RE: The Opulent Quarrel - Round One: Mademoiselle Primfel's
01-03-2016, 12:59 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-03-2016, 04:18 PM by AgentBlue.)
It was a cold day outside when the dame walked in. Not quite cold enough for snow, but the sky was more overcast than a sad drunk’s browline and grayer than a depressed koala. If it ever got around to snowing, it looked like a wet, gray one, drifting down from the sky in shaggy, sad clumps…
Cassandra slumped behind her desk, doing her best Rodin impression: one hand on her chin, the other endlessly twitching for a cigarette. She had a pack of cheap smokes in the ratty coat, but the ratty coat was back in her Humans dorm room (there had been a minor confusion as to whether she qualified for Human or Demi-Human, but eventually it was decided that a ‘curse from Apollo’, whatever the fuck that meant, did not disqualify her from her ordinary human parentage), where she’d been advised by her scruffy roommate (the only other occupant in a room for four; evidently Mademoiselle Primfel’s intake rates left something to be desired, or others were on the way) to leave it behind. The fedora, however, perched neatly on her head, resisting all attempts at removal. It smelled faintly of cheese puffs and old hair oil (she’d tried looking at its future to see if it would handily catch on fire or be kidnapped by a rabid indoor eagle, but all she saw was a grim-faced teacher trying to pull it off and falling out a tenth-story window; she filed that one away as a lost cause). The rest of her was clad in a cadet-grey uniform blouse, accentuated with a blue-and-grey tartan skirt and scratchy white kneesocks. Her shiny black mary-janes were a shade too small and she let them dangle.
She felt like a teenager again. Ah, good times, she reminiscenced, and resolved to find the bad crowd as soon as possible; maybe they could glue all the school’s toilet brushes to the front door or something. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a terrible time after all. At least she was out of the city, with Rico’s thugs out for her blood, and rent coming up… some time away would be just the ticket. Provided she survived, of course, but survival was something she was an expert at. She would come out of this battered, bruised, but probably alive.
Aside from her, the classroom loomed in its emptiness. Chalked on its expansive blackboard was one word in various languages: the one she could read said ‘HOMEROOM’. The rest could have said ‘EXTERMINATE’ or ‘GOSSIP’ or ‘BACKSTAB’ for all she knew. Her schedule had directed her here for ‘orientation’ (she cheerfully doodled ‘hella gay’ next to the word) and she’d arrived early, despite the struggle with the hat.
Anyway, where was I? Right, the dame walked in…
---
The door slammed open. It was kicked open, actually, which accentuated the slam all the more. Unfortunately, its basketball skills were close to nonexistent and it could not be party to get down and jam, and as such had to respectfully decline the shoe that had forced it open.
Behind the shoe (a running shoe, surprisingly, beaten-up and scuffed) was a hole, which eventually gave way to sock, which of course led to leg (adorned with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises), which to Georgia’s disgust-yet-resignation had been the object of various lustful/envious stares. The classroom occupant, she noted, definitely landed in ‘my eyes are up here’ territory, but wait hold on a second
“Where’s your mech?”
Georgia narrowed her feline eyes. “I'm really not in the mood," she said. "I don't have any caffeine in my system and got beaten up on my way to class. That fedora looks awful on you, by the way.”
“You never got a name, so if we’re going to be civil,” Cassandra began, and stopped for a long moment to put her feet up on a chair and to begin cleaning her nails with a penknife, before Georgia realized she was supposed to say something: “Georgia. My name is Georgia.”
“Well, Georgia,” and at this juncture Cassandra gave the eponymous Georgia a sidelong glance from under the fedora brim that straight-up oozed neo-noir, “what’s your damage?”
“I'm sorry?”
“What’s your case? What brings you here, to me?”
”Alright, first off,” Georgia found herself getting pissed off in short order, “this isn’t your office, it’s a homeroom, I have class here, and frankly I would rather be anywhere else besides here,” she drew to a stop, irritated. “Also, we're in a literal battle to the death.”
“Humor me, sweet cheeks. I’m in denial.”
Georgia had to roll her eyes sarcastically before she got her next set of words out. “No, you're not. I'm the one who can't mentally categorize this as being worse than a graveyard shift at Stuffer Shack. You're the one who's dressed perfectly and arriving to class on time.”
“All right, so I was lying. It’s my job.” The fedora tilted again, so she couldn’t see Cassandra’s eyes. “Which brings me back to part one. Where’s your mech?”
---
It took some convincing, but eventually we came to an agreement. I’d take this one pro bono, in exchange for a promise that when the shit hit the fan, I’d have a mech and driver on my side. On my end of the bargain, I had to find the goddamn thing. Now I’m nothing if not pragmatic, but it seemed to me that I got the better end of that deal. How many places could a twenty-foot mech be? We couldn’t chat much further, other people were coming into earshot -- but we agreed to talk again later and nail down the specifics.
In any case, someone less pleasant walked through the door right then.
“Guten morgen, my students. My name is Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer, and I will be your homeroom teacher for this semester.” Cassandra nearly mistook her for a moving mound of black velvet, until she realized that Fräu Teufelskleinklassenlehrer was pretty much just that. Until, at least, a wet cracking noise marked the protrusion of a rail-thin head, shoulders and torso from the mass, which glared at the class with gimlet eyes. “Please direct your attention to the board. You will note it caters to every major native language across the universe, so you can be sure of understanding our purpose here.” She watched the black-clad homeroom teacher wipe, in one motion, the entire board clean. “Our purpose, my little fräuleins, at Fräu Primfel’s, is to shape you into the perfect ladies: comported and ready to inherit the universe. This requires order and discipline; die ausbildung, ja?” Out the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw several students fumble for phrasebooks; like a whipcrack, velvet tentacles shot from Fräu Teufelskleinklassenlehrer’s bulk and snatched them. “Therefore, at Fräu Primfel’s, we speak one language and one language only: Standard, that which I am speaking now. Those of you who do not know it will take remedial classes with me until you pass to my satisfaction.” Delicately, the tentacles shredded, snapped and absorbed the phrasebooks and translators, retreating back into the black as quickly as they had come. After that display, no one seemed ready to point out the contradiction in Fräu Teufelskleinklasserlehren’s statement of language conformity, and it was painfully obvious to Cassandra that she had planned it this way.
---
“Fräulein Kyuume-chan Sakura.” Georgia suddenly realized the eldritch teacher was talking to her. “Pink hair is not a regulation color. Twelve demerits, and four more for daydreaming.”
“Listen here-” she began, but a corner of velvet twitched, cutting her off.
“Six demerits for talking back, Fräulein Sakura. Your progress into the ranks of deliquency is remarkable. Furthermore, you will address me by my full title, Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer. Is this understood? Ja, nein?”
Biting her lip, she forced out a “ja”, and gave a sidelong glare towards her next-desk neighbor, who was stifling giggles.
“And what has brought to you such mirth, Fräulein Devin?” Georgia watched the smile wiped off Cassandra’s face in satisfaction. “Your headwear is also against regulations. Eight demerits. Remove it immediately.”
“It’s a medical condition, Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer,” Cassandra lied effortlessly. Georgia narrowed her eyes even further. “I chose to arrive at class on time rather than to visit the medical office right away.”
Silence ruled the room for a second before the abomination spoke again. “Proper time management is fundamental to a proper education, Fräulein Devin. But you are excused for today. Bring me the paperwork tomorrow.” You fucking smooth operator, Georgia thought, and wondered if entering into a deal with her was such a wise choice after all.
---
So now I had a name, and a goal. A job, in other words. It looked like getting around would be easier than I’d thought, if this teacher-thing was such a pushover. Flattery will won’t get you everywhere, they say, but it sure as hell will get you into some people’s… hearts.
But there were more important things Kyuume-chan and I had to talk about.
---
lol your name is kyuume-chan sakura???? rofl
Georgia tried to see red as she crumpled the note in her hand. As a consequence of her biology, all she could ever see when blindlingly frustrated and angry was pink, which didn’t help one bit.
Angrily, she began to scrawl a note in return, when another one popped onto her desk, as if by magic.
srsly though, pretty sure teufels there will eat our heads if she catches us so we prolly shouldn’t pass notes. we should talk later, i actually have to haul ass across campus i just realized. sorry for making fun of your name
followed by a round blob with a sad face on it.
p.s. please turn over
Georgia turned the note over.
p.p.s you’re cute
And of course the bell rang right at that moment. When the stampede out the door was over, Georgia found herself alone.
Cassandra slumped behind her desk, doing her best Rodin impression: one hand on her chin, the other endlessly twitching for a cigarette. She had a pack of cheap smokes in the ratty coat, but the ratty coat was back in her Humans dorm room (there had been a minor confusion as to whether she qualified for Human or Demi-Human, but eventually it was decided that a ‘curse from Apollo’, whatever the fuck that meant, did not disqualify her from her ordinary human parentage), where she’d been advised by her scruffy roommate (the only other occupant in a room for four; evidently Mademoiselle Primfel’s intake rates left something to be desired, or others were on the way) to leave it behind. The fedora, however, perched neatly on her head, resisting all attempts at removal. It smelled faintly of cheese puffs and old hair oil (she’d tried looking at its future to see if it would handily catch on fire or be kidnapped by a rabid indoor eagle, but all she saw was a grim-faced teacher trying to pull it off and falling out a tenth-story window; she filed that one away as a lost cause). The rest of her was clad in a cadet-grey uniform blouse, accentuated with a blue-and-grey tartan skirt and scratchy white kneesocks. Her shiny black mary-janes were a shade too small and she let them dangle.
She felt like a teenager again. Ah, good times, she reminiscenced, and resolved to find the bad crowd as soon as possible; maybe they could glue all the school’s toilet brushes to the front door or something. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a terrible time after all. At least she was out of the city, with Rico’s thugs out for her blood, and rent coming up… some time away would be just the ticket. Provided she survived, of course, but survival was something she was an expert at. She would come out of this battered, bruised, but probably alive.
Aside from her, the classroom loomed in its emptiness. Chalked on its expansive blackboard was one word in various languages: the one she could read said ‘HOMEROOM’. The rest could have said ‘EXTERMINATE’ or ‘GOSSIP’ or ‘BACKSTAB’ for all she knew. Her schedule had directed her here for ‘orientation’ (she cheerfully doodled ‘hella gay’ next to the word) and she’d arrived early, despite the struggle with the hat.
Anyway, where was I? Right, the dame walked in…
---
The door slammed open. It was kicked open, actually, which accentuated the slam all the more. Unfortunately, its basketball skills were close to nonexistent and it could not be party to get down and jam, and as such had to respectfully decline the shoe that had forced it open.
Behind the shoe (a running shoe, surprisingly, beaten-up and scuffed) was a hole, which eventually gave way to sock, which of course led to leg (adorned with a fresh set of scrapes and bruises), which to Georgia’s disgust-yet-resignation had been the object of various lustful/envious stares. The classroom occupant, she noted, definitely landed in ‘my eyes are up here’ territory, but wait hold on a second
“Where’s your mech?”
Georgia narrowed her feline eyes. “I'm really not in the mood," she said. "I don't have any caffeine in my system and got beaten up on my way to class. That fedora looks awful on you, by the way.”
“You never got a name, so if we’re going to be civil,” Cassandra began, and stopped for a long moment to put her feet up on a chair and to begin cleaning her nails with a penknife, before Georgia realized she was supposed to say something: “Georgia. My name is Georgia.”
“Well, Georgia,” and at this juncture Cassandra gave the eponymous Georgia a sidelong glance from under the fedora brim that straight-up oozed neo-noir, “what’s your damage?”
“I'm sorry?”
“What’s your case? What brings you here, to me?”
”Alright, first off,” Georgia found herself getting pissed off in short order, “this isn’t your office, it’s a homeroom, I have class here, and frankly I would rather be anywhere else besides here,” she drew to a stop, irritated. “Also, we're in a literal battle to the death.”
“Humor me, sweet cheeks. I’m in denial.”
Georgia had to roll her eyes sarcastically before she got her next set of words out. “No, you're not. I'm the one who can't mentally categorize this as being worse than a graveyard shift at Stuffer Shack. You're the one who's dressed perfectly and arriving to class on time.”
“All right, so I was lying. It’s my job.” The fedora tilted again, so she couldn’t see Cassandra’s eyes. “Which brings me back to part one. Where’s your mech?”
---
It took some convincing, but eventually we came to an agreement. I’d take this one pro bono, in exchange for a promise that when the shit hit the fan, I’d have a mech and driver on my side. On my end of the bargain, I had to find the goddamn thing. Now I’m nothing if not pragmatic, but it seemed to me that I got the better end of that deal. How many places could a twenty-foot mech be? We couldn’t chat much further, other people were coming into earshot -- but we agreed to talk again later and nail down the specifics.
In any case, someone less pleasant walked through the door right then.
“Guten morgen, my students. My name is Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer, and I will be your homeroom teacher for this semester.” Cassandra nearly mistook her for a moving mound of black velvet, until she realized that Fräu Teufelskleinklassenlehrer was pretty much just that. Until, at least, a wet cracking noise marked the protrusion of a rail-thin head, shoulders and torso from the mass, which glared at the class with gimlet eyes. “Please direct your attention to the board. You will note it caters to every major native language across the universe, so you can be sure of understanding our purpose here.” She watched the black-clad homeroom teacher wipe, in one motion, the entire board clean. “Our purpose, my little fräuleins, at Fräu Primfel’s, is to shape you into the perfect ladies: comported and ready to inherit the universe. This requires order and discipline; die ausbildung, ja?” Out the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw several students fumble for phrasebooks; like a whipcrack, velvet tentacles shot from Fräu Teufelskleinklassenlehrer’s bulk and snatched them. “Therefore, at Fräu Primfel’s, we speak one language and one language only: Standard, that which I am speaking now. Those of you who do not know it will take remedial classes with me until you pass to my satisfaction.” Delicately, the tentacles shredded, snapped and absorbed the phrasebooks and translators, retreating back into the black as quickly as they had come. After that display, no one seemed ready to point out the contradiction in Fräu Teufelskleinklasserlehren’s statement of language conformity, and it was painfully obvious to Cassandra that she had planned it this way.
---
“Fräulein Kyuume-chan Sakura.” Georgia suddenly realized the eldritch teacher was talking to her. “Pink hair is not a regulation color. Twelve demerits, and four more for daydreaming.”
“Listen here-” she began, but a corner of velvet twitched, cutting her off.
“Six demerits for talking back, Fräulein Sakura. Your progress into the ranks of deliquency is remarkable. Furthermore, you will address me by my full title, Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer. Is this understood? Ja, nein?”
Biting her lip, she forced out a “ja”, and gave a sidelong glare towards her next-desk neighbor, who was stifling giggles.
“And what has brought to you such mirth, Fräulein Devin?” Georgia watched the smile wiped off Cassandra’s face in satisfaction. “Your headwear is also against regulations. Eight demerits. Remove it immediately.”
“It’s a medical condition, Fräu Doktor Teufelskleinklassenlehrer,” Cassandra lied effortlessly. Georgia narrowed her eyes even further. “I chose to arrive at class on time rather than to visit the medical office right away.”
Silence ruled the room for a second before the abomination spoke again. “Proper time management is fundamental to a proper education, Fräulein Devin. But you are excused for today. Bring me the paperwork tomorrow.” You fucking smooth operator, Georgia thought, and wondered if entering into a deal with her was such a wise choice after all.
---
So now I had a name, and a goal. A job, in other words. It looked like getting around would be easier than I’d thought, if this teacher-thing was such a pushover. Flattery will won’t get you everywhere, they say, but it sure as hell will get you into some people’s… hearts.
But there were more important things Kyuume-chan and I had to talk about.
---
lol your name is kyuume-chan sakura???? rofl
Georgia tried to see red as she crumpled the note in her hand. As a consequence of her biology, all she could ever see when blindlingly frustrated and angry was pink, which didn’t help one bit.
Angrily, she began to scrawl a note in return, when another one popped onto her desk, as if by magic.
srsly though, pretty sure teufels there will eat our heads if she catches us so we prolly shouldn’t pass notes. we should talk later, i actually have to haul ass across campus i just realized. sorry for making fun of your name
followed by a round blob with a sad face on it.
p.s. please turn over
Georgia turned the note over.
p.p.s you’re cute
And of course the bell rang right at that moment. When the stampede out the door was over, Georgia found herself alone.
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
----
Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime