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

Entry tags:

correspondence

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.

a figure at a chalkboard

“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.”

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Post your character’s name here and describe them taking their seat. Time to make a first impression!

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.

Edited 2025-06-04 16:28 (UTC)

Respond with what your character is doing during The Ex-Disgraced Academic's lecture. It can be something as simple as an emotional reaction or taking notes. Or it could be more complex, like raising your hand and asking a question.

You may also respond to other students' reactions. Try not to worry too hard about which of your conversations is happening in which order. Just have fun with it!

Come up with sentences that are no more than four words. You of course don’t actually need to write twenty real sentences.

If your character slips up and writes a longer sentence, then it's an invitation to get sprayed by another student. The atomizers have been modified to behave less like a perfume mister, and more like a club soda bottle picked up by a cartoon character.

Edited 2025-06-10 12:51 (UTC)

Pack up, chat with your new friends and academic rivals, or flag down the Professor before they're able to abscond.

In the Out Of Character thread, you can post asides, ask questions, and generally have out of character discussion. Shitposting encouraged.

You can also make an OOC comment at the bottom of any other post, if you need to clear something up! Just type "OOC:" before whatever you need to say, so folks know you're speaking out of character. ^-^

Woooooo! Okay, that class post was likely the longest one I'll be writing. Do not worry about matching my wordcount, because I'm certainly not going to in the future. XD Just wanted to give you all a proper introduction.

The Chimeric Professor signs in for class! Taking one of the front-row seats. Being the first to check in, they'll pick the central one as well, to have best perspective of the professor's desk and, hopefully, the Academic themselves.

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.

The Chimeric Professor tried with all their composure not to show how amused they were at the dialogue having place outside. Of course, it was all the more understandable after the explanation, to which they tried to show some comfort before thinking twice that the Ex-Disgraced Academic, certainly, doesn't need such thing. Especially after seeing the fate ill-intended "present". Thus back to paying attention.

The safety rules here are the best explained they have ever seen in the Department of ______________, and took good notes for future related classes. After the Fourth rule they instantly donned the goggles, replacing their sunglasses trying not to show too much of their eyes. This paid back when, being the one who deliberatedly chose the closest seat, it was upon their face the wrath of the atomizer was unleashed. Unexpected as it was it prompted a short laugh and some mostly fruitless application of handkerchiefs to dry their bandages, which showed some textured reddish-colored skin in the wet transparence.

In their notes, a simple drawing of the fearsome atomizer could be found together with "DOUSE" underlined twice.

Edited 2025-06-10 14:47 (UTC)

If one really thought about it, those bandages were something of a fire hazard, weren’t they? And if one continued to muse upon the subject, wasn’t soaking their colleague a wholly beneficial, preventative measure?

The Academic nodded to themself. Halfway into their first class, and they were already so good at this.

Edited 2025-06-10 15:59 (UTC)

"The assignment is easy enough", the Chimeric Professor thought. Just a bit of practice in the art of prudence when handling highly flammable sigils and learn how not to overexert the support. Correspondent 101. So they start:

1. "All shall be well", of course.
2. "Look always to love", valuable advice.
3. "Long live the Fifth", that would be nice.
4. "The Correspondence catches fire", theme-appropriate.
5. "The Correspondence IS fire", emphatic correction.
6. "Yes or No question", always a favourite of all professors.
7. "Please don't douse me", when being closely watched by a companion.
8. "Please if you may", manners above all.
9. "Are question marks words?", rhetorical question, they know perfectly well they are. Douse them!
10. "Question Marks Are Words", written in the 'bored' caligraphy of one punished with writing several times.
11. "The weather is nonexistent", many times heard around London, probably.
12. "My tailor is rich", mandatory honor to the English teachers from Spain.
13. (to be continued)

20. "Did I do well", risking the Emissary's wrath, at the lack of a question mark.

Edited 2025-06-10 18:48 (UTC)

Hello, Ticktop here! First class and I am loving it so much already. The setting is possitively hilarious, the writing is so Fallen London-esque, and the poor Academic sure doesn't want to be here. Now with classmates? That'll be even better.

The Undistinguished Pupil signed in, taking up space in an equally undistinguished location; the second row and on the side hugging the wall closest to the door.

They were quite excited to attend one of The Academic's lessons, it was after all so rare to get the privilege of attending for themselves, and if the pupil was lucky mayhaps they'd learn something to further their own pursuits overall.

Edited (thinking too much about this ahah) 2025-06-10 16:51 (UTC)

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!)

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

Edited 2025-06-10 17:56 (UTC)

The (Aspiring) Anachronistic Tailor signed in after leaving their bag and coat at a seat in the final row of desks, second closest to the back door. This was not the best vantage point for the center-most chalk board, and they could only hope they had not had the misfortune of sitting behind taller or broader classmates. (Ugh, classmates.)

Well. If they were so unfortunate this week, there was at least no assigned seating. Next week might be better.

Edited 2025-06-10 17:55 (UTC)

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?

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.

Heya! Happy to see someone jumping into the ~~spray~~ fray so quickly. ^u^ I apologize in advance for the ill manners of my character, you'd think they'd be smart enough not to immediately enable PVP on a fellow professor. But hey, what's a British setting without some dryly written slapstick, eh?

The being noticed at all was the worst part. The Tailor forced a smile and closed the book in their hand, its pages silent. "All's well, thank you. Unless every class is to take place in an equally secretive location," they added sardonically. "In which case I'll be forced to ask to copy someone else's notes and compare."

(Collaboration. Dear god.)

They examined their companion, their appearance but more particularly their manner of dress and their spectacles, before realizing belatedly it was one they recognized; they'd seen this professor not just across the campus but in the classroom setting. There, however, the professor in question had been standing and lecturing, not seated among the attendants.

The smile, forced as it was, became even a bit more rigid. They had just joked about copying someone else's work to a professor. Class had not even begun, and they were off to a fine start.

"Perhaps we could keep that last bit between ourselves," they added a little weakly.

The Academic realized that regrettably, they couldn't lead the entire class from the podium. At some point, it would be necessary to walk amongst the students. Oh, the indignity of it all.

Passing by the Chimeric Professor's work did tease a smile out of them, and number nine elicited a full laugh. "You aren't entirely incorrect." they tapped a long claw at 9 and 10, "Punctuation is something for which we'll need to account later. But we do have time to warm up before events reach a dangerous temperature."

They uncapped their own pen, found the bottom of the paper, and added: "Indeed; quite admirably accomplished."

Edited 2025-06-10 19:24 (UTC)

With an ear tuned best as it could be to the door at the front of the room, and personal notebook already in hand, by the time their professor had entered the room the Tailor was already taking notes.

(The handwriting was still untidy and the text itself was cryptic and appeared to be shorthand. Some of it was. More information was likely to be gleaned from the left-hand page, series of sketches of articles clothing and their theorized constructions. If one was inclined to look round the room and use their brain, they'd quickly realize these sketches were quick reproductions of what some of the other people in attendance were wearing.)

While the professor in question was no stranger to the Tailor by name, there had never been a formal space in which the both of them had been in attendance. The Academic was a client of their employer--the Tailor had watched their master draft and cut patterns for the esteemed individual's wardrobe and their more experienced colleagues craft the garments. At most, the Tailor had had the privilege of wrapping and delivering some of the finished works to the door, handing them to the servants, before exiting the Bazaar and crossing to the side streets where the shop was, by rooftop, as was their habit.

It had been on rooftop that they had seen the Academic first, and from above, the Emissary was still striking--but the effect was quite different when one was seated and their professor dwarfed them. Include the intensity of the blaze, quick and hot and just as instantly gone, and the student could see why, now, their master was so demanding about the quality of the work, why he did not allow someone still somewhat green to have a hand in the crafting. Any flaw could be cause for destruction, in a number of ways the Academic might see fit.

Soon they would learn that Correspondence was similar, saved that the destruction was singular and literal. For emphasis, across from their shorthand, they drew a flame. After a thought, they added a mushroom as the object being burned.

They attempted not to snort at the example made of the atomizer, failed terribly, and finally closed their little book to turn the the assignment. Goggles on, for lines, of all things.

Excited to get going and make new friends and enemies. I am so sorry I'm writing so much and I'm trying to relax a little. I'm working the next four days in a row I have to get it out of my system now I guess. Compensating by giving the Tailor an Awful First Day for kicks.

Sidebar do you think Correspondence burning leaves behind smoke? Because if so this classroom is going to be FULL of it by the end of the course. Sure hope there's a window here somewhere!!

Oh, very much so!

This action earns a sincere smile from the Professor, more evident thanks to the still damp bandages.

"Thank you, Emissary. Always a pleasure"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 12

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

Sign In

Before Class

Lecture

Class has begun

After Class

no subject

Re: Sign In

Re: Before Class

Re: Lecture

Re: Lecture

Re: Class has begun

no subject

Re: Sign In

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

Re: Sign In

Re: Before Class

Re: Before Class

no subject

Re: Before Class

Re: Class has begun

Re: Lecture

no subject

no subject

Re: Class has begun