benthic_university | Correspondence Scholarship, Class Six [Tuesday Morning, July 15]

Entry tags:

correspondence

Correspondence Scholarship, Class Six [Tuesday Morning, July 15]

Though still moderately charred, the classroom door this week bore no suspicious marks. Students could be forgiven for muttering to themselves as they entered the class, but thankfully, all letters and sounds were free to speak.

The Ex-Disgraced Academic was at the lectern, having completed preparing several diagrams on the blackboards behind them.

“Let’s begin a crucial part of crafting proper Correspondence symbols: layering. You may have noticed two weeks ago, the way that the simple greeting was composed of the radicals for the pronoun “You,” as well as the verb “to like.” It does in fact translate as the base reassurance “you are liked.” Not a bad way to greet someone. It is, however, very formal. You see how the two radicals don’t touch? In the improper context, it could possibly be read as ‘The idea of “you” and “being liked” don’t belong within five-thousand light-years of each other.’ Hm. Not half as nice. A more casual way would look like this…” and here, they crossed the tip of To Like through the tail of You, “…there. A gentle light approaches. The meaning of this symbol will change, as the two bisect each other more closely.” The Academic wrote one across the other. “Beloved.” They raised an eyebrow. “No doubt several of you have your hearts aflutter, ready to stamp this on your next note to your latest beau. But might I offer a moment of pause before you attempt it on paper…”

The Academic erased the board. “To explain, let us turn our attention to the use of adjectives. Similarly to the prior example, the position of the adjective will denote the relationship of the adjective to the noun. An adjective which does not touch a noun can be inferred to have a weak, or even negative meaning.” The Academic pulled down a blank board, inscribed the symbol for fire, then encircled it with an odd shape. “The adjective for great, mighty. With no lines touching or intersecting, the meaning could be translated as: A fire lacking in fortitude or greatness.”

Next, The Academic picked up an atomizer, and next to the first symbol, inscribed a similar one. This time, the circle crossed through all four lines in fire. The chalk had scarcely completed its revolution, whereupon the lines blazed, and smoke billowed up from the stone.

Almost bored, The Academic doused the offending symbol, and turned back toward the class. “As you have seen, the nearer and adjective draws to a noun- here even overlapping the center of it- the more it indicates a strong correlation. A conflagration of devastating proportions/The thunderclap death of the mighty.” They gave the board another spray from over their shoulder, for good measure. “Adjectives are where we begin to cross from statements of relatively objective fact into the world of opinion, passion, and coercion. This is how it becomes a weapon.”

“Perception shapes reality, and language is a means of communicating that reality. It’s also a means of making a case that your perceived reality is the true one. And when enough people agree with you, it’s not impossible to say that reality itself can change.”

“The Correspondence is a means of arguing your case with the laws of physics itself. You’re shining a dim light into your own perspective, and allowing others to see it. Other opinions are capable of making a much stronger argument, especially those who are more fluent in the Correspondence. Eloquent folks are like that. And your only option is to become more learned and eloquent.”

“Today you will be practicing how to write the symbol for A small but merry warmth. This symbol is difficult, and can be found somewhere between the two extremes I’ve demonstrated on the board today.” The Academic went to the lectern, flipped open their own notebook, wrote something, and then placed their teacup atop it. “If you do it correctly, it will be sufficient to keep a cup of tea warm for several hours. The eternal tragedy of forgetting your cup until long after it’s gone cold? A thing of the past, if you can pull this off.” The Academic dipped from their cup, pleased with the results. “I haven’t given you a perfect example, because I want you to be careful. Mis-writing this symbol will have immediate consequences, as will most unnecessary hyperbole. Be judicious in the emphasis you place on your thoughts in The Correspondence. Be…” The Academic thought for a beat, then snapped their claws, “…temperate.”

“Allez.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Morbid Socialite walked to his seat with a jaunt to his step, a rhythm just shy of a limp aided in hiding by the ornamental, globe-top cane he sported as well as the ease with which he carried himself. One might even imagine he was never injured in the first place.

Upon taking their seat, the Socialite set their hat at the corner of their space, as usual, and fetched a series of volumes from their bag. Their sleeves had been removed and the covers opened too fast to read the titles, but someone skilled enough may be able to clean the text they were taking notes on.

Tularemia was, herself, perched on his shoulder, keeping watch for a few particular people she found intriguing and fun to engage with (or who simply had treats and affection for her).

Professor approached Socialite, hopeful, nodding in greeting.

"Good morning, Mori. How are you feeling?"

The Socialite looked up at the Professor and smiled. "Good morning, Ángel! I'm doing much better, thank you. Your assistance was quite the godsend and for that I owe you quite a lot."

Settling his arms over the pages of the books and notes, the Socialite beamed up at his new friend. "And how are you this morning? Fine, I hope?"

The Professor seemed pleased, knowing the recovery was going good.

"You owe nothing, my friend. Just seeing your improvement both in mind and body is a grand enough reward already. It was my pleasure to help."

Then, eyeing the many reading material present, they couldn't help but ask. "You're keeping yourself busy I see. Can I ask about what caught your fancy?"

Shuffling to better cover the contents of the books without seeming suspicious, the Socialite smiled. "Oh, simply some inspirational reading for my project. One who seeks greatness may stand on the shoulders of giants."

Unfortunately, in their hurry to cover the books, they failed to cover the notes.

The Professor isn't exactly surprised by the reaction, they truly don't find it suspicious. But there's notes to be read left unattended, and curiosity killed the cat (how fortunate, then,that one can count themself closer to a snake).

More so, having fragmented pupils allows for enhanced peripheral vision, which in turn makes possible to read notes in the corner of the eye while keeping the most visible part politely looking at a friend in the eye, no longer tormented by chitinous dreams.

"It suits you to aim towards excellence in any endeavour, that's true. And if you're performing such research I'm certain you'll find great results as well."

Need some more time, and Mori's conversation is also welcome, so... "How is your family doing? I hope they won't think less of me because of the affair in the kitchen. Was there some part of the mess I forgot to properly clean?"

There it was, a completely unwitting innuendo they'll only notice depending on the Socialite's reaction.

The Socialite didn't notice the innuendo, shaking their head. "No, no, if you missed anything. I most certainly cleaned it up. Not that they would think wrong of it. We are rather open to that sort of thing." Ah, a second accidental innuendo from the opposite end.

The notes on one page seemed to be lyrics to a song the Professor may not have heard. Something of a Mountain, a Garden, a King, a Light, death. Certain phrases were underlined, with notes pointing to them asking their meanings and theorizing their locations. On another page, there were notes about the Elder Continent, scratching in page numbers for certain aspects of lore, details, location, effect. Something about a sock, a King of Polythreme, the Manager, even his own wife and her urchins. The notes were everywhere on the page, all linking to each other, almost manic.

Taking in the details of the notes, they made associations. Of course, the Elder Continent, the Mountain, its extraordinary vital qualities and the tragedy of the First City... It's a very good subject to study and perform art about. Some of the most awestrucking, supernatural and mysterious aspects of this our new home under the earth. If one were to properly understand it and form beautiful enough words searing with Meaning like the Correspondence does... Well, even the most remote, mysterious parts of our hidden world will be shed light upon. Great project, they approve.

"I am happy to know." Smiling in a friendly, perhaps playful way, then again missing any possible hidden message. "Maybe next time I could be the one on the table, if you so wish, as you hinted that time..."

Now that had to be intentional, right? Right?

No time to guess, while they already are turning around to return to their desk. "But that's a matter for outside the class I'm afraid, and our accurately portrayed Emissary is about to begin I'm afraid... Good luck upon you, my friend."

There was no time to figure out what was meant before the Professor turned to return to their seat. The Socialite scrambled to catch up, too caught in his thoughts. "Ah- yes! Right! Best of luck to you as well! We will have to... speak of it later..."

Wait, were there euphemisms hidden in their conversation? Realizing this, the Socialite blushed and buried their shame in their continued studying.

A very gentle click of the tongue, after the Tailor sat behind the Socialite; it was clearly intended for Tularemia, though if the Socialite wished, they could address the fellow. The Tailor gently tapped the tips of their fingers on the desk in front of them to encourage her towards them.

Tularemia didn't need much encouraging, immediately leaping from the brim of the Socialite's hat to the desk in front of the Tailor with a chirp. She immediately wound around their fingers, mouth open in playful excitement.

A hand teased at the little hunter playfully, free to let her wind through the digits, while the Tailor reached into the shoulder-bag hanging on their chair with the other. From it, they withdrew a dark green ribbon, trimmed with lace, as promised the week before last.

They smiled weakly at her. "You'll need to be still long enough for me to affix it, Tula." A thumb stroked a cheek for the brief moment it was able to.

The Socialite heard that one and turned slightly, a smile tracing across his lips as he glanced at the interaction.

Tularemia was able to keep her neck still just enough, but her head and body squirmed and wiggled in anticipation. A new ribbon! She surely thought. Regardless of the translation of her excitement, the feeling was quite clear.

They looped the ribbon round her neck quickly, setting it in place with the little button and loop of thread. The action finished, their hand laid fully on the length of Tula's body for a moment, stroking softly.

Then they let her go. "Keep this one clean, beastie. Want to go show off?"

Tularemia jumped and gave the Tailor's thumb an affectionate nibble, delighted to not only see them, but also be granted a reward of a kind. Her eyes first landed on the Pupil's Belladonna, but found that could wait for a moment to further stake her claim on the Tailor, climbing up their arm and into her favorite nesting spot once more. The Tailor's hair shall never recover.

There was a weary sigh. They had expected this, and had even brought a small comb and their small container of hair product to fix the inevitable mess later. It was a vain thing, but they were allowed a petty vanity or two, they thought. Especially after the week they'd had.

In the meantime, the Tailor would have to settle with the hair becoming disheveled for class once again. It always made them look just a bit younger, didn't it?

There was nary a shred of peace allowed with Tularemia and that was exactly the way she liked it. She mussed up their hair effectively before scrambling off their head and looking upon her work with a sense of pride. Now, she could certainly show off her new ribbon, bounding off to present herself to the rest of the class.

In front of the Tailor, the Socialite could be heard softly snickering, having subtly watched the whole affair. "She really is quite fond of you."

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class