benthic_university | 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.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

themorbidsocialite

The Socialite crossed sights briefly with the Pupil and halted, immediately turning back towards the front to avoid being seen casting glances. His heart hammered with something familiar and stinging and he gripped his quill tighter to release some of the growing tension. In their head, they swore. They could feel the eyes on them and knew in a moment what the gaze meant: the Pupil must be privy to the ruse. Opulent attire with not a stitch out of place that cast them in a stunning silhouette, a beautiful bird to perch with them in elegance and knowing silence, fabric in dyes not often found in the Neath, surely, and must be a task to maintain in the prime of their vibrancy, the Socialite's own pyrite appearance could never amount to it, not after everything. Worse than that, the gaze peered into him from both sets of eyes, making the Socialite feel seen, exposed, vulnerable to the eyes of someone who surely was closer to the shores of prosperity than he was. Here the Socialite was, in muted colors and his middling hat and with a companion no higher in propriety than an Araby fighting weasel in anything but ermine coat! Surely, this young Pupil must see through him entirely and know how low he had fallen, regardless of his confidence (a trait he felt rapidly dwindling).

The Stoat stared at the Macaw and laid down, eyes unblinking and staring into the bird just as much as the bird stared into the mustelid. The small predator, with dark eyes standing out clearly from white fur, turned quickly and sniffed, as if the Macaw was nothing to her, barely worth the moment of attention.

There was still time before the class was to begin, perhaps longer. The Socialite steeled his nerves and turned with a charming smile, their voice low so as not to interrupt the idle chatter of the rest of the class. "Pleasant morning," they purred, walls quickly going up around their fearful, envious heart. "And a pleasure to meet another at Benthic with more refined tastes."

From:

leviathanlovely

The Macaw's feathers folded evenly as its head turned slowly back to its previous attention catcher; The compact beside it holding the visage of the most beautiful bird to ever grace The Neath; Belladonna herself, of course. It sussed out the Stoat as possibly a cowardly dullard to whom the only compliment they could bestow is they were smart enough not to test her well treated talons.. Now if only The Stoats' attendant would follow suit.

"Charmed!" The Pupil controlled themselves as best they could but felt far too many teeth in the smile they presented toward The Socialite. "I am but an Undistinguished Pupil in these academic efforts," Keep humble. "But certainly one should always endear themselves to the fineries here and there!~" Their nose crinkles with the smile and they pull back a bit--

His coat, comment on his fine coat! "You know, I was just speaking to my Tailor -- fine chap -- they were telling me about a coat just the same styling of yours, apparently they are all the rage at the moment, especially with the right pop provided by your lax companion there!" In Ernest The Pupil had no idea what their friend really was talking about in terms of style, but they could pretend and then be impressed with whatever turned up looking good and wearable to them-- But with hope The Socialite wouldn't see through the bluff... If they kept talking then surely The Pupil's own attire wouldn't be sussed out as an apprentices' art project (A beauty to The Pupil, but surely it might be gauche and far too bright for The Neath... SURELY, gulp, it may come across as someone trying far too hard.)

From:

themorbidsocialite

The Socialite didn't catch on at all, too engrossed in their own shortcomings to notice any the Pupil might've had. Rather, he smiled, just a tad strained at the corners, and rested his chin on an elegant hand. "Why, this old thing? I do appreciate the flattery, my good fellow, but I can assure you I fretted before the wardrobe for far too long over what I was willing to lose to a potential Correspondence mishap. No, you, my fine featured friend, are á la mode, in the fashion. Do give your tailor my regards, if it is their work you now wear." The Socialite withheld a sigh of relief, having gotten through a discussion of clothing without accidentally arising the topic of clothing scissors and the frustrations of medical practices through the layered and restricting attire of the elite.

Pleasantries of appearance aside, the Socialite leveled an even and analyzing gaze over the Pupil, perhaps cutting to the casual observer, but digging and desperate to those familiar with the workings of the Morbid Socialite's mind. They finally latched onto a topic and batted the witful exchange back to the Pupil. "One must wonder what brings such a young and spirited individual to a class such as this. Is it merely to pass the time in curiosity? Or perhaps there is a goal in mind which the Correspondence can help you to attain? Pray, I must be sated by your response."

From:

leviathanlovely

It would seem The Undistinguished Pupil was maybe keeping up in lip-service but felt the weight of each prose-like syllable The Socialite spoke. Ah, so THIS was how a true dandy strutted and further carried himself, and with such care taken in choosing his attire for the day -- THE IDEA that this was a coat worth putting through its paces and it still looked perfectly fine to them, The Pupil hadn't even considered how heartbreaking it would be to ruin their own coat quite so soon after getting it dolled up. This gent was a sociable genius.

Those sharp, golden eyes paused The Pupil's frets, demanding an answer;

"My interest?, Purely Academic of course!" They gestured toward the front where their teacher would soon be and gave a sing-songy trill of a chuckle. "That is to say, The Academic (Ex-Disgraced in nature) never has a dull lesson. I've dabbled in a good few curious classes here and there but nothing beats a true personality on the stand!"

Without knowing just how true it would actually be The Pupil would add; "I assure you, if this is your first lesson with him it will NOT be dry."

From:

themorbidsocialite

Such was the microscopic lens of self-judgement that one should see only flaws where another can see only praise. To the Socialite, the Pupil's opulent attire was daring, bold, and spoke to a subtle wealth of either funds or creativity. Surely, if the tales of the Ex-Disgraced Academic were to be believed, then someone so experienced in their company must know how dangerous some of these fields could be. If this coat was one the Pupil was most willing to have damaged, then they must surely have a wide and fanciful array of clothes even more stunning and eye-catching.

As well, it occurred too late to the Socialite that the lie about his own wardrobe- that this was not his only coat and that he most definitely had others to choose from- was one that would have to be maintained in front of someone with so keen an eye. Fear flooded the Socialite's veins, but he scarcely let it show.

Rather, the Socialite leaned in further, projecting an eager and curious expression- one not entirely untrue. "I've heard spare few tales of the Academic, yet have never met the fellow. Wonderfully dangerous tales, some of which may be best not shared so publicly. I don't expect any interaction with the Academic to be boring in the least, but I will admit that I do not know what to expect. You say you've learned under them before? What shall I be prepared to experience?"

From:

leviathanlovely

The Undistinguished pupil for a moment felt a surge of power -- They could give the wrong impression of the course, they could insinuate and manipulate the Socialite before them into saying something to gain The academic's ire and work to make themselves look far better, certainly it would be an obvious slight, CERTAINLY but the option was there and it hinted in the small smirk forming on the individual's pale lips... But perhaps a different manipulation was in place; after all this man from looks seemed more a fan of honey (purely theoretically, hypothetically even--)and perhaps a sweet approach might earn them a favor of sorts from the high profile sort.

"I have," The Pupil began with a lift of the shoulders. "Much like how one can tell something is coming when standing and staring out from The Docks... You'll be able to tell how The Academic's courses will go from the very first. It could be vindictive, grueling and hectic as you will see they are much like the zee they excel in zailing."

It was almost acting prose, the way The Pupil waved a hand before really slouching into a shrug. "They can be harsh, but I wouldn't describe them as unfair..." An addendum to the factual; The Academic had never been unfair to THEM, Occasional acts of nepotism would sing that grace in the same tune a myriad of previous peers might bemoan. "My advice? Stick on the course, take notes and get good at reading a room... Should you need anything further, from sharing notes or just a shoulder to listen I'd be ever pleased to be that."

Yes, their fine manipulation ha begun; Just Being A Nice Goddamn Person.

From:

themorbidsocialite

The Socialite eased into a sense of trust, a layer of their expression opening into something soft and truly appreciative. They trusted the Pupil for the moment, however foolish that may turn out to be, and they did value the advice. "I thank you, young sir, for the offer. It truly is kind. I suppose we'll see soon just how effective the advice is, if I will end up needing your assistance further. Until such a time, then my hope is that the bond struck here may persist into the future. Two scholars, continuing into the class with a sense of respect and comradery. As well, should you require my assistance, I would be more than happy to provide. Tularemia is a skilled messenger, so should you need of me outside of class, do not hesitate to send your calling card through her."

At the mention of her name, the ermine stoat perked up, paying attention to the conversation once again. She was rather smart for a stoat, noting when bonds were being made and approaching the border of the Pupil's space to be within reach, to extend a paw in service. Or perhaps just for the hope of affection. In either case, she watched the Pupil, almost knowingly, and waited.

From:

leviathanlovely

The Undistinguished Pupil gave a non-derisive snort.

"Of course, it is as gentle folk such as ourselves should be in polite society." The Pupil extended a hand almost on instinct to interact with the mustelid slinking upon The Socialite's form. They froze, a second from engaging with another's messenger in what would SURELY (Oh, surely) be an inappropriate way for the setting... A flick of the wrist provided some form of dried jerky hekd between their pinched thumb and index. (the slight oily smell encouraged the belief it might be of some form of fish)

With another inhale, they added with a wink; "I'll remember that, and I myself extend the very same branch..." Their eyes flick to The Macaw. "My Belladonna does not offer the same service, but I find my mail just as easy as any other Londoner."

From:

themorbidsocialite

Tularemia, as pleased as the cat that caught the canary, stole the fish jerky aside and noted the Pupil's face as a trustworthy one, perhaps planning on bothering them further in the next class for more treats.

The Morbid Socialite did not miss that the two animals were named after a disease and a poison. Memento mori was alive and well in the streets of London- ironically so. "So it would seem. Just as well, then, that it still finds its way to you. Forgive my curiosity, but what sort of macaw is that? She is quite beautiful."

From:

leviathanlovely

"Well, her beak leads me to believe she is a Severe-- That and her shining personality contributes to such a breeds name." The Pupil sighs, folding hands atop the desk. "If only her necks patterning didn't make me question if she was really a Harlequin or some other kind..."

Aligning themselves in their seat to lean forward onto their own risen, steepling fingers as they recalled their acquiescence of the colorful creature; "I don't believe I got too many details taking her in from a lovely associate of mine, I can hardly recall a time she did not grace my home in spite if it surely not being too long ago..."

They paused, the memory truly was hazy, though it could be blamed on the burning look in the eye of their associate; a devil rather pleasant on the eyes and ears gifting them something with insistence. It was no bother, really The Pupil loved animals dearly and fought to some degree to keep their rather humble home from degrading into a barn. (They really would need to look into bigger and better housing soon.)

"Do tell, dear Socialite, your Tularemia do you know her origins?" Though it was a pretty pet, likely a stalwart companion; The phrasing and the name really did sound unfortunate for the topic and the half cocked grin, not quite bellowing a bark of laughter in an attempt to keep platitudes, spoke of just how The Pupil shared his sentiment.

From:

themorbidsocialite

"She is, of course, a Eurasian ermine or a stoat. I believe it may be a mutation of some sort that provides her the permanent ermine color, regardless of season or temperature." The Socialite deftly dodged the meat of the question as he watched Tularemia perch herself upon his hat again. In truth, she had been bought for a fair price from Nasso's Zoologicals. Though, it was strange, he could swear she had been a long-tailed weasel before. And she had been a ruddy brown rather than ermine. But the last two years had felt like an eternity, an age, time dragging slowly ever since he...

The Socialite smiled. "She's rather smart for a stoat, which would be why I trust her with my mail. But let it not be forgotten that she is an animal and, having been fed, will continue to beg for table scraps from you. I would be prepared for either a raiding of your pockets or an intrusion into your bag next we meet." He laughed behind a hand, polite, but hiding a tricky and mischief-minded side. Perhaps a stoat was the perfect companion for someone like him.

From:

leviathanlovely

The Pupil's nose crinkled in another held laugh, in truth they often had to put their belongings on high to keep most of the riff-raff back home from sorting every crumb of it...

"Indeed, I'll have to prepare something special next week meet then to reinforce the idea of treats by hand then..." They noted, voice trailing off with a gentle smile.

From:

themorbidsocialite

"At the rate you're planning, she'll like your company better than mine by the end of the month. I must plead with you not to steal my only mail courier." A more open, chiming laugh, brassy and warm, reaching his eyes with ease. He had to coax his stoat back to the brim of his hat from where she had been sniffing coaxingly, hoping for another treat. "Perhaps I'll have to return the favor, just as soon as I am able to study what macaws might enjoy."

From:

leviathanlovely

"Perish the thought!" This brought a guffaw of near impossible to contain giggles to the individual. "She is glued to you, a true friend I'd wager... Not even the fattest pheasant could make her go forever."

They were just animals, but it would seem The Pupil had a particular soft-spot for thinking they were more in line with loyal companions -- or if not loyal, bonded in some fashion.

"I do believe you should find a seat, The Academic might single you put if youre the last standing!" Another well meant piece of advice, perhaps learned from a past experience; for better or for worse.

From:

themorbidsocialite

This, the two had in common, believing their animal companions to more resemble beloved friends and members of the family. One might have thirty Araby fighting weasels, but there was only one Tularemia, just as one can have all the lyrebirds in the world and there could never be another Belladonna.

The Socialite, who had already been seated just across from the Pupil, readjusted to face the board and smiled back at the Pupil. "It was a pleasure meeting you, truly. I hope to see you in future classes."

From:

leviathanlovely

"And you, as well..."

Sweet and simple, a forgettable reply but meant.

(Ooc: love love love this guy, you write them so well, also thanku for entertaining my annoying time constraints! See ya in the next threads!!)

From:

themorbidsocialite

(OOC: I'm so glad! I hope they're as entertaining to read as they are to write! And certainly can't wait to see more of the Pupil in future classes! See you there!)