Post by Gaia on Jul 30, 2008 18:32:05 GMT -5
(Class will be taught by Gaia until we can find magisters.)
Faye was a woman known for her eccentricity. Some looked past it, and some could not, referring to her as the 'crazy old bat.' It might be her style of dress that caused her students to think her loony, for it was the most obvious strange thing about her. It looked like she raided a thrift store and dressed with a blindfold on; her clothes rarely matched. Much like a young child, she simply wore whatever she felt like wearing that day, which earned the disapproval of the more professional magisters, and the younger, more 'hip' newbies. The latter, of course, were more vocal about it, but she paid them little mind. Their mothers must not have taught them manners; she didn't like their clothes, but she didn't whisper about it!
Today she wore a ridiculously large blue, short-sleeved, tye-dyed top, and loose lavender capri pants. She wore clunky brown ankle boots on her feet, an enormous green ring on her wrinkled right hand, and a straw hat with a sunflower in the middle atop her head. She had her short, wavy white hair neatly brushed - she was nearing eighty - and she applied ten types of cream and powder to her face in a desperate attempt to hide the deep-set wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and of her lips. Her lipstick was bright red, the typical choice for a teenager or twenty-something, or as the case may be, a nearly-eighty with no idea how to properly use make-up. Her brown eyes hid behind shocking red cat-eye glasses, her lashes coated in a thick blue mascara.
Then, maybe it was not her style of dress that did it at all, but her manner. She was eternally pleasant, and always ready to help, being a naturally generous and compassionate woman. However, she was more than a little absent-minded, often forgetting what she was saying mid-sentence, much to the annoyance of her more impatient students. And sometimes, she was a little too nice. She had many children and many grandchildren, and often found herself babysitting the younger folk more than, or as much as, she taught. If you pulled her aside and explained to her that she occasionally treated her students like children, she wouldn't understand, but it was the truth.
She was tilting back-and-forth in the swivel chair behind her desk, which had some atrocious floral cushion tied to the back and the seat, humming something to herself that sounded like it came from Mary Poppins. In her hand was a white mug with sunflowers painted all over it. Black text boldly printed across the middle declared "Super G-Ma!" She filled it to the top with frosted cheerios, her on-the-go breakfast that morning. She kept them dry, no milk, and ate them as one would drink a cup of coffee, only noisier. She watched the door expectantly, awaiting for her class to arrive.
Faye was a woman known for her eccentricity. Some looked past it, and some could not, referring to her as the 'crazy old bat.' It might be her style of dress that caused her students to think her loony, for it was the most obvious strange thing about her. It looked like she raided a thrift store and dressed with a blindfold on; her clothes rarely matched. Much like a young child, she simply wore whatever she felt like wearing that day, which earned the disapproval of the more professional magisters, and the younger, more 'hip' newbies. The latter, of course, were more vocal about it, but she paid them little mind. Their mothers must not have taught them manners; she didn't like their clothes, but she didn't whisper about it!
Today she wore a ridiculously large blue, short-sleeved, tye-dyed top, and loose lavender capri pants. She wore clunky brown ankle boots on her feet, an enormous green ring on her wrinkled right hand, and a straw hat with a sunflower in the middle atop her head. She had her short, wavy white hair neatly brushed - she was nearing eighty - and she applied ten types of cream and powder to her face in a desperate attempt to hide the deep-set wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and of her lips. Her lipstick was bright red, the typical choice for a teenager or twenty-something, or as the case may be, a nearly-eighty with no idea how to properly use make-up. Her brown eyes hid behind shocking red cat-eye glasses, her lashes coated in a thick blue mascara.
Then, maybe it was not her style of dress that did it at all, but her manner. She was eternally pleasant, and always ready to help, being a naturally generous and compassionate woman. However, she was more than a little absent-minded, often forgetting what she was saying mid-sentence, much to the annoyance of her more impatient students. And sometimes, she was a little too nice. She had many children and many grandchildren, and often found herself babysitting the younger folk more than, or as much as, she taught. If you pulled her aside and explained to her that she occasionally treated her students like children, she wouldn't understand, but it was the truth.
She was tilting back-and-forth in the swivel chair behind her desk, which had some atrocious floral cushion tied to the back and the seat, humming something to herself that sounded like it came from Mary Poppins. In her hand was a white mug with sunflowers painted all over it. Black text boldly printed across the middle declared "Super G-Ma!" She filled it to the top with frosted cheerios, her on-the-go breakfast that morning. She kept them dry, no milk, and ate them as one would drink a cup of coffee, only noisier. She watched the door expectantly, awaiting for her class to arrive.