(no subject)
Who: Jacob Anser (MOTHER GOOSE)
What: A narrative, in which Anser gets caught up on recent events
When: A couple hours after this
Where: A lecture hall at New York University
Rating: G
"Over the centuries we have transformed the ancient myths and folk tales and made them into the fabric of our lives. Consciously and unconsciously we weave the narratives of myth and folk tale into our daily existence."
So quoth Professor Jacob Anser, as he stood in front of his third year Literature of Folklore class. Notes were scribbled furiously, for it was a well known fact that Anser did not repeat himself, and was prone to ridiculing at the slightest sign of inattentiveness. "That's Jack Zipes, people. Not that I would expect you to understand the profundity of such a line, but I suggest you rack your feeble little minds in an attempt to, because I expect a two thousand word exploration of the phrase by Tuesday. And remember:" The oldschool pointer stick in his hand was thwacked sharply against the blackboard behind him, where the following words were written in white chalk:
FORBIDDEN BIBLIOGRAPHIC REFERENCES:
- Straw Into Gold by Paul Jillian
- Fables by Bill Willingham
- Ribbon by Quentin Ambroise
The latter restriction always confused students given that it didn't directly deal with fairy tales, but the professor was adamant and few were inclined to argue with him. His assignment was met with a low wave of groans and mutters of objection, but the response only elicited a wry smirk from the professor. "Aw, I certainly hope none of you had exciting plans for the weekend. Now begone, you princes of Maine, you kings of barely passable academic output."
An absent gesture sent the sulking student body collecting up their belongings and filing out of the hall, while the professor started collecting up his things. Several students sheepishly edged towards the podium to speak to their teacher, who presently ignored them. He reached into a drawer and pulled out his cell phone, a device strictly forbidden in his lectures. Flipping it open and turning it on, he raised an eyebrow at the number of messages listed. A passcode was dialed and he lifted it to his ear to begin listening.
His look of mild, and nigh-perpetual, annoyance began to slowly melt away as he listened, first into skeptical disbelief, and then into open horror. The collected students watched in shock as their tyrannical professor blanched in front of them - he only made it partway into the second message before snapping the phone shut. A mad scramble was made through his papers before he pulled out a small leather bound book and pulled it open, flipping frantically through the pages.
Whatever he was looking for, he found it with no small amount of displeasure. His eyes flitted over the contents of the page and his panic galvanized into a sort of grim determination. "You." He said sharply, pointing at a random student who looked absolutely terrified to be singled out. "You're one of those spoiled old money kids. You've got a car. Give me the keys, now." The baffled student didn't even hesitate - he fumbled through his pockets and found a pair of keys, which were offered to the professor, along with a meek direction to where the car was parked.
With keys in hand Anser charged through the parting group of students and out of the room, already pulling open his phone and dialing a number. "Winterburn? I'm on my way. What's going on?"
And thus, it was a very troubled Anser to the rescue.
What: A narrative, in which Anser gets caught up on recent events
When: A couple hours after this
Where: A lecture hall at New York University
Rating: G
"Over the centuries we have transformed the ancient myths and folk tales and made them into the fabric of our lives. Consciously and unconsciously we weave the narratives of myth and folk tale into our daily existence."
So quoth Professor Jacob Anser, as he stood in front of his third year Literature of Folklore class. Notes were scribbled furiously, for it was a well known fact that Anser did not repeat himself, and was prone to ridiculing at the slightest sign of inattentiveness. "That's Jack Zipes, people. Not that I would expect you to understand the profundity of such a line, but I suggest you rack your feeble little minds in an attempt to, because I expect a two thousand word exploration of the phrase by Tuesday. And remember:" The oldschool pointer stick in his hand was thwacked sharply against the blackboard behind him, where the following words were written in white chalk:
FORBIDDEN BIBLIOGRAPHIC REFERENCES:
- Straw Into Gold by Paul Jillian
- Fables by Bill Willingham
- Ribbon by Quentin Ambroise
The latter restriction always confused students given that it didn't directly deal with fairy tales, but the professor was adamant and few were inclined to argue with him. His assignment was met with a low wave of groans and mutters of objection, but the response only elicited a wry smirk from the professor. "Aw, I certainly hope none of you had exciting plans for the weekend. Now begone, you princes of Maine, you kings of barely passable academic output."
An absent gesture sent the sulking student body collecting up their belongings and filing out of the hall, while the professor started collecting up his things. Several students sheepishly edged towards the podium to speak to their teacher, who presently ignored them. He reached into a drawer and pulled out his cell phone, a device strictly forbidden in his lectures. Flipping it open and turning it on, he raised an eyebrow at the number of messages listed. A passcode was dialed and he lifted it to his ear to begin listening.
His look of mild, and nigh-perpetual, annoyance began to slowly melt away as he listened, first into skeptical disbelief, and then into open horror. The collected students watched in shock as their tyrannical professor blanched in front of them - he only made it partway into the second message before snapping the phone shut. A mad scramble was made through his papers before he pulled out a small leather bound book and pulled it open, flipping frantically through the pages.
Whatever he was looking for, he found it with no small amount of displeasure. His eyes flitted over the contents of the page and his panic galvanized into a sort of grim determination. "You." He said sharply, pointing at a random student who looked absolutely terrified to be singled out. "You're one of those spoiled old money kids. You've got a car. Give me the keys, now." The baffled student didn't even hesitate - he fumbled through his pockets and found a pair of keys, which were offered to the professor, along with a meek direction to where the car was parked.
With keys in hand Anser charged through the parting group of students and out of the room, already pulling open his phone and dialing a number. "Winterburn? I'm on my way. What's going on?"
And thus, it was a very troubled Anser to the rescue.