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benthic_universityHere you are, in the lecture hall for the last time, hopefully, for Selected Chapters of Practical Subterranean Mycology. Any repeat visit would imply that you’ll have failed the exam that you are about to take today, and you would attempt to retake it in the future.
Upon entering you see, no change to the class itself. Although it is hard to say with any certainty, because most of the classroom is obscured with people. The lecture hall that’s grown cosy to the few of you in attendance is now packed with people. Most seats are taken. More people still are entering, signing themselves into the ledger on the teacher’s desk, and trying to find a place to sit.
You recognise a few schoolmates – the Socially Adept Naturalist, the Charming Student, the loitering gaggle that spends most of the time lounging on campus revising some study materials, but you’ve never shared a classroom with them… until now.
Fortunately you manage to find a seat (although most likely not your preferred seat) and nobody is left standing.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist enters the classroom with the precise timing of someone who refuses to be too early and loathes to be late. The spike in attendance has not caught him off-guard; the stack of papers he is carrying makes it clear that there is enough exam material for everyone, and anyone interested can get seconds.
He shoots the class a bright smile of welcome. The first time you’ve seen this expression on him in an academic setting, it was seconds prior to releasing a horde of dwarf fungal columns freely into the classroom.
“I am overjoyed to see everyone, and I hope you’ve thoroughly revised the subject. I am not familiar with all of you, but I have full confidence that neither students who have diligently attended my classes from the beginning, nor the study group that has formed around Professor Guildenstern will find the test too challenging. I have promised the good Professor to go easy on you, since he’s eased my workload.
Initially I intended to hold the exam in practical skill of mycology, but in this sheer magnitude that seemed impossible, hence the written medium.l”
He begins to make rounds around the classroom, weaving between desks and chairs, placing several papers bound together in front of each student. Sometimes he takes the exam papers from the top of the stack, sometimes from the bottom, sometimes from some part in the middle.
“I would like to note– Hey, everyone begins at the same time! Do not turn the papers yet. One more attempt at cheating and I am failing thee by default, madam. As I was saying, there are five different versions of the exam with different sets of questions. Any attempts at copying your neighbours are doomed to failure.”
Finally everyone has the test in front of them.
“Before we begin, are there any questions?” You learn that once you leave the classroom, you may not return, you may use any materials you’ve brought in (almost everyone came empty-handed), and that to pass you have to earn the cumulative score of sixty per cent.
“Cumulative, sir?”
“Forty per cent for the essay, sixty per cent form the test,” the Mycologist nods with a smile.
“Do you accept late assignments for this essay?”
“Thou appearst to have misunderstood the dead in the deadline.”
The teacher pulls a pocket watch from his waistcoat and opens it: “'’Tis seven minutes past the hour. You have one hundred and twenty minutes, starting… now.”
The silence is interrupted only by pens and pencils scratching against paper, the occasional turning of a sheaf, and a rare groan of academic despair. As the two hours pass, the students submit their work one by one.
The grades will be posted within a fortnight.
Upon entering you see, no change to the class itself. Although it is hard to say with any certainty, because most of the classroom is obscured with people. The lecture hall that’s grown cosy to the few of you in attendance is now packed with people. Most seats are taken. More people still are entering, signing themselves into the ledger on the teacher’s desk, and trying to find a place to sit.
You recognise a few schoolmates – the Socially Adept Naturalist, the Charming Student, the loitering gaggle that spends most of the time lounging on campus revising some study materials, but you’ve never shared a classroom with them… until now.
Fortunately you manage to find a seat (although most likely not your preferred seat) and nobody is left standing.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist enters the classroom with the precise timing of someone who refuses to be too early and loathes to be late. The spike in attendance has not caught him off-guard; the stack of papers he is carrying makes it clear that there is enough exam material for everyone, and anyone interested can get seconds.
He shoots the class a bright smile of welcome. The first time you’ve seen this expression on him in an academic setting, it was seconds prior to releasing a horde of dwarf fungal columns freely into the classroom.
“I am overjoyed to see everyone, and I hope you’ve thoroughly revised the subject. I am not familiar with all of you, but I have full confidence that neither students who have diligently attended my classes from the beginning, nor the study group that has formed around Professor Guildenstern will find the test too challenging. I have promised the good Professor to go easy on you, since he’s eased my workload.
Initially I intended to hold the exam in practical skill of mycology, but in this sheer magnitude that seemed impossible, hence the written medium.l”
He begins to make rounds around the classroom, weaving between desks and chairs, placing several papers bound together in front of each student. Sometimes he takes the exam papers from the top of the stack, sometimes from the bottom, sometimes from some part in the middle.
“I would like to note– Hey, everyone begins at the same time! Do not turn the papers yet. One more attempt at cheating and I am failing thee by default, madam. As I was saying, there are five different versions of the exam with different sets of questions. Any attempts at copying your neighbours are doomed to failure.”
Finally everyone has the test in front of them.
“Before we begin, are there any questions?” You learn that once you leave the classroom, you may not return, you may use any materials you’ve brought in (almost everyone came empty-handed), and that to pass you have to earn the cumulative score of sixty per cent.
“Cumulative, sir?”
“Forty per cent for the essay, sixty per cent form the test,” the Mycologist nods with a smile.
“Do you accept late assignments for this essay?”
“Thou appearst to have misunderstood the dead in the deadline.”
The teacher pulls a pocket watch from his waistcoat and opens it: “'’Tis seven minutes past the hour. You have one hundred and twenty minutes, starting… now.”
The silence is interrupted only by pens and pencils scratching against paper, the occasional turning of a sheaf, and a rare groan of academic despair. As the two hours pass, the students submit their work one by one.
The grades will be posted within a fortnight.
Sign In
Date: 2026-01-27 02:37 pm (UTC)Re: Sign In
Date: 2026-01-27 03:20 pm (UTC)Once his name was signed, he looked out over the crowd of unfamiliar students and gave a frustrated sigh. Fuck this...
Re: Sign In
Date: 2026-01-27 07:19 pm (UTC)When having to endure the line towards the ledger they simply pick a place from which to wait, and as the inevitable flow of the human tide progresses they advance, without ever pushing or squishing into anyone, showing a great deal of patience until their name can be properly signed.
Re: Sign In
From:Re: Sign In
From:Re: Sign In
From:Before Class
Date: 2026-01-27 02:38 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-01-27 04:14 pm (UTC)The first thing he tried was effort. Maybe people would move out of the way, if he made contact first. From the first contact, it was clear that spite would drive the unfamiliar people to crowd in closer. To them, he was the outsider and intruder.
His next idea was to try emulating someone who could part a sea of people with their focused disdain. Stand taller, straighter, like he had something to prove. Walk like he was three times his size, exuding a massive and threatening aura. Scowl, to make it clear there was no patience to be had. Act like he was something far older, far more dangerous.
There were maybe three people he could urge out of the way before he became trapped in the crowd again.
Oh, fuck subtlety. He had a desk to get to and a test to take! With a swift motion, he was able to produce a knife, baring his teeth, aiming his burning ire at anyone who came too close. "Hey!" The Guest barked. "Get outta the bleedin' way! I dunno what the fuck yer doin' in this room, ye fockin' tarts, but the people who actually belong here need their seats! And I don't 'ave the patience or pain tolerance to shove through, so MOVE!"
That, at least, earned him a wide berth. Enough to get to a seat, at least, if not create a three foot oasis of space around him so long as he held tight to the knife.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-02-24 02:55 am (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-01-27 07:24 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-02-04 10:54 pm (UTC)Maybe now wasn't the right time to bring that up, but it was more important than passing a test in Piper's opinion. And they wanted to make sure they didn't forget.
Re: Before Class
From:Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-01-27 09:59 pm (UTC)Those who are perceptive enough might notice something rather strange: The crowd parts in patterns without any comment to why. Students move like little fish darting away from shadows. They don't seem aware they're doing it. Perhaps you can make out why? Are you Watchful enough to see what's going on? Did you come to class ready to pay attention? Perhaps you might have some extra Sudden Insight to spare.
Make out what's causing the students to move
(This Watchful check needs 550 to 100 percent. Subtract your Watchful stat from that, then roll a random number generator between 1-550. The number you roll must be higher to pass the check. X > 550 - (Watchful)
If you would like to headcanon your character using a Sudden Insight, you can roll again.)
(If this isn't fun for you, sorry.)
Success:
Something's not right
You stop looking at the students and focus on the path being formed through them. It is weaving and dark, a needle passing along threads without damaging the whole despite its sharpness, but through the eye of the needle you see them: The Anachronistic Tailor.
They are dressed in black. They walk like their body is too small for their form; as if at any moment they might be a much bigger Thing. The bodies around them respond in kind and make space for the Thing they could be but currently are not. Despite the instinct, nobody comments in discomfort, nor in fear, nor that they've noticed anything amiss at all. It is only natural the people move the way they do, fabric undisturbed by the addition of the black thread.
Even now, having spotted them, you struggle to keep your focus on the Tailor. They have stopped moving, they are seated, but still, your eye yearns to pass over, like they're not even there at all. Perhaps they aren't. Perhaps it's merely a trick in your mind. Surely the seat is occupied by a simple shadow.
But nobody else moves to take it.
Nightmares is increasing... (+1 CP)
Fail:
Inexplicable
Try as you might, you can't quite figure out the pattern in the way the students part. You watch as they move this way and that as if edging away from an invisible predator. All you can discern is a strangeness in the shadows. Nobody seems uncomfortable or disturbed, nor does anyone comment on it. Maybe it really is just random, as people chatter with their friends in the well-lit, crowded room.
You can't shake the feeling something is off, but you can't be sure as to why. Your eyes keep moving over the bodies. In the corner of your vision, or just past an elbow or a shoulder, you see: a dash of black. A pale face. Dark hair. Peligin eyes.
Is there a predator in the classroom?
Nightmares is increasing... (+2 CP)
Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-01-29 12:45 am (UTC)Maven and Devil were glancing around, wondering about what the reason may be for this many new faces. And that wasn't the only odd thing around here. It's hard to say who spotted it first: Jane, with her keen eye and perception, or Derek, with his hunter instinct. But they reached for each other at the same time, as if to get each other's attention with what they noticed.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2026-02-04 11:10 pm (UTC)roll 2: 489 > 290
It takes Piper a moment to notice Tailor. Even after all this time, though, Piper still goes out of their way to notice them. Pays just a little more attention than they do elsewhere.
And then - Piper ignores them.
Because it's none of their business. There is no point in chasing down someone who doesn't want to be found. Piper has friends who actually want to spend time with them.
They remind themself this as many times as it takes. If they end up failing this exam, it won't be because they were too busy worrying about someone who thinks they're an idiot.
Exam
Date: 2026-01-27 02:41 pm (UTC)The questions are typewritten on four pages as follows:
Re: Exam
Date: 2026-01-27 07:01 pm (UTC)2. Laboratory Botanist.
He turned his attention back to the first question, chewing the end of his fountain pen. Had they covered mycoxylem? Maybe it was under a different name? Industrial... Had he missed that portion of studying? It was only two points, so long as he got the rest right.
1. Inkcap.
That was a broad category of mushrooms, perhaps broad enough to catch the actual answer. Stars, he hoped so.
Question three took a bit of work, needing a diagram drawn in the margins to remember, but he eventually got it.
3. Fruiting body, hyphae, spore, and substrate.
At question four, the Guest tilted his head. Wh- really? That was it? Subtly, he flipped a few pages to check for trick questions, hidden questions, last minute instructions. Finding nothing... Well, the Guest began to write. He pretended very well in struggling, mostly because remembering the words was a hassle and spending too long in quiet, with his body hunched and staring at the page, was beginning to make his head hurt. It was simple to look frustrated, agonized, confused, and desperate.
Finally, the essay was finished and the stack of pages returned to the Mycologist.
Re: Exam
Date: 2026-02-10 04:00 pm (UTC)Re: Exam
Date: 2026-01-27 09:52 pm (UTC)Page One: Ah! Easy basic questions, nice.
1. "Bark-Stalks (Dendromyces lignificans of any variety)."
2. "Laboratory Botanists." And also a chuckle coming from the examined.
3. "Fruiting body, hyphae, spore and substrate."
How curious there were this few and short questions in just one page. This is surely a ruse to build confidence before the heavy blow to the face. Turn of the page!
Page Two: Wh-What? Wait. Reading it. Reading it again. Seeing the punctuation. Watching the other two pages, then grinning like mad. They're about to burst out laughing but the last part is likely to count a lot in the final grade so they keep silent to great personal sacrifice. Very well then, time to write!
To write the story of a young lovely mould whose name is Leontina Augustus Miren Bargaud (but most often referred to as Lamb during the course of the writing), the fluffiest ball of wooly white mycelium to ever exist, who before the story starts lived with its father, a passionate Mycologist whose magnum opus was to discover Lamb and, throughout his life, tried to find Lamb's origins unsuccessfully. But ultimately life had its way and the Mycologist passed out (permanently, for this isn't a Neathy environment. There's even an open sky with sunlight and four moons!) leaving Lamb sadly alone in its cozy yet isolated home.
Alone until an unexpected visitor entered in said home looking to steal. A visitor in the shape of a sly, haughty and spindly fox-wolf named Noa who, at the sight of the lonely mourning little Lamb decided to adopt it as her new partner-in-crime. Lamb, albeit reluctantly, accepted for the sake of not being left aimless and alone again, and this first chapter continues with some scenes of them both bonding, teaching each other what they learned during very different lives, and also showing off both Noa's teleportation powers and Lamb's capability of acquiring the voice and memories of those it ate, which Noa considered pretty cool.
Page Three: By this point Lamb and Noa's shared adventures find them in some ancient ruins the location of which was conned out of a group of naive archaeologists during an entirely made-up card game gamble, expecting to get some juicy relics but finding instead the tomb of one nameless Tenebrous Wanderer, who after leaving behind nir mortal remains became an animated shadow who had traveled far and wide and knew much! Or, at least, enough to recognize Lamb for what it is. Intrigued, Lamb asks for further information, to which the Wanderer answered there was once, long ago, a place where fluffy moulds like it lived and thrived, but it disappeared after a catastrophe. Pressed to give the information, ne says the land was found in an island far away across the seas.
Of course, the protagonist pair had to go there! But how? Well, in the nearest coastal city they make acquaintance with the badass daredevil pirate dread captain Persephone! A captain who, after hearing the couple's story and intent, took them on board of the Rigor Mortis with a promise of payment, to be discounted if the adventures lived with them were worth it. So most of this chapter is spent retelling adventures at sea, mysterious islands and huge monsters! Yet captain Persephone had an ace up her sleeve when all seemed lost: Her loyal kraken friend Captain! (Who, being seabound on its own, counted as captain of its own 'ship' without any further confusion).
Page Four: The adventurous group arrives finally to the island! Where a civil war is being waged, as soon they discover. Upon the death of the previous monarch, the realm was to be ruled by both heirs in equal terms but, unable to reach an understanding, the Twin Monarchs Akarek and Nizrek warred for the right to be the one and only ruler! Travelling the land becomes almost impossible, and if they want to find the ancient birthplace of Lamb, the protagonists need to stop this war! So through cunning, stealth and charisma, Lamb and Noa manage to have both Monarchs in the same room, and used Lamb's natural capabilities to imitate the twins' parent's voice and thus mediate for a peaceful solution to their conflict. The once again equal rulers show their gratefulness by indicating where the historical mould land was located, high in a mountain where a Second Sun raised each night, bathing all the land in a bright hopeful light even in the darkest moments like a nation-wide lighthouse.
Turns out the mountain's Second Sun was a glimmering-carapaced crab-person! Sweet and caring yet bearer of an ages-old melancholy, the new friend named Aster showed Lamb and Noa the way through a network of caverns and tunnels excavated long ago inside the mountain which they made into their home during daylight. With the bright friend's help, Lamb found the original soil from which its kind once was born! A place from which to form a new family for its people and eventually a new nation as well. The ending is left open, without Lamb making a clear decision. Perhaps it discovered all the people it needed were the friends it made along the way and the adventuring life. Or perhaps it will now settle and split into the cutest, fluffiest realm of saprophytes to ever bless the present world with its presence.
And there! There's been a fair share of crossing out and struggling, and also some sketches of Lamb (including some remarks as "Perfect shape" and "So fluffy!" surrounded by anatomically correct hearts and physically incorrect stars), Noa's anthro design, Tene's tomb and outline against it, Percy on the Rigor Mortis with the kraken-Captain, anthro Akarek and Nizrek sharing a split crown, Aster up in a mountain, and an overly ellaborated patch of dirt labeled as "The Woolmould Cradle".
Once done, and having consumed almost all of the time, the Professor stands up and hands the exam with a wide smile and a flicking tail. They'd like to say more, but it'll have to wait for professionality's sake. Perhaps once the exam is over for everyone, soon enough.
Re: Exam
Date: 2026-02-10 04:03 pm (UTC)And what an A it is. The Fs (and the rare, passing Es) take cover from it, crawling to the edge of the list.
Re: Exam
Date: 2026-01-29 01:33 am (UTC)At least they appear to be good for something. When the forms are revealed, the little book is flipped open with one hand in an efficient motion, and it is little more than a matter of cross-referencing with it to confirm the information they no longer deem relevant to recall.
The first question: easy enough. They had had plans, at one point, to explore cultivation in their own time. The development of cotton sponges to grow their own product to weave, since getting material was so difficult. Did you know that they had actually attempted to follow up on this? They had reached out to at least two individuals on the subject who worked in cultivation of cotton sponge. Did you know they had been adamantly refused yet again by manufacturers in their chosen field?
No- of course you didn't know. The Tailor hadn't told anyone but the Piper that nearly the entire industry was being dangled out of their reach. They'd managed, hadn't they? They'd done it without help.
The second question: a glance at their notes. The corner of a mouth twitches, and in the seat beside them the student shivers suddenly like someone has just walked over her grave. The Tailor is remembering wrestling in the marsh dirt, though the memory seems far away and hazy. Did they kill the Mycologist then? No, that was later. Maybe he would have respected them more if they'd killed him, then. They can't remember why they'd held back. Regardless- there.
The third question: a page flips in a book. Ha, yes. They'd just come from the Convent a couple days prior to that class. There'd been a lot on their mind. Priorities shifting. They'd written some garbage poem about the hole in their center, hadn't they? How deeply embarrassing. The fellow should have failed them on the spot and been done with the whole matter. Save all of them a lot of time and trouble.
There are errors in how they've written their answers the Tailor has to cross out and rewrite. They're not wrong, but... is there a word for the aggravating sensation when your brain and your hands and your eyes just get everything wrong? Usually with enough time to look over their work or to think out what they're writing, they can correct, but exams? Is it any wonder the Tailor has always done poorly in a classroom?
(The term 'word blindness', the word dyslexia, these were coined in 1881. Nobody's told them about it.)
Here is page one of their exam, if you're interested.
A B KingJan 27 1899
dark stalks anb cotton sqongesBark Stalks and Cotton Sponges
Lad dontanistLAB Botantist
LAB B O T AN IST
hyphea
fruting boby
spoore
sudtsprate
The page is turned over. The Tailor reads, then rereads the instruction. Their eyes narrow. A soft exhalation through their nose results in a whimper two seats away. They flex set down their pen to flex the joints of their hand, already threatening to cramp from the forcible crossing out and rewriting. Fine.
The next three pages are either devoid of errors entirely or subsist of nothing but errors, depending on your point of view: that is, they are all written entirely in shorthand. There's a scrawling quality to them, the author's writing near chicken scratch, but it's at least a known and recognizable shorthand as opposed to a personal and unclear encryption.
The text describes how to quite efficiently close off every avenue of success for an individual in a chosen field of study or work.
The first page highlights first how you begin with the specialists in the subject, for example: a dressmaker contacts a company that specializes in creating fabric flowers, or reaches out to a company that produces bobbin lace, or even just a cobbler. You effectively threaten or bribe or tax each of those specialists, to make a point that they do not work with the individual who has contacted them. That's specific work the dressmaker in question can no longer outsource. They aren't likely to have the tools needed to make the items themselves, nor the skills or training. They can try, but that is time away from the rest of their work, which will take a hit in quality for the fact they can no longer get the outsourced work. Here is an illustration of a garment: each part is labeled by the individual specialist that would usually produce the aspect included. Fabric buttons; braided cords and tassels; embroidery; boning; featherwork.
The second page goes into detail about how you then limit the individual's access to the appropriate materials. There are a number of manufacturers in Spite, if we continue the example of the dressmaker. The craftsman will attempt to contact each one to have the fabrics required to craft the garments, linen makers, silk weavers, wool producers, etc. Should one manufacturer refuse, it is not the end of the world, because there is competition and a number of others can take the place, though quality varies. If, however, they all are 'convinced' by ways and means to refuse the craftsman, and then tell each other and other manufacturers the craftsman is to be avoided, the individual will be forced to use means perhaps frowned upon by others, such as going through the Relicker rag trade or working with manufacturers who are considered less reliable, if those ones will allow. Barring all other options, the craftsman may be forced to try to make the material themselves. Here is a crude and simple explanation of how a spinning wheel functions. Here is a rudimentary illustration of a loom. Here are some breakdowns on using mushrooms to make dye pigments. A note on spider silk harvesting.
The final page explains how to take the stranglehold, the asphyxiation of the individual's access to the field or work, to its natural conclusion: cutting access off from the ability to produce the base components themselves at all. Cut off not only access to the tools to create the components, but the contact to those in the industry who work in the cultivation of the materials. The previous example again: The dressmaker contacts those who specialize in developing and cultivating cotton-sponge. Here is an illustration of the cotton-sponge that has been domesticated alongside an illustration of a wild- no, excuse me, 'feralized' cotton-sponge. The cultivators have already been given direction through manufacturers and the schemer to avoid and to refuse the individual, and no amount of bargaining, pleading, nor threatening will sway the minds of those cultivators. The dressmaker's options become limited to underhanded criminal acts, or attempting to find and domesticate their own type of cotton-sponge from a 'feralized' species to be found in the wild. Which takes time to find and to manipulate, even if one were to use particular Sciences of the Crimson variety. Failing all other options, the craftsman would have to admit defeat altogether. They would never be able to achieve anything in this manner.
(You, the reader, may notice the writer of these notes never suggests the idea of requesting help from others. Perhaps it didn't occur to them?)
Or to simplify the example to the extreme: If you wanted a writer to stop writing, you'd take away their ability to speak to other writers or publishers, then take away their typewriter and their pen and their paper. If they were really desperate, they might try to make the paper and the ink themselves, as humans figured out how to do long ago. Restrict access to those resources, and there's little hope left for the writer to do much of anything. Congratulations. The Ministry of Decency would be proud.
Expressionless, the Tailor turns the completed exam over. The soft noise of papers rustling makes someone nearby jump a little. They stand silently, and cross the room- there it is again. That strange way they walk. Did you see it earlier? Are you looking up from your exam long enough to notice how their body threatens to spread into something much bigger than itself and possibly bigger than the classroom itself? Or is it impossible to discern? Their shoes don't make a sound on the floor. The only trace of them is the faint smell of sandalwood.
They set the exam on the desk at the front of the room, and exit wordlessly.
Re: Exam
Date: 2026-02-10 04:06 pm (UTC)Re: Exam
Date: 2026-02-08 10:27 pm (UTC)Which is why when he got to the second page of the exam, Devil felt a small bit of vindication.
But for the first page, they were both able to answer well. Devil might've had issues were it not open book, but they both got the answers:
1. Bark-Stalks
2. Laboratory Botanist
3. Fruiting body, hyphae, spore, and substrate
When Devil got to the second page he'd paused, glancing at Maven from the side of his eye. Maven had already read through the exam and figured out what was going on, so when she saw him turn it she just returned his look. No nodding, that might be a bit too obvious, but that was fine. The look was enough.
So they focused again. Devil couldn't quite help the grin on his face at the prospect of an easy exam like this.
Maven, for her part, wrote out several mycogene poems on the remaining pages. They were very good examples of the art form, though the subject matter was a bit tamer than the average mycogene poem. There was, however, one poem that was... more typical of the art movement. She normally wouldn't write such a lascivious thing for an academic work, (that was saved for other works) but considering who the teacher was and how familiar he was with the art movement, he would probably appreciate it. She accompanied the poems with several drawings of many different mushrooms that might be appropriate for them. The more raunchy poem was, of course, accompanied with drawings of various types of stinkhorns. The Maven managed to keep a very serious face throughout all this, looking like she was thinking very intently on the exam.
At first Devil had taken to... well, drawing would imply intent. Which he was making a show of, as the instructions said. But most of what he did was random abstract doodling. Again, at least at first. Out of the random doodling eventually rose some maps. Truly living on the edge of the law, drawing these. One for the Bugsby Marsh and various points of interest (Piper's home, the waterhouse that he and Maven used as their lair, the place where the blemmigan poets gather, the shroom hopping area, ect), with their cottage right at the outskirt. He also made a map of what looked like a warehouse. For anyone else this would seem random, but he and the Mycologist were still planning on doing that heist in February once class was over. It helped to get the layout of it down from memory, make sure he remembered where everything was. Another map was... well, it was unclear what it was, where it was supposed to be. Was it... the rooftops?
(At one point Devil glanced at Maven's paper out of curiosity to see what she was doing. It took all of his willpower not to burst out laughing at that.)
Re: Exam
From:After Class
Date: 2026-01-27 02:43 pm (UTC)On your way out, the Mycologist catches your eye. With a grim expression he shakes his head, slightly: Not a word. Then he smiles and turns his attention back to the rest of the students.
Re: After Class
Date: 2026-01-27 10:30 pm (UTC)The Guest sighed as he leaned against the wall outside the door. He hadn't been paying attention, didn't know how many people had finished before him, but hoped to see some familiar faces leave the room as he watched. He didn't have much of a chance to talk to people at the beginning of class, considering the crowd and the knife present, but maybe he could catch people at the end.
Re: After Class
From:Re: After Class
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From:Re: After Class
Date: 2026-01-27 10:40 pm (UTC)Re: After Class
Date: 2026-01-29 09:00 pm (UTC)The hall is less crowded. They are quick to make their way down the hall towards the stairs out of this miserable basement space -the less underground they are, the better- and have made it two-thirds of the way up the stairwell when the Tailor blinks. Once. Intentionally. Someone three steps ahead of them stumbles.
They pat their coat pocket.
Ah.
Their notebook has been left on the desk in the classroom. Which cannot be reentered while the class is in session.
Snorting in frustration, the Tailor turns on the step and storms silently back to the hall to wait for the rest of the students to file out one by one. They don't lurk directly behind the door, but a little ways down, closer to the teacher's door.
If one were to notice them somehow (and this time, the check is 500, so you have a slightly better chance), one might take in the white face against the black clothing. The shadows under the eyes that are just as dark as the peligin. There's an unapproachable energy to the Tailor in the way they lean. Their hair is disheveled... when did they stop slicking it back? Last class? The one before the break? Cold seems to radiate from them, but a damp kind of cold. They don't appear to be looking at the people passing, but that's a falsehood- they're looking. (Everyone is so vulnerable. So unaware of their surroundings.)
But if one doesn't notice them, one might bump into them? If, somehow, one absolutely misses the vibes that are following them like a cloak. A large cloak. Probably black. Lots of silks and furs and fabrics. You know. That kind of cloak. If you missed that, somehow.
Christ alive, if someone snatches the Tailor's book off their desk before they can go back in and retrieve it, the resulting mess would likely look not too far from a Vake attack. It better be there when they get back inside.
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From:OOC
Date: 2026-01-27 02:44 pm (UTC)Hope you've all had a blast. I think I am going to bed. Good grief, I was not cut out to be a teacher.
For posterity: The original plan for the practical exam was killing Professor Guildenstern for once and for good, but not everyone might be into that and this is more fun.
Re: OOC
Date: 2026-01-27 07:10 pm (UTC)Re: OOC
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