An Inaugural PWP: Academia/Pure Maths
Here's hoping this will encourage many and better things...
Academia/Pure Maths: A PWP
Academia fluttered its pages at Pure Maths. "Want to bury your sinusoidal curve deep in my binding?" it asked, its vocal chords quivering in anticipation.
Pure Maths iterated an algorithm in an attempt to hide its excitement.
"Take me," pleaded Academia. "Take me like a runaway freight train that leaves Boston at 9:18 travelling west at 143 miles per hour."
Pure Maths chuckled, its rich laugh reaching deep into its natural logarithms. "Party tricks," it sneered. "You want me to do party tricks? Applied Maths could do this!"
"Hey! You leave Appie out of this!"
Pure Maths sniggered. Implicit in its differentiation was the reminder that they had both laughed equally long and hard over Applied Maths' subservience to all aspects of Academia. 'Mathemagic', as they had nicknamed it, may be more useful to Academia, but they both knew Pure Maths was sexier.
"You want me to make you see uncountable infinities you've never even dreamt of?" Pure Maths asked, perhaps not noticing, perhaps not caring about the effect ending a sentence with a preposition had on its companion. "You want a long, hard Cantor's Diagonal Proof up against the wall?"
It was all Academia could do to nod acquiescence.
"You're going to have to beg."
For an anthropomorph so used to verifying its sources, this was not a problem. "I need you like I need footnotes. I need you like I need lecturers who mutter into the board rather than engaging with their students. I need you like I need Dilbert cartoons gracing the doors of my offices."
"Well," said Pure Maths, its hyperbolic functions dripping with variables, "if you put it like that..."
Academia/Pure Maths: A PWP
Academia fluttered its pages at Pure Maths. "Want to bury your sinusoidal curve deep in my binding?" it asked, its vocal chords quivering in anticipation.
Pure Maths iterated an algorithm in an attempt to hide its excitement.
"Take me," pleaded Academia. "Take me like a runaway freight train that leaves Boston at 9:18 travelling west at 143 miles per hour."
Pure Maths chuckled, its rich laugh reaching deep into its natural logarithms. "Party tricks," it sneered. "You want me to do party tricks? Applied Maths could do this!"
"Hey! You leave Appie out of this!"
Pure Maths sniggered. Implicit in its differentiation was the reminder that they had both laughed equally long and hard over Applied Maths' subservience to all aspects of Academia. 'Mathemagic', as they had nicknamed it, may be more useful to Academia, but they both knew Pure Maths was sexier.
"You want me to make you see uncountable infinities you've never even dreamt of?" Pure Maths asked, perhaps not noticing, perhaps not caring about the effect ending a sentence with a preposition had on its companion. "You want a long, hard Cantor's Diagonal Proof up against the wall?"
It was all Academia could do to nod acquiescence.
"You're going to have to beg."
For an anthropomorph so used to verifying its sources, this was not a problem. "I need you like I need footnotes. I need you like I need lecturers who mutter into the board rather than engaging with their students. I need you like I need Dilbert cartoons gracing the doors of my offices."
"Well," said Pure Maths, its hyperbolic functions dripping with variables, "if you put it like that..."