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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: 2025-06-15 11:13 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 02:22 am (UTC)The Brash Devil watched Maven's face get redder as the Socialite went on. He grinned at the look on her face; she was always cute, but it was always a treat to see her normally composed and put together demeanor break, whether through embarrassment (like now), righteous anger, or other means.
(Plus, this line of questioning did help alleviate that earlier feeling that he couldn't name but had settled on calling annoyance)
Before she could even attempt to respond he poked her arm, "Yeah Maven, tell us. Is there a certain someone that inspired you to take this class? Maybe a certain roguish trouble maker that caught your eye? I'm sure we're all dying to hear the answer~" He also ended in a sing-songy tone and a snicker.
Between the two of them, Maven was absolutely beet red. She hid her face with one hand and smacked the Brash Devil's hand with the other, "Oh my goodness, you are simply incorrigible!" There was no anger in her tone, just more flustered, embarrassed amusement.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 02:53 am (UTC)Were they... taking notes? Oh, dear. It would seem our Morbid Socialite's current source of income was short story authorship. And they weren't very good, if anyone had read their works, but they at least had the passion for it, the energy in their every word, as poorly placed as those words might have been. It was truly an ironic predicament, as his non-fiction writing was, at times, exceptional and beloved by those that read it. But his fiction left quite a lot to be desired. And love, passion, human connection was his inspiration.
Or, perhaps, this was just another odd quirk of the Morbid Socialite's, the love for love, no relation to his writing in any way. Whatever the case may have been, they were enamoured with the Maven and Devil's love and perhaps ignoring decorum and manners against intrusion in the process.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 04:21 am (UTC)Getting a hold of herself, she took a breath, "No no, nothing like that. We simply met while he was on the surface." She knew how strange that alone sounded, a devil going to the surface, but decided not to divulge more to this person she'd just met. No need for them to know how he's gone up at night for reasons entirely related to his own hubris only to end up trapped in the shadows during the day until she found him. Particularly not if she didn't know why he was taking notes. Thus she kept it simple, "I assisted him in getting back to the Neath, and we developed a friendship from there, meeting periodically until I eventually decided to descend to the Neath myself."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 04:28 am (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 06:06 am (UTC)"It is true that friendship can be just as valuable as romance, I am happy to hear you say that. It's a sentiment that I find is rarely shared." As she said this, Maven reached over and put her hand over the Brash Devil's, which made him freeze for a moment before relaxing, as if gentle touch for no reason other than physical contact was still new. Maven interlaced their fingers as she continued, "However, in this case you are correct."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 01:50 pm (UTC)As Tularemia returned to her perch on the hat, the Socialite readjusted with a sigh. "The springtime fields of romance truly are a spectacle to behold. Do hold onto your love, won't you? Such a significant and rare feeling to have, so often mistaken and yet more often chased. To have it form so naturally... You deserve each other and I do hope you remember that. Even as the years pass and the candle inevitably sputters, I hope you remember these years when you felt closest, when all things seemed possible. I hope, even through dark and mist and falling water, that your candle burns bright hereafter. Cherish it as you cherish each other and you will never lose your way."
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 02:44 pm (UTC)The Brash Devil was clearly not normally a romantic despite his obvious feelings for Maven, for it looked like he might be sick at such flowery language being used to describe himself, and it was taking every bit of self restraint not to say so. That and Maven suddenly squeezing his hand in warning as if she anticipated a rude word from him.
Maven, however, just smiled at the words, "That is very sweet of you to say, thank you for the sentiment." She glanced at the clock, "I was going to return the question and ask what your purpose for coming to the class was, but it looks like class will be starting soon. Maybe another time?"
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-16 04:02 pm (UTC)