Professor Marlowe

July 12, 2006 11:47 PM
The mixed-year class was coming in after lunch. The post-lunch classes were, as even her own memories of being a schoolgirl showed, often as torturous as the post-breakfast classes when it came to focusing. Making things more potentially fun was the presence of her House's third years, the notorious Crotalus third year girls and their one male yearmate. Unless she was very much mistaken, they had almost singlehandedly given Crotalus House its current less-than-lovely reputation. She hadn't personally had any greater problems with them than dealing with a lack of motivation, but they were supposed to have cooled down a bit since they made a name for themselves as first years.

Having more or less swallowed a turkey sandwich whole at her desk so she could finish grading the first years' essays and reconfirm - otherwise translated as find - her lesson plans, she was seated and smiling when they filed in.

"Welcome," she said, standing up and moving to stand behind the desk. "I'm guessing you know the drill by now. Notes as usual, get your wands out when you're done writing. Your incantation will be Excavaris Conterra." Momentarily doubting that she had put them up, Selina tried to be subtle about glancing towards the side of the board reserved for notes. Thankfully, they were exactly where they were supposed to be. She'd occasionally toyed with the idea of trying to stop worrying about making mistakes to see if it helped her make fewer of them, but had never actually applied it.

"Excavaris Conterra," she said when it seemed that everyone was done, "is a spell that will transform a given object into a container. The size generally depends upon the caster's skill and desires, and today's products are most likely going to turn out on the small side. Since you've given a mostly good account of yourselves, your original item will be a pincushion, and I believe you each already have one in front of you. Extra points will be given for how pretty the box is. I'll demonstrate."

The pincushions were of the old-fashioned variety, resembling nothing so much as a cloth tomato. Pulling out her wand, she moved it in a pattern resembling an upright and then horizontal numeral eight, saying the spell words as clearly as she could. The little box was ornamented only by double rows of carved lines around the edges, flaring a little at the corners, but it was lined with red cloth. "You may begin."\n\n
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0 Professor Marlowe Lesson One, Third and Fourth Years 0 Professor Marlowe 1 5


Anne Wright

July 22, 2006 2:07 PM
There was a formula, or so Geoff said, for being noticed and liked by teachers. Unfortunately, that formula had the ability to backfire in spectacular fashion if some part of it was pulled off incorrectly. Sliding into the first seat she saw moments before the bell, Anne gave Professor Marlowe an apologetic smile and retrieved her pen and parchment as quickly as possible, remembering the old routine without difficulty. In future, she'd have to remember that working on interesting bits of homework for another class during her lunch break wasn't the best idea, because it was luck and nothing more that had caused her to notice the time just in time to get to class on time.

Since she hadn't technically been late, however, the professor couldn't punish her, and that would do. It was impressively hard to care anymore if she was liked or not, so long as her grades stayed at an acceptable level. Writing in a format that included a generous amount of abbreviations and the regular dropping of inconvenient conjunctions, she finished the notes quickly and kept one hand resting on her wand as she waited for the lesson to progress. Since getting it back, she'd been reluctant to let it out of eyeshot or reach. When Marlowe began to speak again, Anne slid it off the desk and held on with both hands in her lap.

So, pincushions to boxes. Pretty boxes, if she wanted extra credit. She might have to give up on the extra credit, because unless her object was a keyboard, she didn't do pretty. She did tempestuous more often than pretty even when it was on a piano. Maybe she could make an argument for the elegance of simplicity or something like that. First priority was to turn the pincushion into a functioning box for full credit before she worried about additional stuff. With a wand movement like that, it would be best to have the words as exact as possible, so she resigned herself to copying Marlowe's weird accent, which thankfully bore a vague resemblance to Geoff's. The English half was stronger with her, and the rest was Boston instead of Charleston, but she'd deal.

Bringing her wand back above the desk, she gave the nine inches of rosewood an almost loving look before trying out the motion until she could do it without awkward starts and stops. Satisfied with her performance, she began the process for real, aiming the tip of the wand at the pincushion and saying the words aloud, mimicking even the pitch of Professor Marlowe's voice. She had been the despair of Master Kirke for the first two years of music lessons because of her ability to imitate almost anything she heard, because he could only rarely tell when she'd learned the music the proper way and when she was just memorizing by ear. She had learned how to do it right, but she hadn't lost the original ability, either.

Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it was because of her having had the theme of Swan Lake stuck in her head all through the morning classes, but Anne caught herself laughing aloud at the finished product. The box was black, but around the edges were measured, evenly spaced strips of white - the keys of a piano. \n\n
16 Anne Wright I don't like tomatoes... 59 Anne Wright 0 5