Don't be silly(bus)

Posted on Fri Jan 31st, 2025 @ 23:45 by Jonathan Monroe & Claire Cavendish

Chapter: Besieged
Location: Teacher's Lounge, Avalon Institute
Timeline: 30th January
947 words - 1.9 OF Standard Post Measure

Winifred Pocklington sat at the large oak table in the centre of teacher's lounge. Normally they'd meet in the library, but the place was bustling with activity lately due to the changes outside of the castle walls, and since the new age librarian had allowed boisterous party games to be played at the centre table. So Winifred had collected the books he wanted to discuss and agreed with Mister Monroe to meet in the teacher's lounge to discuss next semesters reading syllabus. He had boiled a kettle and was going over his meticulous notes on the subject waiting on American youngling who was supposedly his peer.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to catch up with our stand-in headmistress..." Jonathan's apology came as he walked in the door. With everything that had been going on with Claire, it almost made running the school as it was intended to be run a secondary concern. "Are you ready to get started?"

"It's quite alright, I took the time to boil the kettle." Winifred motioned for the empty seat across from him and the pot on the table. "I've been ready for a while." He gave a bit of a cynical smile, "I think we should start at Key 3 and work our way up, agreed?"

"Yes, of course. Key 3." Jonathan nodded sagely, moving to the kettle and pouring himself a cup. The terminology of the English (and Scottish) education system had taken a while to fully absorb itself into his mind at first. "So, are we set on the typical texts? I thought Jane Eyre was probably a reasonable choice for the main text this term."

"Oh, of course, everyone thinks they’ve read a great novel when they’ve read Jane Eyre. It’s hardly the pinnacle of Victorian literature. Students would do far better to study Middlemarch." Winifred let out a huge sigh, he realised that this was going to be a long and arduous night trying to convince this yankee of what makes truly good English Literature. "Miss Eyre spends far too much time wringing her hands over life’s trials. A heroine of good breeding would meet her misfortunes with quiet dignity, not with endless monologues."

Jonathan took a half-second to glance at the stack of books next to Winifred. He couldn't make out most of the names. "It's recognisable fiction and widely well-regarded..." he commented. "The alternative would be, perhaps, something like Frankenstein; a story with a more applicable moral message for our more...unique students."

"Though the work itself is riddled with flaws, one cannot deny its cultural impact." Winifred made a note and seemed to really consider the suggestion. "Frankenstein is a curiosity—an imperfect gem, if you will—but hardly the cornerstone of a curriculum." He shook his head for a moment before pulling a book from his stack. "If it’s a moral journey one seeks, The Pilgrim’s Progress provides a far more wholesome and edifying experience than these questionable tales. Though if one insists on Brontë, Villette is the far superior text." He looked to gauge a response to his suggestion, "It is subtler, more introspective, and less reliant on melodramatic plot contrivances."

"Melodramatic plot contrivances is 99% of fiction," Jonathan retorted dryly. "Not to mention this is a school for mutants, so..." he let that point hang almost unspoken. "If you're not entirely convinced Frankenstein is a 'cornerstone' then perhaps we work through a short set of romantic-era writers. Include some poetry for a little texture."

"Poppycock," Winifred seemed to surprise himself with the strong response, "True masters of the craft need not resort to juvenile melodrama." As Jonathan pivoted he cleared his throat, in a way of closing that discussion off for himself. "Despite his personal flamboyance and theatrics, Lord Byron might be a good start of that list."

The blue-haired man took a breath and rubbed his temple. With everything that had been going on, his patience for the abrupt had been eroded somewhat. "Juvenile...?" He shook his head. "That's not the word I'd have used for some of the most influential fiction of the romantic era. Okay, fine, Byron. Shelley, Blake, and perhaps Keats?"

"Fine, I'll grant you Keats." Winifred seemed very content with the final selection and being able to 'grant permission' for the inclusion of one of his colleague's suggestion that only seemed to increase. "I'm glad we could sort that out without burning down a study." There was a bit of a glance towards Jonathan, but not a single twitch in his stiff upper lip. While a select few of the staff had seemingly gotten away from public prosecution, it was a public secret in the institute staff room that last Halloween things had gotten out of hand.

Jonathan's teeth pressed together in his mouth, his jaw tensing sharply at the remark. Rather than react with a strong emotion, however, he forced the smile onto his face. "I rather think Claire would disapprove of that. Mustn't go destroying the syllabus now, should we?" His eyes flicked to the mug of tea in Winifred's hand. A touch of concentration, subtle focus, and a very minor twist of Jonathan's fingers and the contents began to bubble just slightly hotter as the mug moved towards the man's lips.

Winifred took a not so careful sip of his tea, knowing it would've cooled down enough by now to be able to swiftly drink before returning to his other duties. The moment the first gulp hit his lips he immediately realised he had miscalculated though. It was scalding hot and the man spat out the rather significant sip he had taken all across the teacher's lounge table. "Bloody hell!"