wolflord_andain | (no subject)

(no subject)

Having discovered that several among the current class were still unable to translate relatively simple passages, Galadan has chosen to use today for reviewing declensions of nouns.

He paces in front of the class, careful to keep out any hints of predator, lecturing in a cool even voice. Occasionally he pauses to scribe a series of words on the chalk board, or to ask a quick, sharp question of someone who appears inattentive.

It is a long, grueling class period.

He is slowly growing used to that. His students--

May not be.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mary is sitting in the front row, her head bent over her book; she is clearly paying very close attention.

So, apparently, are the two girls who sit behind her - at least, their gazes are both fixed on Professor Wolfe.

Just until the moment his back is turned to write something on the chalkboard, at which point Susie quickly taps Lacey on the shoulder and drops a piece of paper in her lap.

I could listen to his voice all day.

To assume Professor Wolfe is unaware of the movements of his class even while is back is turned is, perhaps, foolish.

It would be quite foolish to assume the same of any teacher worth his or her salt, but in this case it is particularly unwise.

Fortunately for the girls, thus far the only sign of awareness on his part is the slight arch of his eyebrow (aimed at the chalkboard) and a slight increase in the volume of his voice as he turns.

And then, of course--

"Miss Merryweather. The verb conjugations, if you would."

Susan Merryweather opens her eyes wide, and recites, promptly, "Amo, amas, amat, amatis, amamus, amatis, amant."

Lacey covers her mouth in a vain effort to stifle her giggles.

Galadan's eyebrows arch upward a little more. Any amusement--or resignation--he may feel is well hidden.

"It might be even more pertinent to conjugate what I've written on the board, rather than the product such idle fancies with which you seem to have neatly distracted yourself."

"I just thought you might want another example," says Miss Merriweather, unabashed, and proceeds to recite the conjugations for the word iuvare and wait sweetly for praise.

"There is a time and place for initiative, Miss Merriweather. This classroom, however, is rather less welcoming. Though should you proceed to the more advanced classes--there you might even choose your own passages for translation."

And, with a very (very) slight smile, Galadan returns to the more immediate concerns of lessons.

Very (very) slight is more than enough for Susie. She shoots a look of triumph towards Lacey, who just shakes her head as if to say I don't know how you dare, Susan Merriweather!

After just a few moments, however, another note makes its way to the Lacey's lap from the irrepressible Susan. This one says, on the outside, Pass it up to Lennox.

Lacey shoots Susie a puzzled look, but does as bid, poking a few fingers into Mary's back and then, when she turns around with a look of indignation, passes up the note.

Mary looks torn between the desire to righteously throw the note away and curiosity to see what it says. She clutches it in her hand for a few moments while she struggles with this dilemma.

And it has nothing to do with Mary, of course, that this time Galadan does not turn to the class during a transition.

Instead, he merely keeps talking as he erases the current passage and sets a new one up very neatly. In chalk.

His patience with such tiny infractions of the rules of behavior is not, however, endless.

Two lines before Galadan is done with the passage, Mary finally gives in and reads the note.

It says: He's always assigning you readings. What passages are his favorites?

Mary risks turning around to aim a scathing look at Susan and roll her eyes meaningfully. Then she drops the paper on the floor. Then she stomps on it.

For a while all is quiet and industry.

Galadan, when he finally turns to face the class again, leaves one eyebrow arched.

Just slightly.

But he pays no more attention to Mary (and the note on the floor) than he does any other student.

Save, perhaps, for the one girl who has begun dreamily doodling heroic poses on her paper.

"As today has not involved any Greek translations, Miss Elsingham, I do think you might save your artwork for another time. Though you may, of course, feel free to translate a page of the Iliad for next week."

It's quite amazing how swiftly she, too, returns to industrious note-taking.

Lacey shoots Susan a significant glance, but Susan looks demurely down at her book, apparently the most virtuous girl in the room.

Lacey tries nudging Susan's foot with hers, but this, too, has no apparent effect, so Lacey resorts to giving her a kick. At this, Susan finally looks up, and Lacey reaches over to pass a note.

And it may be that fortune (or the Weaver) no longer smiles on Miss Merriweather and Miss Carmichael, because this moment is precisely when Galadan makes his way toward their desks, neatly plucking the note out of Lacey's hand.

"I do hope neither of you have taken up a hobby involving cheating. Or any other unsavory practices, of course."

This would be where he reads the note. He'll decide whether or not to read it aloud after that.

He is, after all, hardly a rule-bound fool.

Lacey looks petrified.

Susan looks furious (at Lacey.)

Mary, although neither of them can see her face, looks hideously smug.

The note looks like a piece of paper with these words on it:

Weren't we meant to do Catullus today? I might die of his divineness if he read Catullus out loud. Especially in translation!

Galadan's eyebrows arch upward again, but there is no hint of amusement in the set of his mouth.

Or, of course, in the chill settling in his winter-grey eyes.

"Since you two seem to be so very interested in Catullus, you may prepare a recitation for next week, on your own translation of two pages of text. Perhaps it will allow your skills to improve. Of late your attention has proved to be very lax."

He waves the note very briefly, as if to indicate the kind of laxity to which he refers, and then tosses it casually into the wastebasket.

"That's not fair!" protests Susan. "I didn't write the note."

Galadan merely looks at her, eyebrows still upraised.

"Would you prefer to translate four pages of Catullus?"

That could, after all, be easily enough arranged.

Susan jerks her chin up, and then suddenly grins.

"Perhaps, sir. It depends on the pages."

There are scattered gasps from around the room; Susan Merriweaather always does go TOO FAR.

Master Wolfe is not impressed.

"I think you might benefit more from continued practice in noun declensions. Fifty repetitions of each. I expect to see them on my desk by the end of this week. In addition to Catullus."

And with that he returns to his position near the chalkboard.

"And now, if we might continue--"

Susan opens her mouth again, and then closes it with a snap, her face turning red.

Mary Lennox, on the other hand, looks nearly as pleased as anyone at the school has ever seen her - but it's not as if anyone but Mr. Wolfe is likely to be able to tell. And even if Susan could see her face, she would only think that it would be like that Lennox girl to be pleased that someone else had gotten in trouble.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only