Correspondence Scholarship, Class One [Tuesday Morning, June 10th]

[theexdisgracedacademic]

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.”

Comments

Before Class

[theexdisgracedacademic]

Have your character take a seat. If you see someone you'd like to talk to, respond to their post with an in-character post of your own.

Re: Before Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Chimeric Professor opens the delightfully mysterious door and, to someone versed in interpreting bandaged face expressions, would be only slightly sad at discovering there's no more mysteries to solve. Ah well, this was a fun first test indeed, just like the timetables at Surface universities, but better.

Taking some time in the initial companion-and-professorlessness to look around, would have taken a good look at the congratulatory bouquet, and upon remembering the meaning behind the fungal choice couldn't help but laugh, thinking someone thought themselves really funny and some other, most likely the Academic, wouldn't be amused. The card was intriguing as well, but that would be a blatant invasion of privacy, so it'll be left be.

Once the room and implements were noticed, the Chimeric Professor chose the central front seat, unburdening themself from the required books, a complementary notebook that probably holds personal notes, and a pencil-case holding way too many writing instruments, yet only a couple of them seem used at all. Eagerly waiting for fellow students, and of course for the notable Academic, to arrive.

Re: Before Class

[tolpen]

The Mycologist leans over his desk and notebook to the person sitting in front of him and probes the waters: "Excuse me, my esteemed colleague, but hast thou the current date? My calendar," he taps his temple a few times to indicate where the error resides, "seems to be out of commission."

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

After putting her gift at the chalkboard, The Soft-Hearted Maven turned and spotted the Chimetic Professor. At first glance she had assumed they were a tomb colonist, but upon looking closer that didn't seem accurate. She also realized that she'd seen them around the university before but never spoken. Not surprising given how big the place was. She nodded in greeting, "Hello. I think I've seen you around the university before. It's nice to share a class for once."

Re: Before Class

[leviathanlovely]

The Undistinguished Pupil signed in, swiftly snagging up a rather unremarkable seat on the far side of the second row. Meticulously they set up their desk by placing their note taking paper and quills just so before following suit with their hat, settling it atop the desk out of the way of their work space with a ginger hand.

A well cared for macaw opens its eyes, talons curled around mourning band and seemingly growing agitated by its grand perch no longer being stationed atop their "attendants" head. Before the bird could raise her full ire a compact mirror set out beside them caught their full attention -- and how could they not admire such a reflection? How could they not take the time to preen and only enhance such a gracious visage for the poor un-feathered, unblessed attendants to marvel at.

With troublesome squawks abated for the moment, The Undistinguished Pupil
allowed their eyes to roam the room in an honestly rather shifty manner... They figured they were still early and the class would fill out

They themselves had made sure to dress well, their finest coat smelling of mint and millennium roses with a tightly tied cravat encasing their throat's flesh that matched the secondary color of the coat for extra bit of flare. Rags just wouldn't do for the company of academics including The Academic. (Not that they tried to wear rags on even the worst of days, that just wouldn't do!)

Re: Before Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

The Professor looked at the Undistinguished Pupil acknowledgeing their presence with a polite nod and a smile, which became wider upon seeing the self-centered macaw. A bit of nostalgia, perhaps?

Re: Before Class

[theliedpiper]

The fellow in the fancy hat looked vaguely familiar. The Piper was reasonably sure they'd never met, so maybe they just had one of those faces? Or... wait, they liked to hang around the Flit growing stuff, right? Had the Piper asked them for horticultural advice once...? Eh, maybe, maybe not. Too many falls from the top of the Flit and concussions from various duels had left the Piper's memory a bit unreliable.

The fact that they'd brought their bird made the Piper want to get to know them, though. The Piper had left their rat friend at home, unsure how well the college would take to him tagging along, even if the Piper hid him in their satchel. (Maybe especially if the Piper hid him in their satchel.) Anyway, maybe this student was a sign that non-humans (the Piper wouldn't call Charlie a "pet") were allowed. Though it was probably a bit easier to get away with that when you looked as fancy as this student did. The Piper looked down at their own outfit in comparison... and cursed under their breath.

Forgot to take off those red stockings again. Even if they didn't care too much about their reputation, looking like a slut on the first day of class was not ideal. They should really find some new socks to wear to bed that wouldn't make their few friends embarrassed to be seen with them.

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

As she made her to a seat, Maven noted the person sitting on the far side of the row she was in. Or rather, she noted their magnificent bird atop the hat. As she got her stuff out she nodded in the Undistinguished Pupil's direction, "Hello there. I like your bird, it is quite beautiful."

Re: Before Class

[theanachronistictailor]

Now, no one could accuse the (Aspiring) Anachronistic Tailor of being late to their first day of class--this would as a matter of fact be untrue. They were not the type of person to be tardy, not for work nor for social gatherings, and indeed tended to be frightfully early when it wasn't considered rude (and even in some cases when it was).

This was less out of etiquette, and presumably more out of an urge to study others from a vantage point they would have had the time to locate before the arrival of the to-be-studied. One could learn a lot about individuals from watching when they arrived to scheduled events, and how those individuals acted at those times whether they were early, punctual, or scandalously late. But ignoring this reasoning, to watch and gather information, was the sorry fact that the Tailor was terribly impatient.

So they should have been early, in fact they should have been early by at least twenty minutes; more than enough time to choose a seat and study the length of the 'classroom' and the flowers and card before anyone was the wiser, before a single other student arrived to be considered early--and in fact the Tailor was early when they arrived at the place they believed they had been pointed to by the cryptic guidance. They'd taken in the information given, worked with the information they already had, and given their background, it was not hard to see where the confusion had come in.

Oh, yes, it was the dome. They'd simply made the error of believing class was to be on the dome, and not in it.

Excruciatingly embarrassing, if anyone had seen this display. As it was, maybe a bat or two heard the snarl of frustration when the Tailor had finally finished scaling the height of the building, looked at the dome top distinctly not arranged for a classroom setting, looked at their sketched copy of the Benthic architecture, and turned on their heel to slide back off the roof and clamber back down to and through the window they'd opened to climb up to begin with.

When the Tailor finally did find the 'classroom' in question, it was with three minutes (and some seconds to spare) before the scheduled beginning of class. Flush was high in their cheeks, though whether it was from exertion or embarrassment or anger was hard to be certain, and anyway it was already fading quickly as they quietly found an open seat in the final row, not quite next to the back door, but close. (Rather far from the chalk boards, and yet still enough to hear, of course, the ensuing discussion, but with the volume it would be at, that was not exactly a difficult feat for anyone in attendance.) They slung their bag over the chair and then pulled off their jacket and draped it over the back of the chair and the strap of the bag. Now in just their shirtsleeves and waistcoat, the unfortunate 'student' dropped somewhat heavily into their seat and with one hand dug into the bag to pull out a small leatherbound book only barely larger than their hand and a stub of pencil.

Class had not yet begun, and yet, with only minutes before the scheduled lecture was to begin, the Tailor was already scanning the room and its occupants, and taking notes.

OOC: I am going to try not to write something long like this again. someone just had to go make a fool of themself as an opener

Re: Before Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

Seeing such a flushed arrival, the Professor had to ask, a bit of worry in their voice.

"Is all well?" Asked in the tone of offering help if needed.

Re: Before Class

[leviathanlovely]

The Undistinguished pupil couldn't help but bring a gloved hand to their lips, holding back a too cruel chuckle. (Letting out a devilish chuckle, even discreetly just wouldn't do!)

Oh! But wait, this wasn't just the arrival of another classmate - the was The Tailor, (Or at least someone trying their hardest to be one) and not just any Tailor but the one any number of Urchins would tell you about to make you look spick and span as one might care for - and THIS Pupil happened to care for that sort of service greatly.

Belladonna, The Preening Macaw that lived atop The Pupil's hat stirred slightly as The Tailor passed to get to their seat but quickly settled back into comfort.

The Pupil's hand left their lips, a smile of platitude was left in its absence replacing any lingering humor. They twisted their body in their seat to wave back at them. It was always good to see a familiar (if not overly so) face.

Re: Before Class

[the_brash_devil]

The Brash Devil's thoughts were interrupted when he laid eyes on the Tailor, a grin spreading on his face before he turned to look at them, "Oh look who's here! I thought someone would still be out of commission after my last little surprise! Maybe I need to go for something stronger next time."

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

The Soft-Hearted Maven the Tailor and for the briefest moment her face went blank. She had met them and had to admit that she wasn't sure what to make of them. There had been a whole to-do made when they had 'accidentally' spilled wine on her dress ages ago, for which she had given them the benefit of the doubt that first time. The next two times were less easy to excuse as accidents.

She began to fret and worry that she had offended them in some way, but before she could take steps to try and talk to the Tailor her companion, The Brash Devil, had sent an assassin! (she had come to find this out later, after things had escalated even more) And the next time they were at a party, he didn't even wait for the Tailor to make a move or the pretense of an accident and just threw wine in the Tailor's face.

Ever since there's been this strange ongoing rivalry between the two filled with wine, assassins, slander, surprise boxes of cats and rats, and more. She wanted to stop it but strangely enough they both seemed to be having the time of their lives with it. And the Tailor had not involved Maven in these since, and had been strangely amicable, and had even given her recipes that were preferred by the urchins in her care. So she wasn't even sure if she should ask what the initial wine spilling was even about or if the conversation would just be awkward.

Nevertheless, she approached Tailor and gave them a nod in greeting, "Hello. Thank you again for the scone recipe you sent recently. The children at the orphanage loved them; Maria in particular was very happy."

Re: Before Class

[themorbidsocialite]

The Morbid Socialite often tried to be more subtle in their observations of the various crowds they found themselves in, but there was something about one of his classmates that caught his attention and refused to let go. It was a very notable something and the Socialite could not rest until his curiosity was sated. And the Socialite rather liked rest.

They turned in their seat just enough to address the Tailor, keeping their voice low in a trial of how much the Tailor wanted others to know. "Excuse me, sir," he started, "or madam or any between or outside of. I couldn't help but feel that your face was somewhat familiar. While I do have a theory that you may enlighten me on, I felt it better to ask directly: did you happen to be climbing the roof of the dome some short time ago? Of course, if I am mistaken, feel free to correct me. Goodness knows, I've mistaken many a soul for many other." The Socialite gave a chiming laugh, something to take the edge off what might have been an intrusive question and, hopefully, soften it into a polite conversation starter.

Re: Before Class

[stygean]

The lack of lecturers proved itself a quite welcome distraction, as it was combined with such intriguing fungal composition left unsupervised. The Star-Collared Scientist was not late, not really, but not really quite on time either, and yet this didn’t prevent them from poking around between the fungi, examining them one by one in quite a curious fashion and even poking the most irritable of blemmigans with their finger. Ah. It snapped. A satisfied chuckle escaped his lips, and with an almost unnoticeable flip of the wrist the blemmigan was now cupped in his hands, carried against both its wishes and anyone’s common sense towards the Scientist’s seat near the window, where it got placed down next to books and pens. Apparently unbothered by the feistiness, the Scientist rummaged a bit in the corners of their bag, before offering something to the snarling thing. The snaps quieted down, and a pen started to write… something in a corner.

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

The Soft-Hearted Maven watched as she saw the other student poking at the fungal bouquet and carrying a bit to their seat. Seeing as there was time, she got up to get a closer look at the specimen they had procured. She smiled as she watched it eat, "They are voracious little things, aren't they?"

Re: Before Class

[theliedpiper]

The classroom was pretty full by the time the Piper found the place. It wasn't that the riddle had been terribly hard, but they'd overslept (as usual) and gotten distracted by about ten other neat-looking spots on campus (was that a music hall? How could they get booked there?) on the way. At least the professor wasn't here yet, it looked like.

Instead, at the front of the room, were... snacks? Was that edible arrangement of fungi for sharing? It looked like the fellow by the window had snagged a blemmigan, so the Piper was going to take that as a yes.
After plucking out a few ink-caps, the Piper turned to find a seat--

"Oi! Tailor!" They beamed, stretching up on tip-toe and waving to the fellow at the back. The wave was unnecessary, as the Piper wasted no time in claiming the spot on the bench next to them. "Nice to see a familiar face! And pretty nice of 'em to set us up with snacks AND drinks, eh?" They waved one of the mushrooms at the silver spray bottle-looking-things. Whatever was in them must be pretty tasty to deserve such a fancy container.

Re: Before Class

[theanachronistictailor]

The Tailor did not look up from their small notebook that they were writing in to greet the Piper, but they said in a weary voice that suggested this sort of familiarity was a regular occurrence, "D'you know that's the professor's complimentary arrangement from the Dean that you're planning on eating?"

There was the faintest slip of their formal speech again, only a trained ear would catch it, and the Tailor knew that the Piper was not that, or if they were they didn't care.

"I don't think that's what the bottle's for, although maybe if you attempt it you can at least distract everyone from paying me any mind. That is," they said with a little more severity, "if you can keep from humiliating me too." And then, with some of the heat draining from them and their shoulders drooping a hair, "Not that you'd need any assistance. I'm off to a fantastic start myself."

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

The Soft-Hearted Maven heard the Piper before she saw them and the Tailor. She smiled at seeing the Piper; though she had only met them a couple of times, they seemed nice. She waited for them to finish talking with the Tailor before approaching them. She waved to the Piper with a smile, "Lovely to see you again Piper." She noticed the ink caps and, after a small internal debate, said, "Small bit of advice, you may not want to drink alcohol for the rest of the day, those mushrooms and alcohol do not mix well."

Re: Before Class

[the_soft_hearted_maven]

Maven gave The Brash Devil a look that would have suggested exasperation if it wasn't tinged with fondness, "You shouldn't be doing that anyway." Rolling her eyes she gestured to the seats, "Why don't we compromise and sit in the middle?" Before he can even say anything she begins making her way there and chooses a seat.

Before she sat down she took out a couple of packages. A couple of wrapped tins of biscuits and loose jasmine tea leaves. She hoped the professor was alright with jasmine tea. She walked to the front and was about to place them at the lectern when she noted the fungal bouquet. She raised an eyebrow at the message, then not wanting her gift to be mixed with this bit of passive aggression she opted instead to put it on the chalk shelf on the bottom of the chalk board before walking back. The attached note read:

"Thank you for the opportunity to learn the Correspondence. I look forward to learning from you and improving on my knowledge. I hope these gifts are an acceptable show of gratitude, and I hope you have a good day."

She hadn't signed the note, she didn't want the professor to think she was trying to curry favor before the class even began. She simply wanted to express her gratitude that this class was available.

Learning the Correspondence on her own had been an arduous process. Even having a devil companion only made it marginally easier. She distinctly remembered the time she tried to ask him the difference between two symbols and he gave her a look before saying, "What are you talking about? This is this symbol, and that is that symbol, they don't look the same at all how can you get them mixed up?" It was a good reminder that knowing something didn't necessarily make you a good teacher of it.

Making her way back, she sat down, removed her bonnet and shawl to set beside her bag, and began to take out all she needed for note taking, also reaching in her bag and popping a humbug in her mouth. The sharp taste of peppermint seemed to help her focus, or perhaps it was just in her mind, either way it couldn't hurt.

Re: Before Class

[the_brash_devil]

The Brash Devil returned the eye roll, although it went mostly unseen behind his smoked lenses. He followed the Soft-Hearted Maven to the middle seats she indicated, glancing around the room as he sat down.

This was ridiculous. Why was he even here? In a class to teach something he was already fluent in? More fluent than the friggin' professor. There were a million better things he could be doing with his time; heists he could be planning or casing, fights at the rings he could be winning, monsters he could be hunting down for the reward and the thrill of it, urchins he could be causing mischief with. Hell, at this rate he'd rather be in Maven's death trap of a zubmarine than here.

At that thought he glanced at her as she dug through her bag. His insides twinged. He remembered the nights she spent pouring over symbols until he had to make her stop because her eyes would bleed or the tips of her hair would catch on fire. Him trying to make her understand something but there being some... disconnect, something he couldn't explain. How her face had fallen one time when he couldn't explain something she asked.

He didn't have a word for this feeling. He settled on annoyed. He felt very annoyed. He wanted to see what this human professor could do that he couldn't, IF they could even do it.

Re: Before Class

[ticktopis_observatorium]

When the Professor noticed the couple of newcomers couldn't help but smile. Watching love flourishing, in its many ways, is always a treat. But then, was that... A devil? In a human institution's Correspondence lesson? Why...?

By the way they were looking at them, it seemed obvious they were running several stories in their mind, some of them widening the smile. Whatever the reason, it's obvious the Maven was important to him, enough to endure such "lowly" activity together.

Re: Before Class

[themorbidsocialite]

Even having solved the riddle quickly, the Morbid Socialite was still one of the last to arrive. It was an entirely intentional state, having stayed at a distance from the dome for some time before deigning to enter. They'd spent a few minutes watching someone scale the side of the dome and disappear, watched yet another become distracted by the various buildings that dotted the Benthic Campus, then thought it best to cease the delay. While arriving later than most was entirely in the fashion, a move to draw attention to one's self, it was in poor taste to arrive late and brought about entirely the wrong attention.

The Socialite's heels clicked satisfyingly against the tile, the sound echoing about him as he walked into the classroom and found a seat in the second row, just right of the middle. He set his hat to the side and retrieved his stationary from his bag: a gladstone model, just as one might expect of a doctor, holding a great number of supplies, only half of which they thought might be useful in a classroom setting. Hidden among his assortment of supplies was a small stoat, winter coat permanent and stark. She crawled up his arm and settled herself on the brim of the hat set on the desk, wide-eyed and attentive.

Stationary retrieved and assembled in working order, the Socialite gazed around the room, taking stock of his fellow classmates before the Academic could arrive, golden eyes glancing over and through every individual in turn.

Re: Before Class

[tolpen]

The Mycologist shifts in his newly acquired seat a few times, testing the squeakiness of the chair. The level is t unacceptable, however, and thus he moves one to the left. Better.

He hasn't brought a bag. But he has brought his lab coat of many pockets and suspicious stains. From its singed depths the Mycologist produces some writing utensils and a brand new notebook.
He has also brought his own goggles, forgotten on the top of his head. It doesn't take a detective to figure out someone was in the lab and had completely forgotten that they were supposed to attend a class. However, it would take someone bothering to ask around to find out who had reminded the Soft-Eyed Mycologist that he had somewhere to be.
No point in dwelling on that. After all, he came on time. Unlike the lecturer, apparently.
He takes a few moments to bring out his pens (3), a mechanical pencil (1), and after some considerations a steel slide ruler and a drawing compass. Not that he thinks he is going to use the last two, but they've been digging into his thigh for a while.

He uncaps one of the pens with a flourish and resolutely opens his notebook on the first page and in a decisive and almost unreadable writing declares this to be Lecture 01. He moves the nib tot eh corner of the page and- And nothing.
The Mycologist clicks his tongue in disappointment with his own self. But he doesn't cap the pen yet.

Re: Before Class

[the_dye_stained_socialite]

The puzzle had not posed so much a problem as the layout of Benthic itself. In their quest to the dome, multiple wrong turns were made into Sommerset halls. Several people were sporting new bruises that day, but that did not assist in getting Thursday to the bloody dome. Never has there been anything more labyrinthine, save for what was commited to myth and legend, and it seemed as though they had delved every cupboard, closet, and forbidden wing in attempts to find the correct damn staircase. Thursday could have kicked the architecture itself when he had finally made it.

Arriving as late as they had, the Pawn had scarce enough enough time to dump out their pens and notebooks from an atrocious carpet-bag. Organization was nowhere to be found, chaos reigned upon their desk. The nearest notebook was grabbed and opened to blank page. Their handwriting took a messy turn as their pen flew along the lines. It was hardly distinguishable from chicken scrawl- no, it was shorthand? No, it was encoded shorthand. The lecture had not even begun, what on earth was she writing? She studied the students around her in turn, then wrote a just little more.