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The Low Reaches ([personal profile] lowreaches) wrote in [community profile] the_low_reaches2016-12-31 04:03 pm

The Preamble (The Test Thread)

Who: The cast
Where: 7-0's classroom
When: Lunch!
What: Some basic testing.

Churlish.
 
That was the word that had gripped 7-0.  No one knew exactly how it started, and not everyone was so charmed, but it had become a magic word for the 7th graders on the basement floor of the Belfry, who had not even windows to escape through and spotty reception at best.
 
The kids took to notes instead.  Simple, hand-written, paper notes.  Passed between themselves constantly. People were getting bullied for their handwriting now.  Churlish had appeared somewhere, some time, in one of those notes, and then again, and again, and had wormed its way into their vocabulary.  A catch all:  The teacher's driving me churling crazy.  Raury's such a churl.
 
No one wanted to be a churl.
 
It might've been the school proper what done it.  The Belfry was a spindly, mean thing, looming over a stretch of pretty beach like a malcontent lighthouse.  It hunched in the wind, which licked misty off the cold grey winter waters of the lake, roof slung over it at a surly angle, old and brittle and arthritic even in its youth.  Several stories tall, and perched lonely atop a hill that was murder on a bike, churlish was an apt word for the Belfry.
 
In all likelihood, the word came from their teacher Ms. Poplar. She was a fair teacher most of the time, but notoriously temperamental. Today, she was of the private opinion that she was much too pretty and promising to be toiling away in the basement of The Belfy.  Her bad moods were often given away by her hair, and today it was a particularly high and sloppy ponytail.  Churlish was an apt word for her, too.
 
Ms. Poplar's mood had spread through the classroom;  kids were skittish and quiet.  The first whisperer of the day had been made example of, and several notes were plastered behind her as grim trophies; she scowled and stared down the class while she hung them up.  More mortifying, the contents had all been read aloud after.  She'd only handed out petty busy work, the kind that made it easy to keep checking her phone and biting her lip.
 
When the bell rang for lunch period, Ms. Poplar sat in her seat for a few long minutes more, head in her hands and the class holding their breath.  It wasn't until a girl, Notoriously Nervous Ruby, finally stood up and after several false starts dashed past the teacher's desk and out the door that Ms. Poplar lifted her head, glared around sulkily, and drug herself out of the room.  Churlishly.
 
A gentle buzz of voices filled the room as the pall broke.  Bags crinkled open and kids disappeared out the door, fading away into the cacaphony of the halls.

heart_swap: (hang on u look better this way)

[personal profile] heart_swap 2017-01-02 12:01 am (UTC)(link)
A few more hopeless waves of the phone - a single bar appeared in the reception icon, then vanished just as quick - passed before she gave up, giving her phone a look that suggested that this, all of this, was its fault and that it really ought to go to jail for it.

"Yeah, prob'ly."

The IMs could wait, even if she was eager for more photos from Celadon's department store. With a sigh, one that might trick an uninformed listener into believing that this was the absolute worst thing to have happened in Blackbell, disappearances be damned, she shoved the phone back into her bag and felt around for a small, round tin with an illustration of a sliced orange on the top.

She still had something like twenty of these tins at home, most unopenned, sympathy gifts from people who wanted to feel like they'd done something. Better than the flowers, at least. The tins of hard sweets kept longer.

"You're neither of you getting nothing, though-" She fished the tin out of her bag and put it on the desk, but then poked the front of Raury's hoodie. Not enough to actually make contact with him, but enough to disturb the fog. "Not 'til I get my pen back, Spooks. The purple one."
roarin: (Default)

[personal profile] roarin 2017-01-06 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
Now that pugnacious mouth did push into a pucker.

"That ain't fair, I didn't do nothin', it was Murk."

And that was true. What was also true was Raury could be heard snickering every time it happened.

The slight boy folded his arms across his slight chest and canted his head slightly. Those mudpuddle algae eyes cut and his nose turned up with a tilt of his head that should the crown he thought he wore actually exist, it would go tumbling. He rose from her desk and gave the leg of the one beside it a sulking kick, as if it were expected from him. It was.

"Besides, we're equal victims here. He constantly eats my homework."

That lie hung between them, thick as a rain cloud, and he didn't flinch from it. He brimmed with mean, and he wasn't getting no bigger, so it found its way out through his mouth, or it marked him. There it was on his tiny knuckles, or that gap when he grinned; he was raw boned from it. Seconds passed, him staring, but the set of his thin shoulders drooped.

Then they sagged with a sigh.

"Alright."

He produced the pen from the den Murk had made of his front pocket and slapped it on her desk, eyes carefully averted to the ceiling.