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benthic_universityIt 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: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 03:26 am (UTC)If the Morbid Socialite was paying very close attention, they might have been able to notice a twitch in the lower eyelid. The Tailor tried to smile dismissively, agonizingly aware of the people around them. "'Sir' is acceptable," they said smoothly, "Though I couldn't say I know what you're referring to. Someone climbing the roof? I wonder who would do such a thing--or how you would be able to place such a person from so far!"
It was hardly the most graceful lie, admittedly. They'd already come in abruptly, after so many of the others, drawing more notice than they'd have liked. If rumor got out they'd been on the roof--
But if they could make the idea seem laughable...
"Now, I wonder what one would even find up there, besides bats? Do you think a student's gone and left some textbooks up there? Certainly not an easy place to pilfer." They cleared their throat. "Have we met someplace else, perhaps? Someone such as yourself may have frequented my employer, Mr. H_____, the tailor on the edge of Veilgarden. That might be where you know me."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 03:56 am (UTC)In truth, the Socialite saw that twitch of the eye and knew immediately that not only was this the climber before him, but the Tailor did not want knowledge of such a venture getting out. It was something to note, but nothing of import... yet.
Instead, the Socialite smiled. "The roof is hardly a covert meet cute, one perhaps even calling it overt, but perhaps that is the benefit of it. So overt, it circles around into covert, so strange that many do not wish to witness. And, as the conspicuousness of the location circles back around, so, too, does our conversation. It is a pity that I have neither seen you on the roof, nor have I frequented your tailoring employer, but perhaps a classroom meeting shall suffice. I am the Morbid Socialite, Mementomori Malodrema, though you may call me Maury. A pleasure to meet you, dear..." The Socialite paused, expecting a name and/or title.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 07:09 am (UTC)They didn't give a name so much as a set of initials and a last name, and then, "But the epitaph I most prefer is one Anachronistic Tailor. At the very least, Aspiring." They were slightly more than an apprentice, but slightly less than a proper tradesman. Perhaps one day they'd be finally able to open their own shop in the side streets of the Bazaar--until that happy day, it was work and reputation.
Speaking of... "That name rings familiar to me... not the same Socialite that's known friend to the artists?" 'Friend' was a polite way of putting it, wasn't it? The Tailor did not have much interest in the writers' circles (they preferred the company of costumers and seamstresses) but it would be hard to miss some of the repeated whispers from the Honey-Dens. Not that it mattered to them one way or another.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 01:32 pm (UTC)The Socialite's golden eyes did shine in the low lamplight, his grin seeming sharp and hungry. Was it purely for knowledge? Surely, it must be, for what else was there that would be of use to one such as him? "Kind sir, please, do sate my curiosity, but what does one as skilled in observation and memory need in a class such as this? Do you want for adventure, perhaps? Or a means to an end? Please, do forgive, if it is an intrusion, but you've piqued my interest, gentle Tailor. What does the Correspondence mean to you?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 05:20 pm (UTC)They lifted a hand casually to scratch their brow with a finger, like warding off an itch, and it brushed a scar that was notched there. They knew how to take a blow without making any sound.
So. What did the Correspondence mean to them?
"Adventure? Hardly," the fellow began slowly. "It's as you said, isn't it? It's difficult to make progress in the Neath without pursuing certain paths. I would think a broad education would help one to maintain a good reputation. One where they can control the words that are spoken about them."
It was unspecific, but they hoped good enough. "I think now the question falls to you. Is your own interest in the Correspondence as blissfully dull as mine? I can't imagine so."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-14 05:41 pm (UTC)And like those distant bells, the intensity was gone, the Socialite crossing his legs elegantly and smiling genuinely at the Tailor. "Your scholarly pursuits are noble, I will grant you that. Curiosity of the world is a wonderful thing. Do not lose it in pursuit of something grander. I've seen many a soul fall attempting to peer into the dark, my own husband included. Mind, my friend, that you do not do the same. You will find yourself in far darker places than a honey-den, that I can guarantee."
The Socialite seemed to realize something and peered around. "Strange. I could swear now would be the time when the class would start. You don't suppose the Academic would be late, do you?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-15 09:01 pm (UTC)And anyway, the Tailor would never cut through such a shirt. It was far too high quality.
Raised voices could be heard in the hall, and they said, under their breath, "I would imagine that would be them now."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-15 10:10 pm (UTC)