Surviving (and Thriving) on Fandom Island, Week 6 (Wed. Period 3)
This week the Danger Shop was filled with large cushions, pillows, blankets, and overstuffed chairs, with two large whiteboards at the front and a pile of notebooks and pens by the door.
"Some of you may have already noticed that the island has decided to be strange today," Ghanima said cheerfully, once everyone had arrived. "In this case, it would appear the singing urge has hit us all again, so we're going to talk, write, or sing about some of the recurring bouts of whimsey the island sends us."
"Also, all of you can feel free to take a notepad and paper with you today, if you think you'll have any luck writing down what you want to say and keeping your singing voice private."
"You could always try expressing yourself in interpretive dance," Tahiri added, because she would never get over the impulse to be a smartass from time to time. "Though given the diversity of our student body there's no guarantee it'll be interpreted the way you intended."
Just be glad you weren't getting a lecture in the style of an operatic duet or anything like that, okay?
"Pantomime!" Ghanima offered gleefully. "That's still done on this planet, yes?"
GHANIMA, NO. No one wants to do pantomime.
"But as to our topic: Random Things That Happen," she continued. "You'll want to get a good, strong umbrella, as it's not uncommon for it to rain pastries, chocolate rain, glitter, candy, maple syrup, because a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go do--," Ghanima clamped her mouth shut, rolled her eyes, and gestured for Tahiri to continue while she waited out the musical moment.
Tahiri had to slap a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh . . . and then to keep herself from picking up the rest of the line. "All kinds of weird things," she finally managed, a little bit high-pitched from the effort of not singing. "Which may not be falling from the sky; I do remember one incident with an invasion by very large, aggressive vegetables."
Ghanima was still humming under her breath, so she walked over to the whiteboard and uncapped a pen and started writing. FLYING SHARKS. INABILITY TO NOT TELL THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. PI DAY. She paused for a moment, then put a smiling face next to PI DAY. She did like that one, tiny pi-rats and all.
"Then there are the weekends that you may wake up as someone entirely different than usual," Tahiri added, stubbornly trying to avoid singing. "Those can be pretty unnerving, but at least you're almost always assured that the sun'll come out t--" She shut her eyes, shook her head, and sighed. "It wears off by Monday morning."
"And then there's the weekends where children from alternate futures show up. Instead of having your current friends-and-family give you headaches, you get to feed toddlers or keep pre-teens out of trouble," Ghanima said. "Or there's the occasions where everyone spends a weekend regressed to their childhood. If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!" Her left hand went over her mouth even as she started laughing, and Ghanima made an 'I'm done' motion with her free hand.
"Not I," Tahiri picked up the line before she could stop herself, and dissolved into laughter herself. "Well, usually we have discussion time, but if there's anything you want to sing about instead this week . . . join us, come and waste an hour or two." Wrong show, Tahiri.
She waved her hands. "You get the idea."
"Some of you may have already noticed that the island has decided to be strange today," Ghanima said cheerfully, once everyone had arrived. "In this case, it would appear the singing urge has hit us all again, so we're going to talk, write, or sing about some of the recurring bouts of whimsey the island sends us."
"Also, all of you can feel free to take a notepad and paper with you today, if you think you'll have any luck writing down what you want to say and keeping your singing voice private."
"You could always try expressing yourself in interpretive dance," Tahiri added, because she would never get over the impulse to be a smartass from time to time. "Though given the diversity of our student body there's no guarantee it'll be interpreted the way you intended."
Just be glad you weren't getting a lecture in the style of an operatic duet or anything like that, okay?
"Pantomime!" Ghanima offered gleefully. "That's still done on this planet, yes?"
GHANIMA, NO. No one wants to do pantomime.
"But as to our topic: Random Things That Happen," she continued. "You'll want to get a good, strong umbrella, as it's not uncommon for it to rain pastries, chocolate rain, glitter, candy, maple syrup, because a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go do--," Ghanima clamped her mouth shut, rolled her eyes, and gestured for Tahiri to continue while she waited out the musical moment.
Tahiri had to slap a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh . . . and then to keep herself from picking up the rest of the line. "All kinds of weird things," she finally managed, a little bit high-pitched from the effort of not singing. "Which may not be falling from the sky; I do remember one incident with an invasion by very large, aggressive vegetables."
Ghanima was still humming under her breath, so she walked over to the whiteboard and uncapped a pen and started writing. FLYING SHARKS. INABILITY TO NOT TELL THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. PI DAY. She paused for a moment, then put a smiling face next to PI DAY. She did like that one, tiny pi-rats and all.
"Then there are the weekends that you may wake up as someone entirely different than usual," Tahiri added, stubbornly trying to avoid singing. "Those can be pretty unnerving, but at least you're almost always assured that the sun'll come out t--" She shut her eyes, shook her head, and sighed. "It wears off by Monday morning."
"And then there's the weekends where children from alternate futures show up. Instead of having your current friends-and-family give you headaches, you get to feed toddlers or keep pre-teens out of trouble," Ghanima said. "Or there's the occasions where everyone spends a weekend regressed to their childhood. If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!" Her left hand went over her mouth even as she started laughing, and Ghanima made an 'I'm done' motion with her free hand.
"Not I," Tahiri picked up the line before she could stop herself, and dissolved into laughter herself. "Well, usually we have discussion time, but if there's anything you want to sing about instead this week . . . join us, come and waste an hour or two." Wrong show, Tahiri.
She waved her hands. "You get the idea."