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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 18, 2012 20:46:40 GMT -5
Apart from the medical wing and the biology wing of the school, the library was one of three places that Joshua was most likely to be found. It was quiet and not often crowded, the ideal condition for the reserved Fire elemental. He sat now with a couple other people, though he didn't speak to or acknowledge either one. Instead his gray eyes were focused intently on the laptop that rested in front of him on the table. In his state of utmost concentration, lips pressed together and brows furrowed, he looked more irritated than thoughtful. Damn it. There was a reason that he proof-read his work multiple times and that reason was mistakes. He didn't always catch them all on the first read-through and he could be a perfectionist when it came to his work. The gentle tapping of keys filled the silence for a moment until the correction was made and then he resumed the painstaking editing process.
The bell clanged loudly when he was nearing the end and there was a general shuffling as his two silent companions got up and left along with the majority of the high school students. The college would be open for hours yet and so he didn't bother moving, deciding that he'd call it a late day despite all of his classes being finished. He wanted to get this paper done and handed in so that he didn't fret over it for nights on end and lose sleep. Instead of getting up and following the others as they shuffled toward the entrance he simply readjusted his position to a more comfortable one and continued to scan the screen. When he was (finally) satisfied with the work, he texted a friend he knew he could usually count on and asked them to check it over for him, wanting an unbiased opinion on the work. Said friend was exasperated ("Do you really need my help?") but gave in when Joshua stressed that it was a major paper. It was critical to his grades and he would be damned if they started slipping. He was aiming for the highest possible scores so that he could really shine in his application to medical school. Sure, it was a second major and had nothing to do with biology and medicine whatsoever but a high GPA was still important to Joshua either way.
Once his friend had assured him several times that it was fine, Joshua checked the time on his phone and decided that he would try and catch his professor in person if she was still around. Apart from wanting to hand it in, he wanted to know just how crucial the 'major' paper really was so that he knew whether or not he'd done a good enough job. He was paranoid in his perfectionism when it came to his grades. It meant a lot of stress, especially near the ends of the semesters when stuff really counted, but his methods hadn't failed him yet. He found Thaddea's classroom without much difficulty and rapped twice on the door, which was slightly ajar, to alert her of his presence before he stepped inside. "Do you have a minute?" he asked her, hoping that he hadn't interrupted anything important or caught her in a bad mood. He had quite a few professors who would be more than happy to allow spite to influence their decisions. "I had a question or two about the paper that's due soon." The paper that he'd already finished, though he left that out in case her answers influenced him to change anything up. "It can wait, though, if you're too busy." He wasn't dying, he'd be all right (if a little anxious) with waiting another day or two.
[OOC: Sorry it's kinda blah xD btw, what does she prefer her students calling her? I left it out intentionally so I didn't screw up >>]
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 19, 2012 16:21:40 GMT -5
my own sick pride She sat at her desk. Her legs were carefully crossed, her hair settled just so over one shoulder. She wore one of her plain, yet not quite casual, black dresses. It fell slightly below her knees, leading to creamy pale legs. Over it she wore her trench coat, a favorite article of clothing. One elbow was propped, her chin leaning on it as she scanned line after line of writing. Her other hand was poised, red pen tight between her fingers. She was known for being a somewhat “harsh” grader. She didn’t see herself as harsh, so much as rigorous. What was the point of assigning papers if she didn’t expect some quality of work, some attempt at excellence? Very rarely did one achieve excellence in her class. Actually, she could name every perfect score she’d given on one hand. Two of those belonged to a single student – a Mr. Joshua Dale. She actually almost enjoyed reading his work. It was analytical, insightful, very rarely given to bias or overly extreme shows of emotions. So often nowadays students wrote with their hearts, a romantic but illogical notion. They let their personal feelings interfere with their analysis of history. Couldn’t they ever understand, no matter how they felt – they couldn’t change what had already happened.
She flicked over the paper, marking a score in red across the top. Without a flicker of opinion either way, she moved on to the next. She was a machine, many people said it – either quietly or under their breaths when they thought she couldn’t hear. They said she was robotic, unnatural, detached. Many were intimidated by her, but Thaddea had rarely been able to bring herself to care. The way she saw it, she was simply more adamant in her pursuit of human perfection – while all others had long since given up and fallen to the wayside. Every action, every word, was carefully calculated. She liked it that way. She shifted ever so slightly, glancing at her desk. Everything was arranged just so. Her laptop was diagonal, two small stacks of paper before her – one finished, one incomplete. The only other thing present was the pen in her fingers. Everything else was arranged in her various drawers, and each drawer labeled. Many cast glances askance at her organization system. Her lips twitched towards a smile. If such labels were surprising, they should have seen her home. Everything had it’s place. And she had developed an apparently “annoying” habit of cleaning up and labeling the things of her roommate. He complained, but she knew he appreciated her ability to keep him in check.
She circled a red mark on the top of the paper, turning again to the next. She would be finished within the hour, of that she was sure. She had allotted herself only so much time for grading papers. She liked to schedule herself, know exactly what she was doing and where she would be going next. It was all kept mentally, a thing which she found comfort in. She was in the middle of writing a comment when she heard the door knob twist and the door creak open. She didn’t bother to glance up at who had entered. There were only a handful of students who actually visited her. She waited for the visitor to speak, glancing up with a frank expression. Mr. Joshua Donovan Dale, she was entirely unsurprised. She set down her pen, carefully straight exactly beside her paper. She folded her hands. She’d instructed her students to address her by one of three options – Professor, Professor Melantha, or nothing at all. It appeared for the moment, that Joshua had chosen nothing at all. Some professors allowed their students to call them by their first names, but such informal behavior was deemed unacceptable in Thaddea’s eyes. She glanced at her watch, replying as factually as she always did. “I have six minutes. What do you need?” To some it could appear rude, blunt. But to those who knew her, well it was absolutely normal.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 19, 2012 18:04:50 GMT -5
Thaddea's meticulous and methodical movements and actions didn't phase him in the least, partially because he'd been taking her class long enough to grow accustomed to it but also because these odd little elements of an individual's personality rarely bothered him. He accepted people for what they were as long as they didn't try to manipulate or annoy him and he expected the exact same thing in return. If he didn't get it, well, then they were going to have a problem. That she had papers on the desk in front of her clued Josh in to the fact that she might have been doing something important when he'd entered the room and so he thought that it would only be polite to make sure he wasn't being a pain in her side. He wasn't a suck up that would assume the role of a teacher's pet but he liked to ensure that he made few enemies among the faculty. Graduation was close enough that he could taste it and the ambitious Fire would be damned if he let anything or anyone get in his way.
Six minutes? Damn. He'd been hoping for something a little less brief in case something serious came up as a result of his questions but he wasn't going to argue with her. He couldn't control her schedule any more than she could control his academic paranoia. Guess I'd better make this quick. Maybe it would be better off this way. If he knew he was on a time limit it would stop him from going overboard. He rarely let himself sound desperate or overly concerned, no matter what he was feeling on the inside, but he didn't want to sound like he was trying to get brownie points, either. People of that sort exasperated him. Did they think it was cute to act as everyone's lap dog? Deciding to start right in on what he wanted, he said, "How much of the grade is this paper counting toward?" To ensure she didn't think he'd totally spaced out during her overview of it, he added, "I remember your telling us that it was a major paper but I was wondering exactly how crucial it's going to be." He didn't want to fail. He didn't want his work to be anything but perfect. All right, so even Joshua understood that his chances of failing a course were slim to none. Even subjects he disliked (and history was not one of them) could be conquered with enough hours spent awake and dedicated to studying. Perfection was another can of worms entirely. Perfection required real effort.
Effort, of course, was something that Joshua was always willing to put in. No matter how big or how small a project or paper, he threw everything he had into it and tried to do his best possible. It was in his belief that while an intelligent person might be able to breeze through school, such laziness wasn't commendable. His best friend was of lazier intellect and while Josh would never insult Devin or try to change him, it was not the sort of lifestyle that he himself wished to live. He was confident, certainly, but he was determined not to become over-confident in his smarts and his chances at success. It was those with too much pride and ego that always ended up failing in the end. He appreciated Professor Melantha's classes because in her strict grading process she forced him to reconsider himself, she made him work hard for the success that he craved. Every assignment was a challenge that he tackled with fervour and this one had been no different.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 19, 2012 22:42:38 GMT -5
my own sick pride There were very few, if any, students that Thaddea outright disliked. Most she held no opinion of either way. She taught them, as was her job. They were a task to be completed, and to complete it with anything but utter excellency was an inexcusable failure. Thus when Thaddea looked at her students, it was often with her regular detached care. She cared for what she spoke of, for doing her job better than anyone else could (it added to her vision of human perfection). But the people were no more than figurines to be moved this way and that. Their performance was no reflection on herself. Some were bound to fail, though of their own fault. They didn’t study hard enough, didn’t care enough. Their struggles were entirely of their own volition. Others excelled, as was expected. The young man standing before her, wearing an unobtrusive twist to his lips, was one of the latter. She had been able to tell, from the first few classes he had entered, that he wouldn’t submit anything but his best work. In some ways, it allowed Thaddea to see him as someone she could label “like kind”. He understood the need for perfection, the beauty of it.
Yet this same thing also made him a threat to her. Perfection was hers and hers alone to achieve. It was something she had spent years working towards. Of course this desire for perfection had spread from an abusive marriage, but that was besides the point entirely. This desire had long ago consumed her, leaving nothing else to stand in it’s way. And Thaddea could tell that Josh hadn’t reached that point yet. No. While she cared little for the social goings on around the Academy, and did her best to be as uninvolved as possible, it was almost entirely impossible to be completely oblivious. She knew, as well as nearly everyone, that Mr. Dale was due to be married. Now if he had truly dedicated himself, truly pursued the pinnacle of human perfection, well his soon-to-be-wife would have had to take second place. And with Josh, well it didn’t seem he would do that. Something else would always come first. It was only when everything else ceased to be important, that one could truly begin on the route to perfection. This was life as Thaddea saw it. This was why she viewed Josh as both threat and prodigy, her perfect pupil and quiet fear.
At his words, she sat back slightly. When it came to Josh, well there was no such thing as leaving early. If she gave him six minute, he would end the conversation after five minutes and fifty seconds. It was something she admired in. He always took exactly what she was willing to give him, without asking for a second more. Her lips twitched. This particular paper had been a nearly two-month long process, an extensive in depth analysis. But she’d never mentioned the exact weight. If she had, Josh wouldn’t be there now. “This paper is worth eighteen percent of your final grade.” She’d calculated it exactly. Another teacher would have preferred to use fives or tens, they were easier to work with. But with Thaddea, well nothing was ever that easy. Most of the papers she assigned were grouped together to be worth forty-two percent of the final grade. The other forty percent was allotted for exams and such. In other words, this paper was very important indeed. She glanced behind her at a small plain calendar hanging on her wall. As of this day, the students had two and a half weeks until the final paper was due. She turned back to Josh, raising a brow. “if I remember correctly, you chose an analysis of the North Korean cult of personality?” She was correct, and didn’t paused to allow him to answer her rhetorical question. She opened one of her many drawers, carefully extracting a single notepad. She scribbled a few lines, the name of a documentary and where it could be found. She tore the paper carefully, folding it and holding it out silently. She wouldn’t comment, wouldn’t praise. But for this student, well she’d do as much extra as she ever did. It was the best compliment she could give.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 20, 2012 19:05:02 GMT -5
In Joshua's opinion, perfection was not a competition with others but a competition with himself. In order to reach the pinnacle of his abilities, he strove to continuously best his past accomplishments until it was impossible to claw his way to a higher point. He couldn't rest after he reached the top. Instead he was forced to maintain whatever level of perfection he'd managed to achieve. Unlike many, his desire to do his best had nothing to do with pressure placed on him by his family. His parents were supportive of his dreams of medical school and they'd certainly never complained when he'd returned home with perfect report cards as a child but they had never pushed him toward anything he did not want to do. The urge to do better came from within himself, an ambitious streak that he'd carried with him since a very young age. Where artists were skilled with a brush and the talent of a musician lay with their instrument, academics was his niche. His classmates in middle school might have been better than him at sports, they might have had more friends, but the fact that he'd managed to stay at the top of the class throughout the entire experience (sometimes alone, sometimes tied with one or two others) told Joshua that he was smarter than they were. That he stood facing his professor now with an honest concern for how much this paper was going to affect his grades proved that he had changed little from the eight year old boy who had proclaimed to his father with utmost certainty that he was going to be a doctor some day.
College was harder than high school had been, especially with a double major. It was not so easy to sail through his courses, he couldn't pass with flying colours without batting an eyelash. No, he had to earn his perfection in college. Rather than making him feel stressed, it spurred him into doing better than ever. A challenge was something that the Fire graduate would rarely turn down. Life was a challenge to him, every turn offering a new hurdle to jump, a new puzzle to solve. His gray eyes were sharp with intelligence and concentration as he took in the words. Eighteen percent. It was a lot, he didn't need calculations to tell him that. The very number struck a chord, a mixture of determination and wariness surging through him. He couldn't stop working until it was flawless, then. A single spelling error would not even be tolerated if it was so crucial to his grade. Not that Joshua allowed spelling errors in his work regardless of the difficulty. He had passed all his years of English without a struggle, it would be an embarrassment to his pride if he were to hand in anything that reflected otherwise. "Noted." He didn't sound worried but the obsessive urge to excel could almost be detected as an edge to his tone. He was about to open his mouth and confirm her question when she shifted to open a drawer in her desk and he thought better of speaking and simply watched her with a curious and expectant gaze.
He wondered what it was that Thaddea was writing but simply waited, figuring that he'd get his answer soon enough. He took the paper when it was offered to him, realising what it was that she'd done and directing his attention back to her. "Thank you." He was not alarmingly talkative and he didn't spill fountains of gratitude but the simple words were usually enough. This should help. He didn't watch a lot of television, preferring to find his sources through the library rather than a screen or a search engine, but he would watch this one for the sole reason that Professor Melantha had suggested it and he trusted her judgement. He still had time left before she had to go back to whatever it was she had been doing and he certainly didn't plan on letting it go to waste, so he said, "I'm not sure if you're allowed to disclose, Professor, but I don't suppose anyone else has chosen the same topic?" He did not sound hopeful but he certainly felt it. When he was given a choice of what topic to write about, Josh preferred to stick out from the rest of his classmates. If two people elected to write about the same things, the one whose writing style appealed more to the professor would always come out on top, he'd be willing to bet. It was why he preferred to write about things that were unique to him, at least for the assignment. The topic he'd chosen was not easy to research due to the secrecy surrounding the country but that didn't deter him. If no one else took on the challenge, he was more than willing to tackle it himself.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 22, 2012 22:31:17 GMT -5
my own sick pride Thaddea had, for the most part, ceased to be engaged with their conversation. Having answered his question, and even uncharacteristically provided extra information, she naturally assumed he would leave. It wasn’t that she disliked him, or had grown tired of his presence. She simply didn’t have a reason that he would continue to stay. That being said, Thaddea had allowed her mind to wander, somewhat. She was thinking about what she would prepare for dinner that night. Things in the Roth/Melantha household had been somewhat strained. They weren’t the hostile angry sort of strain, but rather the lack of understanding strain. She and Thomas were so different, entirely incompatible as people or roommates. He hadn’t had and overwhelmingly positive reaction to her having done and organized his laundry. She’d been mildly surprised at this. She’d eliminated a chore from his list of things to do. Shouldn’t he have been appreciative? But rather he’d reacted to the labels she had so carefully made. It all perplexed her. And considering she was unable to rent a house in her own name, she found it entirely beneficial – crucial even – to maintain a cordial or at least stable relationship with Mr. Thomas Roth. Her lips twitched.
She would have liked to rent a house for herself. She would have liked to organize everything just how she liked, paint it all the right colors, do everything just the right way. But how could she? Home owners, sellers, realtors, they always wanted identification – papers, license, birth certificates, the works. She had the basics – a teaching degree and a license. But a birth certificate she had been unable to produce. And when something so crucial was missing, well questions tended to be asked. People would poke around and eventually discover that Thaddea Aryn Melantha only seemed to have existed for a few years, despite her obvious age of twenty-eight. Such discoveries were in no way acceptable. With questions came calls, to police, to detectives, to anyone who would listen. And she would be found, she knew she would. It was inevitable. She’d be found and either thrown in jail or dragged back to Zachary. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be Mrs. Rothschild again. Because if she went back, if he found her again, well her next death might not be faked. Besides, her family had already buried her once, why dig her back up again when she was perfectly happy alone underground?
It would catch up with her eventually, she knew it would. But for now, well it was so much easier to ignore it all. It was so much easier to focus on the alignment of her papers, the organization of each and every little thing. Because to pretend that those things were more important, it was a comfort of sorts. She began scanning the lines of the paper in front of her again, having all but forgotten Joshua was there. She half-expected him to simply walk away. She wasn’t waiting for a goodbye or some dismissal. Her lips quirked, her eyes narrowing as she read a particularly nonsensical line. However she lifted her eyes when Josh once again spoke. Her gaze held no surprise, Josh was in fact the kind of man who, if given six minutes, would use every last damn second. She nodded in reply to his thanks. “I expect an excellent paper.” It wasn’t a traditional “you’re welcome”, but it worked. She continued to hold his gaze, wondering why he hadn’t yet left. What else could he possibly need? If she knew Josh, then he had everything he technically needed in order to write this paper. At his question she narrowed her eyes slightly, but not in annoyance with Josh.
It was more of exasperation with the majority of her class, the narrow-minded. She returned her eyes to her paper, marking while answering his question. “You’re the only one, as I am quite sure you had already suspected.” She marked a score, circling it in red and placing the paper aside. She set her pen down, folding her hands neatly over the remaining papers. She stared at Josh a moment, finally speaking frankly. “You come often, without ever asking for assistance or clarification.” If anything he wanted the tidbits – how much was the grade worth, was there a maximum word count, and the like. None of it would change his paper, make it any better. Others came asking about resources, failing to understand the specific guidelines of an assignment. “Seeking some form of reassurance from me will not improve your work, which I suspect you know. Nor will it in the long run decrease your obvious anxiety over scholastic performance.” She let the unspoken question hang in the air. If they both knew this, why did he keep coming?
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 23, 2012 2:02:04 GMT -5
At her words, Joshua's lips tightened ever so slightly. He was not irritated but determined. When do I ever give anything less? He did not respond verbally to the words, did not think that she expected him to. Instead he gave her a nod and would have indeed chosen to depart the room at that moment if it had not been for the other question that was nagging at the back of his mind. The Fire graduate was not aware of the fact that his professor assumed him to be done with their conversation, else he might have taken it as a sign that it might be a good idea to leave. He did not like to hang around when he got the sense that he was not wanted in a room, mostly because he would not give the other person the satisfaction of sneering down at him. Then again, Thaddea had never done anything of the sort and he liked that she kept things professional and curt. He was a very to-the-point person and didn't often go out of his way to ramble and take random stabs at conversation. She did not try to keep him longer than was necessary and he was cordial and polite enough to return the favour.
He didn't think that the discussion of a paper counted as unnecessary, though, and that was the reason that he didn't leave immediately after being handed the helpful documentary hint with his question about the grade percentage answered. He wouldn't have been concerned about the cramped time limit if it were not for the fact that his reasons for dropping by weren't so simple as curiosities about the grade. He could have lived without that information alone, perhaps. He was not offended as her attention went back to her paper. So long as he got the answer that he wanted, she could be completely refusing to acknowledge him by this point. He would consider it rude but it would not truly irritate him. His temper was easily ignited but such trivial things were not counted as triggers. "I'd figured," he confirmed, unashamed. "I merely wanted to confirm." He did not thank her again, not wanting to wear out the words. He was not big on apologies and he didn't like thanking someone more than once. You can never be too careful. He was going to stand out if it killed him. He did not suck up and did not beg for higher marks so he had to ensure that his work was enough to shine through on its own without any ass-kissing required. Not that Thaddea seemed the type of professor that would appreciate a student trying to suck up to her to receive a better grade. No, it seemed like his professor would sooner do the opposite. Which was good in his eyes. He would hate to see someone else get higher marks than him not because of talent but because of connections.
He was not often questioned about his methods and so he did not answer immediately, giving a pause to think of how and if he should put it into words at all. It was a personal question, or at least it felt personal to Joshua, and that was a boundary for him. He did not like to justify himself. It sounded as if she thought he sought approval and reassurance, though, and it was this misconception that ultimately drove him into answering. "I don't want to be coddled or reassured." His temper created the slightest hint of an edge to his tone, though he did a good job at keeping it under control. He had to show respect in front of the staff so long as they did not prove themselves undeserving of it, else he might have enemies in a place where he did not need nor want them. "With all due respect, I don't plan to undermine my own intelligence. Being anxious for success and fearing it impossible are two very different things." He did not want to sound like he was bragging with his words but he felt he had a right to defend his good work thus far. Thaddea had not suggested that he sought reassurance because he was stupid, no, but Joshua did not like the suggestion that he doubted himself in any way. I'm my worst critic but even a critic knows quality when they see it. "I expect my work will speak for itself, I simply needed clarification." Arrogance was not something that he often possessed and now was no exception. No, it was confidence that kept his tone level and his gaze serious. If he did not think himself intelligent he'd have never set his sights on the ambition of becoming a doctor.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 23, 2012 23:01:23 GMT -5
my own sick pride She had a natural bias, and unfortunately enough, it was against people like Josh – the Fires. While she would have preferred a perfect neutrality towards people, a metaphorical “blind eye”, it was a quality she had not yet gained – an aspect of her life that added to her many imperfections. It frustrated her daily, hourly. It was a constant reminder of her failings. Yet it was also a constant imperative to perfect herself, to re-dedicate herself to her life’s cause. Thaddea’s lips twitched as she glanced up at Josh. She knew that look, the tightening of the muscles, the flash in the eyes. She knew it all too well. She’d been married to a Fire, she knew their quirks – the signs of their lightning tempers. She knew them well enough to fear them and hate them all in one. Yet Joshua was a conundrum. He was an excellent student, indeed one of the few that she had actually formed an opinion on. She had nothing but approval for him. Yet when she saw these little signs, the things that made her think of Zachary, well she could help but hate. She didn’t necessarily hate him, but rather the temper she knew he concealed. She hated the memories he dredged up, and her own feelings of weakness.
She had stiffened ever so slightly, which was incredibly difficult to detect considering her usual rigid demeanor. She was just as mechanic, as blunt and coldly professional as she always was, but with a quiet subtle edge. She was suddenly ultra-aware of the fabric of her dress brushing the skin along her lowered back. The skin was raised, puckered, a light pink in color. It traced a jagged diagonal line. At times, she imagined people could see its outline through her clothing, could see the mark that would forever keep her from true physical and mental perfection. She had entirely dedicated herself to psychological perfection, a perfection based on performance and achievement, having known that Zachary had made any form of physical perfection impossible years ago. The tension she felt, the loathing for the Fire elementals, was not directed at Joshua but rather prodded into life by his small display. He had paused, seeming to be both searching for words and fighting his temper. She watched frankly as he did so. Too often she had seen her students, and her husband, simply relinquish the battle. While she was quite sure that she could handle him if it came to an all-out assault (and entirely confident he would never do such a thing), she had no particular desire to partake in unpleasant interactions.
“I never suggested you feared it impossible. Such a thing would be illogical considering your numerous previous successes.” Her tone was clipped, formal. She had no desire to lecture, nor to appear haughty or cold. She was simply speaking in answer to his own words. And indeed, she had not suspected him of such a thing. Rather, she’d sought to point of a behavior she had noticed and been slightly intrigued by. It appeared he needed clarification on every assignment – but clarification was rarely on the assignment itself, as she had attempted to point out. He rarely wanted to know confines or specifics on the creation of the paper. Rather it was the weight, the importance, how the paper would appear to others. “And with what limited respect I owe you as my student, I will clarify myself. I was not suggesting you doubt your own ability to perform. I was merely indicating that the clarification you state you seek is very rarely applicable to your construction of the paper.” She didn’t raise a brow, didn’t indicate any of the traditional facial expressions as she spoke. She wasn’t attempting to question him, to have some giggling emotional conversation with him. She was discussing logistics, facts, nothing much more. “I doubt you would have constructed your paper any differently had it been worth five percent, eighteen percent, or thirty-five percent. And that, Mr. Dale, is my point.” She glanced at her watch. He had effectively used another minute and a half of his time. The seconds were ticking down, only two minutes left now. And when those two minutes were up, she would dismiss him so as not to interrupt her schedule. But until then, she would allow him her slightly divided attention.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 24, 2012 5:44:23 GMT -5
He did not notice the way that she stiffened for it was not something he was searching for. Joshua was a perceptive person and he tried his best not to let things slip by him but there was a difference between being observant and being omniscient. He did not know to look for the reaction to his temper. He did not know that she would notice, for he was incredibly adept at hiding most things from most people. Anger was, of the few emotions that managed to slip past his barriers, the one that foiled him the most often. A bad temper did not like to cower behind the barrier of bricks and steel that made up the walls of his mind. It liked to burst forth into the open like a raging blaze, reined in by nothing. Sometimes Joshua had no problems with allowing his rage to erupt without restraint, revelling in the adrenaline and the release. It was especially satisfying when the cause of his outburst shrank away from him in surprise or fear, perhaps both. He was not a sadistic individual, he did not live and breathe to inflict suffering upon others, but when pushed to a certain point he could not help but to delight in what felt a little like revenge. In setting him off, his accidental victim deserved what fright he gave. Thaddea was not one such person. He did not want to alarm her, did not wish to intimidate her, and certainly did not want to set her off in return. For not everyone reacted to anger with fear. Some lashed out with anger of their own and it was those few that posed the real challenge. Joshua liked a challenge, yes, but now was not the time nor the place to be challenging the alphess in her den.
While he had not been focusing on her physical reactions enough to notice anything off, Josh was concentrating intently on her tone when she replied to him. He was searching for anything off, anything that might suggest he had stepped on the wrong toes, pushed the wrong buttons. He could not detect anything but the clipped formality that could be heard. His gray eyes were locked on hers and while he was not glaring, they were still sharp and alert. The temper that had been ignited crackled in the background, no longer the focus of his thoughts but still lingering in the background. It took a long time to calm the fires of his fury and Joshua was acutely aware of their presence. "Exactly." It was all that he said, all that he felt needed to be said. He was not someone that would open his mouth and unleash a fountain of pointless babbling. He didn't hate the sound of his own voice but he didn't delight in it either, not like some. If one word was enough, well, then one word it would be. "It's relevant to me." He knew what he meant, he knew what he felt. He knew that the occasional clarification that he sought was something that helped him. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it did for him—she was right, it wasn't usually applied to the paper itself—but it did something and that was all the self-assurance he needed to bring him back again and again. He did not go for every assignment, every paper. He did not want to come across as a desperate, brown-nosed, needy suck-up. That was not who he was. But some of them struck a chord. This was one of them.
A short, sharp huff of breath that was neither a sigh nor a scoff left his lips. A noise of frustration that he did not bother trying to conceal. Personal questions were a source of great discomfort. That discomfort was not at all evident, manifesting as the anger that Thaddea had picked up on instead. Many things that he felt and experienced elicited a response from him that translated into anger. He was not incapable of expressing other emotion, it simply didn't make it past his barriers like the anger could. "No, I wouldn't. I perform to the best of my abilities no matter how much an assignment is worth." He did not expect Thaddea to understand how his brain worked. They were similar in some ways with a desire for perfection but no two people were exactly the same. Even twins had their differences. Psychology could predict patterns but it was near impossible to know every facet of an individual's personality. Josh was no exception. Neither, he knew, was she. He did not try to understand people. Not fully. "It has to do with setting goals. Structure. Reminder." He did not know if that was a good enough explanation but didn't bother at an attempt to elaborate. It was a motivator, in a way. If he knew that eighteen percent was what he was going to achieve, he had something to strive toward, as opposed to an unknown number that he only knew as 'a large part of the grade'. Eighteen percent would now become a part of the mantra he repeated to himself as he worked.
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Sept 28, 2012 10:50:37 GMT -5
my own sick pride She was truly quite confused. If anything, she had been meaning to compliment her student – at least her last comment had been meant as a compliment. The others had been simply observations. She hadn’t meant to accuse him, to communicate any sense of disapproval. What was there to disapprove of when his work was so impeccable? She enjoyed pushing him to give her more – more insight, more analysis. She pushed him because she knew he would give it. Yet he seemed to be misunderstanding her, or perhaps she was being unclear (though this was a rare occurrence). She glanced at her watch. No matter what it was that had been lost in translation, their time was wearing ever thinner. She had mere minutes left until she would be right up against her scheduled time. And she still had at least seven papers to grade. Failure to complete them would put her behind for days to come. And altering her schedule was of course unacceptable. She shifted slightly. She wouldn’t hesitate to dismiss him when his time ran out. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was looking forward to such a thing. As she had attempted to make clear before, she was partial to Joshua as a student.
She looked down, shuffling her papers into perfect alignment (though they were already very neat on their own). She folded her hands, having set her pen down at last. This conversation wasn’t going how she had expected, or how she wanted. Not only had he misconstrued her intended point, but his obvious frustration was all too familiar. It rubbed against her, mocking her, daring her to unlock the memories she’d shoved far away. She leaned forward in her seat, interrupting her stiff perfect posture. She couldn’t allow her back up against the chair, couldn’t feel the fabric press against her scar. In this instance, appearance of perfection was sacrificed for her mental well-being. She had the strangest urge to reach around, to trace her fingers along the raised skin – to see whether it was really still there. She always checked, somehow expecting that one of those days she would reach back and feel nothing at all. Perhaps she would get far enough away from it all, change herself enough to cease being that person all together. It was a magical fantastical sort of dream, one she was ashamed often of even entertaining. But now it rose to the forefront of her mind. She clenched her fingers tight around each other, forcing her arms to remain stiff. She just wanted to check, to check and see if it was really still there.
Of course it would be. But the logic didn’t comfort her, not now. She was winding herself up, coaxing her anxiety higher and higher despite her best attempts. She cleared her throat, attempting to gather herself. No matter what may have been dominating her thoughts, here and now Joshua Dale still stood in front of her – expecting an answer. “But that is exactly my point, Mr. Dale.” She forced herself to pick up her pen, gripping it tightly in her fingers. She stared at the next paper in line, though only really half-seeing it. “We are in agreement. The quality of your work has nothing to do with the weight of the assignment.” She made a swift red mark with her pen, jotting down a note along the margins. “You should take the compliment.” Her voice hinted at an edge, perhaps of irritation or of warning. It truly had been a compliment. She was attempting to express two things, though he was only picking up on one. Firstly, the thing he picked up on, she found it interesting that he came in for repeated questions on things more or less irrelevant to the actual writing of his paper. And secondly, his papers were always of an above average excellent quality, despite the weight or structure or other such ramifications of the paper. She expected nothing less because he had set his own bar higher than most – it was a quality she admired. She considered speaking further, though eventually decided against it. It wasn’t within her nature to be conversational, despite her relative liking of Mr. Dale. She tilted her head down, her eyes once more on the paper before her.
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Post by JOSHUA DONOVAN DALE on Sept 29, 2012 4:27:20 GMT -5
As a relatively sharp individual, he enjoyed grasping things quickly without much need to fumble around and ask for elaboration. It was for that reason, after all, that his questions had so little to do with the assignment itself and more to do with the facts surrounding the grade and the standard that he was going to need to set for himself. If he was given a certain piece of information and told that it was important, he would commit that piece to memory as if it were as sacred as the meaning of life itself. He had his good memory to thank for a lot of things in his life. Intelligent as he was, however, Thaddea had still managed to mildly confuse him. It did not show on his face but it must have in his words, for it became clear to them both that they were on different pages about the subject. "Then why ask?" It had been the unofficial inquiry, not worded as a question but certainly implied as one, that had thrown him off balance. If she knew that they were in agreement, why had she wondered at his need for the information? Why did it matter? He tried not to think too much on the matter. It was a question that he could not answer himself, as he was not inside of her head, and so it wouldn't do to get too worked up over it. Lack of information had always been the bane of his existence. He liked to have an explanation for all the things in the world. It was the reason that he did not believe in religion, in the paranormal, in the existence of extraterrestrials. Until there was proof, he would be forever in doubt. So in not understanding Thaddea's meaning, he was set on edge for a moment.
A compliment? It had not been a direct compliment and so his anger had forced his focus on the word 'reassurance'. The rage made him irrational and he would latch onto whatever it was that was causing his problem, allowing all other things of importance to fade into the background until he had confronted the source of his ire. The anger was one thing in his life that he'd never been able to control. He had control over his grades, over his fitness, over his own emotions... with the exception of the anger. So when she'd said the wrong thing without even realising the trigger, it had set him off. He was not willing to admit this, of course, because Joshua was also a man of pride and pride did not allow for the admission of mistakes. He also wouldn't apologise, for he hadn't been entirely rude and didn't think it warranted an apology. Even if it had, she wouldn't have received one. Instead, he considered the last words she'd spoken and then nodded. "If that was how it was intended, then that's how I'll take it." He wasn't humble or shy about compliments—not in the least. He knew that he was capable of turning in exceptional works and so he didn't duck his head or try to insist otherwise. Only a fool did that, in his mind. It frustrated him when he tried to tell someone they were good at something and they denied his claim. On the other hand, he also didn't appreciate braggarts. Egotistical folk made him want to punch things. A lot of things invoked that desire, to be fair, but it was one of them.
She had turned her attention to the papers before her and he turned his to the clock. His time was not quite up but his purpose for being here had expired and he had no desire to linger any longer than necessary. Already his mind was racing with ideas for the writing that he would need to do. He also had a documentary to watch, for despite his mild frustration with Thaddea based on their misunderstanding, his opinion of her had not changed. He was an angry person but that did not mean his anger always preceded hate or even dislike. "I'll leave you to what you were doing, then, Professor." It was a way of announcing that he was going to take his leave now. He wanted to get to the library anyway. Tomorrow was his next class with her and while he certainly wouldn't have the paper done by then, he hoped to have a nice start on it. A start that might end up completely different by the end. He was fussy and picky when it came to his word, such were the woes of the perfectionist. He didn't give her any other kind of thanks due to the fact that he'd already thanked her for the help she'd given him but instead left the room and strode down the hall. There was a stiffness and a tension in his shoulders that bothered the Fire, not that it was an unfamiliar feeling. He had been wound up and while the reason for his ire had passed, the symptoms would not die down until a little later.
[This can end with your post, maybe?]
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Post by THADDEA ARYN MELANTHA on Oct 1, 2012 14:31:22 GMT -5
my own sick pride Perception was a funny thing, fickle and irritable. Yet it shaped the lives of those who held it. It was molded and formed by biases, experienced, the little lies and half-truths of life. No one saw the world the same, because their perceptions differed so drastically. The way Thaddea perceived reality, Fires were generally violent, prone to rages – dangerous. Because of this, she had a natural bias against them. For example, despite the exemplary quality of the work Mr. Joshua Dale always turned in, despite his polite demeanor, his efficient nature, Thaddea would never like him as much as say – an Earth or a Water of similar qualities. His future wife, for instance, Ms. Shepherd. Her work wasn’t always quite as methodical, quite as perfect and insightful. She tended to act a little too familiar with Thaddea (as if they would be friends outside of a school setting). Yet the stereotypical peace-loving non-violent nature of the Earths which Ms. Shepherd so embodied gave Thaddea a pre-disposed likelihood to take to the other woman. Thus despite the fact that Joshua was likely the better student, and more similar to Thaddea herself, Thaddea would have more positive associations with his fiancé Nell. Life was funny that way.
For the most part, Thaddea did her best not to let these perceptions color her behavior. She endeavored to treat each student with the same detached professionalism. She attempted the same with each faculty member (struggling with some more than others). Life had thrown at her a bias too large to ignore. No matter what happened, it would exist there quietly stewing in her mind. Yes, perhaps some day Zachary would come back for her – he’d apologize and truly be a changed man. He’d spent the rest of his days making her breakfast in bed, loving her until the day he died. But deep down, she would still blame him for what he’d done. And she’d blame other Fires for what they were capable of doing, even if they’d never raised a hand in their lives. Her lips twitched before folding into their classic flat line, pressed firmly against each other. She spoke little, having very little to reply to. The atmosphere had turned somewhat tense, a tension created no doubt by their misunderstanding. However, Thaddea made no further endeavor to clarify herself, nor to apologize. She found neither was demanded by the situation. Or perhaps it was and yet again she had misread the social signals. She’d done a lot of that in the past months – increasingly (unbeknownst to her) as her OCD worsened.
She no longer watched Joshua, no longer met his gaze. Again, she found it unnecessary. Instead she returned to her paper. She now had fifteen minutes until her scheduled time for grading this set of papers ended. And if she didn’t finish – well not finishing wasn’t an option. She always finished. Her schedule couldn’t afford such an error. She went through the remaining papers methodically, even as Joshua continued to stand before her. Her pen flew, marking here and there – writing side notes, then circling a grade at the top. She was a machine, methodical. The blank pile grew smaller and smaller. At some point Josh spoke, a dismissal as she read it. At that moment her pen paused, held slightly above the paper which she had been grading. She considered saying something – anything really. Perhaps about how she looked forward to his paper, or wishing him a good day. But no words came, so she allowed him to leave in silence. But her eyes watched him, watching him as he walked to the door, closed it behind him. And she knew he didn’t need her coddling. The perfect score circled atop his paper would be proof enough. She turned back to her papers, finishing them in quick succession. She stacked them, entering them in the appropriately labeled door. She slung her small bag over her shoulder, shrugged on her trench coat. She turned back only once, to switch off the lights. Yes. She had absolute faith in him, and shouldn’t that be enough?
FIN
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