[Dante Valiero: START]
Hamlet kinda needs to take a chill pill.
That's what Dante was getting out of this class, mostly.
Not that he wasn't paying attention or anything- he was following along to the best of his ability, if only because he knew he sure as hell wouldn't be able to parse a word of this without Mrs. Webber's explanations. But he kept getting distracted by important thoughts about why Hamlet was being such a jerk to people, and why Shakespeare had to use such weird words, and why was it so hot in this classroom anyway, and was he supposed to come home early to babysit? I should write these things down.
He should probably be taking notes right now, shouldn't he.
Dante picked up his pen and glanced down at his paper, currently decorated with some hastily written notes and some badly-drawn doodles of cats. He glanced at his copy of Hamlet and tuned in to what Mrs. Webber was saying- and whatever weird Shakespearean speech she was reading was most definitely not the one on his page. He rapidly flipped through the pages but, shit, she was reading really fast and all of these soliloquies sounded the same to him anyway. How far behind had he managed to get?!
He decided after a long moment of deliberation to take that chill pill himself and not worry about it for now. He'd get his tutor to explain whatever he missed, and everything would work out fine, right? He put his pen to paper and went back to doodling aimlessly.
Imparare
BRIDGETTE SOMMERFELD: PREGAME START
English was one of Bridgette's least favorite classes: it wasn't a subject she felt like she'd benefit from learning about, considering her career aspirations. Becoming a biochemist required extensive knowledge of science and math, not critical readings of the Great Gatsby or how to write the perfect persuasive essay. It didn't help that Bridgette just plain disliked the coursework, finding writing boring and critical analysis of fictional characters convoluted and unnecessary. But despite all this, Bridgette needed to pass this class in order to graduate, to move on to bigger and better things.
So for now she bottled up her feelings about English class and put all her effort into taking notes.
At least they were just reading. Bridgette herself enjoyed reading, but her life was too hectic for her to just pick up a book and read. She still listened to audio books when she could, and duly read anything assigned to her in class. Reading them out loud in class was even better, with Mrs. Webber's reading and interjecting with explanations. It allowed her to fall into a story as she listened, wrapping herself up in the story of Hamlet as she jotted down why he had said so-and-so or what this soliloquy meant. Her hand was cramping up trying to catch up with Mrs. Webber's words, however, and Bridgette could feel herself slipping out of the zone. Normally she'd work through it, but in this moment, she allowed herself a short break.
Bridgette briefly broke eye contact with her paper and let her eyes wander around the room, her gaze landing on the student to her right. His pen was moving across his paper, but from what Bridgette saw he was just doodling. She scoffed internally at the boy's foolishness. Mrs. Webber was a no-nonsense and efficient teacher, something Bridgette admired about her. This boy was going to get horribly lost with his inattentiveness.
His art style wasn't even that good.
Bridgette couldn't spent too much time looking about, though: she was still in class, and needed to put in her best effort. She went back to taking notes.
English was one of Bridgette's least favorite classes: it wasn't a subject she felt like she'd benefit from learning about, considering her career aspirations. Becoming a biochemist required extensive knowledge of science and math, not critical readings of the Great Gatsby or how to write the perfect persuasive essay. It didn't help that Bridgette just plain disliked the coursework, finding writing boring and critical analysis of fictional characters convoluted and unnecessary. But despite all this, Bridgette needed to pass this class in order to graduate, to move on to bigger and better things.
So for now she bottled up her feelings about English class and put all her effort into taking notes.
At least they were just reading. Bridgette herself enjoyed reading, but her life was too hectic for her to just pick up a book and read. She still listened to audio books when she could, and duly read anything assigned to her in class. Reading them out loud in class was even better, with Mrs. Webber's reading and interjecting with explanations. It allowed her to fall into a story as she listened, wrapping herself up in the story of Hamlet as she jotted down why he had said so-and-so or what this soliloquy meant. Her hand was cramping up trying to catch up with Mrs. Webber's words, however, and Bridgette could feel herself slipping out of the zone. Normally she'd work through it, but in this moment, she allowed herself a short break.
Bridgette briefly broke eye contact with her paper and let her eyes wander around the room, her gaze landing on the student to her right. His pen was moving across his paper, but from what Bridgette saw he was just doodling. She scoffed internally at the boy's foolishness. Mrs. Webber was a no-nonsense and efficient teacher, something Bridgette admired about her. This boy was going to get horribly lost with his inattentiveness.
His art style wasn't even that good.
Bridgette couldn't spent too much time looking about, though: she was still in class, and needed to put in her best effort. She went back to taking notes.
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Latin For Dragula
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((Friendcannon Model Abby v.6: Target Acquired))
Abby wanted to like Shakespeare. She really did. The influence of his work and all that, great, fantastic, clearly literature wouldn't be where it was without him, she knew that. At the same time though...tragedy just wasn't her thing. Sometimes you can't work things out, and sometimes bad things happen, but the problems in Shakespeare's plays seemed solvable if everybody wasn't so darned crazy and sneaky. So much of it came down to miscommunication, too, that it frustrated her and could throw off her mood all day if she thought about it too long.
Hamlet wasn't so bad, she guessed, since all that measured up to a bunch of lying and stabbing. She really felt for poor Ophelia, though. Used by everybody, drowned in a pond, and then more or less forgotten while the plot tromped on. The whole thing hit uncomfortable close to home. Maybe it was for the best that they were spending most of their time talking about crazy old Hamlet and not about that poor girl.
As much as she disliked the subject, Abby tried her best to pay attention in class. She really did, even with Dante sitting next to her scribbling away, or bursting with a fit of energy to try and catch up after his mind wandered off. She tried her best to keep her eyes forward and nod along to the conversation, taking her own chicken-scratch notes and not so much at glancing over at the goofy boy beside her, definitely not letting the corners of her mouth turn up into slight smile or allowing her curiosity to drive her to peek at his scribblings whenever Mrs. Webber turned her back.
Being an honest girl, she couldn't say she she succeeded. But she could darn well say she tried.
Abby wanted to like Shakespeare. She really did. The influence of his work and all that, great, fantastic, clearly literature wouldn't be where it was without him, she knew that. At the same time though...tragedy just wasn't her thing. Sometimes you can't work things out, and sometimes bad things happen, but the problems in Shakespeare's plays seemed solvable if everybody wasn't so darned crazy and sneaky. So much of it came down to miscommunication, too, that it frustrated her and could throw off her mood all day if she thought about it too long.
Hamlet wasn't so bad, she guessed, since all that measured up to a bunch of lying and stabbing. She really felt for poor Ophelia, though. Used by everybody, drowned in a pond, and then more or less forgotten while the plot tromped on. The whole thing hit uncomfortable close to home. Maybe it was for the best that they were spending most of their time talking about crazy old Hamlet and not about that poor girl.
As much as she disliked the subject, Abby tried her best to pay attention in class. She really did, even with Dante sitting next to her scribbling away, or bursting with a fit of energy to try and catch up after his mind wandered off. She tried her best to keep her eyes forward and nod along to the conversation, taking her own chicken-scratch notes and not so much at glancing over at the goofy boy beside her, definitely not letting the corners of her mouth turn up into slight smile or allowing her curiosity to drive her to peek at his scribblings whenever Mrs. Webber turned her back.
Being an honest girl, she couldn't say she she succeeded. But she could darn well say she tried.
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Latin For Dragula
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((Going on a long away, double-posting to exit Abby for thread-mate convenience since I won't be able to post for awhile))
The dreariness of the classroom was really starting to weigh on her. She reckoned that a little bit of air and a drink would freshen her mood up a notch or two. It'd certainly beat sitting here looking for distractions.
Abby quietly excused herself with a hall pass and bounced out into the hallway in search of a fountain.
((Abby Floyd Continued in Extraordianary Machine))
The dreariness of the classroom was really starting to weigh on her. She reckoned that a little bit of air and a drink would freshen her mood up a notch or two. It'd certainly beat sitting here looking for distractions.
Abby quietly excused herself with a hall pass and bounced out into the hallway in search of a fountain.
((Abby Floyd Continued in Extraordianary Machine))
[Matthew Moradi: PREGAME START]
Matthew paid an intense amount of attention, jotting down lines and lines of notes. It's not like he was that into Hamlet - or even Shakespeare, for that matter. Sure, he had influenced a lot of things. The English language, English literature, poetry.. he could appreciate that. Shakespeare had it made in the influencing department - keeping Matt interested, not so much. All the people in Hamlet did was murder each other - murder their brothers, their uncles, themselves. That alone should have kept him interested, of course, but there was just something about it that he didn't like. The way he saw it, Hamlet was just one long string of quotes, but that wasn't Shakespeare's fault.
If Hamlet's the rightful heir to the throne, why doesn't he just kill Claudius?
He went back to taking notes and listening - he had to pay attention. You don't have to understand Shakespeare to become a dentist, right?
Matthew paid an intense amount of attention, jotting down lines and lines of notes. It's not like he was that into Hamlet - or even Shakespeare, for that matter. Sure, he had influenced a lot of things. The English language, English literature, poetry.. he could appreciate that. Shakespeare had it made in the influencing department - keeping Matt interested, not so much. All the people in Hamlet did was murder each other - murder their brothers, their uncles, themselves. That alone should have kept him interested, of course, but there was just something about it that he didn't like. The way he saw it, Hamlet was just one long string of quotes, but that wasn't Shakespeare's fault.
If Hamlet's the rightful heir to the throne, why doesn't he just kill Claudius?
He went back to taking notes and listening - he had to pay attention. You don't have to understand Shakespeare to become a dentist, right?
The class was silent, save for Mrs. Webber's enthusiastic reading and the sound of pencil on paper or the occasional cough. Class was slow today. While she was a straightforward teacher she wasn't one to spend the whole class lecturing. Mrs. Webber usually let them talk in groups, analyzing on their own. Bridgette didn't dwell much on it, though, and just focused on note taking.
The rest of class was uneventful
((Bridgette Sommerfeld continued in Having Fun Isn't Hard))
The rest of class was uneventful
((Bridgette Sommerfeld continued in Having Fun Isn't Hard))
Matt coughed, wondering why everyone in Shakespeare had to make things so complicated. A lot of these people's problems probably could've been solved if they were a little more direct. Hamlet really didn't have to pretend to be stupid and dick around with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, did he? Everything would have gone a lot smoother if he just killed Claudius at the start, or something like that. He was the rightful heir, after all. Not that that would've made for a very good play. He coughed, before going back to taking notes and listening to Ms. Webber's narration.
((Matthew Moradi continued in The First Mistake))
((Matthew Moradi continued in The First Mistake))