(creative_muses)"And learn until our brains all rot."

Apr 09, 2009 11:58

Flying by the seat of your pants.

(OOC: Future-fic for greypicketfence. It's a little different than my normal stuff because it's from a specific outsiders POV. I dunno. It just happened. And Uh. . .if anyone goes to Columbia I've taken liberties and there are inaccuracies. I, clearly, didn't go there. Feel free to correct me.)

Jackson McCullen wasn't stupid. Even if he was here on a sports scholarship. It was Columbia. Even the idiots didn’t survive unless they had more brains than the average person.

But just because he had brains didn't mean he wanted to give them a work out all the time either. And that was exactly why he and his friend Travis had signed up for this class. Not only was it Music Appreciation, which sounded like it might possibly be the easiest three credits he'd ever earned, but this particular section was taught by a first year professor. They never knew what the hell they were doing. How was that for using his brain.

It was a big class, 'rocks for jocks' type classes always were, filling a lecture hall. These things didn't need to be personal. They just needed to take up three hours a week. There were already a bunch of people already there when he and Travis got there. The only honestly empty section of seats was about five rows from the front. And the reason it was empty was because there was a road block.

The road block was a sleeping student. He was slouched low in his seat, legs propped up on the seat in front of him. Jackson got a good long look at him and he stared in annoyance. Worn jeans, heavy scuffed black boots, a dark blue t-shirt with some sort of weird scrolling pattern over one shoulder in white and a flannel shirt. He had a bunch of strange bracelets with strange charms on them. And freckles. The guy had freckles for God's sake. Jackson was surprised there wasn't a fleet of hovering women.

Travis smacked him on the arm to get his attention and then shuffled along the nearly full row of other students before climbing over the back of the seats to sit in the blocked row. Jackson followed suite and soon had his butt in a seat.

There was paper on each little fold out desk that read: What is your favorite song/group/recording artist/band/composer/type of music? And why. DO NOT put your names on this. See? It's anonymous. Be honest. I've been accused of listening to 'chick music' most of my life. Work with me here.

It was a little odd. An assignment but no professor, but other students were busily writing. Maybe the guy had just left to use the john or something and would be back. Jackson fished out a pen and jotted down a quick answer.

And then waited. The class filled up the rest of the way, which wasn't surprising, as people usually came to the first class. If only to figure out what the attendance pollicies were and how much effort was going to be required of them. So, full class but still no professor.

It wasn't long after that Professor Laiman strode past the open door and then back tracked. Not a man to mess with. He leaned into the doorway and sighed before stepping into the room. Travis shot him a nervous look. "Shit." It was a whisper. "Is he our prof? You said it was some new guy."

"Dunno." Jackson whispered but fell silent as Laiman loomed over the sleeping kid.

"Has any one ever told you," Laiman snapped. "That you are a supremely irritating individual?"

"It's a skill, dude." Said the kid who apparently wasn't asleep.

"Did he just call Laiman 'dude'?" Travis whispered.

"Get yourself up and do something useful or."

"Or?"

"Or I'll have Nancy let me into your office where I will take your iPod and your entire stash of candy canes."

The kid's eyes popped open. "Seriously? That's fuckin' cruelty to animals or something. Breaking the Geneva Convention."

Laiman stepped back and jabbed a finger in the snoozers direction. "Less sleeping and more teaching or there will be reprisals."

A student snuck in late, skittered along the wall and dove for a seat. "See?" The kid's legs folded in and his boots hit the floor. "Just waiting for the stragglers." He stands with a grin and a stretch. "Believe it or not I had a plan."

Laiman only shakes his head an leaves. The snoozer bounces down the steps and to the front of the room. "So." He raised an eyebrow at all of them. "I'm your tour guide on this little mad adventure. Otherwise known as Professor Winchester. Yeah, I know. I'm still trying to work that shit out myself. I do promise not to tax your brain, but I don't promise not to scar your delicate psyches." He grinned. "So lets see what you like and what we have to work with. Care to pass those papers forward?"

Winchester sat on the desk and kicked his feet back and forth like a child, obviously waiting. Jackson couldn't decide whether he had made a grievous error or had a stroke of genius when he'd pick this class.

Muse: Alec McDowellWinchester/X5-494
'Verse: greypicketfence
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 826

'verse: grey picket fence, (comm) creative muses, piano, cat instinct!, minty!, geektastic, fic

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