x. stir it up [Mitchell Keats]

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

It was Friday evening, and Bray found herself in the library as per usual. This time, however, it was a purely recreational visit. She had been itching for a new comedy read, and was on the hunt for John Dies at the End--a novel written by one of her favorite online humor columnists. Save for a few lounging readers, she was virtually alone on the fourth floor.

Her ipod earpieces were precariously perched in her rather-large auditory canals, threatening to fall out at any given moment and causing her to continually push them farther in while she browsed the shelves. At the moment, she was grooving her body subtly to Bob Marley and muttering the lyrics to herself.

"It's been a long, long time, yeah!
Since I got you on my mind. Oh-oh!
Now you are here, I said,
it's so clear
There's so much we could do, baby,
Just me and you."

She swayed her hips from side to side, standing on tip-toe to see the titles on the book spines that were hiding on the top shelves. One of the only times someone could catch Bray off guard was when there was a good beat involved. Honestly, she didn't have much of a sense of rhythm--which was why she subscribed to the hippy way of dancing and just rocked back and forth with a bit of a wiggle now and then. It worked.

As usual, she was wearing clothing that did not help to distinguish her as a professor, and her hair was a wild mess. T-shirt, jeans, Vans--it was her go-to wardrobe.

Of course, even though she was absorbed by her music and her task, she was always thinking about something important. This time, it was the upcoming holiday on her mind.

She hadn't been home since she had left for college, almost four years before. Her parents had made no move to invite her back for any occasion; in fact, the only communication with them she had was a rare Christmas or birthday card. Sometimes, it troubled her deeply. However, she was a hard one to read. Any visitor would have assumed that she was simply looking for a book, with no worries on her mind.

Eureka... The book was hers.

Bray didn't even bother to find a table. She slumped down to the floor with her back against a shelving unit and opened the novel, reveling in the scent of paper and ink. Bob Marley continued to croon "Stir It Up" in her ears while she relaxed, waving her toes to the beat.

The beginning of the weekend was easily her favorite time, though she rarely did anything that could be considered "interesting" or "fun". All of her papers were marked, and there was literally no work to be done. It was a good feeling, as she never let herself relax during the workweek. Indeed, Friday brought about a completely different Velma Clarks than what most people had come to expect from her.

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Friday. Freedom! Mitchell had almost shouted that Braveheart style as he’d left his final class. He didn’t but it was a close run thing. Though he liked the school in general he had to admit he liked the weekends just as much, if not more. Education was only fun if it was in reasonable doses. There had been a bunch of studies about effective learning time that had all yielded different results. The general consensus was that somewhere around one hour was good for learning and between ten and thirty minutes for revision. Even with several breaks, five days a week was coming close to pushing it. Still, the weekends made it all worthwhile. Sleeping in was brilliant, lazing around after waking up was also brilliant. Monday mornings… not so much. But there was a whole weekend to go before he had to worry about that. He was wearing his usual combo of shirt, jeans and converse, today in different shades of blue. Boring? Maybe, but did it really matter that much for a day in classes? He had forgone the hat too, that was mainly a weekend thing.

The teen made his way to the library, hoping to maybe find something to read. He had his own little collection of books he was working his way through, but he occasionally liked to mix things up with a book from the library. He had just finished one of his own and he wanted them to last him the full year. He had absolutely no idea what he was looking for, his plan was to just randomly browse the shelves and see if something useful caught his attention. Not the best strategy but he always had his own books to fall back on if he didn’t find anything. He wasn’t really very hopeful about finding something, but he might as well have a look.

Wandering down the rows of shelves, Mitchell found he wasn’t really paying attention to the books. His mind kept wandering for some reason. His mind was getting away from him, going off onto random subjects. He just had too much stuff in his head. He felt more like writing, or talking to someone, or something to engage his mind. Luckily a possible distraction just about fell into his lap. Actually, it was nearly the other way around. As he turned into the next row the Stoat shifter almost tripped over someone sat there reading. Noticing just in time, Mitchell gave a little half hop to avoid landing right on top of the person, and in doing so almost collided with the next bookshelf. As he fell he managed to pretty accurately convey his emotions. ”Bloody hell!” Though it sounded closer to a single random sound than an actual phrase. Looking down, he noticed his creative writing teacher. Why was she sat on the library floor reading? Surely a seat would be a better idea? He looked down, visible confused, not quite sure what to say. If it were another student he would probably have made some comment on how a chair would be more appropriate, but he keeping in mind this was a member of staff he was talking to he decided against that option. He would just see what her reaction was.

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Tagged: Bray
Words: 546
Note: sorry it’s a bit of a failpost. I should stop posting at 1:30am =D

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

Marley had moved on and was replaced by Dylan; Bray loved her Bobs dearly. Thus far, the first few pages of the novel in her lap were proving promising, equal parts comedy and suspense. Witty comedy happened to be one of Bray's favorite things in life, as she loved to laugh--though few people found it an enjoyable sound, especially in the library. She was struggling to keep her mirth to herself and not make a disturbance.

As hard as it was to catch the young woman off guard, she was using all of her cognitive ability to turn the page without breaking concentration on the sentence which was split in half. She had always considered it a great asset to be able to plan sentence structure around page length and font size, so that the reader could not possibly lose the build-up of the storyline before leafing to the next page. It irritated her that this editor did not seem to share her values.

During this temporary numbing of her awareness, a figure approached, unnoticed. Bray had no inclination as to what was going on until the student seemed to trip, and yelled out an expletive. Caught off guard and quite surprised, her first instinct was to throw her novel up into the air and attempt to scamble upright while shrieking like a banshee.

"Freakin' aye!" she yelped, failing in her attempt to stand and falling back onto her posterior, John Dies at the End caught by gravity and landing soundly on her head before flopping back into her lap--almost as if the book was pretending that the incident had never happened.

Still a bit bemused, she blinked up at the figure, who seemed as shaken as she was. It was Mitchell, one of her more talented students. All apprehension melted away and she put a cheery grin on her face, not able to resist the temptation of a corny joke. "Have a nice trip, Mr. Keats?" And that was the tipping point; she burst into an uncontrollable hee-haw of laughter, making quite sure that the scattered readers in the library had no chance to recover from the previous explosion of noise from the incident.

Normally, she would have been quite irate at being disturbed; however, Fridays had a wonderful calming effect on most people, and Bray was no exception. Besides all of that, it was hard to be angry with the boy. It had been an accident, after all, and probably caused by her stubborn love of sitting on the floor.

After a moment, she forced herself to settle down and cleared her throat. "What brings you here, Mitchell?" she asked nonchalantly, reaching into her jeans pocket to turn off the iPod which was blaring "Maggie's Farm" from the earpieces which had fallen out of her ears and onto the carpeted floor.

Tag: Mitchell
WC: 473
Note: that wasn't a failpost at all, booger. i'm a perpetual early-morning poster as well. viva la resistance! [/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell recovered quite quickly, considering he had almost fallen and collided with a bookshelf. The person on the floor, his teacher, tried to leap to her feet. She succeeded only at falling back to the floor, the book she had flung into the air coming down on to her hear before landing rather neatly in her lap.

The teacher was looking up at him, grinning. Now he thought about it, it was pretty funny. He smiled in return, nearly laughing at the thought of what it must have looked like; him awkwardly half leaping and half tripping and her failed attempt to stand. If anyone had been looking it would have been quite a sight. A quick look around told Mitchell that no-one had seen, or at least no-one cared enough to stare. They had made a lot more noise than was usually expected in a library and the students in the area had taken notice, but most just shook their heads and retuned to their reading.

Mitchell was pretty open-minded when it came to jokes, but even he had to admit that one was terrible. He gave a little laugh of his own, though nothing as enthusiastic as his teacher. She was making enough noise to annoy those nearby. ”Well, the flight wasn’t too bad… landing was kinda rough though.” He continued the joke, it was on his nature to be playful and slightly mischievous. Hopefully they wouldn’t disturb anyone too much.

If Mitchell had been reading or studying and someone else had tripped over, he probably would’ve wanted them to just be quiet and get on with whatever they were doing… after he’d had a bit of a giggle at them that is.

The young teacher calmed down after a while, asking him a more sensible question. Completely redundant of course, and well deserving of the sarcasm response it received. ”I was hoping to buy a sack of potatoes… they seem to be all out though.” He held his smile as he spoke, and as always it was good natured sarcasm, he just couldn’t help replying to obvious questions in such a manner, even though he often asked such questions. It was an easy way to start a conversation.

”I was actually looking for something interesting to read, don’t want to exhaust my own book supply before the end of the year. Not having much luck so far though.” He left out the part that he couldn’t really be bothered searching. He just wasn’t in the mood for looking through shelves of books in the hope of finding something good.

Mitchell’s relationship with Velma Clarks was an odd one. Though it was pretty much the standard teacher-student association there was something different about it. She seemed to treat him different to most of the other students. Sometimes it was fun, she challenged his mind. Other times… it was more annoying, like she was pushing him too much. Still, he couldn’t deny that she had helped him. ”Maybe finding a seat would be a better idea?” He asked innocently. He wasn’t accusing her or anything, he just wanted to know why she chose to sit on the floor beside the bookshelf.

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Tagged: Bray!
Words: 532
Note: I have to run on American time if I want to chat to you all, so the early morning is the only time I can get feedback really… I’m never as happy with my work as I could be.

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

Of all of her students, Mitchell Keats was one of the few whom Ms. Clarks could see going places with his talent. He was much more interested and determined than the majority; she couldn't possibly allow him to fail. Consistently, she would test him to the limit, simply to see what his breaking point was. Thus far, he had done quite well with handling whatever she decided to throw at him.

"Hardy-harr-harr," she snorted in retort to the potato sack reference. Of course it had been a dull question, and she had fully anticipated Mitchell's sarcastic response. Being a cynic in her own right, she accepted the poke without retaliation. It had been an admirably quick remark on his part.

Bray picked up John Dies at the End and waved it above her head toward the young man. "You should put this one on your to-read list. It's fantastic." She withdrew the novel and leaned on the bookshelf behind her to successfully stand upright and dust off the back of her jeans, then waggled a finger at him. "But there's only one copy of it in this whole damn library, even as huge as it is, so you'll have to wait until I'm finished." She had cursed quite openly, but she often did when not in her formal teaching role. She couldn't quite recall if she had done so in front of a student before, but really didn't give it much thought, and moved on.

It was rather like Mitchell to ask questions, especially about any of her peculiar habits. "Ah, Mitchell, always the conformist," she taunted him, quite jokingly. "If the man told you to give him your lunch money, would you?" She grinned again, casually remarking, "He told me to, and I'm probably wanted for tax evasion in at least three states." It was true, but the amount of money owed in question was far too small for any law enforcement agency to really care about. It would take a higher budget to find her than the result would award anybody.

"I simply got sidetracked. This book is really quite entertaining." Once again, she waved the book in front of him before tucking it under her elbow. Her canvas bag lay sloppily on the floor, and she slipped the toe of her shoe underneath the nylon strap, lifting her leg so that she could grab it with her hand and sling it over her shoulder haphazardly.

An empty table was not too far away, and she began to walk toward it, not looking back to see if the student followed. If he did, she would gladly carry on their conversation; if he chose not to, that would be fine. Once she reached the table, she turned her back to it and lifted herself onto the flat surface, swinging her legs back and forth underneath it.

//Tag: Mit-chell
//WC: 477
//Notes: ah, pshaw. you're great, my little britastic friend.[/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell eyed the book his teacher dangled before his eyes. It looked interesting, though he only caught a glimpse of it. It might be worth a look into, if only because of the intriguing title. With a title like that you would expect the author to have at least some surprises hidden away. Just as soon as a cure for his boredom was shown to him it was taken away. Ms. Clarks played the teacher authority card and denied him the book, even adding in the finger movement, as though pre-empting his argument. If she hadn’t been his teacher he might have tried to argue or negotiate. But it didn’t matter all that much, he knew what he wanted now, and one of his own books would hold him until then. He barely even registered the cursing, he had heard a lot worse from people at home.

She responded to him in a way he hadn’t expected. He stopped for a moment to think about what she had said. He had never thought about it from that point of view before. His eyes shifted focus, looking up and a little to the right, over his teacher’s shoulder. He still heard what she was saying, just didn’t respond for a couple of seconds. When he did respond he found he was talking to his teacher’s back. ”Hold on, There’s…” He started, before realising and moving to follow Ms Clarks, if he couldn’t have her book he could at least get a decent conversation out of her.

The young woman sat, not on a chair, but on a table. Was she just reinforcing the point she’d made or did she genuinely have something against chairs. Mitchell made his way over to her, pulling a chair round and perching on the edge of it, continuing where he left off. ”There’s hardly a comparison, first off there’s nothing to be lost by sitting in a chair. Actually there’s generally a benefit. Usually the same is true for taxes, where else will the government get it’s money? Charge you for the police, that’ll work. ‘Sorry Sir but It’ll be $100 for me to stop that robber’, I can’t see that lasting long. I’m no expert on taxation but in this so-called enlightened age I think people would realise if they were no help at all.” Mitchell couldn’t help rambling a little, it was just how he talked. He actually rather admired the way his teacher could get across the same point as him in half the time… and half the words.

Still not finished, The student moved on to the second half of his hastily compiled response. ”Chairs are generally used because they’re handy, denying their usefulness is usually the cry of the non-conformist, denying something because it’s widely used. Just like those indie guys, denouncing every group lucky enough to get a record label as a sell-out. I mean, yeah, they want to express their individuality, hence the name, but taking it to the point where you remove things that you enjoy simply because they’re now also loved by the masses is absurd. Ideas that become widely used are that way generally because they’re useful, people who avoid using them are only making their own lives more difficult, living in contempt of good ideas, almost reminds me of the nay-sayers who criticized everything from the steam engine to the microprocessor and I feel like this is getting rather tangential.” He stopped, realising he had barely taken a breath since he started talking. His teacher should be used to his long winded rants by now, he never made any apologies for speaking in such a way, his mind moved so fast that if he stopped to try and organise his thoughts they would often leave him behind.

Ms Clarks was an odd teacher. She seemed to enjoy doing things her own way and didn’t care for being ‘normal’. She actually came rather close to the people Mitch had been describing only a minute ago. She was different even from them though, it was hard to describe. In a way she was more individual than the indie crowd. Mitchell had something of a love-hate relationship with this particular teacher. Sometimes he relished the challenges she placed before him, sometimes he ended up so frustrated. He would always pull through, though sometimes only barely. She had yet to beat him entirely.

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Tagged: Bray!
Words: 734
Note: Hmm… it seemed to get away from me a little at some points =D

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

She rolled her eyes and waved him off as he bantered. He often did so. Most times, during class, it would put her in a foul mood as she considered it a waste of her valuable time that could be spent actually teaching instead of debating. Once again, however, it was Friday--all bets were off.

"Chairs are traps rigged up by procrastination. If you sit down comfortably, you're much less likely to want to get up and actually accomplish anything." Especially her teacher's desk chair. Oooh, that chair... "And you do ramble from time to time, I hope you realize." She smiled slyly--the remark was not a challenge, just an observation.

"Indie crowd, hm? Why, Mitchell...I'm surprised that you subscribe to Labels Weekly. You're one of the last people I would have expected. It's a horrible magazine. Still, you have a point. Losing affection for something because it's suddenly successful and well known is just sad; at one time, all bands started out on the independent circuit, even for a short while." Bray contemplated for a moment, giving a pause in her speech and curling her lip in thought for a short second. "As for bringing that tangent back to the chair topic, all people started out sitting on the ground--not chairs. I'm completely normal, if a bit retro."

The teacher grinned again, well aware of the fact that she was definitely not "normal" by any means. She considered her closing statement to be a check-mate, though. Her fingertips tapped against the table in absolutely no distinguishable pattern of time or rhythm. It was not an attempt at musicality; her hands simply needed something to do.

"Plans this weekend, Mr. Keats?" she asked sweetly, feigning innocence. She knew very well that he had at least one assignment to do--she personally had tasked his class with an eight-hundred word fictional short story based on a dystopian society, due Monday of course. They had been reading Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, and it seemed only fitting that they explore the concept of a less-than-perfect future. The weekend was no excuse to shut one's brain off, as it was a very useful organ. After all, nobody knew when government and politics would begin to interfere with the Shifter community. It was a secret worry on her mind.

It was true that she was not one to waste words, and generally had a quiet demeanor; it was because of this that many believed her to be a dim bulb. Bray didn't mind this. She much preferred to be severely underestimated, making it all the more shocking and embarrassing for the opposite party when she said something brilliant.

//Tag: MiTcHeLl
//WC: 443
[/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell gave a little half smile and a slight shrug. Yes, he did ramble. They were both well aware of it by now. He wasn’t going to change; his mind just didn’t work all that well. ”I disagree, sitting on the floor, or in some other uncomfortable manner, is much more distracting, at least to me, than sitting in a chair. Constantly shifting about and trying to get into a position that you can stand. Whereas if you sit yourself in a nice chair you can get comfortable, while in a sensible position for working of course, and get on with whatever you’re doing.” Surprisingly Mitchell had tried to keep his response brief. It hadn’t worked, mainly due to his inability to leave out all the details. He could ignore some but getting a short, simple answer from him was like getting blood from a stone.

Mitchell wasn’t really prepared for the response he received, but it didn’t take him long to reply; he had been accused of stereotyping before. ”Subscribing to Labels weekly? As opposed to a large percentage of the American population who not only segregate themselves by interests but also by race, sexual orientation, heritage and a multitude of other pointless differences. While I’m not one for book burning I burn that particular journal whenever I have the opportunity. I referred to those Indie guys who denounce those who become a success. I wasn’t generalising the entire ‘indie’ community, just the individuals within who fit the criteria. And surely, in the times where everyone sat on the floor they did so because of the absence of chairs. People didn’t wear clothes before they were invented but I don’t see many people considering that Retro” It wasn’t the most appropriate comparison but he hadn’t had the time to think up anything better. He could see her point but he didn’t understand why you would forego more modern advances in favour of the older alternative, Chairs were kept around because they helped, not ‘just because’.

Teachers didn’t usually take an interest in Mitchell’s personal life, though the sifter expected Velma Clarks was just making conversation, at least at first. ”Well I don’t really make plans, I prefer to just ‘go with it’ if you get my meaning. If you do stuff when you want to you are so much more productive. I prefer living in the moment, although planning is useful and I am now thinking you’re not just asking out of interest.” He trailed off a little at the end of the last sentence, drawing the word ‘interest’ out slightly as he thought. One of the problems with speaking constantly is that a sudden new thought could make it’s way into his speech.

”I realise now that you’re inquiring when I’m going to get your assignment done. Well, fear not, I have… not started but have done some planning. I am currently thinking of a sort of steam punk underwater society designed to ‘leave the old world behind’ and create a society without gods, kings or other figures of idolisation. Of course forcing people to avoid idolisation and removing their faith would cause some problems and effectively remedying them… well I wouldn’t want to spoil the plot.” Mitchell had never been the best liar, and this was one hell of a lie. He was doing it more for fun than anything else. He had done some planning, nothing on paper but it was all there in his head. It wasn’t anything like what he had described, though. He had just summarised the plot of a game he’d played over the summer; Bioshock. He thought it would be interesting to test his teacher for once. That and he wanted to make his actual story more of a surprise.

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Tagged: Bray!
Words: 630
Note: I am liking the way these guys work together

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

It was difficult to follow Mitchell at the best of times, and Bray was suddenly stricken with a bout of hunger pangs. Concentration became much of a hassle, and she only half-absorbed the latter of her student's exhibit.

She waved him off errantly. "Society dictates that we do this, and we do that, because 'the times, they are a-changing', to quote Bob Dylan. It's really a matter of preference as to wanting to sit in a chair or sit on the floor, take cream with your coffee or drink your morning joe with a finger of brandy. Perhaps, I just prefer to do things the hard way, which is also an option." Her rear was beginning to fall asleep from her perching on the tabletop, but she would not stand up from it in front of Mitchell--it would be like surrendering, which she simply did not do.

Listening to his description of the story he evidently planned to write over the weekend, her eyes widened just slightly and she tilted her head. It could have been interpreted as astonishment at the originality and creative genius of the plot. The reality was, she was in disbelief that he thought he could really pull the wool over her eyes.

Time to knock him back down a peg.

"I am Andrew Ryan, and I am here to ask you a question," she began, a smirk raising the corners of her lips. She leaned forward, her hands holding onto the edge of the table. "Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" she asked with a serious expression on her face, which was quite close to his as she stared him in the eyes challengingly.

She continued the monologue in a dramatic tone, once again raising her voice and disturbing nearby readers. "No, says the man in Washington; it belongs to the poor. No, says the man in the Vatican; it belongs to God. No, says the man in Moscow; it belongs to everyone." Ms. Clarks could never resist a quoted speech.

In a split second, she was standing on top of the heavy oak table, drawing looks from around the library and loudly reaching the climax of the soliloquy. "I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose..." Fist raised, she paused for dramatic effect. "...Rapture!"

Oh man...my butt's asleep...

Finished for the moment, her eyes looked kindly down to Mitchell, though there was a bit of an admonishing gleam to her gaze. "It was a nice try, but I must insist that you not fib me again. I am a teacher, after all." Her stomach rumbled impatiently, awaiting its evening meal. She took the opportunity to step down from the table and give her half-asleep posterior a tingling awakening. Deftly opening her cloth satchel, she produced a large ziploc bag full of grass clippings, and proceeded to shove it into her mouth by the fistful.

"Great story though," she agreed through a half-chewed mouthful of vegetation.

//Tag: mitch-L
//WC: 503
//Notes: xD they're great! i'm loving this.[/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell couldn’t understand his teacher’s views on chairs. It was such a simple object that had somehow become a rather complicated topic of debate. Chairs were used because they were useful, how could she say that it was merely a convention imposed by society. Although she did have a point; other cultures had alternatives to the chair that worked perfectly well. But then again they were still methods of sitting comfortable, and some of them were more imposed by the society of the place than chairs, which were quite informal by comparison. He wondered if those thoughts would make any sense if he spoke them, they barely made sense to him in his head.

For a second or two Mitchell thought he was getting away with his story. Teachers are generally considered to be out of touch with the younger generation. However, Ms Clarks was very young for a teacher, which made it a bit of a gamble. Within a few seconds of him finishing he realised he had failed. And when he failed in front of his creative writing teacher you could usually count on her to make sure he knew it.

She made quite a show out of it. First leaning in close, speaking in a dramatic voice. The volume of her speech rose as she continued. Not only did she know the game, she had memorised the opening cinematic. What she did next was shocking even to Mitchell. She stood on the desk, broadcasting the introduction to Bioshock to the entire library. Mitchell began to feel a little self-conscious. She finished with even more drama, fist raised, voice ringing out to the stunned students looking over.

She finished by finally telling him off for lying. As thought she hadn’t done enough already. The student gave a little shrug by way of an explanation. He thought it would be better than saying ‘I thought I could get away with it’ or ‘I was testing you’. ”Point proven.” He didn’t think much more had to be said.

His teacher got down from the table, not seeming to care about the students still staring at her. She was a lot more unconventional than she appeared in class, and she was pretty eccentric even then. Mitchell watched as she took what was unmistakably a bag of grass from her satchel. He raised an eyebrow a little as she proceeded to eat it. ”Does that count as one of your five a day?” He might cook up some weird recipes but grass wasn’t something he could see himself eating. ”And, yea, the storyline was good, lacked a bit in re-playability though.” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to move on from her little… outburst? He wasn’t sure if that was the right word but it seemed to fit.

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Tagged: Ms. Clarks =D
Words: 466
Note: Mitch would hate it if anyone actually wrote his name as Mitch-L =D

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

In some small way, she felt a little betrayed that Mitchell would actually attempt a bald-faced lie in her company. She had to remind herself that he was young, and theirs was a student-teacher relationship that was spent mostly by testing each other's limits. Bray contemplated in the back of her mind, and decided ultimately that she could forgive him--and that was that. The subject would not come up again; she would never put him through double jeopardy. She had never been one to hold a grudge about something so small.

She munched on her unusual snack and nodded as if to answer his 'five a day' question--which was probably rhetorical and did not call for a reply anyway. "You know, I saw the groundskeeper mowing the commons area this morning, and I just couldn't resist. I love grass." She paused meditatively, chaining the topic to something that had been on her mind as of late. "Isn't it strange the way that some traits carry over from our shifts? I never really liked any vegetables before my first shift; now I'm eating 'off the land', so to speak. Sometimes I feel that you change in more ways than just your outward appearance."

It was difficult keeping up with faces and names, much more so trying to keep everyone's shift identities straight. Ms. Clarks was fairly certain that Mitchell's alternate was a stoat. There were so many different species running around at the Academy that she hardly remembered her own. Personally, she neither enjoyed nor hated her animal form; the only donkey shift that she knew of was herself, and donkeys really didn't fit into any other animal group on the island.

One would automatically assume that she would be found hanging around the horse shifts, as donkeys were known to be just as fast and fairly similar in appearance. However, it was painfully obvious the one time that she did attempt to forge friendships with her equine counterparts that the differences went deeper than what could be seen from the surface. Horses tended to be vain, herd-minded individuals, and did not respond kindly to long-eared, loud-mouthed asses showing them up in a race.

Mostly, she just kept to herself, as her nature dictated. Bray wasn't crazy about interacting with others on a normal basis--a little socializing here and there was fine, with small conversations like the one she was having now, but she didn't particularly worry over fitting in. This was probably the reason for all of her eccentric behavior.

//Tag: monsieur Keats
//WC: 448
//Notes: xD bray may have to refer to him on his class papers just to get under his skin then. these guys are fun.[/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell was a little surprised that he wasn’t punished further for blatantly lying to his teacher. Part of him was expecting something to be thrown his way by way of retaliation, something on the lines of another few hundred words, or some other addition to his short story, some form of challenge for him to overcome. But maybe Ms. Clarks wasn’t the type to retaliate in such a way, and did she really need a reason to challenge him more.

Mitchell’s face contorted into an expression even he wasn’t sure of. It was part surprise and amazement, part disgust and a little bit interest. ”You saw the groundskeeper cutting the grass…. And you took some?” He changed his expression to a more level one, it wasn’t polite to look that way to anyone, let alone a teacher. ”So… not only is it grass, it’s grass that has been trodden on by God knows how many people with all sorts of little nasties on their shoes. I hope you washed it… several times. With bleach… actually bleach might be more detrimental than beneficial so… maybe without the bleach, but still. Mitchell had always felt like he could go a little further when talking to her. The teacher-student barrier was still there, but it was a bit thinner than with most of his other teachers.

It was true that some traits did seem to pop up in people that hadn’t been there before they had shifted. Mitchell had talked to several people who had mentioned odd habits or tendencies since they had started shifting. Mitchell had found that become a little more sudden in his movements, though not much. Peoples animals were based on their personality, so quite a lot of the behaviours their animal had were ones they themselves already possessed. But sometimes things went the other way around just a tad. ”Are you saying that grass eating is something you started doing after you shifted? How did that thought get into your head? ‘Oh, that grass looks tasty. It’s ok I’m kind of an animal anyway’. I mean, it just seems a weird thing to start doing.” His tone wasn’t accusing, more conversational; he was genuinely interested in why his teacher had started eating grass.

Mitchell liked finding out interesting little quirks that people had. Finding out about different people in general was amazing but finding someone with an interesting little trait was so much better. Mitchell often took characteristics of people he had met and tried incorporating them into characters for his novel. Or rather, his possible novel. Though he had several ideas and half a rainforests worth of notes lying around he still hadn’t settled on… anything really. There was so much he could write about and he just couldn’t decide. He didn’t want to try to incorporate too much into one story and ruin the whole thing.

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Tagged: Ms. Clarks =D
Words: 480
Note: kinda lost my way towards the end… think I brought it back though.

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

She ruminated thoughtfully, her jaw sliding from side to side as she ground the grass down to a swallowable consistency. "Of course not, Mitchell. I don't have time to wash the grass. I've got a classroom to organize and papers to finish grading before you guys come in for homeroom." She was lying, of course. Bray always had her work done the night before, and all she did in the mornings was sit at her desk and read teen romance novels for an hour while waiting for the rest of the school to stir. She was fairly certain that she could get away with this fib.

"What doesn't kill you will ultimately make you stronger, they say. Of course, I have no idea who they are...they could be tobacco lobbyists in Washington for all I know." Bray finally swallowed the ball of green mush, and it went down smoothly. Delicious...

"I didn't always dine this way, you know. The first time I shifted, I had just graduated from high school." Bray actually seemed to blush a bit in shame, and seemed a bit smaller as she looked away from Mitchell for a split second to hide her emotions. "I developed a bit...later than usual. Anyway, I ran through the town all evening, and when I woke up the next morning I had been rounded up by the local animal control group. I was in a pasture with horses, cows, goats, and other livestock that had either been abandoned by their owners or had escaped their home ranges. I had been eating grass throughout most of the night. Since then, a patch of green is really hard to overlook." Not much for sharing, this was the first time that Ms. Clarks had really opened up to anybody at all on this island.

"I have a discerning palate, too," she added with a grin. "I can tell the difference between bermuda grass and Kentucky blue; I absolutely loathe rye grass in the springtime, but it's one of my favorites during winter; I know the best ways to cook up certain wildflowers into something tasty. Dandelion root tea and salad are my signature dishes." She seemed rather proud of herself. Not too many people would admit to eating strange things, but then again Bray was a strange person.

"What about yourself? Any animal urges?" she asked with genuine interest.

//Tag: oh, you know
//WC: 430
//Notes: you take your time replying now, tristy. i'm in no hurry![/b]

[Mitchell Keats]

-x-

Mitchell gave his ‘I think that’s disgusting but whatever floats your boat’ face. It was a rather interesting thing to see. He scrunched up has face a little and raised an eyebrow, while simultaneously tilting his head back in an acknowledging way. Ms. Clarks had never been a normal person, even in class. Eating fresh cut, non-washed grass was just another thing to add to the list of unconventional things she did. Mitchell was odd when it came to the subject of cleanliness. Some things he required to be clean, like his hands, but other things he just didn’t seem to care so much about. Food was one thing he was picky about. If it had so much as brushed the floor he wouldn’t touch it. Unless it had been properly cleaned of course.

Mitchell’s eyebrow rose again almost as soon as it had returned to normal. That was one of the phrases that he hated. ”I really dislike that phrase. There are many, many situations where something can happen that will leave you alive but weakened. I could brutally attack you, maybe hack off a limb or two. You may survive but be left severely handicapped and possibly an emotional and mental wreck. I could, through some state of events or another, emotionally devastate you and leave you essentially a broken husk. Of course you realise that I’m using ‘you’ as a general term meaning pretty much anyone.” There was just a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. It wasn’t much, it was something that irritated him, but not something he really hated. He was against the concept but it wouldn’t ruin his day.

Mitchell listened to his teacher’s story. There was a thoughtful and slightly bemused expression on his face. It was quite unexpected, that she would share this information with him. Sure, it might just be making conversation but usually the ‘first time I shifted’ story was something reserved for closer acquaintances. Still, if she was willing to tell Mitchell was willing to listen. It was actually quite an interesting story, wait… did she just blush a little back there? She certainly did move on with the story rather quickly. It was quite a different story to his own. Interesting to hear, though. He gave a slow nod when she finished her tale, to show that he understood and liked it. Well, not so much liked as appreciated the telling of it. He didn’t say anything though, he didn’t feel it was his place, for once. Maybe if she inquired about his first shift he would pry further into hers.

He stayed silent as she went into her peculiar sense of taste. It was interesting to hear, though slightly weird. Mitchell had never thought so much into… well, wild plant life. Though he was a bit of a chef himself at times he hadn’t considered… well… grass. Which was pretty understandable if you think about it. ”That’s…. quite a skill. I… make a pretty mean barbeque chicken and Bolognese sauce sandwich… sounds better than it tastes, honestly. I also make several other… interesting dishes. Not much of a salad man. Apart from in good meat sandwiches… you can’t beat a nice bit of salad in a strong flavoured meat sandwich.” He felt confident that his slightly whacky cooking style wouldn’t weird the teacher out.

Her next question… Ah, not one that he could provide a very interesting answer to. Oh well, he could try. ”Well… not as such. Maybe I’m a bit… twitchier. You know, more sudden. But then what traits would I really take on? A bouncing fluid motion when I move? Taking on people three times my size? Chasing small woodland creatures for food? I think I’m pretty much as close to my animal as I can get without it becoming slightly weird. Or causing some changes in my personality, which would probably, in turn, change my animal, making the whole thing slightly redundant.” This got Mitchell thinking. If a person’s personality decided what their animal was and yet they became a bit more little their animal after shifting, what if their personality was close to two animals, only one was, for example, more aggressive than the other. If the person wasn’t aggressive but both animals were to a degree, would the person become the less aggressive one? And even then, if that increased his aggression levels would that make him worthy of the more aggressive animal? Probably not. Still, it was something to think about.

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Tagged: V-V-V-Velma!
Words: 752
Note: took me most of the night to write =D I’m so easily distracted

[Velma "Bray" Clarks]

x.........x

Oh Mitchell, always the analyzer. Of course, she had expected his reaction to her old adage, as he always seemed to have some sort of qualm about anything that began with "as they say..." Perhaps there was some internal issue there, she mused, but did not dwell on it. Instead, she offered a surrogate. "Maybe the saying should be 'what doesn't kill you makes you stranger'. Would that suit you?"

His meal plan sounded, well...odd, as he seemed to be aware of. Bray personally did not eat meat that much; it wasn't for any heath reason, or PETA brainwashing--she simply did not enjoy it. The words "meat" and "sandwich" just sounded weird when put together. Yick...

He had a point, with the redundancy remark. She let him have it as it was fairly earned. "I'll give you that one. Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to what exact combination of personality traits leads to having a certain animal as one's shift." Not waiting to see if he followed, she kept on, "Have you noticed how athletic, strong leaders tend to take on shifts like lions? Sociable, loyal people end up as wolves. What gets me is, there are several animals that would embody the same traits. Is it a certain balance of traits that determines a shift?"

She was obviously getting caught up in her thought, and the brainstorm continued without a pause. Normally, she would have waited for input, but at times Bray was so fervently involved in what she was saying that she forgot there was actually someone to be conversing with. "And, furthermore, as humans we change through the duration of our lives. Like characters in a novel, we learn and we change. What happens when someone undergoes a great psychological upheaval or gains new insight, changing their personality? Can shifts adapt to that? I've never heard of the notion, but it would make sense to me."

Suddenly, she realized that he was still there, and stopped the train from rolling on without him. Glancing around, she noticed that a few of the readers were in the process of packing up and leaving with an irritated aura about them. Oh well. Nobody really paid any mind to the signs posted around the library imploring guests to keep the volume down. She always half-expected a student to approach her in the library and begin a confrontation, unaware of her status as a teacher as she certainly did not dress the part. The idea, though slightly embarassing, was actually very exciting and she occasionally wished for such entertainment.

//Tag: yer it n.n
//WC: 437
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