Mycology Seminar - Class Two [Tuesday Evening, 21st of October]

[tolpen]

In spite of everything (or perhaps because of everything) you have returned to the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology. Two weeks have passed since the first lecture which has certainly left an impression.
Your greatest obstacle in getting to the class is a janitor, meticulously mopping the floor. You have to walk over the wet, sparkling clean tiles to get to the class. Hopefully you are in the habit of wearing clean shoes.

This evening the teacher is not in the classroom just yet. You are free to explore the supply closet (brooms, chalk, one (1) bag of dry soil) and admire the changes done since your last visit.
Today the room is candle-lit: cylinders of tallow and wax burn away on the lectern, on the students’ desks and even on the shelves. A few candles are hidden away in hollowed out turnips into the skin of which have been carved grotesque faces. As fresh vegetables – including sad hard watery turnips – are somewhat of a pricey commodity in London, there aren’t that many of them.
The orange-green light and flickering shadows of the candles at first obscure and then highlight another addition: Your artistic endeavours from the previous class. Your drawings of fungi have been copied to posters and hung up on the walls. Your names are written at the bottom, just above the mushroom identification.
Speaking of your names, you might want to put yours down into the ledger to mark your attendance. You came all the way here already.


Then the door is carefully nudged open with a heel and your teacher and lecturer enters, one of the few people you have seen unmasked since Hallowmass has broken out in its full splendour. Following the Mycologist is a rather large trolley cart, overflowing with big orange round… things.
“This is the enormous puffball,” the Mycologist beams at all of you in lieu of a greeting before falling into the chair behind the teacher’s desk. “It isn’t actually related to the calvatia genus whatsoever and it isn’t all that enormous which just proves you should never leave naming conventions to the laymen.”
He waves towards the puffballs: You are to take them. No, he’s not getting up from his chair. The more observant of students notice bandages peeking out beneath the starched collar. It seems that as removed from the revels as he pretends to be, the spirit of the celebrations have led him to the Roof Bellow; he wouldn’t be the only person you’ve seen in such a state.

“Now, this is supposed to be practical subterranean mycology. However, frequently I’ve run into the problem that even senior lecturers don’t know how to handle a living mushroom when presented with one, unless it is on a plate. While I am certain some of you wouldn’t have such a problem, I want to be sure that by the end of this class everyone can prepare samples without self-inflicted amputations. I recommend you work carefully and in gloves.”
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist spills a variety of knives, scalpels, chisels, and handsaws on the teacher’s desk from a drawer. His expression could be described only as ‘gleeful’ if a bit ashen. “As you can see, implements are provided. To practice the full array of methods, I suggest making a simple candle-shader. ‘Tis, as I am told, the season. Should you ruin your specimen, worry not. There are plenty of spares,” he pats one such a spare.
Then he adds: “In the field you are expected to bring your own implements, of course. Working with instruments you are familiar with avoids being surprised by a loan acting capriciously. Some of the tools I have here on the table have been refined with the Red Science. Depending on your skill you are going to be lucky or unlucky to wield one.”

“And while your hands are busy, your ears are not. And therefore I can cover some of the useful fungi. Feel free to have questions.”
Within a few sentences it becomes apparent that London owes much to the Third City and its inhabitants’ dedication to fungal husbandry. It is obvious that this is a topic of passion for your teacher and just talking about it pours a new vigour into his veins. After a while he even gets up from the chair to draw necessary demonstrations on the blackboard.
Almost everyone is aware of sweet morels and many varieties of the field greycaps which can be fermented into alcoholic beverages. Their ability to create and store sugars in their fruiting bodies (mainly in the form of starch) has been cultivated in the for centuries and can be dated all the way to the Third (and possibly even Second and First, but do try to find any records that won’t send the Ministry of Public Decency after you for publishing). The wild field greycaps are in fact rather tangy and bitter. By all means an acquired taste.
However, a civilisation as we know it would fall apart much faster without bark-stalks and cotton sponges – the rich variety of the former provides most of London's wood while the latter is fibrous and gives jobs to arachnophobic spinsters.

You are then shown a tangled phylogeny tree of bark-stalks that form the forests on the edges of London. Apparently just Bugsby’s Marshes host over 30 different species which love to crossbreed with each other – hence some of the truly enormous mushroom-trees and also why most mycologist refuse to identify the bark-stalks further than ‘pinecap’ (for its sticky aromatic milk), ‘birchcap’ (white stem) and ‘cherrycap’ (it does taste like sour cherries if you somehow manage to bite a piece of it). But you are now armed with the actual names, common and scientific as well. That is certain to impress somebody, at some point.
“As you can see, through the husbandry process even a mushroom that is recognised as a detrimental specimen can be made useful. For example peppercaps are famously extremely toxic, but we now farm a refined specimen with lower toxicity as a spice. This process– Oh my, would you look at the time. I suppose this will have to wait until the next class.”
There is no way he did that on purpose, is there?

Comments

Sign In

[tolpen]

In collapsing style, if you would.

Re: Sign In

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor arrives to the class by the hand of one Honorable Industrialist.

The former dons a porcelain-like mask, translucent in shades of fiery red, forming a shape reminiscent of an angular human face by combining several animals in a sort of eye-decieving tangram. Underneath it is a long labcoat painstakingly dyed in a fading gradient of crimson to simulate having been covered in blood (or perhaps it actually was, but the effect is too good-looking to be an accident). Their scales, when shown in the hands or the corners of the face, are a shimmering rainbow.

The latter dons no mask nor disguise, for the Hallowmas revels are specially dangerous for surfacers, and the best way to opt out is to be bare-faced and reject the season's protection against law and order.

What the Industrialist does, however, is to gently lift the Professor's mask and give them a highly inappropriate kiss, mostly due to its depth and duration. Followed by a quite intentionally loud and quite intentionally in English:

"Happy birthday, love!"

Once the deed wqs done, them both bid farewells, Professor signing flustered, Industrialist walking out satisfied.

Before Class

[tolpen]

Time to admire or hate the new decoration and share the spirit of Hallowmass with your classmates. Have you brought a mask today?

Re: Before Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor takes advantage of the remaining time to walk around the classroom. The Mycologist truly managed the impossible: To turn the dullest environment into a declaration of intent. This prompts a smile, under the chimeric mask. This man's commitment is one of his most endearing traits.

They are completely defenceless against anyone willing to start a conversation.

Re: Before Class

[theubiquitousguest]

The Ubiquitous Guest got settled, first and foremost, cane propped up against the desk and note-taking supplies arranged in order. No pen spinning today from the young man, choosing instead to lean back in his seat and just breathe for a moment.

It was in turning his head that the Guest spotted the decor. He sat up with a controlled breath and hummed. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, seeing the sparse turnips carved to hold candles. He remembered carving a jack once. Most turnips and other rare vegetables or fruits were saved for food, but he had exactly one experience carving a rather pathetic face into a small turnip for Hallowmas as a child. They always brought back some small, fond memories.

The Guest would keep his mask on as he settled in, wondering idly if anyone would recognize it. A quirk of a mischievous smile arose as he thought about his other friends' reactions. This time of year, it was fun getting a harmless rise out of people. Unlikely to happen here, but one never knows.

Re: Before Class

[emeraldqueen]

The Cackling Authoress takes her customary middle-back seat, but not before checking if any of the blood on the back of her coat is still fresh. It would be terribly awkward to leave bloodstains—in most of Fallen London, this is not quirky or frightening (two things she would not mind being), but rather annoying (a thing she often is, but would not like to be).

As she lays her supplies on the desk, she takes stock of the decorations. Having little knowledge of European traditions, this is all amusingly novel to her. In the frantic death spiral of the last two years (towards someone else’s death, not hers), she has seen Hallowmas festivities go past, but not celebrated them herself. Perhaps her vigor will desert her and familiar melancholy will overtake her when she leaves, but in this safe classroom full of friendly faces, she finds the inclination to get up and wander about, in search of a closer look at everything and a chance at some social interaction.

Re: Before Class

[the_masked_hunter]

The Hunter again slips to the back of the class and arranges writing tools on the desk before him. This time, he keeps his cloak on, and sits slightly further from his desk than usual. From beneath the cloak, he unclips a small whetstone from one of the loops within his cloak, and removes a curved iron knife from a sheath clipped onto another loop. Below the desk, he quietly begins sharpening the knife.

Re: Before Class

[theanachronistictailor]

The individual that occupies the seat the Tailor took up two weeks ago examines the room, and then gloved hands lift to the edge of the cowl, and the hood is led back slowly to rest against the back and shoulders. What's revealed are curls- a mass of them. Familiar to some, friends and hunters who have seen the Tailor when they do not slick the stuff back for high society.

Oh yes, this is the Tailor indeed. The eyes behind the half-mask are peligin. A hand pulls down the Paisley from the nose and mouth just a bit to reveal the lower face. But nothing else is lowered or removed- they find they prefer, today, to keep covered.

They look around quietly at the candles in their encasements. They reach into the many drapes of their shawl, and pull free a pen and notebook from somewhere. One might peek a smile as they see the drawings on the wall, because of course. Of course it has been. They should have figured.

They're quiet today. That they've dressed in the spirit of the holiday is something even they don't seem to have expected. Perhaps they've overdone it...? But then, looking at the others in the room, perhaps not.

Re: Before Class

[theliedpiper]

Ahhh, candlelight. Much cozier than the bright fluorescence of the class before. Can they have class like this every week?

They stopped to admire the art on the walls, smiling at their own. They'd done a rather good job, hadn't they? They hadn't gotten the chance to observe all their classmates' art last class, so it was nice to see all of them, and guess whose might be whose. Except... well, they weren't sure they remembered every classmate from last time. It had been two whole weeks, after all.

Well, they'd planned for this, this time! That was why they'd taken notes, wasn't it? And they'd even read one of the Authoress' stories, though they thought they might have gotten a few of the serials in the wrong order. It had been an interesting read, even with the accidental spoilers.

They got out their doily-patterned journal and reviewed what they'd written. If anyone were to read over their shoulder, they'd find everything written in plain (if somewhat messy) English. Secret codes and ciphers would draw more attention than plain old words. It wasn't like anything they wrote was worth hiding, anyway. (And best if no one thought them capable of hiding, if they'd wanted to.)

Lecture

[tolpen]

Today you are hearing at length about the various fungi which have a practical use beyond consumption: Carpentry, textiles and the like. If you are curious about a specimen you've come across or have a field of industry about which you are curious as the fungi apply to it, you are encouraged to ask about it.

Re: Lecture

[theubiquitousguest]

The Ubiquitous Guest had to twist his shoulder somewhat to raise his hand with minimal pain. Once he was acknowledged, he lowered his hand and spoke. "While it might be easy to assume there are fungus used in medicine and poison, what about regular cleaning? Would a mycelium specimen be able to clean tile or wood or even cloth? Could a solution of certain spores and alcohol or water be able to relieve grease stains, skin oils, or even rust? Or what about bodily cleanliness like shampoos and soaps?"

Re: Lecture

[theanachronistictailor]

A mask is very good at hiding many things, and the Paisley handkerchief that somewhat covers the Tailor's mouth conceals the faint tug of a smile that threatens their face. It really is one of the greatest things in the world, to watch an individual speak at length about a subject they are passionate in. To watch their eyes gain a light and their gestures a little more confidence. Suddenly you feel privy to something cherished.

After a moment's lull, a hand raises quietly, and the other tugs the Paisley down a bit so they can speak clearly. "Regarding the sponge mushrooms- is there a known difference in quality of fabric or texture, based off wild versus cultivated?" They imagine processing the stuff can have a large impact either way, but they must presume a quality difference would happen through growth and experimentation. "Actually, considering its usage, would it still even be found in the wild, or would any current iteration of it be completely separate from the cultivated type used in industry?"

Here's a question: in how many ways can the Tailor make their own supplies for making clothing? They already spin spider silk, and are learning to spin Parabola flax into linen. They're already learning their own loom. Just how involved can they get in the production of the fabric itself?

Oh no, are they going to have to bother their teacher for samples and care of mushrooms? He can't have done that on purpose, could he?

Re: Lecture

[the_masked_hunter]

The Hunter waits for an appropriate opening in the lecture to stab at the heart of his curiosity. "How far can mushrooms go in the way o' antivenom?"
The Hunter doesn't raise a hand or look up from his work. Quietly, he listens for the reply or the rap of chalk on board.
Yes, this one should work. The Hunter wipes a black knife clean before setting it on the desk and drawing another from his cloak. None of the blades can be seen from the front.

Re: Lecture

[bookwizard]

The Persistent Professor asked about the potential use of fungi as a fuel source:

"Currently, London is largely dependent on Hell for our supply of gas to keep the lights on and the buildings warm. But as recent, shall we say, 'events' have amply demonstrated, that source could vanish at a moment's notice, so it would perhaps be wise for the city to diversify its fuel sources. Are there any fungi that are useful as combustible fuel sources for fires, heating, or powering trains and ships and the like?"

Even though it's not present, the mention of fires seems to cause the shadow of a certain Master to loom over the class. The more perceptive students felt a sudden tension in the room. Mr Fires guards its monopoly over fuel fiercely, and any discussion of so-called 'alternative energy' might attract its unpleasant attention.

Re: Lecture

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor raises a hand, waiting for their turn. Then, with interest, they ask.

"As saprophagous life-forms, fungi probably could accumulate plenty of environmental substances within their bodies, making them easier to collect... Is there any ongoing use of them for that end, be it minerals or otherwise? And if so, which species for which substances?"

Activity

[tolpen]

Carving into the enormous puffball is actually quite tricky: The skin is very tough, but the flesh is soft... as long as you are cutting in the line of the fibres and not across them. Furthermore, cutting the fibres releases the mushrooms orange milk which is quite harmless, but stains a golden hue which you suspect will be hard to wash off. The centre is then airy and offering no resistance, but if you puncture it too quickly, spores will explode in your face.

If that isn't enough, some of the knives, chisels and saws have a touch of the Red Science to them, a sigil of the Correspondence engraved somewhere subtly on the carving part. Some tools cut only in one direction, some are capable of cutting only a few inches before its physical form, and some are best left for yourself to discover. The implements of Red Science are easily recognised by being slightly warmer to the touch.

You can borrow a candle from anywhere to illuminate your work from within.

Re: Activity

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor considers the task at hand with great amusement. So, the wily Mycologist has been planning to turn the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology course into a crafts workshop, with the drawings being exposed in the walls (while having been a good training for identifying vital identificative traits of different fungi) and now producing a festive decoration (while having a hands-on approach to the particular fungus' anatomy via dissection). Clever.

To begin the activity, they have to identify the enormous puffball's structure to be able to properly carve it, so the first sample has to be sacrificed for science. The Professor stands up and goes towards the displayed courtesy tools, passing a hand over them to feel those branded by Law. Some examination allowed them to identify an scalpel the cuts of which go ahead than its touch, and tweezers which grab rather than nip, and those are the ones selected together with a pu(mpkin)ffball, and they set to work.

They discover how hard and thick the outer layer is, how the inside is foliated thus establishing an axis of easy cuts and thus one of difficult cuts, as well as the milk leaking when the fibres are cut, and the eagerness with which the spores are released when any movement comes their way. This has been a very enlightening dissection, and also one that helped enrich their Hallowmas disguise, so they call that a success!

Now that they know what they are doing, they go pick another orange puffball. Now the scalpel's function comes to play, just caressing the skin without cutting when it actually was slicing the fibrous flesh, making many concentric cuts along the lines, then against circling the top, and they shake it a bit, pressing the ear. Yes, the milk is flowing out, safely concealed inside. Now the spore sack, easy enough, a swift puncture from below, a twist of the scalpel, then retreat... Good. Now it is time to vigorously shake the cocktail, using both hands and fast motions to get the spores released free and the milk squeezed out the flesh... To finally open a superficial, circular cut on the lower base and pour the contents on a voluminous bowl, having now a gourmet fungal milkshake not to be drinked. Then the tweezers prove their usefulness by grabbing the now mostly dry fibrous flesh and picking it apart, fiber bundle after fiber bundle, without breaking them and making for an easier cleaning of the inside.

Once with a hollowed puffball, the designing started. They had it clear: A Hallowmas spider! So they proceeded to carve out eight eyes well spaced between them, and an arthropod mouth bearing approaches at chelicera and palps which, seen from the front, looked kinda cute. To complete, the Professor carved eight holes along the surface, four on each side, and scrapping strips of the first subject's crust added eight spindly legs. Now to find a good candle, cover it with the Hallowmas puffball and look at it! Such a cute, festive spider for the Season of Confessions.

Before the Professor notices, the class reaches an end. This has been amusing! And the explanations so interesting. The Mycologist was quite right, most teachers have little to compare to him.

Re: Activity

[theubiquitousguest]

The Ubiquitous Guest had attempted to wait for others to make their attempts at jack-o-puffballs, just to get a feel for how one should do this, but then witnessed the Professor expertly craft a fungal slurry out of a seemingly uncut puffball and balked. Ah. So that was how it would be today. Well...

Taking a breath, the Guest stood and limped to where the puffballs were kept. He picked out one with a flatter surface on one side for carving. They seemed firm and solid, an ear pressed to the flesh while giving a thump with one hand showed a somewhat hollow sound, blocked by whatever guts and gills sat inside. With his other hand, he hovered over the provided tools, hand freezing every once in a while over one of the slightly warm tools, breathing stiffly controlled. He intentionally grabbed tools that were as cold as possible, avoiding even touching anything that emanated warmth. Even if he witnessed someone just return the tool and their own hands were why it was still warm, he still avoided it, just in case.

He brought the puffball back to his seat under one arm and sat with it, taking the time to observe it. There was some sort of stem or tendril on the bottom, indicating where the mushroom had previously grown from. He took one of the carving knives and started with lining a hole around the base, big enough to stick his arm in. Sticking the knife in deeper, he immediately struck the spore sack, the pressurized spores launching out of the new opening and into the Guest's face. He coughed and spluttered, the hand with a covering cloth not reaching his face in time. He sneezed three times in quick succession before he was able to gather himself and observe the damage. It was easy to see that the combination of spores and fungal milk had turned into a sticky, brightly colored stain on his face and shirt.

Fine. He knew how to be hard on stains and could take care of his clothes later. He took a handkerchief to his face and took up the small handsaw. Adjusting his angle and positioning, he more carefully avoided the spore sack and finally extracted the offending fungal organ with care. Carefully, meticulously (and through terrifically awful trial and error), the Guest learned how to remove the flesh from the skin and pulled free the milky fibres. He moved slowly, taking breaks to massage his aching muscles and figure out what he was doing. He tried to ignore how he was still sniffling from the onslaught of spores.

When he finally emptied out the puffball and stymied the leaking of golden milk, the Guest considered the frankly mischievous mushroom and tilted his head. He took up a tool to further scrape the inside of the skin to thin out the area to carve and measured it against the scalpel. Between the scalpel and the handsaw, he was able to create a frankly horrifying face out of the skin, teeth bared, eyes scowling. He looked between that and a sketch he'd drafted of a somewhat cute, smiling face and frowned.

The Guest retrieved a smaller mushroom, repeated the process of cleaning and carving with less failures, and created something... only slightly less horrifying in visage. He cocked his head the other way. Boy, he wasn't very good at carving, huh?

Re: Activity

[theshadedgrove]

The doorknob softly rattles into the wall.
An obviously disturbed individual enters the class, while the Soft-Eyed Mycologist briefly pauses mid-sentence to observe the dishevelled, perambulating disruption with a steady gaze. Three academic quarters, not applicable to attendees; almost representing a whole irrational unit of tardiness. Only the severe, feverish gaze implied there was any struggling coherence upon arrival. The disruption shuffles into class and heads towards one of the few remaining seats available. After an observation even more belated than his own arrival he briskly picks up a set of tools and an eminently proportioned puffball.
Then takes his seat.

No festive mask is there besides the subtle glean of perspiration upon the newly composed, sculpted face. Likewise, there is no costume, besides the rumpled suit of one having recently clawed their way out of unconsciousness from the comfortless embrace of a hardwood floor.
"I deeply apologize for the nature and time of my arrival, dear mentor," the late arrival proclaims.
An attempt is made at acknowledging the faces of those others present, but they blur and cavort beyond possible recognition.
They cannot co-exist.
Inevitably the automated process commences.
He lays into the mushroom, as if it could hold an answer to the universe. It is his momentary world. Deadly tools are wielded with unaware deftness. Mycelial refuse scatters the table in a frenzied accumulation. Dead dreams which cannot propagate.
The cause of which manifests now in his hands, outside the veil of his thoughts. Not as an ethereal haunting, but an artifact as soft and cold as the blooming, resurrected fruit of that lodged within.
Fertilized by burgeoning resentment.

He stares into the accusing eyes.

And violently sneezes.
The entire outer world returns in a fit of unwelcome chagrin, as the fervor loses it's unyielding grip.
He must have unintentionally cut too deep. Mushroom spores thus invading his nasal cavity.
The Somnambulist is confronted by the disappointed stare from one aggrieved victim of microbial assault.
By the end, this experience was going to result with him as the main course on a coroner's examination table...

Re: Activity

[the_masked_hunter]

The Hunter surveys the array of implements, occasionally picking one up, observing it, and placing it down. There's a frown behind the mask, and a look of disdain in his eyes. More and more does he suppose that de-arming himself for the first class was an overabundance of caution since remedied. He simply takes a drip tray and a mushroom.

The Hunter begins pulling knives from the recesses of his cloak to experiment on the side of the puffball. This iron knife isn't sharp enough for his tastes. The hide feels too hard for that flint. The ravenglass barely registers the material it cuts through. Each new incision is a tell to be considered. The knives he deems unfit are wiped down and returned to their sheaths.

In the end, various cuts, punctures, and peelings mark a small fraction of the mushroom's surface, above streaks of leaked milk. Of the knives remaining on the table, two are ravenglass, one flint, and one iron.
The Hunter begins by flipping the mushroom over, a straight ravenglass knife in hand. The shard of dark glass slips through the mushroom's hide like a clipper through the zee. Two concentric circles are cut around the base, the larger bearing ample space around the former. Incised at angles, they form a ring to be slid out of the specimen, milk spilling from the severed fibres within.

From here, the work becomes more precise. He trades the straight knife for a curved blade of the same material. Carefully, he carves toward the centre of the now-isolated column of mushroom, draining milk as it pools. Little mind is paid to the direction of the grain - the biting glass cares not.
His caution pays off as he exposes the stained membrane housing the spores. Tracing the path of the sac, he cuts back outward until the film ends and the hyphae begin. One slice allows the remaining base to be angled. A second severs it completely.

The Hunter continues to carve around the now-exposed sac - the straight knife for deeper cuts, and the curved one to dance around the membrane. Gradually, the spore sac is removed and the mushroom hollowed out. A broad iron knife scrapes off the last of the stubborn fibres.

The straight ravenglass knife makes a return in the carving, with a relatively durable flint for detailing. Every now and again, he closes his eyes, keeping the depths firm in his mind. His prior experimentation is extracted to form a gaping eye. The gills are sliced, the fins, the grimacing needle teeth. Rough, perhaps, compared to a finer artist, but recognizable nonetheless.

The finishing touch is produced from the Hunter's satchel. A candle - whale blubber, of haruspex make rather than smuggler. In practice, the distinction matters little. The Hunter holds the hooked ends of the iron and flint together, striking once and twice for a spark. The warm light of the candle's wick quickly falls prey to the monstrosity of the tallow. The candle is placed on the extracted base, and consumed by the dreadful visage. Certain individuals in the room may recall the taste of its flesh, the slaughter within its bones.

Re: Activity

[theanachronistictailor]

The Loomweaver fetches a large puffball from the cart at the front of the desk and a few of the knives. They are careful in their selection of the tools, slightly wishing they'd had their own, but a hunter adapts with the tools at hand without issue. The Correspondence is examined with a critical eye, then one knife is selected and taken along with two simpler blades- one long and thin with a piercing tip, the other broader, with a curve and some heft.

Returning to their seat, they focus first on what the individuals around them are doing. More than one has punctured the concealed core, releasing clouds of stuff into the air. The Tailor's face covers seem to press more snugly over their nose and mouth in an abundance of caution. Their allergy is mild and only really related to the consumption of mushrooms, but still, the piece of clothes colony on them is taking no chances.

The knife with the piercing tip is taken up first. It has the relatively simple job of cutting into the skin, point slipped in with careful force. A series of punctures are made, until each slit leaks golden milk onto already sunset-covered gloves. Two fingers are rubbed together to feel the dampness. Strange. But they keep the gloves on in any case, even if the liquid is to seep onto the skin underneath. Then the fingers run across the mushroom, feeling out the fibers, and the Red Science blade is slipped into the existing cuts.

Both hunter and tailor expertise have trained them to cut. Along the grain, along the skin. The blade appears smooth, but its mark has changed its effect; it cuts like a serrated blade. Jagged teeth, to be most specific. The Tailor joins their cuts to create a circle on the base of the puffball, and they slip the curved blade into the cut to attempt to pry the circle and the attached spore sack free.

The sack is bigger than the cut circle, they find. Milk leaks all over their hands, but they pay it no mind. They've gotten the blood of many creatures all over their hands, and they're careful to approach this as a hunter. Precision, care. Control.

Okay, rethink. They can widen the hole, or- well, the Professor and the Hunter have given them an idea. They press the circle and its attached sack back inwards, then take up the blade with the curved edge and slip it in, angled to scrape the inside of the skin. Fibrous strands are broken- more milk drips free. Space is made in the interior. The curved blade comes out- the base is pressed flush, the piercing blade slides in with precise aim. Pop, hiss. From the seam of the cut, spores attempt to escape, but the sack has effectively burst within the cavity. The Tailor's eyes pinch nearly shut anyway to be safe.

Threat disarmed, they have less issue now with prying the base out and working the sack into something that can be removed. Many of the fibers come with it, still mostly attached to the core and separated from the inside of the skin. The result is a hollow puffball which only needs a little cleaning up. They don't mind getting their hands dirty. (Their throat bobs under the handkerchief.)

They consider their canvas for a long time. Finally, they choose a deceptively simple design. Two sharp eyes. The candle on the corner of the desk is placed onto the base that has been removed and cleaned, and the base is reinserted. The eyes glow against the body. In the reasonable lighting of the room, it is hardly so frightening, and likely in the dark it wouldn't be so much. Still. Two eyes lit up in pitch black. Knowing you are watched.

They sigh, setting the knives down. The nightmares have mostly stopped. Mostly.

Re: Activity

[theliedpiper]

Everyone is carving the puffballs so carefully. Delicately. Well, Piper has enough of that last week with the painting; this week they're gonna take advantage of the abundance of supplies. What's the fun in crafts if you don't get a little messy? Besides, any stains on their bandages will just add to the costume's effect.


They grab some of the warmest tools, the sensation of Correspondence familiar by now from their work on their kazoos. They don't look too closely at the actual symbols, figuring it will be more fun to be a surprise. They also grab an armful of puffballs, knowing they'll need more than one for sure. Unless they get really lucky.

They don't, which is fine. The first one catches on fire (they have their atomizer from the summer course, no worries). The second one disintegrates to something like sand. The third one sends out a cloud of spores, but their nose is covered, so no big deal.

The fourth one is their final product: a cute little silhouette of a rat (somewhat jagged, but recognizable) in the center of the puffball. They put a foxfire candle stub inside (they'd lit it off the previous fire before putting it out) and smile in satisfaction.

What a great class!

Re: Activity

[falconz]

The Everlasting Radiance kept silent and moved slowly, examining both the mushrooms and the provided implements for appropriate artistry. They'd let their gloved hand - void did not obstruct the inspection, it seemed - glide across instruments of all kinds, scanning them for warmth. Once found, the tool would be considered further - their growing understanding of sciences most unique helping them to parse the function - and discard the unfit. It isn't every day one has an opportunity to enjoy the luxury of such special "brushes" for their art - it would be a shame to not use it to its fullest.

After quite a while, they'd assemble a set of instruments most adequate for the goal at hand. Each one - a trusted friend on a journey of creation. Ones who would not fail in a steady hand - ones who would perform their duty without question.

Next they performed the selection of puffballs. Immediately they had picked one of the biggest ones and a couple dozen of the smallest possible ones. After some thought, they picked a couple of the more average-sized ones as well - doubtfully they would find place in their final piece, but they would do for practice.

Once everything was prepared on their table, the Radiance gazed upon their selection with lips tight and thin - their usual smile nowhere to be found. Hallowmas took a heavy toll on the Master of Ceremonies. Still, their fatigue would not stand in the way of art. After a long and arduous training process with the "test subjects" and their new "team" of tools - each must be welcomed, evaluated and studied properly before they are assigned an actual task, - they were ready to begin their work on the main picture.

They took a pair of knitting needles out of the tools they have selected along with the biggest puffball. After weaving only 10 threads of air, the sphere was successfully suspended about half a meter above the working station - it was quite handy that the air was fully capable of concealing threads made out of itself, allowing the illusion of gravity defiance. Though, it wasn't the easiest process - Falconz had to keep the mushroom perfectly still until the application was complete and he had encountered some unexpected oddities due to his lack of experience with such tools - he had to start over seven times, but it was a small price to pay for such intriguing result. He was especially joyous to find out that the needle didn't need to actually pierce the surface of the mushroom, sparing him any need for worries of staining his unstainable suit. Once that was done, he took the smallest fungi he'd picked for the process and sewn them into the installation as well - placing them chaotically around the center piece, which, it seemed, was played by the, scientifically speaking, "enormous" orb. At this point he had took a couple steps back and reviewed the created planetary system. No, this won't do. After one two three four more rearrangements, the artist was finally satisfied and put aside the needles - little sisters did what was asked, figures placed where it is required, and arrangements are made to ensure their position stays despite the gravity of the situation. They can rest and wait for their colleagues to act.

Next The Dreamer has picked a pair of scalpels - one left an odd numbing feeling in the hand while the other felt as if it was moving on it's own and the hand holding it was only following behind. First he had administered the cuts with the blade of certainty - cuts were promised to be made and all of the insides of the shrooms were to remain as they are until a certain moment - one that will occur once Hallowmas draws to a close. These orbs were already cut, they simply didn't know it yet - nor knew those behind their protective shell. Once all promises were made, it was time for another edge to come forth, as it let the shells - and only shells - know of their unfortunate demise. Soon enough, the flesh was peeled, leaving the juices and spores where they were - unaware of their protection disappearing. It wasn't easy to draw certainties of futures to come, nor was it simple to be keeping up appearances of nothing changing with the outer layer gone, yet this pair worked perfectly in tandem and, under the maestros management performed ideally. They would serve well further, but had to be put away - another task would be too much with their obligation to keep the smoke and mirrors up. He will need to use others to further the plan.

Next in line for their part of the job was the humble chisel. It worked tirelessly to gather the suspended blood of the mushroom, still where it was left by the flesh, and sculpt it into a specific form. It sharpened the edges and added more shine to the fluid, making it seem almost solid for how neat the resulting shapes turned out. The attention was gathered and manipulated into concrete questions and visions. A little scraped off here, a little added there, and soon the juice was convinced of their form and the need to maintain it, looking now almost like cut jewels of peculiar shapes. Falconz would keep using the chisel to the very last moment of the operation, keeping the perception of events under close watch with the help of a loyal shaper of such materials.

Another implement, which the maestro would keep close by their hands would be a meat hook, the size of his palm. It would make sure to hook the unexploded and still compact spores and change their position, forming more shapes behind the crystals of juice. It was a little tricky to create facial features with only the pulling motions of a hook and it took a very long time, but eventually it was done as well. The resources were pulled into the predetermined investments and treasuries, the secret identities of the opponents were revealed, even if they were still concealed by their masks - the masks themselves would serve in place of faces underneath. Still, they'd need to be adjusted as the new facts become known.

And lastly... A spark to lit the flame. A candle and scissors. Light up the candle, place it in the center of the treasuries, and cut the candle wick right under the flame - let it burn as if there still is something to sustain it. Do so with every target - plant the misinformation and let it become the biggest gamble - one that simply cannot be resisted. They don't know they never had the chance. They should've thought better before trying to deceive The Chuckling Investor and his friends.

Finally, after what feels like hours - how long has it been? - it is done. Falconz steps back, breathing heavily, his body rising and relaxing with each deep breath he takes. He marvels at the structure created with a satisfied, if a little tired, smile.

Half a meter above his desk, suspended in the air, an, scientifically speaking, "enormous" head formed of spores and gasses, sculpted to form a face, beaming with light and covered by the mask of orange juice, polished and perfected to an image of citrine - the features of both the face itself and the mask covering it look distinctly similar to The Everlasting Radiance themselves. It looks down with a benign smile at the smaller figures, flying towards it. Each and every one of them - a moth of citrine with a candle light inside and spores arranged into a unique face of a particular someone.

Master of Ceremonies welcomes moths to their fold in their Pavilion. And outside of it?... Well... After Hallowmas ends, many people will wonder how a multitude of major players on the Market crumbled so unexpectedly and so quickly all almost at the same time - even The Studious Charmer sustained serious damage, barely managing to keep their assets afloat. Truly a mystery to behold. Falconz stepped back to work.

Chisel and Hook were actively used to perfect this piece of art till the very end.

After Class

[tolpen]

Before you completely pack up, the Mycologist remarks: "For your ease of journey across mycology, I have procured the latest edition of the Wild and Domesticated Mushrooms of London with the Hinterland addendum. As I've said: I have no intentions of making you cram a book in your heads. You are allowed to use these at your leisure. Including during the final exam."

There is precisely one book for every student.

Re: After Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

Once the class finishes, the Professor of course reaches to grab their assigned book with a wide, excited smile.

"Thank you very much, my dear. I never tire of having interesting things to remind me of you. In exchange, I will offer you a different gift."

Then they lean closer to the Mycologist's ear, whispering subtly.

"The treatment is officially safe for human use... Should we book an appointment?"

OOC

[tolpen]

Hello, welcome to the second class. I hope you are all enjoying the Hallowmass, and please have fun carving your puffball-o'-lantern.

In other news, I am now officially older than I was a year before and I still haven't had any pumpkin spice latte this year. It's out in the open now.

Re: OOC

[emeraldqueen]

Alright guys, what are our Halloween costumes this year?

I will be Sherma from Silksong. I’ve put golden paper around a conical hat. I have a screwdriver wrapped in aluminum foil. I have a paper plate with eyes drawn on it. I have a diminutive stature and a love of song. One could say I was born for the role.