Neworth University, Or Allen James University depending upon how old you were, was really a lovely place. It was a gorgeous green campus with blanketing willows, fertile gardens, buildings that had seen all of Neworth’s history. The dormitories, though not for the faint of assets, had once housed heads of state, generals, and the wealthiest of merchants whom had ever crossed its path. The lecture halls were converted ballrooms, courtrooms, even theatres, with lush gold panelled walls, solid oak desks, and lavish chandeliers, to name a few accommodations. It was a sight that could ignite the mind of anyone, from the most dedicated professor to the least motivated student. It was truly enchanting.
That was, of course, in any course outside of Western Philosophy. Taking a two-hour slot every Tuesday and Thursday in a grand courtroom of a lecture hall, it was the most sought-after class in the university’s registry; of course, it was a mandatory course. The school was strict about the class, intent on moulding well-rounded individuals into its future graduates. A good plan, if Western Philosophy weren’t the dullest and least engaging class in the registry. Many students found the teaching pretentious - more still simply found it bland.
Aaron Maevyn was no exception. Even as an open-minded second-year medical student he simply could not find it in himself to take the class seriously. Most days, he used the class like a two hour study hall, spending the time picking through his text books and catching up on assignments. Unfortunately, today happened to be one of the few during which the Philosophy professor, Professor Hans Glemin, required the students to take notes.
So far, it had gone as well as anyone would expect: it was five P.M. on a Thursday, and Glemin was preaching to a congregation of over-worked and exhausted young adults in semi-formalwear that, at this point in the day, could probably use some ironing. There was no small amount of chatter as the professor droned on, and Aaron could have sworn he’d seen a paper bird take flight. As for himself, well, there was a reason Aaron sat as far back as possible - there was no one behind him to see what he was doing.
As Glemin spoke, his every notable point was jotted down into a notebook on Aaron’s lap. This wouldn’t be strange, of course, had Aaron not been holding a different notebook on the desk in one hand, flipping through the pages with the other. The pen writing away on his lap was no ordinary fountain pen, but also his equivalent to a ‘wand’. Of course, witches never used wands these days, but everyone had some kind of talisman through which their spells were stronger. Often, it was the first object they’d cast a real spell on, and in his lucky case, it was a tool that had written more essays than he ever would have on his own. He could only hope no one would see it; it was a trick he’d performed multiple times, in multiple classes, without fail. Still, it made him anxious - after all, his family’s reputation was thin enough already, he didn’t need more suspicion - but something about the risk was invigorating enough to keep him from stopping.
@Karamonnom @ArenaSnow @Aphelion @YamiCuoreLaroux
That was, of course, in any course outside of Western Philosophy. Taking a two-hour slot every Tuesday and Thursday in a grand courtroom of a lecture hall, it was the most sought-after class in the university’s registry; of course, it was a mandatory course. The school was strict about the class, intent on moulding well-rounded individuals into its future graduates. A good plan, if Western Philosophy weren’t the dullest and least engaging class in the registry. Many students found the teaching pretentious - more still simply found it bland.
Aaron Maevyn was no exception. Even as an open-minded second-year medical student he simply could not find it in himself to take the class seriously. Most days, he used the class like a two hour study hall, spending the time picking through his text books and catching up on assignments. Unfortunately, today happened to be one of the few during which the Philosophy professor, Professor Hans Glemin, required the students to take notes.
So far, it had gone as well as anyone would expect: it was five P.M. on a Thursday, and Glemin was preaching to a congregation of over-worked and exhausted young adults in semi-formalwear that, at this point in the day, could probably use some ironing. There was no small amount of chatter as the professor droned on, and Aaron could have sworn he’d seen a paper bird take flight. As for himself, well, there was a reason Aaron sat as far back as possible - there was no one behind him to see what he was doing.
As Glemin spoke, his every notable point was jotted down into a notebook on Aaron’s lap. This wouldn’t be strange, of course, had Aaron not been holding a different notebook on the desk in one hand, flipping through the pages with the other. The pen writing away on his lap was no ordinary fountain pen, but also his equivalent to a ‘wand’. Of course, witches never used wands these days, but everyone had some kind of talisman through which their spells were stronger. Often, it was the first object they’d cast a real spell on, and in his lucky case, it was a tool that had written more essays than he ever would have on his own. He could only hope no one would see it; it was a trick he’d performed multiple times, in multiple classes, without fail. Still, it made him anxious - after all, his family’s reputation was thin enough already, he didn’t need more suspicion - but something about the risk was invigorating enough to keep him from stopping.
@Karamonnom @ArenaSnow @Aphelion @YamiCuoreLaroux
