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

[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.

[theanachronistictailor]

A very worn down Tailor entered the classroom. The door did not slam shut behind them but it was a near thing. There was an aura that implied they were to be avoided if one valued one's limbs, and it was clear that they had not slept well, if they had slept at all. Their hair was only mostly set, and their vest was buttoned properly but they were without necktie.

Their eyes found the Devil, and their eye twitched. Their lip curled into something like a sneer, or maybe a snarl. Peligin was a monstrous color, but it wasn't one that could set a person aflame, tragically.

Their grip tightened on the strap of their bag and they signed in. Face set grimly, the Tailor walked past the Devil, ignoring him and the Maven, and dropped into a seat in the back row. They did not remove their daycoat as usual. They set their unopened bag onto the desk and glared at it like it had murdered their mother.

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Professor caught the Tailor's eye and felt a shudder run down their spine. Did they just hiss? Rattle? They would like to offer solace, but their instincts are too strongly activated by the Tailor's aura, made worse by the peligin in their eyes. Better left alone for now...

[the_brash_devil]

The Brash Devil grinned as soon as Tailor walked in. Man, did they look like shit.

He waited until Tailor sat down, glanced over to make sure Maven was engrossed in conversation with another classmate, then after finishing up the scone he walked over. He grabbed a chair in the row in front of Tailor, turning it to face them. He was leaning back, seemingly not anywhere in Tailor's personal space like he would be if he leaned forward.

"So," he said in what would have been a casual voice if it weren't for the grin on his face, "how are you today?"

[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]

Once the scone is finished and the desk set for the class, the Professor reaches for Maven.

"Dr. Rosewood, good morning! Hope this was a pleasant week."

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Maven's smile goes strained for a moment, and she lets out a laugh, "Well, I don't know if pleasant is the word I would use, but it was interesting." Knowing what was going to come next she shook her head, "I'm... afraid I can't go into more detail than that, it's a private matter. I'm sorry. But what about you, how has your week been?"

[themorbidsocialite]

As soon as the Socialite looked up from the sign in sheet, he smiled brightly on coming face to face with the Maven. "Ah, good morning! A pleasant day for it, truly pleasant. The False Summer does, at times, drag, but my wife came up with this wonderful method of cooling the flat and I would be more than happy to share--"

They soon paused, noticing something between strain and a lingering question in the Maven's gaze. Then they realized the oddity. "Dear Maven, I apologize, you were likely here at the front for a reason. Might I ask why? Is there something on your mind?"

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

"Oh, I did," Maven looked a bit embarrassed at being so obvious, "But after talking with the Chimeric Professor we agreed it's probably better to discuss it after class. Would you have time to talk afterwards with everyone else? We had an idea we wanted to discuss with everyone."

[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?

[theliedpiper]

"Cool mask, mate." Piper sits next to the Chimeric Professor this time - they haven't gotten to know them yet, but they seem reasonably unlikely to try to beat the Piper into a bloody pulp.

They can't say the same for Tailor today, and as much as they enjoy being included, it might be best not to get in the crossfire between them and the Devil.

(Believe it or not, the Piper does have some degree of self preservation skills. They haven't met the boatman yet. Not that they remember, anyway.)

[ticktopis_observatorium]

"Ah, thanks!" acknowledging the Piper with a nod and a smile. "I can say the same, it suits you well. You must be the Piper, right?"

[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?

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Professor approached the Socialite, attracted by such joyful aura. He's another of their classmates after all, and getting to know them will be important. All the better if it's in their best.

"Good morning. It's always a pleasure to see someone so happy this early." They started with a light bow as introduction.

[themorbidsocialite]

The Morbid Socialite looked up and cocked his head with a bit of a lopsided grin. "Good morning! I don't believe we've formally met." He stood from his seat and held out a hand. "My name is Doctor-" It was difficult to hear the name over the din of the classroom, but it sounded solemn, like a distant memory. "Though I am often referred to as the Morbid Socialite. And you might be?"

[leviathanlovely]

"Quite the dapper fur lined cap," A playful tone echoed out. "Perhaps it will start a trend?" The Pupil mused as they saddled alongside The Socialites desk after dropping their own possessions off at their selected desk of the far side of the second row.

They were drawn by the high spirits which often meant folk were in a more giving mood; be it with handouts or information... And surely cozying up to a Socialite such as this could only mean good things.

Notably The Pupil's own cap was surprisingly featherless today.

[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.

[theliedpiper]

The Piper wasn't sure that interacting with the Mechanic again would be a good idea. Of course, the not knowing was part of the fun.

"Not a bad idea." They nodded to the Mechanic's sheets of metal. "Guess your notes will be safe from fire or water on that. What're you gonna write on it with, though?"

[leviathanlovely]

Unsure of if they had yet greeted The Mechanic, The undistinguished Pupil would give them a small smile and wave before finding their own seat, once again in the second row.

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Maven noticed the Mechanic and wandered over, "Hello! How are you doing today?"

[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.

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Maven noticed the absence of Belladonna and got the Pupil's attention, "Hello, how are you doing today? I noticed you don't have Belladonna."

(OOC: I hope it is okay that Maven noticed them even though you made a point of saying they melt into the background unless they speak. It's something that would make sense for Maven, since she puts other people on a much higher priority than herself. If you'd prefer she not approach, I can remove the comment)

[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.

[ticktopis_observatorium]

Called first by the exotic scent, then the proto-thermos, and finally by the writing on the Mycologist's wrists. They nod as a greeting.

"Good morning. Can I ask what is that you brought? It has quite the alluring scent."