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benthic_university2025-06-10 07:00 am
Correspondence Scholarship, Class One [Tuesday Morning, June 10th]
It took a while to find the classroom. The halls of Benthic were in turns stately and wild, and to catch snippets of conversation is to risk getting drawn into conversation (risky), or someone else's research project (perilous in the extreme). The little slip of paper with the classroom listing was even worse. The number didn't relate to any floor or door, and those that managed to get their nerves up enough to ask for help were treated to scornful chuckles.
"I knew that class was one big prank," chortled a passing member of the Stoats' Club, "even ol' Percy Winship-Widgon wouldn't fall for it, and he's only got half a lobe left to spare!"
As the starting hour for the class drew closer, and whispering doubts threatened to increase in volume, something important clicked into place. The classroom number might not exist on the walls of the building. But it did correspond to the table of contents in one of the many volumes of required reading. And that pointed to a section that referenced a paper that was also in the course materials, a seemingly unrelated architectural discussion of Benthic's construction…
Ah. The dome at the top of the building. Most students hadn't known that there was a room there. Had there ever been a room there?
Regardless. Members of the class made their way higher and deeper into the center of the great structure, and finally came upon a door, labeled with a lead plaque, and the numbers for the much-sought classroom. To squint at it, one would notice the numbers going funny for a moment. Perhaps they didn't look the same to other people. Though to look around, each member of the class would have noticed that they'd made the trek alone. There were no other people to see these numbers.
The room itself was too big for such a small class; three rows of university benches with shelf desks sat in the middle, facing a lecturing podium and a freestanding chalkboard. There were at least four independent layers to the board, and it wrapped a semi-circle around the benches, closing the space off into a much less agoraphobic classroom area.
Atop each bench were sets of goggles, and several silver atomizers. Atop the lecturing podium was a congratulatory fungal bouquet. If your fungiography isn't too rusty, those were ink-caps for success in scholarly ventures, amanita virosa for permanent consequences, and false-blemmigans to wrap the entire thing in a fantastically sarcastic tone of voice.
Class hadn't started yet, and the professor was absent. Students had a little time to introduce themselves to the others.
Was it true that if the professor arrived late, everyone was allowed to go? Surely it couldn't be, in a university setting. But whether it was mis or good fortune, there came the sound of yelling from the hallway.
The voice was a very unpleasant one. In some, it might've inspired fear. But any ear could detect an uncanny edge to the high timbre. "-certain that you could find a last-minute replacement!"
"There aren't any others with your qualifications!" The second speaker's voice had a posh, Etonian lilt, and though he'd raised his volume, his emotions weren't half as compromised. He seemed patient, bordering on amused. "I promised to attempt to find another professor, but it's a very delicate matter-"
"What nonsense!"
"As you say."
"Absolute rot!"
"Indeed."
A sigh. "It's in here, is it?"
"Yes."
A louder, more beleaguered sigh. "Don't think that this is the end of this. We'll speak later."
"Good fortune and happy teaching."
"The next living creature to wish me that is going to learn their first lesson, and it'll be a keen one, I'll have you know that!"
Somewhere behind the chalkboard, a door slammed, and a pair of heeled boots tapped quickly toward the students. Then, a billowing silhouette of opulent white fabric rounded the corner, as their professor strode into view. Threatening a height of seven feet and staring from behind a semiotic monocle and a shock of gray hair, The Ex-Disgraced Academic all but stomped over to the lectern. Their eye seized upon the fungal bouquet, and their long, clawed fingers seized upon the accompanying card. With two passes of a roving eye, they found immense displeasure with whatever was written. They removed a pen from their breast pocket, scribbled something onto the paper.
Then, the entire bouquet went up in sudden, twenty-foot flames, nearly high enough to singe the domed ceiling above them.
As the welcome gift quickly reduced itself to ashes, The Academic took chalk to chalkboard, and addressed the class.
“Well! You’ve all successfully found yourselves in Benthic’s 1899 summer course on The Correspondence. I will be your Professor-” and here, chalk tapping, The Ex-Disgraced Academic wrote their full name on the board. It was a distinguished and somewhat melodic arrangement of syllables, as instantly memorable to the students as it was illegible to their players. “But you may all conform to the decency of good manners, and either refer to me as ‘Professor,’ or ‘Emissary.’”
This second title, they underlined twice, with great relish. “It would happen to be this duty upon which I ought to be spending my time focusing. Vital matters across the sea and on the roof wait for no man. But the Dean is currently embroiled in a-“ the Academic scrawled the words:
PHALLUS-MEASURING-CONTEST
“-with members of the Ministry of Public Decency, and this class is the result!”
It was only at this point that The Academic turned around, to actually look at their students. The sneer wasn't a particularly kind reaction. “The study of this language is only nominally legal. I have been given impeccably strict definitions as to the limits of what may be taught in this class. Which brings us to the prerequisites before we begin The Correspondence in earnest:”
The Academic waved a gloved hand, signalling all the nerds of the class to open their note-books and begin the note-taking.
“Safety Precaution the First: A law is only a law if it is enforceable! Thus, you are highly advised to keep your course notes under lock and key. Anything you learn here might be made retroactively illegal.”
“Safety Precaution the Second! Correspondence symbols are highly flammable! The more flammable the surface, the fewer symbols a material can hold before combusting. Lead can hold precisely seven symbols. So imagine how careful you will have to be with untreated paper.
“Safety Precaution the Third! The threat will come for you-“ the next words rendered in large, block letters, “-IN THE NIGHT. If your housing is anywhere near a sorrow-spider clutch, start sleeping with an eye mask, as well. No more counting on your roommate in the lower bunk to have their eyes taken first: the study of The Correspondence will make your eyeballs like catnip to the sorry scoundrels.”
“And that brings us to the last and greatest peril to your freshly opened eyes. Safety Precaution the Fourth: When practicing, from now on, you will always wear your goggles. It doesn’t matter whether you are crafting poetry or practicing penmanship. You never write a stroke without eye protection, because you are always one mis-stroke away from permanent injury.” The Academic tapped a claw along the edge of their Semiotic Monocle. "I never take mine off. Easily solved."
The Academic tossed the chalk aside, and returned to the lectern.
“Today will be a warm-up. Practice writing sentences in English with no more than four words. One sentence per page, and do not use the back. I want twenty sentences from each student by the end of the period. If you notice another student writing a fifth word on any paper…” The Academic picked up the nearest atomizer, regarded the smoldering wreck of the bouquet…
…and then let loose on the nearest student; spraying water from the atomizer straight into their face.
“…douse them.”
The Academic placed the bottle back down, careless and casual as though they'd done no more than continue talking. "Get to it!"
As the class drew to a close, not a single eye was watching the clock more closely than the unblinking pupil of the professor. The second hand hit twelve, and they were to their feet.
“Well? Off with you! Haven’t you anywhere better to be? I certainly do.”
Re: Class has begun
‘Aim high hit low’
‘The Emissary is no-‘
Whatever was meant to be the rest of it, it swiftly became ‘noteworthy’. No point in starting a dogfight the very first day of lectures. The Scientist proceeded with similar amenities, pressing the tip well into the paper.
‘Wish I could fly’
‘I miss my home’
This ones were suspicious. A faint glow and a sizzle threatened to appear, soon smothered by the spray of water. The blemmigan remained caught in it too, flopping dramatically to the side and wailing about it. The offering of a wooden pencil to chew on seemed to quiet it down enough. Fire and water in the same day, what a luck to be an ornamental mushroom. An unwise idea started to form under the shock of ruffled hair. Could the Correspondence work in something other than English?
Preparing the sacrificial, non-soaked paper, goggles and atomizer, the pen carefully traced the last words of the Paradiso, ‘l’amor che move-‘. Before they could even consider wether to ignore the Academic’s instructions and finish with at least ‘-il sole’ or not, the paper chose for them, strikingly heating up and starting to curl up at the corners. The atomiser has never been employed faster, soon it will need a refill. This is a fun little experiment that will have to wait some more lectures to take place.
Re: Class has begun
At least a third of them were not. They had been soaked.
"Ah. For the best, really, it's almost as though you were using flash paper with the rate at which your atomizer was getting used. Here, have mine."
They dropped it lightly on the Scientist's doused papers. "I should warn you, though. The nozzle seems to be a finicky. Not much of a mist to it."
Re: Class has begun
‘Thank you, your concern is much appreciated’
The snarl metamorphosed into a grin. If that’s how the Tailor liked to play…
‘Say, that wasn’t much of a quick shot, wasn’t it? I suppose that the times I seemed to catch your face at the Department weren’t because of a job of yours, I must have been mistaken…’
Low blow and unnecessary, he was aware of it. But still, they couldn’t resist the temptation to poke back a little
Re: Class has begun