cool_skeleton: (cool close)
[personal profile] cool_skeleton
[Papyrus, despite his poor grades in general studies, is nonetheless determined to wade into the deep waters of his major: Political Science. Surely that will pave the way to his dream job of monster-human diplomat. What's a little English or Math compared to that?

His exuberance and continual insistence finally forced the hand of a professor years ahead of his academic trajectory, who reluctantly lent him a copy of the subject's seminal work: The Process of Government: A Study of Social Pressures. All 500 pages of it.

Now, Papyrus liked to read, especially books about puzzlemanship. But this was an entirely different puzzle, one whose maze-like jargon and academic rigor lost him like nothing before. Monster society had nothing like this, or at least nothing he ever saw in the Librarby.

No matter! He's a genius! He can figure out this insanely complicated book and all others like it! What did a wise professor once tell him? "If you want to test your understanding, see whether you can explain it to a layman." Then the professor had to explain what a layman was.

And so he set out across campus to scream down laymen and laywomen (LIKE YOU) alike so they might hear his elucidation and tell him how enlightening he was.]


AHEM!!! YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS PRESENTS TO YOU THE FIRST PAGE OF TPOC: ASOSP!! ALL IN GLORIOUS PAPYRUS PARAPHRASE!!!

THE, UH, BEST WAY TO EXPLAIN POLITICS AND GOVERNMENT AND STUFF LIKE THAT IS BY THE FEELINGS OF AND IDEAS OF THE PEOPLE IN THEM. LIKE ME!! AND YOU!!!

THERE ARE OTHER WAYS, LIKE WHERE PEOPLE ARE OR WHAT THEY'RE MADE OF. THEY SUCK!! AND THERE'S ALSO OLD-FASHIONED FEELINGS AND IDEAS, BUT THEY WON'T DO!!! OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW!!!!

AND EVEN THOUGH IDEAS AND FEELINGS ARE PSYCHIC, PSYCHOLOGY STILL ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH. NOPE!!! ONLY OUR FEELINGS AND IDEAS MEET MY STANDARDS. THE REST IS PRETTY MUCH BUPKIS!!

SO WHATCHA THINK??? AM I MAKING SO MUCH SENSE, YOU'VE GOT DOLLARS!?
profrollo: (Default)
[personal profile] profrollo
[Another New Year's party, another festivity Frollo's forced to attend. Despite his best efforts, the other faculty liked to include him in their reindeer games. Whether this came from goodwill or morbid curiosity about what the grouch would produce was hard to determine. The latest participant, one Ms. Merriweather, was aglow with end-of-the-year cheer.]

"Mr. Frollo! Fancy seeing you here! Have you heard about the season finale of Mad Men? It sounds like just your kind of thing; very moral, you know. Very critical."

"I'm not familiar..."

[That was not an invitation; nonetheless, she gushed and brought him up to speed.]

"So you see, it's a fascinating period piece about, you know, what things were like back then. What do you say?"

"I say it's not nearly so moral as myopic; merely a devilish distraction."

[Though truly he wished he'd, if not she'd, said nothing at all. Judging by her bewildered look, he figured he'd have to elucidate. Like one of his lectures. Well, if she insists.]

"From what you've said, it seems this televised drama belongs to the genre of 'Now We Know Better'. The characters will indulge, without irony, something shocking to modern sensibilities. The moderns will then indulge a chuckle or a cluck, per their wont, and congratulate themselves on having the good fortune of being born decades afterwards. Such morality is pandering and cheap. Why the sins of the past were, and whether they were truly wicked or merely unfashionable, is not thought of. Indeed, such entertainment is a loss to real virtue, deadening the present to its own vices in favor of jeering the dead's. I confess, I see precious little morality in that."

[Merriweather's shock increased. Goodwill lingering, she floundered for a way to continue the conversation.]

"Oh, well, I see. Um...what vices don't get much attention nowadays?"

[His eyes lightly gave her a once over, noting that she was slightly overweight.]

"Gluttony, perhaps."

[Her face reddened.]

"O-oh, well, my friend is over there, and we really need catching up. Ah, Happy New Years!"

"Likewise."

[Frollo was blessed with a severe baritone and a preacherly knack for sermonizing, so his lecture and the fallout drew more attention than just his poor interlocutor. Good; that'll teach them to share their inane recreations. And Frollo's nothing if not an excellent teacher.]

OTA

Nov. 26th, 2019 06:17 pm
fightforastar: (unsure)
[personal profile] fightforastar
Who: Tifa & OTA!
What: Campus Potluck
When: November 22
Where: Front Lawn
Warnings: None

They didn't have Thanksgiving back in Nibelheim, certainly not in Midgar, and when Tifa learned how it was typically celebrated, her first instinct was to avoid the thing entirely. Even if the early potluck is for students and faculty, the subject of home and family is likely to come up, and that's never pleasant.

But... Maybe it could be like ripping off a bandaid. She can't avoid the subject forever, and at least if she knows to expect it, she won't be caught off guard. She can practice, so it comes out easier in the future.

Tifa likes cooking, anyway. Having availed herself of the dorm kitchen, she finds the table with the desserts on it to set down an apple cranberry pie. It's simple, but it felt right for the season.

Even if nothing else does.

She takes a breath, straightens her sweater, and heads off to make herself a plate. If she's going to do this, then let's do it. She'll even attempt to strike up conversations, ranging from a simple "hello" to the much bolder "any plans for Thanksgiving?" aimed at her acquaintances.

((Will match format!))
femalepresenting: (Default)
[personal profile] femalepresenting
Who: Porrim Maryam & OTA
What: Fun at the Campus Feast!
When: November 22nd, Campus Potluck Day
Where: Center Campus on the grass!
Warnings: None anticipated

Porrim wasn't sure what to expect from the Campus Potluck. This was the first time she would be likely to meet the large variety of individuals that made up her campus: ones from literal different universes with different cultures, different rules of physics. Supposedly there would be no flying or throwing fireballs, because of the way the campus worked (worked how? she had no idea).

It was also her first social gathering since officially leaving her parents house. She has been to parties, certainly. Including some pretty shady ones with lots of drugs and underage drinking. None with demigods and lizardmen. Would an official party at a college campus be way too normal for her, or too weird?

Porrim was bringing a dish of Puchero, a Filipino dish of stewed beef and plantains. It had been a good orientation-challenge, forcing her to go to town and buy ingredients, and then track down her Residence Hall's communal kitchen. The dish had come out... passable. It wasn't as good as her mom's, which started her on an early homesickness minipanic, which she had gotten under control. Mostly.

She was pretty interested in seeing what other people had brought, though. Once she set her dish down, she started exploring the more unique (or at least unidentifiable) dishes she could find.

"Hmm, who brought this one?" she said aloud, examining one particular dish.
profrollo: (Default)
[personal profile] profrollo
[The usual business management teacher had to take a day off, and so Frollo, one who rarely took sick days, filled in. Many teachers dreaded this exact occurrence, for Frollo was too well-versed in academia to avoid, and too fiery to not add his own personal touch to their otherwise vanilla lesson plan.

The students visibly stiffened when he entered the room, and his severity meant their wariness never let up. Frollo chalks this up to his fine teaching ability, and can't quite see what part fear might play. With a pained, perfunctory air, he went over the usual. Operations, finances, the seedy, psychological tricks that people use to part the innocent from their alms. Before long he'd covered the material, leaving him ample time to teach what he really wanted.]


"The Manager"; the grotesque, worldly thing you all no doubt aspire to, is something of a junior demon. It is, to my lament, a product universities such as this reliably spawn like bot flies poring from flesh. A testament, I fear, to the increasing monetization of what used to be such hallowed halls of learning. Yes, even a university can fall to the base nature of supply. Perhaps I might amend the "demand".

[The look he gave them was one full of grim, caustic chastisement. Clearly the impure, financial side of college was both their fault and their full intent. Sinners.]

The world, low and greedy, would readily employ ones such as yourself as vassals to extend its reach. It would embroil you in hateful work--the gradual enslavement of others--, and its only reward being the deferment of the same for yourself. In exchange for swindling your soul, it promises that you, having done its dirt, may avoid its chains by pursuing worldly pleasures beyond the reach of those you "manage". What better way to avoid the lash then holding the whip?

[He spoke as if he had personal experience with the instrument. He became yet graver.]

Bureaucracy is the yoke by which it punishes and rewards, and despite my efforts, colleges are no less exempt from its schemes. Management positions are among the highest for graduates, who go out into the world only to consume and, in the end, be consumed thereby. They work their own damnation, and unlike Faust, do so unknowingly. Even if one seeks to avoid its claws, management becomes increasingly rife with every rung higher up the corporate latter. A climb that ends, spiritually, with a noose.

It is my fain, if vain, hope, that you will hold fast to your souls, and not trade them for the world's rewards. You shall find that the devil pays a fair wage, in the end: exactly as one deserves.

[His flaming eyes bored into them so fiercely that they regarded it as salvation itself when he finally said]

Class dismissed.

[He wasn't long in following them out the door, pinching his forehead at the thought of dealing with these demoniacal underlings in the world outside. How on earth do people...manage?]
un_wir_greywaren: (Default)
[personal profile] un_wir_greywaren
Who: Ronan Lynch, OTA
What: Ronan's first day.
When: Before Halloween, after the start of the semester because he enrolled late.
Where: Around campus, between classes, tennis practice, food court, pick a place.
Warnings: Cursing, mostly. Will add as needed.

~*~

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