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benthic_universityThe Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology have a reputation of a laid-back class which more than anything else serves as a meeting spot for the naturalist freaks eccentrics of Benthic. Reader Guildenstern, who has been teaching this class for years, is known to use the allotted time to share dirt on personal anecdotes from the lives of his most respectable colleagues. Which is precisely the reason why no student is allowed to take up the class more than once in their lifetime – to prevent amassing of too much power in one pair of hands
But the day when all the classes are posted and signing up for them is available, there is, as the academics call it, a minor uproar. The aforementioned Selected Chapters are entirely missing from this year register. There are complaints. Bolder individuals threaten to demand back tuition paid.
After much fussing about, the Chairman of the Subterranean Mycology Department gives a public apology for this – and several other – clerical errors, and the omitted class appears with its lost compatriots on the bottom of the register. It now bears such disrespectful neighbours as Cellular Mechanisms and Crimson Genetics. Yes, we suppose those are alright courses to attend if you want to make money, publish papers and maybe push the quality of life forward for further generations. But this is a university, for grief’s sake! One’s primary goal is to increase their own social standing.
Because of this little clerical oversight, the class is held in one of the smaller lecture halls in the basement. It is not particularly hard to find if you know where you are going. The class is also held fairly late. Not awfully late, but certainly you are missing some of the happy hours in less secluded places, such as the Veilgarden.
There aren’t that many students. Most of them already have a busy schedule with the classes that were posted on time. But the door is not locked and the timetable clearly says that the Selected Chapters begin in a couple of minutes.
As far as lecture halls go, this one is nothing to write home about. Rows of chairs bolted to desks bolted to the floor, all in orderly rows, rows gradually rise as they are further from the three-winged blackboard. No windows; this is a basement. Minimal decorations. Electric lights bathe the room in warm light. Quite the novelty to have them installed here.
On the desks you find a variety of potted mushrooms. Some you know, common bolete, a marvelously orange chanterelle, this one whose name you have on the tip of your tongue and is used as a filler in bouquets. Some you do not know, although the one that looks like a cracked egg is somewhat familiar.
The man standing at the lectern – it is hasty to make such presumptions on sight, but you are going to verify them within moments anyway – is of unimpressive size. You note him for having a long braid of dark hair, a pince-nez with dimly blue lenses, and very soft smile with which he invites the first incoming to sign in the ledger, and by extension up for the class.
When you all are seated and no new foot enters the class, he closes the ledger with a very definite snap and steps to the lectern.
“I wish you all a good evening,” he addresses you all for the first time. He has a voice like velvet if velvet carried the clarity of a churchbell. Some people manage being heard in large rooms by shouting. Your teacher doesn’t have to resort to such tactics; each of you hears him as clearly as if he stood right next to you.
“I would like to inform you that Professor Guildenstern is dead and he shall not be holding any classes for the foreseeable future. I have been asked by our department Chairman to deliver the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology instead.”
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist writes his name on the top of the leftmost blackboard. At least you presume so. Remnants of Hudum in the Forgotten Quarter are pinnacle of legibility compared to whatever this is. That might be an E in the middle? Following the name is the number of his home-room, in slightly shaky Roman numerals.
“This class takes the standard course length and as such it requires standard grading. I have reviewed Professor Guildenstern’s syllabus from years prior, and decided for a more sensible approach: Your final grade will be the child of two components:
Firstly, you shall write an essay and submit. The topic is of your own choosing. Selection of a topic appropriate and related to the class, however, can make up to forty per cent of the score for it. Cite some sources, back up whatever you put down. Be persuasive, be shrewd, be convincing. Remember, these are respectable academic grounds; plagiarism and fabrication is entirely fair game as long as you do not get caught.
The deadline on this essay is the end of our fifth class together; if by then I don’t have at least something from you, however publishable, you fail by default. There will be no extensions and no resubmissions. Gone Hell or high water, the deadline stays. Plan your life’s catastrophes and cataclysms accordingly.”
He clasps his hands together before resting them on the lectern: “The second part of your grade will be the final exam, held during the last class. The exam will be practical and designed to test all you might have and might have not learned. I am going to be testing your skills, not your ability to cram the content of a book into your short-term memory. Some students tend to be surprised by that; I am stating it outright so you wouldn’t be.”
There is a brief pause for questions anyone might have before the class moves on to the actual lecture.
The Mycologist beams a bright smile at you all: “For our first exercise I’ve chosen something that highlights two of the load-bearing columns of science: Replicability and specificity. I am certain you all have noticed by now the potted fungi on your desks. Your task is to draw them, any of them, such that your classmates would be able to recognise them. You do not have to make a realistic life-like piece of artwork as long as the mushroom is identifiable. Whoever finds themselves without supplies, I have borrowed pencils from the mycology department, as well as paper.”
It seems that for the remaining 90-odd minutes, this is what you are to do.
But the day when all the classes are posted and signing up for them is available, there is, as the academics call it, a minor uproar. The aforementioned Selected Chapters are entirely missing from this year register. There are complaints. Bolder individuals threaten to demand back tuition paid.
After much fussing about, the Chairman of the Subterranean Mycology Department gives a public apology for this – and several other – clerical errors, and the omitted class appears with its lost compatriots on the bottom of the register. It now bears such disrespectful neighbours as Cellular Mechanisms and Crimson Genetics. Yes, we suppose those are alright courses to attend if you want to make money, publish papers and maybe push the quality of life forward for further generations. But this is a university, for grief’s sake! One’s primary goal is to increase their own social standing.
Because of this little clerical oversight, the class is held in one of the smaller lecture halls in the basement. It is not particularly hard to find if you know where you are going. The class is also held fairly late. Not awfully late, but certainly you are missing some of the happy hours in less secluded places, such as the Veilgarden.
There aren’t that many students. Most of them already have a busy schedule with the classes that were posted on time. But the door is not locked and the timetable clearly says that the Selected Chapters begin in a couple of minutes.
As far as lecture halls go, this one is nothing to write home about. Rows of chairs bolted to desks bolted to the floor, all in orderly rows, rows gradually rise as they are further from the three-winged blackboard. No windows; this is a basement. Minimal decorations. Electric lights bathe the room in warm light. Quite the novelty to have them installed here.
On the desks you find a variety of potted mushrooms. Some you know, common bolete, a marvelously orange chanterelle, this one whose name you have on the tip of your tongue and is used as a filler in bouquets. Some you do not know, although the one that looks like a cracked egg is somewhat familiar.
The man standing at the lectern – it is hasty to make such presumptions on sight, but you are going to verify them within moments anyway – is of unimpressive size. You note him for having a long braid of dark hair, a pince-nez with dimly blue lenses, and very soft smile with which he invites the first incoming to sign in the ledger, and by extension up for the class.
When you all are seated and no new foot enters the class, he closes the ledger with a very definite snap and steps to the lectern.
“I wish you all a good evening,” he addresses you all for the first time. He has a voice like velvet if velvet carried the clarity of a churchbell. Some people manage being heard in large rooms by shouting. Your teacher doesn’t have to resort to such tactics; each of you hears him as clearly as if he stood right next to you.
“I would like to inform you that Professor Guildenstern is dead and he shall not be holding any classes for the foreseeable future. I have been asked by our department Chairman to deliver the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology instead.”
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist writes his name on the top of the leftmost blackboard. At least you presume so. Remnants of Hudum in the Forgotten Quarter are pinnacle of legibility compared to whatever this is. That might be an E in the middle? Following the name is the number of his home-room, in slightly shaky Roman numerals.
“This class takes the standard course length and as such it requires standard grading. I have reviewed Professor Guildenstern’s syllabus from years prior, and decided for a more sensible approach: Your final grade will be the child of two components:
Firstly, you shall write an essay and submit. The topic is of your own choosing. Selection of a topic appropriate and related to the class, however, can make up to forty per cent of the score for it. Cite some sources, back up whatever you put down. Be persuasive, be shrewd, be convincing. Remember, these are respectable academic grounds; plagiarism and fabrication is entirely fair game as long as you do not get caught.
The deadline on this essay is the end of our fifth class together; if by then I don’t have at least something from you, however publishable, you fail by default. There will be no extensions and no resubmissions. Gone Hell or high water, the deadline stays. Plan your life’s catastrophes and cataclysms accordingly.”
He clasps his hands together before resting them on the lectern: “The second part of your grade will be the final exam, held during the last class. The exam will be practical and designed to test all you might have and might have not learned. I am going to be testing your skills, not your ability to cram the content of a book into your short-term memory. Some students tend to be surprised by that; I am stating it outright so you wouldn’t be.”
There is a brief pause for questions anyone might have before the class moves on to the actual lecture.
The Mycologist beams a bright smile at you all: “For our first exercise I’ve chosen something that highlights two of the load-bearing columns of science: Replicability and specificity. I am certain you all have noticed by now the potted fungi on your desks. Your task is to draw them, any of them, such that your classmates would be able to recognise them. You do not have to make a realistic life-like piece of artwork as long as the mushroom is identifiable. Whoever finds themselves without supplies, I have borrowed pencils from the mycology department, as well as paper.”
It seems that for the remaining 90-odd minutes, this is what you are to do.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 07:06 pm (UTC)She also took a moment to examine the mushrooms at the desk. Even when surrounded by mushrooms as one is in the Neath, she still couldn't help but smile at the sight of them.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 01:20 am (UTC)In all fairness, the Ubiquitous Guest was watching everyone, eyes low and careful, taking in details about the people he was surrounded by and writing something in his journal. No matter the angle or distance, the scrawl was illegible, but a page seemed to be dedicated to each person, as he would flip back and forth between pages as he watched people.
But his eyes kept lingering on the Maven. Not even on the Devil, which would be normal for a human, even one born in the Neath. No, he focused on the Maven, covert and indirect and still watching.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 02:49 am (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 03:06 am (UTC)Right?
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 04:56 am (UTC)Devil had also turned to glance at the person behind them, but didn't say anything. While the summer had made him more open around their new group of friends, he still hesitated to interact with strangers as readily as Maven. Though she says this guy seems familiar so, have they met? Who knows.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 05:14 am (UTC)The Guest spared a glance at the Brash Devil and there's something to be said for the first thoughts that cross one's mind. Like that the young man's eyes were 'storm' grey. If anything like recognition flashed behind those eyes, nobody could be sure. He didn't let a single, compromising expression go. "I thought I saw you both come in together. You are, sir?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 08:26 pm (UTC)Peligin-infernal eyes caught sight of the stormy grey ones. Hm, interesting. Probably a former urchin, then. Still didn't recognize the guy, though there were a lot of urchins (current and former) in London so that wasn't surprising. He tried to know as many as he could, but it wasn't possible to personally know every urchin there is or ever was. The whole thing with Tailor at the beginning of the last class showed that.
Part of him couldn't help but wonder, however, if that had to do with the other obvious thing those two had in common, the thing everyone in both this class and the last one had in common..."Folks call me the Brash Devil, or Derek, doesn't really matter which one you pick," he shrugged.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-08 09:11 pm (UTC)His was mostly untinted yet, only the barest hint of green. Whatever could it mean?"Personally, like many, I aim to study the poisons and remedies possible through mycelium. Maybe I'll finally find something that can touch my joint pain." Right. That's what it was. Joint pain. Not any other kind of pain.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-10 03:32 pm (UTC)Oh.
Wait.
That... that was the name of...
And the voice, and the hair...
By the time the attention was back on both of them, Maven was still smiling that pleasant and friendly smile of hers. No need to draw attention to it at the moment, would be rude to do so in his civilian identity when she barely knows him.
"I'm sorry to hear about your joint pain. I know you probably already have your own doctor that you go to, but if you ever need a second opinion or want to seek other avenues, feel free to call on me," Maven said as she pulled out a calling card and set it by the Guest, for him to take or leave as he pleased, "As for why we joined, I've always had a passion for nature in all its forms! And mushrooms are the most abundant form of nature in the Neath, so it's prudent to know as much about them as possible. Even if I do like to think I know a lot about them, there's always more to be learned. And as you said, it's good to learn the medicinal properties of different kinds of fungi, particularly in my field."
Devil just gave a wry smile as he pointed a thumb towards Maven, "She dragged me here."
"What? No I didn't!" Maven gave him an outraged look, "No one MADE you come!"
"Oh yes, practically held me hostage to get me to come," Devil continued the bit, sending a huge grin her way, "One look and word and it was over!"
Maven giggled as she gave him a small smack on the arm, "Don't say such things! Derek you are so incorrigible!"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-10 04:27 pm (UTC)He laughed under his breath, watching the two. "Be careful, teasing your wife like that. She's about to learn how to retaliate with poisons and temporary death."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-10 06:39 pm (UTC)The two froze a little at word wife. Maven giggled a little, flushing a bit as she became flustered over the misunderstanding, "Oh! No sorry, we aren't married! We just... Well, we are romantically together, just not... you know..." How interesting that he would assume that, does that mean marriage between humans and devils is allowed?
(Devil, meanwhile, looked like if he could his face would be bright red. Why is it every other week he's hearing about marriage from different people?! Has it always been a thing and he's only just now noticing after that talk with the Tailor that made him decide to propose?)
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-10 06:50 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-11 09:52 pm (UTC)"Well thank you, that is is sweet of you to say," Maven responded with a smile. It didn't escape her notice that he seemed to be taking notes. Knowing what she did, she was curious about his intent but was still playing ignorant, asking as if she didn't already know, "So outside of the class what do you do?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-12 08:48 am (UTC)"And you, Miss? Young, pretty thing like you must attend plenty of parties." He said it matter-of-factly, making it clear this wasn't a come on, but just an observation.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-16 05:52 pm (UTC)Devil rolled his eyes, fighting down a smile as he laughed, "Oh my God stop."
Maven just laughed a bit in response. When asked about the parties she debated on how much to say given what she knew. She didn't really have anything to hide on this front, however, so she answered honestly, "Oh, occasionally. I wouldn't say it's a regular occurrence. What about you?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-16 06:41 pm (UTC)He did quirk a smile at the returned question. "I'm told I'm seen at parties quite often. Sad to say, I believe my doppelganger is creating something of a reputation for me. In short, no. Too busy, too much strain, and I hardly have a stitch to wear. Sounds craic, though. Maybe I'll get a proper invite someday."
His attention turned back to them both. "So, hunters, eh? Surprised we've never crossed paths."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-17 07:03 pm (UTC)Devil shrugged, "Eh, there's a lot of hunters out there. Still, we were probably bound to run into each other one way or another."
For one reason or another...Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-17 07:33 pm (UTC)He hummed and leaned back in his seat. "You hunting anything in particular, then, chap? Which beastie out there should be aware of the hunter coming to take its hide?" He winked, teasing somewhat.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-17 11:58 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-18 11:01 am (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-20 04:42 am (UTC)'Can't exactly aim higher'? Surely he isn't... Though, he is also green like the Tailor. Could THAT be what the green means? No, surely not, Piper was green as well and they weren't... were they?"That so?" Devil asked, leaning towards the Guest with curiosity, "So what is your ultimate target? This big thing that you apparently can't aim higher than?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-20 05:08 am (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-20 01:22 pm (UTC)Well... shit"Wait, you consider the Vake 'training?'" Devil clarified, an incredulous look on his face, "The fuck are you after that the Vake is 'training'??"
If the Tailor had difficulty with the Vake, he didn't have high hopes of this guy taking it down, much less whatever his actual target was...
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-20 08:46 pm (UTC)The Guest breathed a laugh, seeing the Devil's face. "Relax, mate, I'll be right. Don't have to look like I'm dead already."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-20 10:20 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
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