Lesson One, Second Years by Professor Marlowe
Only I could have my desk this cluttered up this early in the year, Selina thought gloomily, looking at the stacks of parchments and books already beginning to accumulate. It wasn't too awfully bad now, but she knew from experience that she'd go about thinking she was going to clean it off every weekend until the desk was completely invisible beneath the piles of work-related materials. If she'd seen it in someone else's classroom, it would have driven her crazy. In her own, it was, unless she deliberately thought about it, regarded as the natural order of things.She could at least straighten it up a little before the second years arrived, though. That stack of essays she was planning to grade during lunch could stay on the left corner, but the morning paper, a few letters from Viva and company, and the copies of last year's exam scores could be stored in the desk drawer. The slots on the bookshelf behind her desk, though she was fairly sure they had been the original locations of other volumes, were quickly filled with the Instructor's Editions of several books she was planning to have the seventh years read. She found the day planner she'd lost six months previously just as the first student slipped into the room. She'd forgotten about having that...
The students, however, meant stopping her little rearranging spree and sitting down, assuming a professional demeanor. This class was...temperamental. She would always have a degree of fondness for them because they had come in at the same time as she had, but there was no denying that they knew how to keep things interesting. She had gotten accustomed to it, but she was hoping for a calm day, today.
The sight of familiar faces, most not too drastically altered by the summer vacation, was surprisingly welcome. She offered them a brief smile. "Welcome back," she said briskly as the class officially began. "Hope you all had lovely summers. Notes as usual to begin with, get out your quills and parchment. We're going to be transfiguring a stick into a pencil today. The incantation is Cillium Insigere. Directions on the board, get out your wands when you've written it all down." When it looked like everyone had complied, she continued.
"I'll demonstrate before you get started," she said, picking up a stick from a box of them she vaguely remembered perching near the edge of her desk after she had finished placing one in front of each seat, figuring it was ultimately quicker than passing around the box to the class. "Keep your wands steady, using minimal motion. Pronunciation and focus are as important as ever, don't forget it." Pointing her wand at the bit of wood in her hand, she said the spell words with the slightly heightened level of care she reserved for casting spells in class. "Cillium Insigere." This year's example, she was pleased to note, turned out better than the previous year's showing of the same spell.
"Usual rules apply. Concentrate on your work, and try not to disturb your classmates. Keep at it until time to go or until you get it right, and don't expect any grand immediate successes. Homework's to be an essay describing the theory behind this. Begin." \n\n
Subthreads: Your favorite student returns. by Allie St.Martin
Transfiguration + Saul = Nothing by Saul Pierce
Lesson one, lesson dull by Michael Tallow with Professor Marlowe
This year it's wicked Pink sticks instead of evil needles by Guenther Heindrich with Melanie Rose
I'm not Marly's favorite student, but I'm back, too. by Lila St.Martin
Me, thee, and...darn, my least favorite class doesn't rhyme by Geoffrey Layne with Paul Tarwater
As calm as I get. by Adam Brockert
0
Professor Marlowe
Lesson One, Second Years
0
Professor Marlowe
1
5
Allie St.Martin
June 28, 2006 11:28 PM
Your favorite student returns. by Allie St.Martin
Her hair was a bit longer than it had been, but it was still the simplest means of distinguishing Allie from her twin sister. Right after that came the Teppenpaw badge on her robes, kept prominently displayed. Lila would most assuredly react badly to being mistaken for Allie or having Allie mistaken for her. It grated on the younger twin's nerves, sharing both a face and a name with other girls in her year. Since there was nothing Allie could do about either one of these, she simply went out of her way to make sure people could tell who was who and who belonged to what family.She reached the Transfiguration classroom early enough to get a seat near the front. The room had its share of unpleasant associations - Lila catching fire in their first-ever lesson, for example - but she liked Professor Marlowe. The woman was both the Head of Crotalus - Allie was, with the exceptions of her sister and Lila Gringe, terrified of Crotali - and a bit forceful in manner, but she had told Allie she could do well enough to be getting on with if she'd work for it. That it had, in the end, proven true had been the handshake that sealed the deal. She wasn't especially good at Transfiguration, but she passed most everything and occasionally found herself sort of liking it.
Her twin entered much closer to time for the class to begin, returning, to her surprise, Allie's smile of greeting with a quick nod of her own. Lila had been more tolerant of her than usual over the summer, probably because of the lecture their father had given them about the importance of the family sticking together after their mother and step-grandmother fell out in the aftermath of Anne being kidnapped or running away or whatever had happened with her. Allie took a moment to wonder if knowing that Anne was alive and, apparently, doing well meant Lila was going to distance herself from Allie once more, but it wasn't a pleasant thought and the lesson beginning gave her a legitimate excuse to push it aside.
As quickly as she started working on her notes, Allie was still among the last students to finish copying them out, but that was the usual scenario. She laid her wand on the desk in front of her and used the palm of one hand to keep it from rolling around, watching, fascinated, as what looked like a stick from a tree turned into...something. Professor Marlowe called it a pencil, but its resemblance to Allie's drawing pencils was vague at best. Still, though, if the teacher said it was a pencil, then it was a pencil. That the teacher was always right was one of the first things that had been impressed upon her and Lila when they began with their first tutor, not long before Alban was born.
She picked up her own stick without checking to see if it had splinters, then took her wand in her other hand. The seven-and-a-quarter inches of willow wood, the polishing her father had ordered for it the night before she left home again still good, gleamed faintly in the light as she twirled it through her fingers for a moment before pointing it at the stick as steadily as she could. Trying to muster every shred of confidence she could beg or borrow, she said the incantation without stuttering. Stuttering might not be quite as bad as an honest-to-goodness mispronounciation, but it was still bad and could lead to saying the words wrong. She might not have been very smart, but she learned from her mistakes. Usually. "Cillium Insigere."
Nothing happened. Allie hadn't really expected it to. "Cillium Insigere," she repeated, shooting a glance at the thing Professor Marlowe had created and trying to see the stick in her hand morph into the same thing. When nothing happened again, she frowned for a moment, but her expression cleared quickly. She just wasn't concentrating hard enough, that was all. She was so jumpy, so afraid of setting her neighbors on fire, that she wasn't focusing on what she was doing the way she should. Yes, that had to be it. She just had to concentrate harder. \n\n
16
Allie St.Martin
Your favorite student returns.
76
Allie St.Martin
0
5
Saul Pierce
June 30, 2006 12:11 PM
Transfiguration + Saul = Nothing by Saul Pierce
Saul didn't particularly care for Transfiguration class. Sure, Simon liked it and used Transfig more than he used any other area of magic put together, but Saul just couldn't get it. It started with the toothpicks trained by martial artists to be at one with themselves, and it seemed that ever since then, Saul kept getting the object that was content with its lot in life and had no desire whatsoever to change into something else. The stick in front of him now was probably no different.He gave it a wary look and poked at it with his finger. It gave no visible indication that it was eager to become a pencil. It didn't even roll when he pushed at it. The stick just skidded across the desk. A pencil or even a pencil wannabe would have rolled. Saul sighed. Stubborn stick.
He picked up his wand and frowned mightly at the stick, hoping to intimidate it into wanting to be a pencil, but it was not only at peace with its identity, it was also trained against mighty frowns. The stick didn't so much as twitch in fear. "I can set you on fire, you know," he threatened.
It didn't appear impressed. Fearless as well as stubborn. This was going to be harder than he thought.
"Cillium Insigere," he tried, going for a commanding intonation.
The stick just laughed at him. Well, not out loud, of course, but Saul could imagine it just fine. "I can do an incendiary charm. I'm good at charms," he warned it. The stick just continued to snicker at him. Or maybe that was the person next to him. No matter. The stick was going down.
"Cillium Insigere," he cast again, this time trying to sound authoritative. Authoritative and commanding were very close siblings, but there were minor differences, and Saul hit them.
Stubborn, fearless, and insubordinate. It probably had behavioural issues as well. Saul scowled at the mockingly unresponsive stick. "I'm not afraid of bringing you to visit that Crup in Care of Magical Creatures. I'm sure he'd love to play fetch with you."
If a stick could have a tongue, it was sticking out at Saul now, he just knew it.
"Oh, come on," he said, giving up on imposing authority and attempting whining instead. "Just turn into a pencil, will you? Cillium Insigere."
It flicked him off as best an umoving stick could. Saul slouched back in his chair and glared at it. "Why do I always get the emotionally disturbed objects?" he complained to nobody in particular.\n\n
1
Saul Pierce
Transfiguration + Saul = Nothing
82
Saul Pierce
0
5
Lesson one, lesson dull by Michael Tallow
Michael did not actually dislike his Transfiguration professor. Professor Marlowe was exactly his sort of person; granted, he didn't have much experience to base that determination on. This was, after all, his first class with her, his first lesson with her, his first everything with her. But Professor Marlowe hadn't bothered to spend too much time getting to know him, nor did she force him to introduce himself like teachers in the past had done to him. Neither had she made it a personal mission of hers to get him to talk in a pleasant manner.She had left him entirely alone, and that was exactly his sort of person.
That she also required an essay from him, however, was a minor detraction. Michael did not believe in writing. It cramped his fingers and took away from his personal time. It also meant having to spend undue time paying attention to minor things like spelling, punctuation, and handwriting- all of which, in his opinion, were things that did not accurately reflect one's ability when it came to doing magic.
Practical expression was the right way to go, and he just happened to be rather okay when it came to using a wand. Unlike his sister who was useless when it came a wand. Michael also happened to have slightly less disinterest in Transfiguration than his other subjects.
It was a practical magic after all- he would eventually run out of balsa wood for his models, and learning how to turn like materials into that particular material would be useful. Not that he would admit this to anyone if asked.
Michael, after deciding that copying down the notes was not something he felt like doing, set to attempting the spell. His wand rested comfortably in his chubby grip, the wood soft against his palm. Methodically, he repeated the incantation mentally, mimicking Marlowe's intonation until he felt assured that he had it right.
Ignoring his classmates and their progress entirely, he stared down at the stick and pictured it a pencil- a pencil he could use to trace down diagrams and etch in shading, a pencil that he could actually have use of later that day. With the intonation clear in his mind, and with the pencil imagined down to its graphite middle, he opened his mouth and said, voice unfortunately flat, "Cillium Insigere."
The stick twitched, its angles smoothing into a lined curve. The tip narrowed to a point, and Michael picked it up with critical consideration. "It's not straight," he pronounced, not at all satisfied. "And the graphite's too soft."
He put the failed pencil aside and raised his hand. "I need another stick."\n\n
0
Michael Tallow
Lesson one, lesson dull
1465
Michael Tallow
0
5
This year it's wicked Pink sticks instead of evil needles by Guenther Heindrich
Guenther stepped in the classroom, not particularly happy about being back in this room. He shivered. His experience last year was horrible, Spike being his biggest problem with it. Although he wasn't terribly horrible at Transfiguration, he wasn't terribly great either. It had taken him several times last year every time he wanted to perform a transfiguration just to get stuff looking the way he wanted it to. So his test scores were not the highest in the class, nor would it be this year.He stared at the stick in front of him, willing it to transform and he used what he thought were the correct wand movements and said what he thought were the correct words.
"Cillium Insigere" he said under his breath.
He always felt extremely stupid when he said "magic words". After not knowing about magi...il he was about 8, he felt ridiculus saying stuff like in the story books or for that matter in his D&D books.
Unfortunatly, his stick stayed frustratingly looking brown, oddly shaped, and blunt. He sighed, dissapointed that his attempt hadn't produced anything. He felt so behind, but figured he wasn't the only one in this sort of situation. Looking around he saw all sorts of kids having less luck that him.
He focused again, thinking of a pink pencil that was sort of thick and short. If he could manage to do this, maybe he could send it home to his sisters so that they could see his progress. He smiled thinking of how proud his mother would be. "Cillium Insigere" he said again, focusing so hard that his head hurt. He closed his eyes as he did the wand movement.
Peeking he saw that the stick did turn a hot pink, but was no more sharp then it had been before. It didn't even really resemble a pencil. Hmmm, this could take some work
\n\n
0
Guenther Heindrich
This year it's wicked Pink sticks instead of evil needles
0
Guenther Heindrich
0
5
Round and round the pencil goes. by Melanie Rose
Melanie had taken a seat by a familiar boy. She had talked to him occasionally in the first year. His name she couldn't remember but she did remember giving him the title 'Jolly Green' due to his height. She was coping her notes as he went a head and tried the spell that seemed as strange as the needle spell. She watched him move his wand and speak the words. She already knew he had done something wrong."You shouldn't move your wand." She muttered finishing her last sentence in the notebook. She put her quill down in the fold of the book and picked up her familiar wand as she looked at her neighbors stick turn pink. Taking her own stick she concentrated on her own. In her mind she forced herself to think of a silver pencil with a sharp tip and good eraser.
"Lets see if I've improved over the summer." She had muttered to herself as she recalled all the reading she had done to better herself with the magic. Being clueless of witchcraft was a major downer towards the first year doing it. With determination, she spoke the incantation as she steadied her hand, "Cillium Insigere."
It did nothing at first. That was until she noticed the slight change in appearence and color. Slowly, it shifted into a winding spiral with light colors running through the cracks of the bark and the tip gotten a medium point to it. It was only a half transformation.
"Yours is better." She smiled looking at them in comparison. Atleast his didn't look a strange spiny twist of pencil.\n\n
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Melanie Rose
Round and round the pencil goes.
0
Melanie Rose
0
5
Sorry to hear that. by Professor Marlowe
So far, everything was going well. No fights, no fires, no drama. Just the way she liked it. They, like the other groups she taught, had the ability to be a very good class...when it suited them. Today, apparently, it did. If it could be this way all the time, then she'd have the perfect job. Oh, well. Perfection was boring, anyway. A little madness was necessary to preserve one's sanity.She heard Mr. Pierce's comment about his materials, and made a mental note to speak to him about it in a slightly less public setting. If he thought the objects he was supposed to be Transfiguring were sentient - she vaguely remembered something about him calling matches yoga masters at one point in the previous year - he could have developed some kind of block around the subject. For the meantime, she simply addressed the class with a bit of advice. "Concentrate," she said. "Perseverance, determination, and the belief that what you have been assigned to do can be done are critical to success."
A hand went up, the arm it was attached to attached to a boy she couldn't come up with a name for. A momentary frown flickered across her face, then vanished as she walked over to him. She had thought she'd learned all of the names to fit the faces, but the face wasn't even familiar, here. A transfer student, perhaps? Looking at his first effort, she felt her eyebrows raising a bit in response to his request, but caught it before the gesture was overly noticeable.
"A fine effort," she said, picking up the lopsided pencil. That settled the matter. If he'd been in her classes the previous year, she would have remembered him. "Especially after a summer without any practice." She wasn't going to say it, but she understood, as one perfectionist can, after a fashion, understand another, why that most likely wouldn't deter the boy from wanting to try again. She pulled out her wand. "However, if you wish to work further on it...Accio." The box of sticks came to rest on the desk in front of her. She handed the boy two. "Cillium Insigere," she reminded him. "Focus, now." \n\n
0
Professor Marlowe
Sorry to hear that.
0
Professor Marlowe
0
5
Where it stops? Well I guess Melanie knows! by Guenther Heindrich
Guenther stared at her. She was right. He vaguely remembered the teacher saying something about minimum movement. "Okay, let's try this again.""Cillium Insigere"
His pink stink made a small popping noise and the bark fell off of it, leaving a large, sharp, bright pink pencil. He beamed with pride and then turned toward Spike. "Try again." he said confident that if she had done as well as she did on the first try, he was sure she would be able to do it this time.\n\n
0
Guenther Heindrich
Where it stops? Well I guess Melanie knows!
0
Guenther Heindrich
0
5
I actually meant to change that subject heading. . . by Michael Tallow
OOC:. . .to something else as the post changed itself midway into Michael not being completely horrible. On with the game!IC:
"I was focused the first time," Michael muttered, taking the offered sticks in sullen gesture. "It's how I said it that was wrong."
The rest of his comments he left unsaid. After all, he had practised during the summer- he'd practised all year with the tutor his parents stuck him with. Michael had been doing the stupid spells all year long. It aggravated him when people made assumptions. Especially about him. It was always adults, the older, wiser ones who so presumptively asserted that they knew where he had faulted, where he had gone wrong.
Or how he was feeling.
It didn't seem to matter what he said, or how he acted. Once an adult had decided upon his opinion of him, all of his actions, regardless of their motivation, only served, in the adult's mind, as further proof of what was only an ignorant, elitist, assumption. He scowled plainly and with great feeling at the sticks in his grip.
Focus- how ridiculous.
In his agitation, Michael left his usual methodical approach to the subject, and instead, turned all of his immature, wrongly placed ire onto the two sticks and one curved pencil that centered his desk. It did not occur to him that perhaps he was over-reacting to what was, quite plainly, a very general sort of instruction. Or even that Professor Marlowe had seemed only kind and interested, and not at all like so many of the adults he'd been forced to deal with and answer to during the past year.
"Cillium Insigere!" he spat the inanimate victims, his inflection landing perfectly despite the anger tinging his voice. The two previous untouched sticks smoothed and extended, their southern ends narrowing to sharp points. The curved mistake from before, straightened to match its brothers.
Despite the success, Michael's distemper only increased. Of course, now, Professor Marlowe would preen in self-congratulations; she had figured out his fault and solved it for him. Convinced of this, however irrationally reasoned, he took great joy in vindictively snapping each of the newly transfigured pencils cleanly across the edge of his desk.
She couldn't punish him, after all, for she never instructed what they were to do with the sticks after being transfigured.\n\n
0
Michael Tallow
I actually meant to change that subject heading. . .
1465
Michael Tallow
0
5
Lila St.Martin
July 15, 2006 1:19 AM
I'm not Marly's favorite student, but I'm back, too. by Lila St.Martin
The first thing Lila saw as she walked into Transfiguration was her twin smiling at her. She hesitated for a split second before nodding back amiably enough, but she doubted Allie had noticed that. Daddy, much more frank than usual because of the turf war Mama and Eileen's disagreement had turned into, had made it clear to her that he would be very displeased if she abandoned her gullible sister to the mercies of Sonora again. She had also discovered that Anne being removed from the equation had almost put things back to the way they had been before everything went wrong. It had been inevitable that she and Allie would become, after a fashion, friends again once the forces of chaos were drawn away from them and theirs.Settling into a desk further back than Allie's, Lila watched Marlowe until class began. She'd heard that two third years, one of the Howard girls and Catherine Raines, were planning a social gathering for the first and second years. She was a second year, and she was a Crotalus, so it therefore made sense that if Marlowe approved, she would be invited to attend. She missed the parties when she was at Sonora, and she had brought along several sets of dress robes, just in case. It would be awfully nice to get to wear one of them, and almost as nice to get to really deal with the other Crotali in a situation they would all be comfortable with and familiar with...if Marlowe would just approve of it. Just then, the professor began the class, and Lila made a quick mental note to ask Two what she was thinking of wearing before giving her attention to the new Head of Crotalus.
Sticks into pencils. Wouldn't Allie be pleased. Allie and Alban were both doodlers and dreamers, as different from herself as night was from day. If she and Allie had been fraternal, she might have thought one of them was illegitimate. Allie, obviously, because she was everything a St.Martin could ever want to be. Alban...she didn't know what to make of Alban. It wasn't nice, to think her family was going to be headed by a boy who was touched in the head after Daddy died, but she didn't know what else she could use to explain her brother. Alban lived in his own little world, even moreso than Allie did, and he didn't seem to like hers much at all. They were siblings, but they might as well have been strangers for all they interacted. Lila liked it best that way, and she suspected Alban did, too. Pushing him aside, she began writing down the notes.
The usual spiel about concentration followed the demonstration, and Lila saw no reason to pay attention to it. A profound desire to prevent any more injuries to her person the previous year had resulted in her memorizing Marlowe's speeches until she realized they all said basically the same thing. She looked at the stick before her with something like disgust, then decided it could stay right where it was on the desk while it was being transfigured. Lifting her wand, she pointed it at the stick and parroted back Marlowe's spell, accent and all. There was no effect, but, though she gave the offending object a tiny, non-wrinkle-inducing frown, she wasn't very surprised. The same fear of injury that had caused her to memorize cautionary speeches had also channeled itself into a certain lack of talent - she refused to acknowledge having a block around the subject - when it came to performing transfigurations.
She was the younger of Roland St.Martin's two daughters, but she was his daughter, a daughter of the St.Martin family, nonetheless. She could do anything magical she had the any inclination towards doing, and she wanted to do this. She wanted to pass this class, and she wanted to pass it by more than Allie, who, for whatever strange reason of her own, liked it. Still not touching the stick, she said the incantation again. "Cillium Insigere." No effect. Try again, then... \n\n
16
Lila St.Martin
I'm not Marly's favorite student, but I'm back, too.
80
Lila St.Martin
0
5
Geoffrey Layne
July 15, 2006 3:12 PM
Me, thee, and...darn, my least favorite class doesn't rhyme by Geoffrey Layne
There was a philosophy on work that various teachers had wasted considerable time and energy trying to shove down Geoffrey's throat: the idea that he should enjoy work he found "challenging" - otherwise known as "frustrating and infuriating" - instead of sticking to what he was good at because it was "character building". After some consideration, he'd come to the conclusion that the whole thing was a truck-load of garbage and an attempt to make him look bad. Since his first lesson at it, the same thought had applied to Transfiguration. Unfortunately, he didn't have the option to stop taking it, nor would he any time soon, and so had to settle for disliking Marlowe and cursing at his textbook while doing the homework.He found himself a comfortably anonymous seat on the far left of the third row, completely out of the way. The logic behind this choice was flawless - if he was in an unnoticeable position, then any errors he made wouldn't be as widely observed and possibly commented on - but it still rankled a little. The only other class he didn't take front and center in was Defense Against the Dark Arts, and that was because of his aversion to the teacher, not the subject. Taking an out-of-the-way position was as good as admitting that Transfiguration had him licked, and he'd never been a good loser.
He forced himself to think on the bright side of things in adhereance to the theory of will when Marlowe started talking for the day and he began writing down the notes. He'd studied in secret all summer, staying up late so he could review and progress without his sisters or parents knowing. He doubted they would have cared much - the only reaction his mediocre mark in the class the year before had earned him was a mild frown from his father and something vague about the first year being the hardest - but he didn't want them to know. He had the theories down intellectually, and now he was going to try to apply them. He was going to succeed at applying them, and that was all there was to it.
Sticks, common sticks. Picking his up, he began examining it. Forestry had never been his subject, so he had absolutely no idea what kind of stick it was or what kind of wood pencils were generally made of. With all the additional components...well, it sounded like this was going to be a hard one, elementally, visually, and magically. Of course, his mother had told him about the sorts of transfigurations they'd had to do at Hogwarts when she was a girl - living to non-living, for example, seemed to have been very common - but this was hard enough to be getting on with when it had already been established that one didn't have the knack for it.
"Cillium Insigere," he said, commandingly. He was pushing his will on this stick. It was a stick, he wanted it to be a pencil, it had no will, he did have one. It would be a stick. He was so involved in this line of thought that it took him a moment to register that nothing had happened. Two attempts later, he had made no more progress. It was as if nothing he'd done the year before had been retained and as if nothing from his summer of studying had mattered at all.
He took a quick look around the classroom. Some people were making progress. One Pecari showoff he didn't recognize was working with Marlowe and had, by the looks of it, three pencils in front of him already. That wouldn't do. Pecaris couldn't outdo Aladrens in class. It was against the natural order of things. Anne had done it, too, last year, and her doing anything he couldn't do was also against the laws that govererned the universe. So, therefore, he had to do it, and do it right, and do it now. He lifted his wand once more. "Cillium Insigere!" It was a fruitless moment later that he spoke again, this time to the desk rather than to the stick or his wand.
"I hereby officially declare war on this class." \n\n
16
Geoffrey Layne
Me, thee, and...darn, my least favorite class doesn't rhyme
72
Geoffrey Layne
0
5
Oh, well. by Professor Marlowe
"My apologies," she said, just picking up on his correction of her mistake about his. Apparently, talent wasn't always equatable with an ingratiating manner towards teachers, because it was becoming increasingly clear that this boy, whoever he was, had the former while seeming to lack the latter. Since nothing seemed to be going wrong in the rest of the classroom, she decided to watch and see what he did with the two additional bases.When the first thing was scowling at the sticks, Selina readied herself to put out another fire. Getting angry while attempting a spell or immediately before doing so was asking for trouble, and that had been one of the first things she'd ever been taught. One didn't even have to take theory classes to learn it. Explosions and fires were among the most common mishaps to result from losing one's temper in the process. Fire was the better of the two in this situation, if only because an explosion might cause bits of wood to fly up and put somebody's eye out.
When the boy attempted the spell once more, neither calamity occurred. Neither did the production of a single pencil she had hoped for in the best-case scenario. Both sticks simultaneously Transfigured, and the misshapen first was fixed. He was good, there was no doubt about it. Selina flinched slightly at the sound of the pencils breaking, then, affecting a calm greater than that she was actually feeling, bent down to pick up the fallen pieces, putting two back on the desk and lifting up one to examine the center of it.
"Impressive," she said, not commenting on the breaking of the pencils. "Very impressive." She was startled to find that his robes declared him a Pecari. She'd expected an Aladren, but no matter. Personality and ability were independent fields. "Full marks, I'd say. What did you say your name was?" He hadn't, but it sounded marginally better than just asking who he was. \n\n
0
Professor Marlowe
Oh, well.
0
Professor Marlowe
0
5
Adam Brockert
July 22, 2006 5:16 PMAdam Brockert
AlumnusHouse: Crotalus
Written by: Allegra Brockert
Age in Post: 12
Birthday: March 5
As calm as I get. by Adam Brockert
Transfiguration wasn't a bad class for Adam. It was taught by his new HoH, whom he found considerably less threatening than the old one...and far less threatening than lots of the professors at Sonora overall. Even better, they never had to work in partners. That meant Adam didn't have to worry about finding one and the rejection of nobody wanting to work with him. Or working with someone who was mean to him. He still didn't like being in a class full of people. He felt pretty threatened by almost everyone. Adam was sure the entire class except Ginger and Pepper hated him. He was nothing but a loser.Not that this was Adam's best subject. Oh, he wasn't awful at it. There wasn't truly a subject Adam was terrible at unless one counted flying, which he still felt was completely unnecessary and refused to ever do again anyway. Yet, he felt he was far better at Potions. Besides, Adam could never measure up in Transfiguration. The bar had been set pretty high by his cousin. He felt no matter what he'd never be very good at it compared to Marshall. Few could. That didn't mean he did an inadequate job though. It's just that Adam had seen really good transfiguration and anything paled in comparison.
He listened and took down notes from his seat in the back corner. That was something he had no problem with. Nor did he really have one with the practical applications. Just so long as Adam didn't have to have a partner.
Adam got out his wand. He kept it steady over the stick, his hands not shaking for once since nobody could see him and everyone else was focused on their own work, and pronounced the words "Cillium Insigre" quietly enough that he wouldn't attract attention. He was rewarded with a stick with one pointy end and one end that rather felt like an eraser, though the metal part was missing and it was still the original color of the stick.
He prepared to try again. Adam would get this bit by bit. So long as nobody laughed at him or teased him, he'd be okay. He could work this transfiguration thing out.\n\n
11
Adam Brockert
As calm as I get.
78
Adam Brockert
0
5
Lord, but you're so nice. . .hit him already. by Michael Tallow
Michael felt a familiar flare of deflation once the sticks were both transfigured and then broken. His anger was always a tepid thing: seated and boiling, never exactly overflowing, nor sated. It continued until fully evaporated, and then: nothing beyond his typical apathy. The energy was dissipated now, and so it was in purely careless, doldrum-lined tones that he replied in what he imagined would answer any and all other questions."My name is Michael Tallow. I left early last year; my sister Asher's in your house- she's a third year. I don't like Transfiguration. And no, I'm not actually good at it- I just had nothing else to do all year except practise spells. I needed some more pencils, so it was easier to do." He paused to lick his lips, the skin chapped in downward spirals from its too common frown. His blue eyes, often so dark as to be brown, shifted to show where his words were directed.
"I'm in Pecari, and no I don't like it. I don't like it here either. And chances are hugely in my favor that all my feelings are fully reciprocated." He stopped then, satisfied that all possible factors and variables had been considered, weighted, and accounted for. His plan was to finish his remaining six years at Sonora with as little personal interaction as possible. He didn't need teachers to like him; he didn't need other students to like him. As soon as both groups realized that he was well enough alone and unbothered and unattended, he imagined he might manage to develop at least a passing tolerance for the school.
Michael had his miniatures, his models, and a good twenty or so more projects waiting completion; he had no time for dealing with social encounters. He hoped people would soon feel the same for him.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
0
Michael Tallow
Lord, but you're so nice. . .hit him already.
1465
Michael Tallow
0
5
Of course I do, Don't I always? lol. by Melanie Rose
Melanie clapped softly with a smile, "Bravo, Jolly Green."She smiled even more as she grabbed her wand.
"I thank you for the encouragement. I guess I should try again."
Silencing herself she concentrated harder and imagined the transformation herself. She didn't say the incantation until she was ready.
"Cillium Insigere." The words came calmly. A small crack could be heard as the spiral pencil twisted into actual shape. The bark shrunk before her eyes as it left the silver pencil she wanted there.
"Wow." She spoke softly she wasn't ready for the sudden pop that came next as the tip became what she thought of a very sharp knife point.\n\n
0
Melanie Rose
Of course I do, Don't I always? lol.
0
Melanie Rose
0
5
So sad by Paul Tarwater
Paul didn't want to go to class. He didn't want to go to any class, actually. It wasn't that he was stupid--he was in Aladren, why would he be stupid?--he just wanted to be kicked out as soon as possible. He still hated it here. Too many people. Too many Mudbloods. Too many show-offs and rich snobs. Too many everything. But he went.He figured he should go to keep his "get-yourself-kicked-out" plan as secret as possible. If he skipped classes, his parents would get angry and send him to another school. And Paul didn't want that. No, if he had to go to another school, then so would Cissy. And he hated Cissy. Paul just wanted his father or mother to teach him while Cissy could come here next year and leave Paul alone.
Already he didn't like this teacher, either. He didn't like the teacher because she seemed strange. Paul didn't like things strange or different. Paul barely liked anything, or anyone. He had prejudice against everyone. But either way, he scribbled down the notes. Pencil? Stick? Whatever. He was planning on failing anyway. On purpose.
He didn't wath the demonstration, he just doodled on his notes, tuning the teacher out. Get bad marks.. on accident! Genius.
He flipped out his wand and did the wand motion lazily. "Cillium Insigere..." he said in a bored voice, wondering why you would want to turn a stick into a pencil. Quills were much better. They should be turning sticks into feathers or ink. He smiled looking down at his failed masterpiece. But what he saw... was a pencil. He growled and threw the thing on the floor. Stupid can't even not do magic.
Thats when he heard: "I hereby officially declare war on this class."
He looked a few seats down and saw a boy. He didn't think he was near anyone. He didn't want to be, with the whole "hate everyone" thing. He just frowned and looked away, leaning back.
"I hear you," he said simply, not even sure if the boy heard. Who even said he wanted that?\n\n
0
Paul Tarwater
So sad
0
Paul Tarwater
0
5