of their own, before promptly beginning to clean the chalkboards.

“Class dismissed!”

Comments

Sign In

[theexdisgracedacademic]

Sign in, collapsy-style, each responding to the post above them.

Re: Sign In

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

As Maven came in, she gave Devil a stern look, "Remember what we talked about."

She set down a platter of scones next to the sign in sheet.

[theexdisgracedacademic]

How have you been this week? Now’s a fine time to greet your classmates!

[the_brash_devil]

The Brash Devil sat in his chair, casually eating his scone. He seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone, given he was watching the class door.

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Maven stood by the sign in sheet. She was putting.... certain incidents out of her mind and was focused on the other thing on her mind. Talking to her fellow classmates and gauging their interest in doing a study group outside of class time.

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor sits down and enjoys the scone little bite after little bite on top of a handkerchief, one wouldn't want to get such an elegant class full of crumbs.

This time there weren't bandages (too soakable) nor makeup (Gebrandt's Absolutely Waterproof Makeup was as well the Absolutely Unwashable Makeup, so never again), but a somewhat disquieting featureless white ceramic mask that revealed only the eyes (enough to be goggle-comfortable) and the mouth. Their facial shape changed again, and most likely the body as well, judging by the broader clothes. Is that movement right behind their back?

[themorbidsocialite]

The Morbid Socialite found a place in the classroom to sit and began to pull notes from their gladstone bag. Tularemia slept at the brim of his hat, little chest rising and falling rapidly for sleep, as was expected of small animals with small lungs. The Socialite was careful not to disturb her as he set his hat aside and reviewed two sets of study materials. He only half paid attention to the notes, though, as his fingers lingered close to his lips, as if to hold a feeling there and savor it. His smile was wide, a light blush to his cheeks, and he gave off the air of someone truly enamored with life.

What could possibly have someone with 'morbid' in their title in such a giddy mood?

[theidiosyncraticmechanic]

The Mechanic jaunts back to it's seat with a bit more of a skip in its step. It hums as it lugs out a respectable pile of papers and scrap metal sheets cut small enough to fit in it's tool bag, far and away from the ill-prepared 'not even a notebook' they had last week. Happily chowing down on the snacks provided earlier, it goes to work reviewing them.

[leviathanlovely]

Today was rather nothing special in the appearance of The Undistinguished Pupil, in fact their typical glitz and glamor was cut in half by lacking the presence of a certain bird atop their hats brim...

Even their coat appeared to have dulled somehow; something they would need to discuss with their tailor with on time, but today, truly they were just a indistinguishable Undistinguished Pupil amoung the classroom - a face that would easily melt into the background until they made an effort to speak out.

They unloaded their belongings at the same desk as always and took a deep breath. It wasn't a bad week -- not like last week, just almost busy with a bunch of nothing tasks that ate time like many a tiny cake.

[tolpen]

Before he sinks to his usual seat on the edge of the second row, the Mycologist greets the Professor-Emissary and also any classmate that happens to be close by.
Upon closer inspection, the man hasn't slept much and when he rolls the sleeves of his shirt up, dense writting in a curly script on his skin is revealed. It seems it is a washable ink, already slightly faded.

From the briefcase he produces his mechanical pencil, goggles and a small portable version of Dewar's invention which upon opening fills the room with the smell of spices and coffee. The Soft-Eyed Mycologist takes a few sips of whatever the concontion inside is, and judged by his expression, he's scalded his tongue. He is not deterred whatsoever.

Lecture

[theexdisgracedacademic]

Read the grids. What patterns are beginning to emerge? How does your character feel about them?

Why are they worried about this?

Re: Lecture

[the_brash_devil]

When the class was instructed to look at the violant-tinted symbols, The Brash Devil waited a bit as Maven read the symbols, but was quickly getting bored as time went on. He leaned over and started, "Well it's not-"

Maven quickly raised a finger to her lips, never taking her eyes off the board. She then placed that hand on his arm as she continued to follow the lines of the symbols with her eyes.

Devil furrowed his brow. He'd seen her engrossed in figuring out the Correspondence before but this felt... different.

He looked over at the Academic, covering up with annoyance as per usual, "So what the fuck even is this? Our next assignment is just a word search?"

Re: Lecture

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Professor observes the grids, intently, behind the safety of their goggles. This distribution they haven't seen before, yet they were so beautifully arranged to fit entirely in a single glance, helped by the familiar hues of violant evenly distributed throughout the whole. It felt as if they fitted so well, ones with the others, right? Their slitted pupils became sharper jumping from corner to corner, intersecting lines both regular and irregular. What about an spiral pattern? The result is breathtaking... Literally. So often they stopped breathing altogether, too focused on the matter at hand. But who would notice, facing this beautiful source of wonders?

A first set of familiar meanings fresh in their memory starts forming: "Afflicted with limerence". "Separation". "Lost in a night that never sees starlight". "A place between spheres of influence". "Light/Law". "Master". "Knife-sky-rock". "A place deep underneath, to hide sins and secrets".... One could circle around them for an eternity and reach the same conclusions. It is home, Deep, Dark and Marvelous, but not what they're looking for.

Then tried concepts they know well but never saw in Correspondence: "Shape, matching the self" how curious there's no way of making "A shape" fit. "A star which is a planet". "A binary system/An eternal couple's dance". "To each planet its satellite". "Balance in pulling at opposite directions" hmm... That doesn't quite fit into the poem they were trying to translate. They'll give it a try. Their husband would love to see a Correspondence version of their poem. "A joy found in the many" a fun one to inscribe on the parlor, probably. "To rise higher than the corpse that fed you" where did that come from? Wait-

"Two futures, endlessly cycling". "Alone, physically, never in concept". "Silence, until silence starts speaking". "A crime of amalgamy". "To ascend the Chain in powers of Seven". "Dragon/Punishment/Oblivion". "Dissolution of the Self". "To be no one/Part of a community/A piece in a machine". "A Fate, diving upwards"...

Re: Lecture

[theanachronistictailor]

Exhausted, the Tailor slid their goggles on. They were under no pretenses that class today would be a trial to focus on, with their sorry state; it would be a miracle if their eyes would stay open for the entirety of the..

They looked up.

The...

Time as a body of motion. A mountain made of light.

Their eyes moved across the board like 'flight through wilderness' and it was like they were 'in pursuit of a still-living meal' and what was next? What was next? What would they 'See the bodies in orbit/dance that pulls and pushes without cease' next?

Their exhaustion was gone, and they didn't notice. They were leaning across the table, hands flat on the surface, looking. 'Seeking.' No, not seeking. 'Hunting.'

'ritual/Order of Days/connection in the dark/to trade secrets'

'an unmappable place/darkness untouched/lawless/home/prison'

'bond between predator and prey/to consume/possession/obsession/instinct

'orbit/balance in pulling at opposite directions/the complexity found in a single existence/rivalry/understanding

The Academic clapped their hands, and the Tailor found their breathing was ragged. They wanted to keep going, see how 'stories/letters/messages/secrets' linked to 'lovers/fate/dance/spiral', but the symbols were blurring. Why were the symbols blurring? Why did their eyes burn?

Oh.

Re: Lecture

[themorbidsocialite]

The Morbid Socialite had been trying to listen, keep focus on the Academic as they spoke, but-

Fate/memory/an unbreakable bond.

In an instant, as soon as the class was given the leeway to observe the symbols, the Socialite was pulled in, their draw to impulses and desires making it somewhat harder to resist the allure of the grid.

Heart/connected by blood/connected by bond/connected by death. Loss/gain/bargaining/a life for a life. Change/a light unyielding/judgement cast. Betrayal/a former ruler/indulgence. Dreams/a hive together and against itself/a humming of life/a city. A sedative/a light dimmed/a law enacted on one and one alone. A life/a death/a change/a loss/a flight/wide open skies--

The Socialite nearly choked on their breath when the Academic pulled the grid from their view. Had he forgotten to breathe? No, he had been breathing, but only barely.

Re: Lecture

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Violant in chalk for Correspondance study? Interesting. Maven marked that in her notes for later. She was not a Correspondant and did not have a supply of violant on hand, but it would be something to look into later.

A casual look showed some patterns emerging. Some she recognized, like 'to eternally circle the object of your affection' but some were new and yet... she still seemed able to make them out.

(At one point she was aware of the Brash Devil saying something but held up a finger; she just wanted to focus for one more minute, see what she could see)

There was so much. Once she started it was hard to stop, despite the itching in her brain. Why these words? Was everyone seeing these same things?

"A groundbreaking union"

"Permanent separation"

"A thing which is empty, whose purpose is to be filled"

"Near complete destruction"

"Construction of a protective barrier"

"Light"

"To have felt the breath of suns"

"Lost in a night which never sees starlight"

"A willing sacrifice"

"Freedom"

"The certainty of death"

"A demise that can no longer be delayed"

"A warmth without which the cold would be unbearable"

"A future consumed and forgotten"

"Isolation"

"Love of a twin"

At the clap of the board she became aware all at once that she was hyperventilating.

Re: Lecture

[theliedpiper]

There. There's magic memory-helping pigment? And no one told them?

(They're not sure who would have. It's probably super expensive. The Piper contemplates trying to steal some after class. Likely a terrible idea, but they've had worse.)

Before they can make any decisions one way or another, the board draws them in.

"New submerge old / placid surface churn / begin to end to begin to end to begin to-"

They find themself muttering the words, caught in a loop for... how long...? Until a new set of words jerks them into a different spiral.

"Unmoored / Unmasked / Uncovered / Knowing to be unknown knowing to be unknown knowing to be-"

"Forgotten to forget forgotten to forget forgotten to forget-"

"Darkness begets visions begets darkness begets visions begets darkness begets-"

"Reaching without touching reaching without touching reaching without touching-"

"Deceit behind smiles cover deceit behind smiles cover deceit behind-"

"Alone lost alone lost alone lost alone lost alone lost alone lost-"

By the time the professor claps, the Piper has only inspected a few whirlpools of words. Distantly, they think they will get a bad grade in Correspondence, something that is normal to fear and possible to achieve. But the thought is buried easily under the visceral, raw fear overtaking them. Are they having a nightmare? Did they ever wake up for class at all? Will they ever wake up? Will they ever wake up? Will they ever wake up?

(There's a thing about nightmares. They never sound quite as terrifying when you explain their contents. It's impossible to communicate what about certain visions slices down to the amygdala and implants Capital F Fear. And similarly, the Piper would never be able to explain why these few snarls of words cut them open like a cadaver.)

(They didn't like what they saw inside.)

Re: Lecture

[leviathanlovely]

SKILL CHECK 1d100 +10
ROLL: 31(+10) = 41, Not a Failure but...
NEXT ROLL: +0

The Undistinguished Pupil stared for far longer than they had realized, the patterns making words buzz uncoordinatedly into their head and causing them to feel mildly nauseous and dizzy to top it all off.

Had everyone gone home early? The Emissary had made very attempt to skip early, perhaps it had been called? Was that allowed? It was so quiet except for the words scratching against their skull, fascinating and frightening. Again, they felt small. Alone.

Unprepared.

Light/Harm, and it's inevitable shadow panned out: Void/Silence - - - This concept eked out long and strenuous as The Pupil ground his teeth. Buried, we were all buried and we could all only hear our own heartbeats loud in our ears, our breaths were cave ins of sound and there would not be some miraculous thing that may or may not have happened to pull us out. Tears pricked the sides of The Pupil's blurred vision and would slowly begin to pool inside the bottom of the goggles.

Re: Lecture

[tolpen]

Now this is an interesting setup, the Soft-Eyed Mycologist thinks not so softly. An expensive setup, no less. Someone cares. He pulls his goggles down. He's been using his own the whole time, one lens tinted black with silver, the other tinted light blue (Or is it apocyan? It might be apocyan.)

Well then. Let's study.

a distance between meanings	a spatial distortion	a future destroyed	collision of bodies	a resounding quality (Oh, hello again.)	erratic movements	forbidden / excised
forgetful / incapable of memory	a trap, sprung	an empty space	the surface of a problem	the truth, altered	a deceiver within community	a prisoner within its own mind
an absence of remorse		decreation	a brief respite	an exoskeleton, forgotten	weak / vulnerable
	no regrets (This cannot be right.)	a promise unforged	forget	no (No?)	marrow / core of a being	lack of remorse
forget (Again?)	a creature destroyed by change	no	no future	an abandoned self	forgive	nothing
devotion by posession	no (This is wrong)	a lie by omission	forsake (Never.)	NO	this is wrong	a tight space, airless
no	NO		NO	(no)	NO

The Mycologist is brought back down to the present, physical reality. One that is not trying to burn its way into his retinas permanently.

It takes for a moment for the exhaustion to be properly registered. The man is shivering, shoulders hunched, fingers numb. He is working very hard on evening his breath out.
When his vision clears (When has it darkened? When have the spirals appeared? For how long has his peripherial vision been gone?), he risks another glance at the blackboards
A distance between meanings. A spatial distortion. Orbit of affection. Collision of bodies. Normal Correspondence sigils, although unfinished, not defined around the metaphysical edges.

"'Your perspectives are valuable' my posterior dimensions," the Mycologists rasps to himself. He feels like a fool. And a fool and his breakfast will soon be parted.

Break Time

[theexdisgracedacademic]

Stop and take a break before your character finishes the boards. How are you doing? How are your fellow classmates doing?

If your character is new to The Correspondence, then congratulations: they have now memorized enough to start to recognize bits and pieces and make educated guesses after the meanings of new Correspondence Symbols.

If your character already knew quite a lot, then their knowledge of etymology has skyrocketed. Enjoy the eternal game of “is that where that word comes from?” from now on as your brain forever discovers linguistic connections in The Correspondence.

If you stop studying now, the effects will fade in a few weeks. If you keep studying, they will form the foundation for continued study.

Re: Break Time

[theanachronistictailor]

When had the Tailor last cried? They had made it a point not to, hadn't they? Turned fear and pain into anger and fuel. Turned sobs into snarls. Crying was weakness. It exposed cracks.

Looking away from the board, they were overcome with a feeling of revulsion. Their mind was unable to control what their body was doing, but it registered humiliation. The tears, the ragged breathing that bordered on weeping, combined with the lack of sleep and the sneer of a grin from the Devil and the anger and panic of trying to deal with damage control, and all of it in a public setting, where they would be seen and judged and recognized as not at all good enough--

--it was all too much. Far, far too much.

They stood and nearly stumbled over their chair, which loudly scraped across the floor and clattered aside. Bag abandoned on the desk, they edged back, and then turned and fled into the storage closet they had found on their first class. The door slammed behind them and they pressed their back to it, sliding down to push their goggles off their face, press their face into their hands, and muffle it all behind their knees.

The tears just wouldn't stop. Like they'd been boiling for a while, just waiting for a valve to release. They kept flowing, and the sobs were inescapable. And they knew it was only more humiliating, bawling like they were just some stupid child, and that made things worse.

Re: Break Time

[themorbidsocialite]

The Morbid Socialite gripped the end of his desk in a vice, lungs heaving in, having barely breathed in the staring, and coming out as gasping, quiet sobs. Casting a glance to the other students, they were having similar reactions, stoicly weeping or blatantly crying or, in the case of the Tailor, fleeing to be alone and in peace. The Socialite was loathe to admit they felt much similarly, from their perspective, exhausted and wanting to be away from everything while their mind stewed on the slew of information.

He couldn't allow that of himself.

The Socialite carefully closed his eyes before trying to wipe the tears from under the goggles. The way he'd startled from having the grid of Correspondence removed, the thickness of the tears his eyes suffered under, the way his hands shook with exhaustion; it was an unholy blend of the adrenaline that released him at the end of an autopsy and how he felt the week after his... the week after she... Don't cry, don't cry, do not cry, not in front of people you're trying to impress, do not bloody cry, you're supposed to be stronger than this, you can't let them see you falter, not when they need to trust you to support them, and the Socialite breathed a ragged and wet breath and placed his hand over his heart in an attempt to steady it.

Getting rid of this feeling was harder than they thought...

Re: Break Time

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Professor is snapped out of the rapture, the meanings seared in their brain, right behind their eyes... Such magnificence, a scope of wonder beyond any other, and yet... It was dread what they felt, scratching within their skull with twisted nails of misshapen emotion, doubt, swimming in a vast nothingness that proved to be quite more inhabited than it seemed at first glance. The tears are pooling in the goggles, so they take them off without replacing them with their shades, wiping the tears softly with a tissue.

Their eyes are the color of (natural) honey, pupils slitted like a reptile's, and in any moment they blinked. They didn't mind to show it, not now, not after that... That unprotected dive into the hidden depths of their own mind, given shape and weight in the form of a language than can't be forgotten once learned, that can't be ignored once pronounced...

They looked around. Their companions weren't doing any better either. And shared burdens, they say, lose half their weight. Maybe kinship is right what they all need...

After Class

[theexdisgracedacademic]

The Academic wasn’t eyeing the clock as closely as last week, but they did breathe a sigh of relief once the time’s up. Dozens of sheets of diagrams spread out over their lectern: notes outlining the design of the symbol layout on the chalkboards.

This method of learning must be something of their own invention. The notes weren’t the least bit tidy, and they’re certainly not in any form that communicated the pattern to anyone but the creator themself. Most of the symbols were in an incomprehensible shorthand, and others were scratched out, addendums of frustration added in their place.

The Academic’s eye was tired and red, but there was satisfaction in it, from a job well done. Were they finally beginning to take this seriously? Rag in hand, they’d already begun to wipe down the chalkboards. Thankfully, the danger of any student sitting here- forgetting to eat or drink until the start of next week’s class- was being wiped away along with the patterns.

Re: After Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

After such a rapturous experience, the Chimeric Professor couldn't help but approach the Academic to congratulate such a revolutionary approach to the Correspondence teaching, and of course ask for some details. They're still showing soreness in those uncovered ophidian eyes.

"Excuse me, Emissary. I won't keep you long, just... I needed to properly appreciate your method. It is such a brilliant application of both the Correspondence semiotics and the Neathbow's properties. Thank you for sharing it with us."

After a second thought, they needed to also add something more "Uhm... Could I ask if it would be possible for me to eventually learn how to do the same, or a good enough approach to it? It'll be an honor."

OOC

[theexdisgracedacademic]

I hope folks are keeping cool this week; let's keep the heat stroke limited solely to in-game combustion.

Re: OOC

[ticktopis_observatorium]

Why is there so much drama in the Tailor-Devil-Maven axis and how comes I'm not informed?! What's the gossip?