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 Posted: Wed Mar 21, 2007 7:11 pm
[LFTSR]
The polished door swung a uniform half inch above the cheap blue carpet. “Fëanáro Curufinwë,” the woman read from her clipboard, free hand resting lightly on the doorknob. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Noldóran. Come right in. Have a seat.”
The office was very stuffy, lacking windows and even vents, but the off-white walls were bright and everything from the file cabinets to the pencil cup was neat and tidy. There were two chairs that were cushioned with what looked to be the same material as the carpet, and the woman’s large desk chair was turned to pleasantly face them across the low table between. Two cream file folders rested on this table and the woman slipped the first one away into it’s place in a drawer. Then she sat and opened the remaining file in a business-like manner. She was Feanor’s school counselor.
“Do you have any questions before we begin, Mr. Noldóran? I have Fëanáro’s mid-year grades here as well as all of his teachers’ progress reports. If you do not have anything you wish to discuss, we will begin with those.”
“So has he failed yet?” Finarfin piped up.
“Finarfin!” admonished Finwe. “Mind your manners!” The counselor was uttering some awkward response. Finwe gave his youngest a stern look. Unfortunately, Indis had a hair and nail appointment today that she refused to reschedule. So Finwe had had no choice but to bring the child with him to the mid-year parent-counselor meeting. Finarfin looked pleased… he couldn’t wait to hear what was in store for Feanor. “Let’s see the grades,” Finwe said quickly.
Feanor was an intelligent student—this does not necessarily mean he was a good student. Math, Science, English: A, A, A+. Gym: C-. History, French, Music, Art, Elective Tennis, Elective Japanese: F’s across the board, with a whopping low of 28% in Tennis. Finwe rubbed his temple as Finarfin leaned over the arm of the chair trying to see.
“I think you know as well as I that he has the capability of doing better, Mr. Noldóran,” said the counselor. “I quote Mr. Mahtan, Feanor’s Science teacher: ‘…a brilliant student with a natural curiosity and the desire to learn. He promises to participate in the Statewide Spring Science Fair and I have offered to sponsor him….’
Finwe beamed with pride. Finarfin sulked.
“This is one of only three classes Fëanáro is doing well in, Mr. Noldóran,” she warned. “His other seven classes… ‘resistant to instruction…does not cooperate with other students or myself… not a team player.’ Those are from his Tennis report. His other reports do not get any better. In Japanese, ‘rude, often distant’; in Art, ‘does not follow along with the rest of the class’; in History, ‘mocking, disruptive in the classroom…’”
“Yes, I see,” cut in Finwe. He was crestfallen… and baffled.
The woman was back to shuffling her papers. She cast a critical eye over first the uncomfortable father and then the sweetly smiling child. “Is there anything going on at home that we should know about?” she asked.
“No, no,” said Finwe. The woman gave him a disbelieving look and Finwe shifted miserably in the chair.
“I am curious, Mr. Noldóran. Do you have any idea why Fëanáro chose to take a second language course, considering his poor performance in French?”
While poor Finwe was pondering the answer to this question, Finarfin stole the entire file off the table and began to idly flip through it…
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Posted: Fri Mar 23, 2007 9:16 pm
Melkor sighed as he parked his motocycle in the parking lot of the posh, brightly lit, golden, fantasy-themed restaurant restaurant and bar called 'Laurelin's Leaf' and got off his bike, removing the black and silver helmet and placing it on the handlebars.
The obstruction gone, his long, midnight black hair fell like a silken curtain to his hips contrasting with his pale skin... what little of it was shown, uncovered by the black leather jacket, studded belt and black pants and boots.
He absentmindedly brushed his hair out of the way... His eyes, red as rubies, showed a flicker of annoyance, as, when entering the bar, he was confronted with Manwe's disapproving look.
Manwe, as most Valar had in this new age, had taken to wearing more modern clothes to fit in. Still, he preferred his normal colors of blue, gray and white.
...and given his conservative nature, he'd taken to wearing suits. Not just any suits, mind... Armani. =.=
He stood out like a sore thumb in the graceful golden trees and shimmering candelabras and intricately carved furnishings of the restaurant. The only things that matched it were hs long golden hair and classic greek god attributes, right down to the graceful features of the face and the color of the skin.
His eyes however, were as icy as glaciers. =.=
Melkor did not have much patience with Manwe at all. still, given their longstanding enmity/rivalry/whathaveyou, Melkor was quite surprised that the uppity fellow had bothered to call on him at all.
"Still acting the rebel?" Manwe snarked at him with a contemptuous twist of the lip. "How juvenile."
Melkor simply snorted. "Whatever, Manwe. Look, I can just leave here right now... It's not like I much need to talk to you, you know. YOU were the one who called my cel."
Manwe glared as sharp as daggers at his irresponsible 'sibling'. "You always were too fond of humans." He mused, low under his breath before movign on to more appropriate topics. "I require your assistance."
"Oh?" Melkor asked, intrigued, as he snagged the chair opposite Manwe and proceded to sit, leaning forwards, elbows on the table in defiance of good manners.
Manwe sighed inwardly. "One of the teachers in my school has gotten into an accident. The history teacher, Mr. Denethor. I need someone to take up his class while he's away, or take it over permanently if he doesn't recover. Can you do the job?"
"Well, I could, but then... what's in it for me?" Melkor asked mildly.
"The regular fee for a teacher and a chance to form innocent young minds?"
"Not doing it!"
"Alright then." Manwe grouched. "We can haggle."
"Fine." Melkor smiled ferally. Bargaining was always his favorite activity.
It wasn't called 'dealing with the demon' for nothing.
Not that Arda HAD demons, though. since those were mostly human concepts.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:27 am
He could just imagine their young brains, so soft and red and fleshy, and warm, like wet velvet left in the sun, and as his steel-wrought fingers closed and closed and closed around the tissue he could feel the thick veins tremble within, and with a shuddering sigh they bled gasps of rosy pulp over his knuckles…
The football slammed into the soft spot between his shoulder blades like a brick and sent him sprawling.
This, this is what he thought as he spat mud and bitter grass taste from his mouth, and slowly picked himself up off the sloppy ground. Animals. Mindless. Inferior. He would run (or swim) from the teeth of a shark at all costs, but did that mean the shark was smarter than him? Better than him? The shark was only following the crude rules nature had set for it, after all… the shark would only ever be a stronger, more adaptable shark. But he… he would have a boat and radar and harpoons. And sharks would trouble him no more. One day…
Long dew-slick fingers wrapped around the now muddy ball and Fëanor looked up into the overcast sky, considering throwing it right back into the other boy’s face. But it would hurt to draw his arm back like that and the boy was too far away now anyway. He let the football drop as he watched the large boy and his group of beefy friends. They looked over Fëanor’s way and several laughed. Their leader said something and they laughed again.
Artanis and her preppy flock of matching baby blue running shorts watched it all with mild interest.
“Dior!”
Fëanor marched across the field, spikes squelching and tearing up grass roots at every step. The elite group of populars fanned out into a semi-circle to let him through, Dior, of course, forming the center point. Fëanor couldn’t help but notice that the girls had migrated to just within hearing range. His irritation grew.
“Did you throw the ball?” demanded Fëanor.
“What ball?” asked Dior. He raised one thick eyebrow and looked round at his fellows as if they might know the answer better than him. “Did you see a ball?” Barely contained sniggering from all around.
All around.
Fëanor did not care. Most of the boys were heavy and all of them powerful—naturally, belonging to one athletic team or another—and he was light and narrow and generally useless at anything besides running. But he would rather die than let them get away with it! He was not some little weak fool to be picked on!
“You threw the ball,” Fëanor said. The jocks stiffened.
“I never saw no ball,” Dior said quietly.
Fëanor’s eyes narrowed. “You threw it.”
Dior’s lips curled into a sneer. “The last bell’s in ten minutes. You think you saw a ball, you bring that ball out behind the trailers to prove it. And come alone.”
“You alone, too,” Fëanor warned.
“Obviously. Huh. Little p***k…” Dior and his friends turned away, and everyone but Fëanor began to jog back to the gym lockers as coach blew the whistle from three fields away. Fëanor walked.
“Fingolfin! It’s me! Open up!” hissed Fëanor. There was hasty scraping and a loud click from inside before the door opened. Fëanor pulled open the screen and slipped—limped—in. He kept his face down and away from Fingolfin. “Damn it. Turn this light off, or everyone will be awake.”
Fingolfin relocked the front door and turned back to Fëanor, who was already walking, rather unsteadily, toward his room. “Ada’s been worried sick. It’s after midnight. What happened to you? And you’re all dirty… what’s that on your face? Are you bleeding?” Fingolfin hurried after Fëanor, oozing sympathy and concern. “Do you want me to get you some dinner?”
“No! No, Fingolfin! Just go the hell to bed!” snapped Fëanor. Fingolfin fell back in surprise, and Fëanor disappeared behind a closed door.
Only behind two locked doors and under the cover of a running shower would Fëanor allow himself to lean heavily against the sink, cleanse his purpled and swelled face with stinging water, and cry.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:33 am
It could not be said that Fëanor did not have friends. He had, after all, Mr. Mahtan, his Science teacher with whom he got on very well, and Finwe, who would do anything for him—as long as Indis agreed—and there was Fingolfin, who was alright for sometimes. Very well, the young elf did not have a wide variety, but he did not want it and he did not want them. Them being all the people in his life who bowed to authority with the automatic air of charity that made him sick, who submitted to rules and regulations that had no reason for being except that they were. Students and teachers alike accepted the four minute rule between classes; it could not be three minutes and it could not be five, no, it must be four, because four is how it has always been and always will be, and five minutes would be too easy, too logical, too convenient for everyday use and a system that works is not a system that receives funding to waste on inept attempts to improve.
Ahh… the smell of exhaust and unwashed plastic seats that was their leisurely ride to middle-school every morning. Fëanor took a seat in the very back, as was his right as a 9th grader. Fingolfin was stuck up in the front and the middle with the rest of the puny 7th graders. These all faced the back of the bus and generally strained to catch the ‘senior’ conversation. Fëanor rarely added to that conversation. He stuck earphones into his ears instead and stared out the window with his ipod cradled in his hands. Pot and trading cards swapped hands all around him. Six or seven minutes of this went by until Fëanor was poked in the shoulder.
“Hey.”
Fëanor couldn’t hear the kid. He didn’t know him and he didn’t want to know him. His eyes went back to the window.
“Hey. Fëanáro. Fëanáro. I’m ‘Golfin’s friend. Some guy’s messing with him…”
Fëanor was up like a shot and he squeezed past the younger student into the messy aisle. He couldn’t see what was going on because now several people were kneeling and blocking the view of the front of the bus—but the fact that they were looking gave him all the more reason to scramble over book bags and hurry up there.
“Hey… just give them BACK! I need my spikes!” Fingolfin was reaching for his spiked gym shoes in vain. The other boy kept him just out of reach with a knee against Fingolfin’s stomach. He had one spike in hand and he waggled it in a taunting manner, while the other shoe bumped against the outside of the open window, dangling precariously by just one tied shoelace.
Fëanor’s face was almost completely healed, but there were still traces of yellow around one eye and this combined with his fierce glare made it terrifying. He lunged right over the seat from behind and grabbed the bully’s wrist, yanking it and the spikes well inside the window. Then taking one shoe by the heel he dug the hard toe into the boy’s stomach. “I’ll find out if this ever happens again, got it?” With one final dig into the boy’s flesh Fëanor retreated. He handed the spikes to Fingolfin without a word.
From somewhere in the back: “Hey, did we have an exam today?”
“Dunno, thought it got canceled…”
And talk started up again.
"Y'Gonna need those..." Feanor muttered as he slowly maneuvered back to his seat.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:35 am
Mr. Denethor. Fëanor despised the man like no other. Well, there were a few others. But he despised Mr. Denethor a lot all the same.
He was an old, impatient man with a teaching career of 30 odd years. And his teaching methods hadn’t changed in that time even once, Fëanor suspected. At the beginning of the year they took three days to go over a summary of all the material they would be covering in the course, and then they began at chapter 1 in their textbook. They answered the study questions for that chapter and read all the little captions to the pictures. Then Mr. Denethor assigned an essay and a quiz for that chapter, and that was the end of chapter 1. They went on to chapter 2.
Fëanor really didn’t like Mr. Denethor.
So all his enthusiasm from Mr. Mahtan’s Science class drained away as he passed from the laboratory wing to the upper classrooms where History was located. But this was the norm. By the time he skulked into Mr. Denethor’s classroom, his vague mask of general distaste was firmly in place. He liked the mask. It was safe in there. Only his own secret thoughts were allowed to be inside.
His backpack clunked to the floor next to his usual seat in the back of the room, and he slid into his desk and opened the text. Almost everyone else had other papers on their desks as well: an 8 page essay was due today, and Mr. Denethor docked 50% of the points if it was late. But that was alright. Fëanor’s wouldn’t be late. He hadn’t yet started the research for it, and he didn’t intend to.
Students began to fidget. Someone pulled out cheetos. (Fëanor did not even have to look. The smell and the crunching told the tale.) Mr. Denethor was not often late. Usually he was behind his desk waiting for the starting bell, peering suspiciously at them over his glasses. Well, any minute now…
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 9:23 am
After 10 minutes, Mr Denethor was STILL not there. BUT. What DID happen was that their slim, graceful and very pretty Music teacher, Miss Melian knocked on the door twice before entering the room. Clearing her throat and looking at the class rather apprehensively, She cleared her throat before speaking.
"Class, I regret to inform you that Mr. Denethor is indisposed. He ran into a car accident yesterday and is in the ICU of the hospital. As a result of this, you may have a substitute teacher until Mr Denethor comes back, or if he cannot come back, the teacher will take over for the next few years.
"Class, this is Mr. Bauglir... "
People generally associate the term historian with... well, people like Denethor. Old, sort of mousy in clothing taste and with a tendency to be dry and boring and extremely... er... anally retentive.
The person who entered the classrom was nothing like that.
Long, shiny, midnight black hair fell to his hips, swaying gently with his movements as he walked into the room, carrying an armful of leatherbound books.
His eyes were as red blood, as was his longsleeved shirt. His coat and slacks were charcoal and his shoes were black and somewhat scuffed. He adjusted his silver rimmed glasses as he turned to the class,leveling a penetrating gaze upon them.
His voice was soft and rich and low and it carried quite well in the room, despite the background noise.
"Good morning, students. You may address me as Mr Bauglir, or Sir. Or even my given name of Melkor. But anyone who tries to add any pet-names to the list will be summarilly disciplined. I'd like to say it's nice to meet you, but I've just been blackmailed into this job." he added dryly.
As an afterthough, he continued. "You may remain seated. I have been informed that you were given an assignment? Please pass them in."
His movements were economical and graceful as he set up his items at the desk.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 10:29 am
As the minutes dragged on, Fëanor glanced curiously at the clock. He was not the only one. The cheetos were gone, now it was Pringles. One girl was talking on her cell phone. And Fëanor scuffed one side of his sneaker against the floor.
“Maybe he died,” said Fëanor’s neighbor.
“Don’t jinx it,” replied the desk beyond.
So when the door finally opened and it was Miss Melian gliding through the frame instead of Mr. Denethor, absolute silence reigned. The old man hadn’t missed a day of teaching in ten years, it was said. Everyone was now fully expecting to hear that a building fell on him or worse.
“…this is Mr. Bauglir…”
“I told you!” Fëanor’s neighbor exclaimed again. His voice was hushed but clearly audible. Fëanor tried to ignore it. “I bet it was a 16-wheeler. Nothing short of a 16-wheeler would stop Denethor…”
It was unusual for the school to hire anyone that wasn’t old and decaying. Miss Melian was a maia, everyone knew that, but for the most part the teachers here were specially selected for their failing eyesight, discolored teeth, slowing minds and outdated dress. Fëanor was sure of it, anyway. But it must have been the short notice. This Mr. Bauglir was quite… unique, that was the term. At least he was very interesting to look at.
At this new teacher’s bidding students began shuffling papers forward. Fëanor looked down at his own empty desk and crossed his arms over it with a scowl. It was a shame he would not get to see the look on Mr. Denethor’s face this time. It was ordinarily like a game between them. A contest of wills. There was something about the old man that did it to him.
The problem was, Fëanor always both won and lost. He would purposely forget his work and Denethor would be furious (win) and Denethor would assign more work and punishment that Fëanor would evade or ignore (win). Then Denethor would try to get back by repeatedly quizzing them, but Fëanor was well studied and knew all the answers (win). And then, finally, he would simply never do the chapter essay and Denethor would be furious all over again (win). Then a blood-thirsty Denethor would get him where it hurt most. In the report card and in the notes home to Finwe. Lose. Rinse. Repeat.
There was a simple solution in this case. This Mr. Bauglir could take the place of Mr. Denethor, and Fëanor would let him. The young elf was sure he would get just as much personal satisfaction from angering this teacher as the other. Mr. Bauglir deserved it, anyway. If not yet, he would soon enough.
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 10:42 am
Melkor took his seat and began to leaf through the papers. "Is there anyone in class here who has not written the papers that were the assignment?" He asked mildly. "Please raise your hand."
...Of course no one wanted to catch his attention. Yup.
Just like students the world over.
Just in case some people would be trying to avoid teacherly wrath (tm), Melkor began to count heads silently. There were... 20. 20 students.
And only 10 essays submitted.
Whoah, boy.
Melkor supposed he had to start memorizing their names sooner or later.. .may as well get to it.
"Given I've never met you people before in my life..." He said mildly, scrutinizing the class, "I suppose today will be the day of introductions instead. Everybody who sent in their assignments today will get a passing grade. I will of course be reading your essays later, and thus will add bonus points for exceptionally good essays. Everyone who hasn't sent in their essays today will have a day or so of grace to do their essays....I'm not picky. You can submit them by the end of the week if you'd like, and I'll still accept them."
He pulled out the checklist. "So. I'm gonna randomly read through this list. When I call your name, please be so kind as to raise your hand." He smiled wryly. "Otherwise, I shall be forced to refer to you with nonspecific words such as 'student' and 'hey you over there with the purple beads.' and I do know we want to avoid that, right? "
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Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 11:14 am
"Right. So..." Melkor began to read names.
"Dior Eluchil"
The boy in question raised his hand, seeming to be bored.
"Artanis Galadriel."
The golden haired girl was more eager, but the way she was looking at him was disturbing.
"Finrod Felagund."
A shy boy, if the tentative way his hand went up was any indication....
"James Malen"
A gregarious fellow. all curiousity.
"Angela Contri."
A quiet girt with black hair and glasses. Pretty.
"Sarah Meister."
An outgoing cheerleader type who was busy chatting with her friends.
"Althea Johnson"
cheerleader two. =.= a brunette. Joy.
"Naomi Carlson."
A pretty girl but too full of herself.
"Amy Terasu."
A quiet girl, but busy reading... and that was NOT the text book.
"Leslie Weiss."
Cheerleader 3. =.= Redhead. short skirts.
"Zacharias Smith."
A sneaky looking boy. black haired and short.
"Megan Arminster"
Another girl, bookish and somewhat plain.
Melkor continued reading through the list before he came to Feanor's name.
Huh. Feanor. This fellow was trouble if Denethor's notes were any indication. Still, Melkor'd almost never been given any chances. He'd be damned if he'd pull a Manwe and start judging people on what his predecessor said. For all he knew, the professor was probably a biased git.
"Feanaro Curufinwe."
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Posted: Sat Mar 31, 2007 5:58 am
The first day was... relatively easy to go through since all Melkor really wanted from them was their names. ._. He allowed them to have a break and eat the meals they'd missed... and then dismissed them from class earlier, to mull over the information he gained in the impromptu show and tell he'd held. The aforementioned show and tell had gone like this...
Melkor had told them they could stay in their seats. He had asked who here had missed a meal. and then at seeing no less than 6 people shyly raising a hand, he'd pulled out his cel and dialed the pizzeria's number. After a few minutes, the pizzeria delivery man had come, looking rather confused and befuddled, to be met by Melkor in class.
...he was followed by no less than 5 teachers. ._.
Miss Melian, Mr Elwe Thingol, Mr Arathorn. Mr Huor and Mr Haldad.
As if it was completely normal for him to be doing so, Melkor leaned in the doorway, paying the pizza man ...raised a sardonic eyebrow at the rather... red-faced other teachers and defused the situation by asking the professors who'd followed him nonchalantly. "Did you want a pizza too?"
...They stared at him in shock.
"See here, Mr. Bauglir, this is highly irregular." Mr Arathorn said.
"Manwe told me that I had free rein over my classes." he said mildly. "I am allowed to do as I see fit as long as I teach these students. Pizza, Mr Arathorn? Ms. Melian?"
"I don't mind if I do." Melian smiled as she snagged one of the pizzas, and went off arm in arm with the bemused Mr Thingol.
Well, Melkor could SO see those two getting married.
Mr Huor dazedly accepted a pizza. While Mr Arathorn went off to confirm it by calling Manwe on his cel.
...What he heard must not have pleased him, because he turned rather pale and left in a hurry.
Nonchalantly, Melkor turned back to his class and pulled out the pizza.
"Pizza, everyone?" he asked, cheerfuly enough, placing it on the nearest student's desk... "Pass it around. one slice per person, and if you're still hungry, we got a couple more here."
...It certainly broke the ice. Which in turn made the students MOST amenable to sit in their chairs and pass around the pizza, taking turns to discuss themselves, because Melkor did ask, "what are your hobbies? Tell me one thing about yourself."
...This... took quite a while and was facilitated by the pizza and soft drinks he'd paid for, as he sat on the teacher's desk.
He got more information than he bargained for.
That Dior fellow seemed to price himself on being in every single sports team the school had.
and Artanis... seemingly was proud of having won several awards in the past and present in dance contests as well as spelling bees and several other academic pursuits.
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Posted: Sat Mar 31, 2007 6:18 am
The second day of classes was... troublesome. =.=
It was going to be a stormy day today... Melkor could see it in the darkening sky. Sighing, the renegade Valar turned back to his book and continued to lecture about the early period of the greeks and their strategies in some of the wars.
Unfortunately, there was a disturbance in class brewing. =.= It involved a Feanaro who was making sounds of disagreement with the lecture. It also involved his being snarky and sarcastic about the value of the lesson.
Pretty soon, it had Melkor, in a black leather jacket, pushing his silver rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and looking at Feanor over the top of his book, snapping the book shut with a crisp sound, before putting it down sharply on the desk.
The sudden noise caused some of the students who were napping to start awake.
"Feanaro."
Melkor said levelly to the elf who was glaring viciously at Dior and starting what looked to be a spitball war.
"I do not give a rat's a** about whether you like history or agree with these books. All I want is to help you pass. To that end, please shut up, just read the damn book and then feel free to dissect their tactics and reasoning in the exams instead of disrupting the current class."
Picking up the book again and opening it, he leveled a last look at Feanaro, he spoke again.
"The sooner you finish this class, Feanaro, the faster you can take the exams, and go on to the advanced technical classes. =.="
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