Forums » General Roleplay » Profs and Pretties (1x1)

(1x1 with Fiaryn)

Anna sat at her desk. Frustrated. She had never really enjoyed school, never liked classes, but this one was just even worse. The homework was ridiculous, the assignments were impossible, and the teacher was a jerk. Oh, and she was pretty much failing. She sighed and closed her eyes, doodling on her notebook. Notes were too boring for her to write.

English literature wasn't exactly the subject of his dreams, but a few more years of teaching at that campus could very well put him in the running for his choice of classes. Yeah right...all the same he did what he could to smile and inform his students. At least he thought he did; he'd noticed that a handful of them were lagging lately in grades, and not the typical slacker types he usually saw fall into the valley of the curve. Lately a couple bookworms had lost their way, weeks into the semester. He resolved to talk to them, he just hadn't decided how. The lecture went on as usual, endless and boring even to him. He looked to the clock when he was done, ran a hand through his dark hair. Fifteen whole minutes left, so he sat at his desk and broke out his gradebook.

"Remember your papers are due tomorrow, class dismissed. And Anna, please come see me." He figured some one on one might help those falling behind, and she seemed to give more of a damn than the rest on his list.

Anna looked up with thinly veiled horror as her name was called. The one time he lets class out early and she has to see him? Great...what did I flunk now? Anna sighed and packed up her things, trying to be as quick as she could about it so that she could get out of the room sooner. She brushed back her blonde hair and stood up. She certainly didn't look like the kind of girl to hate school. She was dressed nicely, she looked kind....but school was getting terribly tiresome for her. College had always been her parents' dream, not hers. Anna walked up to the desk. "Yes, Mr. Winters?" Here it comes. The speech.

Some days he couldn't remember why he became a teacher. He hated moments like this, full of awkward obligations and bad news. He rubbed the back of his stressed out neck.

"Look, I'm sure you've figured out that you aren't doing so hot. I thought we should talk about how to turn this around. Is all this Shakespeare crap just too much?"

Anna stared at the professor as he called Shakespeare 'crap'. "I read it all in highschool. It's just boring." She looked out the window, sighing softly. "What do you want me to do?" He had to have called her there to talk about making it up. She just wanted to get out.

His brow furrowed as usual, wondering how someone thorough in Shakespeare could do so poorly to encounter it again. But he'd seen those advanced students before, lost in a sea of tedious repetition. He hadn't exactly been one of them, but he sympathized with those who craved a challenge.

"I assume you also got an overdose of Mark Twain and Jane Austen? T.S. Eliot? How about Nabokov's Lolita?" Rushdie's Satanic Verses?" He paused and shook his head, finally tossing his gradebook to the desk to cross his arms and lean against it.

"How about this: pick an author from this century, so it still meets curriculum, and you can do all the same assignments on them. Would that help?" If he had to, he'd bring her his stack of ancient novels...but if he lost anymore students, he'd likely face suspension.

Anna listened to him, sighing as he listed off the novels. “ 'What kind of idea are you? Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accomodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cussed, bloody-minded, ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? – The kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of hundred, be smashed to bits; but, the hundredth time, will change the world.' " The quote from The Satanic Verses was easily rattled off. When he mentioned picking a book, she stared at him. "...really?" That was surprising. "You mean, any author at all from this century?"

He had never heard such an eloquent recitation on the spot, and an unexpected smile made his lips twitch, if only briefly. He nodded and added for clarification, "yes, this century we're studying now. If you want to push the envelope you may try to find a decent enough modern author and draw comparisons throughout the assignments but...good luck shuffling out the drivel." He had noticed her eager glances at the clock and did so himself.

"I won't keep you any longer. Email me or see me after next class with your top two or three options and we'll discuss which is more suitable."

Anna listened to him dismiss her and she gave a nod. "Alright." Well, all that and she still had to be censored. She guessed it was only sensible, but still, she would love to make a choice on her own for once. She went out the door quickly, eager to escape the classroom. She was so tired of the same old thing. Why couldn't they read a modern book in class? Why couldn't they use modern books to study culture NOW, instead of studying the culture of the past? Anna let out a sigh and sat down in the cafeteria with her food. Well, free choice with limits was better than no choice at all.

Having little one on one with most of his students, he found his expectations raised for Anna and actually looked forward to who she might find interesting enough to study. He took her exasperation as the average impatience of most college students, not realizing he'd made her feel just as limited as before. As such, he circled the dot he'd made next to her name and checked the next down the list, making a mental note to speak with them as well before packing his things.

As he drove home he considered making it a class-wide option, but ultimately decided against it. If anything it might be a better idea to compile a list and offer it up at the beginning of future semesters. He sighed, wondering why he suddenly cared at all. He was the instructor, was he not? The authority, and director of educational necessities in the classroom, his classroom. But he'd come to a point where his job was at stake, and he had to start connecting before he lost everything.

Slammin his door shut and flinging his briefcase into a chair, he paced to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea before he disrobed and flomped onto his bed. Internally he insisted he would grade the last assignment tomorrow, hand it back the next day. But stress consumed his mental notes and sent him off to sleep.

That night, music blaring through her earphones to shut out the yelling parents down the hall, Anna was able to decide on three potentials that she wanted to research. Once the list was written down, she shouted down the hall for her parents to shut up and locked her door, getting ready and then climbing into bed.

The next day, class was such a bore. She drew all over her notebook, and when it was finally over she went up to the teacher and handed over the list. "There's my top three." She hoped they were good enough for him. She sighed a bit and glanced out the window again. It was so awkward to look at a teacher, especially when you didn't enjoy their class.

They were all so achingly bored, and boring him, but they all trudged through the lecture as usual. Afterward, he met with Anna once again. She looked tired, and kinda miffed. Over her list, he looked at her once more, "you don't seem to be too thrilled about this list. If you could choose anyone, who would it be?"

His patience was shorter than usual that day, having awoken late and rushed through every other class to try and get back on schedule. At this point he'd probably let her write something as cynical as he felt and give her extra credit.

Anna looked at him and lifted a brow. He'd asked for a list, and she'd given it to him. And now he was asking for her to choose someone from any time period? Well, whatever floats your boat, Mr. Fish. You know, fish, 'cause he flops around so much with what he says.

"Scott Westerfeld. Author of The Uglies series."

She stood there for a moment, just looking down at her shoes, pressing the toe of her shoe into the floor. It was definitely modern, and didn't fit with the class since they were focusing on more older literature. "There's a lot we could learn from his books. And I've only read the series once." So that way it wouldn't be super duper boring.

He imagined if he could line up every raised eyebrow he'd inspired, it would look like one giant caterpillar wriggling its way over hundreds of faces. That's when he realized he'd skipped his morning coffee. But he recognized the series and the author, clenching his jaw against how to tie it into class.

"Specifically as it relates to the ideas of physical and emotional change, find and analytically compare passages from the books with similar or opposing prose from this old english stuff. You could also focus on the evolution of society's perceptions of beauty, and by the third book write about how we've begun to estimate or assume the direction of our ideas.

"I'll accept up to nine of these, three examples from each book, due every week until finals. On the final, your tenth and last essay will also need to relate to these assignments and provided you do well...will secure yourself at least a passing grade." He handed back her list.

"If you run out of ideas, fall back on these but you'll still have to use them in the final comparison. So ultimately it's probably easier if you can pull enough depth from Uglies and Shakespeare to keep your thoughts straight." Pausing, he wondered if his next suggestion would be helpful or strange. It certainly was out of place for him to extend this sort of supportive interest.

"If...you need help beyond that...let me know," he nodded uncomfortably, "my personal library has...a few things your textbook won't, if you can't find enough online. I don't live far from campus so...just let me know next class." His face seemed frustrated, confused by his own words and unsure of his thoughts rather suddenly. He'd pictured her in his own home, pouring through his ancient tomes and the image struck an awkward chord in his mind.

Looking to the clock he added, "shit! I-I mean, excuse me, I have to...I have to go. Do something." Haphazardly, he shouldered his zippered briefcase and scooped up his loose papers and books, rushing from the classroom.

Anna listened to him as he explained it, staring him for a few moments. "Can you like...put that in a writing, in an email or something? I'm not going to remember that." However, she took back the list and gave a nod. "Sure, yeah. Thanks." When he mentioned getting help from the books at his house, she stared at him for a few moments. She didn't know why, but the offer made her feel a little strange.

A place to study where people weren't yelling and arguing. Where parents weren't threatening divorce. Anna didn't get her thoughts together in time to give a response before he was suddenly cursing and packing up. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure. No problem." She just picked her backpack up and left the room, letting him hurry to whatever important business there was. When she reached home, the idea of going to Professor Winters' house was more appealing. Her parents were arguing. Again. And this time when she yelled at them to shut up and get a life, she earned a slap for her trouble.
Well, back to locking herself in her room and listening to loud music, it seemed.
That is, until she sent her professor an email.
'I know you were busy earlier, but can I come over and work on my homework?'

He'd done little more than nod at her request before he'd rushed out, then gone straight home to angrily pace around. He was so incredibly uncomfortable with the prospect of caring about anyone again, much less a young woman...

His gait calmed as he entered his study, lined with bookshelves filled twice over with every corner of classic literature. He'd had special cases made, sturdier than any other with thick planks that wouldn't bow beneath the weight of every stack. And behind his matching desk was a matching armoir, all commissioned by an artisan. The two of them had agreed it would all stay in the family, but that was before he'd lost them both; the carver and the girl. He placed the framed photo back on the desk, pinched the bridge of his nose.

Retrieving his laptop, he opened his email to find Anna had already messaged him. His thumb tapped the desk as he glanced around the dark room, with its delicately decorated wall panels and old time elegance. Locking eyes with the face in the frame, his heart softened. It had been far too long since any of these books had seen any use, and if Anna had already got a head start only to run into trouble - well, he couldn't say no.

Once he had typed his address, he asked if she needed transportation or bus fare.

Anna only replied with an 'I'll be fine'. It took about an hour, but she arrived, knocking on his door. He didn't live too far away, but she had ended up walking. Because, well...parents. She had her backpack slung over her shoulder, and she was still in the clothes that she'd gone to school in. In fact, it didn't look like she'd been home for long at all.
"Hey. Thanks for uh...letting me study here. Figured I could start with some of the books you were talking about so it'd be good from the beginning, you know?" She didn't want to tell him about her family life. It never ended well when she did that. "..do you live alone?" Partly asked because she was curious, and partly asked because she didn't want another bickering couple around.

"No problem," he said as he greeted her and held the door open, "and yes. Just me." He'd done little more than usual to tidy up while he waited, so stacks of papers awaited him in the sitting room he led her through.

"I'll let you have the office to yourself. The stack on the desk is probably the most pertinent, a handful I pulled out for you. Feel free to leaf through others if you need, but please be careful." He'd argued with himself over whether to let her in here at all, finally deciding there'd be no harm in it and tucking the photo of the woman away in a drawer.

"If you need anything...there's tea and stuff. In the kitchen. Just...help yourself. Bathroom is the next door down this hall."

Anna walked in and followed him to the office, looking around. Wow. A lot of books. She looked back at him and nodded. "Okay. ..thanks, Professor Winters." She went to sit down, and started pulling out some stuff from her backpack. Notebook, pencil, and some books. She paused for a moment and looked around. This place was so amazing. So peaceful. The whole house was just so absolutely quiet. She sighed softly and started working. It was so nice here.

"Sebastian, outside of school, is fine." He felt awkward saying it, but moreso about being formally addressed at home. Though not nearly as awkward as he felt leaving her in that room, yet there were things to be done so he left her to her work to finish his own.

The house was quiet for hours, save for scribbling pens and turned pages. He'd had about as much as he could stand of improper citations and half-assed attempts to meet minimum requirements, and decided it was time for a break. He grabbed some snacks - celery, carrots and cookies - as he made fresh tea. Loading it onto a tray he made his way into the study to check up on his student.