Post by Gaia on Jul 29, 2008 22:54:58 GMT -5
(Class will be taught by Gaia until we can find magisters.)
Mr. Wilde walked into the classroom exactly a half-an-hour early for class, as was his routine. He set his brown briefcase in the exact center of his table and clicked it open, taking out exactly five newly-sharpened number two pencils. Of course, there were other things in his briefcase, such as various papers, some with things scribbled on them, and others unmarked, but he found few to be as important as these pencils. Kids these days were often troubled, and, for reasons unknown to him, took out their frustrations on their tests and assignments. The sound of pencils being ground by electric sharpeners was not a pleasing sound to his ears, and hand-sharpening was quite distracting and tedious. So, he would supply the pencils.
There were always exactly five, they were always perfectly sharpened, and they were always set in the same black pencil holder. At the end of the class, he would always take return the pencils to their spot in his briefcase, and take them home. If they were bitten, wore down, or eraserless, he would replace them with new, pristine pencils. If he left them out, he found the troublesome children would steal them or launch them at the ceiling.
He unlocked the first drawer to his desk and removed the pencil holder, which he stored inside at the end of each class so that it was not stolen. After the pencils were set inside, he closed his briefcase and took a seat the swivel chair behind the desk. He glanced to his expensive silver watch, verified that he had spent only two minutes 'setting up,' and proceeded to wait for the remaining twenty-eight staring expectantly at the unoccupied desks across from him.
He was as neat as always, donning a blue suit with a white shirt and solid, slate-colored tie beneath. His shoes were brown and polished 'till he could see his face shine in them, just how he liked them. He wore a thin pair of rectangular glasses, the frame the same brown as his shoes. Despite his age - he was nearly sixty - his cocoa skin was nearly free of wrinkles. Whether he used a concealing cream or was blessed with natural youthfulness, he would not disclose. His facial hair was trimmed neatly, consisting of a salt-and-pepper moustache and goatee; anything further he deemed simply barbaric in appearance. He liked to appear polished and successful.
Mr. Wilde walked into the classroom exactly a half-an-hour early for class, as was his routine. He set his brown briefcase in the exact center of his table and clicked it open, taking out exactly five newly-sharpened number two pencils. Of course, there were other things in his briefcase, such as various papers, some with things scribbled on them, and others unmarked, but he found few to be as important as these pencils. Kids these days were often troubled, and, for reasons unknown to him, took out their frustrations on their tests and assignments. The sound of pencils being ground by electric sharpeners was not a pleasing sound to his ears, and hand-sharpening was quite distracting and tedious. So, he would supply the pencils.
There were always exactly five, they were always perfectly sharpened, and they were always set in the same black pencil holder. At the end of the class, he would always take return the pencils to their spot in his briefcase, and take them home. If they were bitten, wore down, or eraserless, he would replace them with new, pristine pencils. If he left them out, he found the troublesome children would steal them or launch them at the ceiling.
He unlocked the first drawer to his desk and removed the pencil holder, which he stored inside at the end of each class so that it was not stolen. After the pencils were set inside, he closed his briefcase and took a seat the swivel chair behind the desk. He glanced to his expensive silver watch, verified that he had spent only two minutes 'setting up,' and proceeded to wait for the remaining twenty-eight staring expectantly at the unoccupied desks across from him.
He was as neat as always, donning a blue suit with a white shirt and solid, slate-colored tie beneath. His shoes were brown and polished 'till he could see his face shine in them, just how he liked them. He wore a thin pair of rectangular glasses, the frame the same brown as his shoes. Despite his age - he was nearly sixty - his cocoa skin was nearly free of wrinkles. Whether he used a concealing cream or was blessed with natural youthfulness, he would not disclose. His facial hair was trimmed neatly, consisting of a salt-and-pepper moustache and goatee; anything further he deemed simply barbaric in appearance. He liked to appear polished and successful.