[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=cca78e]Giosue Zino[/color] & [color=indianred]James Grady[/color][/b][/i][/h1][/center][center][img]https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gPhiDshKxTc/WLX3K5e_rDI/AAAAAAAANoc/d670BZ0M7KkMV_zC9N460SNc4rpeF9jfQCEw/s640/LA-plantations-Destrehan%2BPlantation-240%2Byear%2Bold%2Blive%2Boak%2Btree-c2016%2BCarole%2BTerwilliger%2BMeyers-600pix.JPG[/img][/center]
[hr][hr][center][color=dimgray][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Oak [/center][center][color=cca78e][b]Skills:[/b][/color] History [/center][center][color=indianred][b]Skills:[/b][/color] N/A [/center][hr]

	Underneath the Oak Tree, some unusual adjustments had been made. On the opposite side of where Peter's grave had been made were some pieces of furniture that were rarely seen around Camp Au Ville. Closer to the tree was a large desk complete with a rather exquisite, if simple chair. In it sat Giosue with a pair of bifocals atop his nose. Opposite of the Emendator and his desk was another one, this one much smaller, cheaper and with only a plastic fold-out chair to sit upon. The time for the lesson would be soon, and until his pupil arrived, Gio sat perfectly motionless.

	That Oak seemed to be the focal point of the entire grounds. The Paradoxes arrived there, the Halloween party was mostly spent there, and this particular morning, James was making his way back to that sprawling Oak to begin his lessons with the Emendator known as "The Watch". Something told him there would be some manner of scolding, possibly even merit/demerit based system inflicted upon him were he even a minute late. The Paradoxical Wereboar stepped into the area looking just the vision of a Knight of the Backwoods, bedecked in his shining armor of denim overalls and broken-in cowboy hat. He looked from one desk to the other, the item of finery and the high school surplus piece. With a sigh, James crawled into the smaller, obviously designed to put one at a psychological disadvantage desk, and removed his hat. He cocked his head to the side, declaring, [color=indianred]"Here."[/color] in flat, grey monotone. 

	[color=cca78e]"Good morning Mr. Grady,"[/color] Gio greeted with a big smile. The Emendator rose from his chair and pulled from his desk a packet of papers along with a couple new, pre-sharpened #2 pencils. He placed the papers and writing utensils on the desk in front of James before walking back to his desk. And plopping himself back down.

	[color=cca78e]"Your task for today is a simple one. If all goes well you'll even have more free time available to you than your peers. All I need is an essay about the justifications of the Secession from the Union by the Southern States prior to the American Civil War of your timeline. Did they have a point, or were they just making excuses? Why did they do what they did? 1,500 words. Be sure to properly format your paragraphs and write legibly."[/color] Gio smiled again as he laced his fingers together.

        James looked just the slightest bit bewildered as Gio poured his instructions all over him. The initial guess was correct, this scenario was designed to give him a sense of being in over his head amid choppy waters. And it was a really good setup, too. Perhaps that was why the ear-to-ear smile that split his face seemed so misplaced. [color=indianred]"Why, [i]no problem a'tall[/i], Mr. Watch, sir! You know I'm a black man, what was raised inna south of Georgia - took my elementaries in th' [i]nineteen[/i] and [i]eighties[/i]! Them muthafuckas [i]love[/i] them some Civil War, and they just a loooove whitesplainin' the whys and wherefores."[/color] He grabbed a pencil and tucked it behind his ear, then another for writing. [color=indianred]"I'll be done in time to make us some lunch. Should, anyways. You just let ol' James know what you're hungry for, mkay?"[/color] Perhaps he played up his accent, but just a smidge. 

	[color=cca78e]"I'm glad you appreciate the topic of choice,"[/color] Gio responded, still smiling. If James' constant exaggerations of his dialect impacted the Emendator in anyway, he didn't let it show. [color=cca78e]"If you feel the need to relieve yourself or rehydrate, you may do so. If you have any questions about your task, feel free to ask. Otherwise, you may begin. In the meantime, I have some work to take care of."[/color] From another drawer in the desk, The Watch produced a book that he opened up perhaps a quarter of the way in and started to peruse.

        James shrugged, rapidly becoming disheartened with the concept of being a Paradox. It beat dying, he supposed. [i]Again[/i], anyway. And though he failed to see the point of this little exercise, James held out some hope that this was one of those "Mr. Miyagi" moments wherein his seemingly mundane task would reveal itself to secretly be something of pertinent value to him as his training continued. A little burst of optimism hit him with that thought. Certainly that must be the case. Learning patience or some such necessary virtue, or a test of his overall knowledge of history. Maybe his ability to accurately report or brief others, without personal bias. Yes! That must be the reason, or something like it. 

        Nodding optimistically, James swept his pencil across the paper, trying to put in words the story he picked up long ago, back in a lifetime that featured Georgia State public schooling. [color=indianred]"James ...Mandingo ...Grady ...age ...forty-three. Hmm."[/color] he spoke as he wrote, getting that obligatory chunk of header out of the way. Now, how to begin? Somehow, "it was a dark and stormy night" didn't seem to cut it. He always did have problems getting a thing like this started. Perhaps if he listed out some points on a separate sheet - brainstorming! Yes... economic reasons, religious excuses for racism, etc. He had this. Though, James did wonder what the [i]other[/i] Paradoxes were doing, and if they had schoolwork, too. 

	Meanwhile, Gio seemed to be quite preoccupied with his book. James couldn't read it from where he was in the dark of the early morning, but it was quite a fascinating book from decades in the future. It was an autobiographical novel covering a man's journey with a group of people who dive deep into the ocean without any of the equipment developed to make that kind of thing possible. There were people going into the depths of trenches on a single breath. How peculiar was that?

	Every few pages or so, Gio would break his concentration from the book to look over at James. It was partially to make sure he hadn't suffered some freak heart attack and keeled over dead (just because it hadn't happened so far didn't mean that it wouldn't), partially to check up on his progress. He'd keep his gaze transfixed on the Georgian for merely a few scant moments before returning to his book. How the underwater pressure didn't kill them was beyond him. He'd hate to end up in the ocean like that involuntarily, that they went on their own volition was something else.

        The constant movement of pencil upon paper became tedious after a while, but that was expected when one sat down to a writing assignment, expecting a wholly different sort of day. But James stuck to it; he was just that kind of guy. Every so often he would pause in his efforts, make a quick count of words and lightly scribble a notation, but otherwise kept to his work. 

        In the end, it was apparent that it was not flawless. Not by a long shot. There were erasure marks left on the page, the format was a little off, but each individual point was clearly, if fairly simply, explained. As it turned out, he wasn't exactly a master of the source material. At least not as much as he claimed. Interesting perspectives on the reasons why, compelling even, if left to be explained by a person more apt with pen and paper. However, the report was limited by a man that, while intelligent, chose a life of physicality and cunning over one of quiet study. Being fair, this was C+ work. He handed it in and sat back down at his joke of a desk, quietly waiting the inevitable from "Mr. Watch". 

	Gio came over when he noticed that James had completed his assignment for the day. Gingerly, he lifted the bundle of papers from the desk and sat back onto the front of his much larger desk. It took a few minutes for him to work his way through all of James' essay. Occasionally he would make some wordless noise, an "ah" or "hmm," but whether he was pleased with what was submitted wasn't clear until he began to speak. When he was done, the emendator chucked the paper behind his back.

	[color=cca78e]"Objectively speaking, from a writing standpoint I've read far better. But I've also read far worse."[/color] Gio paused for a moment before continuing. [color=cca78e]"The ideas behind the cliche and poor penmanship are there. I'd suggest putting in some effort learning to better articulate your thoughts. A sharp mind is dangerous, but one that can disseminate its ideas is exponentially moreso."

	"Putting aside the quality of writing, it's only proper to tell you the whole point beyond this exercise. You can't expect your time here as a Paradox to be exciting and adventurous. Even on a mission you could find yourself saddled with tasks of incredible dullness that you would never think you'd have to do. But it's still important to be able to maintain focus and accomplish the task at hand, which you achieved with flying colours."

	"A word of warning, do not take your own knowledge and assumptions for granted during other training missions or during trips. What you know to be True may not be the case when out and about. But more important than the facts about what's history in whatever timeline you find yourself in is being able to understand how others think. The details change, but human nature remains the same. And if you can understand the mindset of whenever you may find yourself, you'll do a much better job keeping yourself invisible."

	"Now putting all of this together I'd give you..."[/color] Gio trailed off, looking upwards as if thinking long and hard what grade to give to the boar hunter turned wereboar, [color=cca78e]"an F+. However, you might be able to raise that score if you impress me with lunch. Dazzle me with your best dish, Mr. Grady."[/color] With that last command a toothy ear-to-ear grin covered his face. In actuality, James had done quite well overall. About a B, but he figured that the man was smart enough to figure that out from the rest of the speech.

	The lesson, such as it was, did seem a touch Miyagi-esque. James was not sure exactly how the task at hand assisted in grounding him with preternatural focus, though he might concede it to be a test as to whether he had any focus [i]at all[/i] with which the Emendators could work. Still, he felt a little disillusioned by the day's activities. James was even more let down by the fact that he had a blank spot in his brain that used to be his capacity to cook. It was a shame, curse even, that he remembered being good with a knife and spatula, fire and seasonings, but was cut off from the ability to do much of anything anymore. It was a messy slap to the face, one that lowered his mood both immediately and considerably. [color=indianred]"Yuh huh, Mr. Watch. Sandwiches it is."[/color] 

	James stood and tied his bandana around his head, then settled his cowboy hat on top of that. The next few moments saw the dejected wereboar slowly walking to the Kitchen House with his hands in his pockets and head hung a little lower than usual. Absently, he toyed with the boar tusk in his pocket, even pulled it out once or twice to inspect on his way across the greenery. [color=indianred]"...this gonna be tough..."[/color] he whispered to himself. Not the cooking end of things, though that would present a challenge now where it never had before, but the whole concept of being a Paradox, whatever that meant. This was who he was now, like it or not. He made sandwiches, not masterful barbecue. Time to embrace the cold cuts, with all the good and bad that accompanied it.