How to Be a Complete Bitch Without Trying, Workshop 1, Period 2 (Monday, July 7)
A few minutes after class was supposed to start -- well, they didn't call it "fashionably late" for nothing, children -- a very, very chic pixie zipped through the open doorway, carrying with her a bottle of absinthe which was much larger than herself. What, did other teachers attempt this job sober? In that case, they were far braver than Miss Tinker Bell.
A lean man with black hair, blue eyes, and a black and blue side of his face stepped in after her. "Bonjour, children," said Jean-Paul. "This is How to Be a Bitch. The loser classes are being held in different rooms. Please adjust accordingly."
Tink applauded cheerfully. Yes! Yes, this class was all about becoming a bitch. Of course, the children were still losers, because only a loser would need to take a class on how to be a bitch, but at least they were trying. And trying was what mattered most, right, children? ... Well. Trying wasn't nearly as fabulous as winning, but they were teachers now and they had to pretend that sort of garbage was true.
"Indeed," Jean-Paul said, even though he'd really only gotten about seventy-five percent of it, because not admitting weakness was part of being a fabulous bitch. "Now obviously you're not there yet, or you wouldn't need this class, unless you are in fact there yet and are here for the easy A, in which case Ms. Bell and I approve, do we not, Mademoiselle?"
They did! They approved very much indeed. Being a slacker and coasting on your achievements was a very good way of being a bitch. And Tink simply adored being called Mademoiselle. Anyone who was French was automatically doing very well on the Bitch front, because the French were ever-so-chic. Non?
"Oui, oui. And I am French-Canadian, which was even better," but getting back to the actual class real quick. "I suppose," Jean-Paul sighed, "even though it is terribly bourgeois, you should all introduce yourselves. As a formality. I will be calling you by the wrong names anyway."
Oh, Tink never bothered learning names. None of them had names half as fabulous as Tinker Bell, so what was the point? But yes, children. Introduce yourselves, pretend that you have interesting characteristics, tell the class you would like to be a doctor or an astronaut when you grow up, instead of the middle-management drone you should hope you become, as that's far improved over the fast-food work that Tink sees in your future. Make it quick, as Tink has a short attention span.
"You might also," Jean-Paul added, "tell us why you took this class, as it will provide valuable insight into exactly how far you have to go, and possibly make Ms. Bell and I laugh and laugh."
Yes! That could be very amusing. Did Jean-Paul want any of her absinthe? It was simply yummy, and it went well with humiliation and misery and the sweet, sweet tears of pathetic children. See, children, they were learning about bitchiness already! Wasn't this the best class ever?
"Oh, no thank you," Jean-Paul said. "I do not drink before five." He was stuck-up like that. Also, possessed of a freaky metabolism. "In case any of you are wondering what happened to my face, I did this 'headdesking' when I saw the roster for this class." He really didn't, but there was more bitchiness for the students to learn about!
Ugh, the roster. Could it be more pathetic? Well, it was after five somewhere in the world, so Tink was going to start on the absinthe while the boring children talked. This was going to be a long term.
(OOC: please see here if you want more information on the class. HOORAY, BITCHINESS.)