Part 38 - Lectures

one of the halls in London's own university, there is a lecture ending. At the end of the Correspondence Hall, in one of the empty classrooms, the bandaged man is holding a small vial of violant ink. He's dressed in sensible grays, with a hint of color trimming the collar and the sleeves; only the shirt underneath is from his closet, with eyes and teeth lining the collar. Behind him, there is a blackboard, covered in a numerous amount of sigils written in chalk squares.

There is a slight cloud of black dust sloughing off of the board and collecting on the floor; the slate underneath some of the sigils is crumbling, the pieces coming off in flakes. Below the chalkboard, there is a small desk; it's the desk that was put away into storage (though the corners are now encrusted in glim), not put on display with a fresh coat of paint. On the desk, there is a cup with coffee, freshly made with added milk swirled on top.

The classroom is fairly empty; in the raised seating, there are several students placed in the middle of the the elevated seating, watching the bandaged man (whenever they're not conversing, that is). In the far back, Thomas is seated across their seat, an arm on their desk and their head in their hand. The bandaged man speaks (impressively clearly, given how big the room is), raising their vial of ink.

The Bandaged: While the traditional medium is with shades of the Neath, the Correspondence can be formed in any material, so long as one has the knowledge of it. Observe. . .

The bandaged man sets the vial of ink down onto the desk, quickly moving behind the table.

The Bandaged: -Opening a drawer; grabbing a small spoon.- Suppose that you were out and about, merely enjoying some coffee. . . Able had reason to visit the university, mainly, the bandaged man was not at home at his usual time in a drunken daze. This was startling to Able, but it was also something he was a bit relieved about. He didn't know how to take the note he'd seen on his desk in the spire, half annoyance, half disbelief. Able had figured, once he'd gone back to drinking, the man would forget all about the regained position at the university.

Even if he had responded to the call he'd likely be a wreck during the lecture. Able was pleasantly surprised, however. He hurried down the halls and quietly entered the room, watching the bandaged man far near the door. He wasn't sure if he wanted to interrupt him. Able watches carefully. He didn't even notice Thomas, who looked to be half asleep. The bandaged man puts the spoon into the cup, stirring it.

The Bandaged: You've just added milk to your coffee, to cut the bitter taste. . .you're not paying attention, daydreaming about some other stuff.

The bandaged man is grimacing a bit, turning their face away from the cup as they stir.

The Bandaged: -Stalling.- . . .possibly, you're musing about the work you have to do later, or the drink you're planning on having after the lecture. . .

The student body gives a bit of a forced laugh, leaning on their desks a bit.

Their boredom, however, is quickly interrupted by a collective yelp when the coffee cup explodes; pieces of ceramic fly across the room with such ferocity that they further shatter upon impact with the walls, before quickly burning up in noxious, mercurious fumes. The bandaged man continues stirring the spoon in mid-air, apparently disappointed.

The Bandaged: -Quietly, with a hand on their hip.- . . .I was hoping for fire. . .

The Bandaged: -Clearly; setting the spoon down.- . . .well! It is important that you understand how the Correspondence is stylized, for your own safety when out and about! Furthermore, I hope that you will pay attention to how to formulate the words.

The student body gives a collective murmur of agreement; the bandaged man smiles, before quickly turning around and wiping the chalkboard clean. He smears the violant sigils in particular ways, such that he avoids accidental arrangements of lines.

The Bandaged: Class is dismissed; don't forget that your submission for a refined sigil with purpose is due by the week's end. Oh, don't groan; I told you of this plenty of days in advance.

The group of (now grumpy) students head down the seats, quickly giving their small salutations to the bandaged man before quickly exiting. The bandaged man continues wiping the board clean, not noticing Able at the door. Able furrows his brow a bit. He looked presentable and respectable. Though it was still a bit jarring. He tries to swallow his anger, not wanting to dissuade this behavior. Thomas doesn't get up, and merely stretches in his seat, looking as if he was slowly waking up. Able finally notices him, and is even more confused. Able makes his way down towards the bandaged man. He clears his throat a bit.

Able: Ahem. So you did remember then.

Thomas looks towards Able, and looks unsurprised, and seems to start jotting something down on the papers in front of him, neatly pulling out a pencil. The bandaged man turns towards Able, furrowing their eyebrows for a bit.

The Bandaged: . . .oh, Able!

The bandaged man suddenly spins on the spot, streaking a large swatch of violant along the board as their hand flicks streaks of the ink onto the surroundings (including Able's shirt).

The Bandaged: -Suddenly manic.- Oy, how come this is the first time I've seen you at my lectures, ah? Able makes a bit of an annoyed face, glancing down at his clothes before back up at the bandaged.

Able: You never formally invited me.

The Bandaged: Bah, you are always invited to any event that I am brought to; you are my protégé, Able!

The bandaged man turns back to the board, smearing the rest of the sigils clean; as they do so, they dig a hand into the space between their outer suit and their undershirt.

The Bandaged: Even if, God forbid, you didn't know that, I would've thought you'd support freckles over there. . .

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- . . .where'd I put that. . .

Able: Yes, well, I would have to be aware it is happening to be involved.

Able glances over at Thomas, who is still writing.

Able: Why is Thomas here? Did you drag him here?

Able: Ah... At least you seem to be... Somewhat sober.. The bandaged man pulls out a flask from the inside lining of their coat; he speaks, apparently ignoring the last part of what Able had said.

The Bandaged: -Quickly popping the topper of the flask.- Why, Able, that young man clearly has an excellent intellect. . .

The bandaged man tips the flask back (the brief whiff of the fluid inside is strong, both in alcohol and in the smell of clove spices), before closing it and wiping their lip on the sleeve of their suit.

The Bandaged: -Putting the flask away.- Mmf. He's here to exercise his brain of his own accord; an admirable Renaissance man. Able squints at the bandaged man, a little annoyed, but he settles his anger.

Able: Well at least someone is getting lessons from you.

Not enough, though. He was still fairly miffed. Thomas caps his pen and quietly stands, taking his small bit of papers before standing. He sets the papers down on the bandaged man's desk, nodding at Able.

Thomas: Ah, Able.. Mh, they are somewhat interesting lectures, if slow.

Thomas rubs his neck, a touch sore from resting like that for so long.

The Bandaged: Oy, you learned the principles of living in London from me!

The bandaged man turns on Thomas, pointing a finger at him.

The Bandaged: And you! It is not slow, it is merely keeping things in track so your fellow students may understand the complicated process that is the Correspo. . .hm.

The bandaged man's gaze turns towards the papers Thomas laid on their desk, before picking it up. The top page is mostly incomprehensible, looking like a swirl of cross-hatched pencil placed everywhere with irregularity.

The Bandaged: -Muttering.- . . .the love of. . .no, FOR a toy that lost its will. . .had not mastered that which is within. . .

The bandaged man, preoccupied, sits down at their desk, observing the pencil sketch slathered on the front. They lift their feet, resting it on the edge of the chair as they mutter to themselves, evidently very interested.

Thomas: Oh come now, how are they going to stretch their knowledge if you coddle them?

Thomas sits at the corner of the bandaged man's desk, looking a touch disinterested.

Able: ...You get this... nonsense?

Thomas: Dear, it's not nonsense. I can understand why you may think so since its often coming from that man, but it has some structure about it.

Able rolls his eyes.

Able: Well. I suppose.

Able doesn't sound convinced.

The Bandaged: Oy, it is not nonsense.

The Bandaged: -Standing up.- It is a fundamental science, perhaps the most fundamental because you can alter the rules that the other sciences are built upon! I will not accept this insubordination!

The bandaged man pauses, before lifting the paper Thomas placed down; their eyes flit across the swirls of pencil, before placing it down again.

The Bandaged: . . .hm. Speaking of which. . .your work satisfactory, Thomas, save for one grammar issue; you put it in the imperfect past tense, but that's for things that haven't completed yet. You meant the preterite, yet? Able looks unimpressed.

Able: Yes, because altering rules is what you need more of.

Thomas looks back, sort of looking in the general direction of the bandaged man. He scoffs.

Thomas: I meant what I wrote, love. The bandaged man pauses, before reaching into their suit and pulling out their flask again.

The Bandaged: -To Thomas.- . . .nasty, that is.

They tip the bottle back, before swallowing and turning to Able.

The Bandaged: . . .ah! What else did you need? You do need something, if you're looking for me? Thomas smiles, and doesn't say anything further. Able looks confused, raising an eyebrow.

Able: Er...? Ah, I wanted to merely make sure you were still breathing.

The Bandaged: . . .ah.

The bandaged man lifts their bottle again to their lips, taking a small swig.

The Bandaged: . . .was, er. . .that all, then?

Able: Ah... yes?

Able smiles a small bit, but still seems concerned. The bandaged man sits back at their desk, slouching in their seat.

The Bandaged: . . .well, if that's all you needed, then. . .

The Bandaged: -Gesturing to themselves.- Here I am. Mostly whole, and in the flesh. Is your mind at ease now? Thomas looks uncomfortable and suddenly stands. He moves towards the exit, a bit quickly, waving.

Thomas: I am no longer needed here, I will be off.

Able looks at Thomas, not getting his farewell out before Thomas exits. Able looks at the bandaged man.

Able: Ah... hm.. Somewhat. "Mostly" sounds a bit suspect, however.

The Bandaged: -Leaning back, tipping their flask back.- Mmhf. . .well, you lose a few bits here and there, but doesn't everyone?

Able squints at the bandaged man.

Able: ...Are you drinking during lectures?

The Bandaged: Now Able, really? You think I'm going to be teaching my student's bad habits?

The bandaged man takes another swig.

The Bandaged: Really, it's silly; if I drunk during a lecture, I wouldn't be able to finish it, hm?

The bandaged man suddenly stands up, throwing the flask down onto the floor with a loud yell as the fluid inside splatters all over the wooden boards.

The Bandaged: -Manic.- And I am a man of my word! I finish what I start! Able raises an eyebrow and then sighs heavily. He forgot how much this man liked to talk.

Able: Yes, well, Perhaps if you didn't drink nearly as much as you do you might finish even more tasks.

Able looks away.

Able: Ah, though that did cause a halt in my own lessons now didn't it?

The bandaged does a spit-take; an incredible feat, given that they didn't drink anything and are just spewing flecks of spit all over. They wipe their mouth with their sleeve.

The Bandaged: I don't drink that much!

The bandaged man bends over, picking up the partially spilled flask up again.

The Bandaged: -Taking a small swig.- Mhhf. . .I drink a reasonable amount. . .

The bandaged man takes another swig, before doing another spit-take, sending droplets of alcohol all over his desk.

The Bandaged: -Astonished.- I never finished your education!

The bandaged man looks at the flask in their hand, before tossing it back down onto the ground, manic again.

The Bandaged: We're resuming your education, right now! Goodness, what will they think? A protégé without a proper English education. . . Able blinks, not really expecting that response. He seemed a little... Concerned. Would he have to travel up to the bandaged man's home every other day? He didn't relish the thought.

Able: You didn't... no. Er...

Able looks away again, cursing himself.

Able: ..How? I live quite a bit away.. The university is much closer, however.

The Bandaged: Ah, then you must become a student!

The bandaged man pauses, before holding a hand to their chin.

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- No, you're not respectable enough to survive even the alums. . .ah, then how about field work? Off the record, of course.

The bandaged man steps onto their desk, picking up their violant ink.

The Bandaged: We can head out and about around London; I'm sure I can find a learning experience out there.

Able: I... Suppose. It may prove more interesting, at the very least.

Able thinks for a moment.

Able: Ah, Sundays I'm not available.

He pauses, looking away a bit.

Able: Er... And Monday mornings. The bandaged man narrows his gaze as he stares at Able.

The Bandaged: Why not Mondays? . .

The bandaged man hops off the desk, wheezing a bit as they do so.

The Bandaged: Oof. . .are you spending more time with that devil of a man? He's baaad news, I've told you. . .

Able: Tsk. I've told you he's no threat to me. He's been nothing but polite.

Able sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Able: What I do with my time is my business anyhow.

The bandaged man squints, staring at Able.

The Bandaged: -Pointing a finger; scandalized.- You're doing something more with that devil, aren't you? More than your usual tea meetings, ah? Able tenses a bit.

Able: Ah.. Not.. necessarily. We simply have fairly longer discussions now.

The Bandaged: Longer discussions about what? About biblical interpretations? Really?

Able: Er... no. Just.. life? I suppose? ...Are you aware that people can just discuss?

The Bandaged: Ah! You're talking about life!

The bandaged man points at Able's face, the finger inches from his nose.

The Bandaged: You're finalizing the contract about your soul? Your life. . ?

Able narrows his eyes, and bats the bandaged man's hand away.

Able: Certainly not. Virgil is much too polite for such things.

The Bandaged: Aha! How do you know he's polite?

The bandaged man leans in close.

The Bandaged: -Scandalized.- . . .are you. . .knowing him? Able looks away.

Able: Ah. How would you know he is not?

Able is avoiding looking at the bandaged man.

Able: Having any amount of conversation with the man would be enough to tell, I would think.

The Bandaged: You're having sensible conversations about one's character!? What are you, his student? His caretaker? His lover? H. . .

The bandaged man pauses, before holding a hand to their mouth.

The Bandaged: -Quietly.- . . .that's what it is, isn't it?

The bandaged man screeches, covering their face.

The Bandaged: -Muffled anguish.- You chose a new t e a c h e r!? You're a student of someone else? How could you do this to me? I thought we were doing something extraordinary; you couldn't even tell me in person!? Able looks over at the bandaged man, his heart nearly stopping as he pauses. Too long. Able could feel the heat rise up in his face before it all falls flat as the bandaged man finishes his words. Able looks visibly baffled, his eyebrows crooked in confusion.

Able: I... Er..

He holds up his hands in defense.

Able: No! No, No, I've not I swear! The bandaged man wheezes, falling back onto their desk; they fall to the floor, moving onto their knees as they pick up the (mostly empty) flask.

The Bandaged: -Hysterical; melancholy.- I. . .I can't believe I had to find out like this. . .I. .

The bandaged man drains the flask, tossing it aside.

The Bandaged: -Broken up.- I mean, I know I have some bad habits, but I didn't think I had. . .is it cause of the drinking? I can tone it down. . .were my lessons poor? Too boring? Too exciting? I can't believe I had to find out like this. . . Able wheezes, stifling a laugh.

Able: Y-... You're.. kkf... not listening... I said... I'm not a student of his..

Able turns around, trying to hide his grin. He couldn't help it, the bandaged man was acting so ridiculously upset about him spending time with the deacon.

Able: What would he even have to teach me? I was already raised by the church.

The Bandaged: Well then he's probably. . .he's teaching you about Hell!?

The bandaged man slumps over, lying on the ground. His. . .bandages are getting wet.

The Bandaged: -Choked up.- I. . .I'd understand that. . .he must have a good understanding of infernal territory. . .an'h he probably knows more than any book on the subject could. . . Able sighs, calming himself, and kneels in front of the bandaged man.

Able: -Flatly- Oh you're just going to give up then?

The Bandaged: -Pathetically.- Yeah. . . Able raises an eyebrow.

Able: Ah, then you won't mind if I clear your spire again of spirits then. The bandaged man quickly stumbles up, a manic energy going over them as they swat at Able's hand.

The Bandaged: You will not!

The bandaged man quickly stands up, the bandages on their face horribly streaked with tears and mucus.

The Bandaged: -Maniacally screeching.- I have spent too long figuring out how to hide them for you to just. . .make it worthless! Do you know how hard it is to cut perfectly shaped holes in the walls to store spiced ciders!?

Able: Oh so that's where you've been hiding them? Good to know. Let me just go get them.

Able stands and starts running towards the door. The bandaged man screeches, running after Able and reaching into their pockets.

The Bandaged: -Pulling out their pen.- Oy, you get back here you insubordinate student!