Thursday hadn't taken note of the Clay Substitute until after they signed in. When they did, their mood brightened considerably. Though they weren't quite the Golems of their childhood, there was enough similarities that, even new to the Neath as they were, Thursday felt a deep kinship with them. They wanted to stay and talk with her, but she clearly had a job to do today. This did beg the question however, of where the Professor was.
Not getting any immediate answers however, the Pawn repeated their routine from last week. Find a desk, sit in seat, dump the full contents of their carpet bag. This week, however, this action was followed by Thursday actually organizing the aftermath. Pens and papers and notebooks were placed in neat columns. A velvet draw-string bag was placed, more delicately, atop one such book-pile.
Where were his googles? Already on his face! No, he hadn't taken them off, not for any extended period of time at least.
Where was his coffee? Still by the sign-in sheet.
Thursday had begun the class in an amicable mood. Until the Dean arrived, Professor in, well, not 'tow'. This wasn't the issue. The issue was what, and whom the Dean was talking about. Irritation had begun to build in them since the moment they heard "Underclay aspirant". They only shook more the longer he continued. It was, altogether, too much.
"Excuse you!" Thursday grabbed their cane and made for the door of the class. There, small, broad, and face bright red, they blocked the Dean's escape route. "Why the hell are you treating her like that? Debating some," Thursday waved a hand, nearly whacking themself on the doorframe, "arbitrary de-humanizin' fucking status right in front of her! Treating her like she ain't a damn person just as us!"
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Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-06-17 04:04 pm (UTC)Not getting any immediate answers however, the Pawn repeated their routine from last week. Find a desk, sit in seat, dump the full contents of their carpet bag. This week, however, this action was followed by Thursday actually organizing the aftermath. Pens and papers and notebooks were placed in neat columns. A velvet draw-string bag was placed, more delicately, atop one such book-pile.
Where were his googles? Already on his face! No, he hadn't taken them off, not for any extended period of time at least.
Where was his coffee? Still by the sign-in sheet.
Thursday had begun the class in an amicable mood. Until the Dean arrived, Professor in, well, not 'tow'. This wasn't the issue. The issue was what, and whom the Dean was talking about. Irritation had begun to build in them since the moment they heard "Underclay aspirant". They only shook more the longer he continued. It was, altogether, too much.
"Excuse you!" Thursday grabbed their cane and made for the door of the class. There, small, broad, and face bright red, they blocked the Dean's escape route. "Why the hell are you treating her like that? Debating some," Thursday waved a hand, nearly whacking themself on the doorframe, "arbitrary de-humanizin' fucking status right in front of her! Treating her like she ain't a damn person just as us!"