Is This Riduculous? (Wasaki)

[gerrard]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-bottom: -15px; text-align: center;]blew down the doors to let me in[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 40px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -3px]shattered windows[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; margin-top: -25px; letter-spacing: 8px; text-shadow: 1px 0px 0px #000000, 1px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 0px 0px #000000, 0px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 1px 0px #000000, 0px -1px 0px #000000;]and the sounds of drums[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: -5px; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 10px]people couldn't believe what I'd become[/style] [style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙words : 578; ♙tags: Wasaki; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay;[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-left: 5px; width: 450px; margin-top: 5px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; text-align: justify; letters-spacing: 2px;]revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate[/style][style=background-color: #111111; padding: 5px; width: 447px; opacity: 0.7; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; color: #5b5b5b; height: 300px; overflow: auto;]Teaching. Not exactly the most obvious career for an ex-soldier from Afghanistan, but the world is just full of surprises. Like he had to teach one kid how to write because, frankly, he couldn’t at all. He wasn't sure what he thought of that. He always got annoy when he called up his bank and it was some Indian on the other line; no insult to him, but he could not understand a word. Then again, cockney was probably hard to understand as well, but it didn't help either way. Perhaps moving back to the gloomy, rainy, sad old country of England was really the best bet. Truth is he'd never actually taught someone to write before. He guessed it would be good practice for when he got home this weekend. What a coincidence. But then teaching a teenager to write a second language is harder than trying to teach a toddler who could already say 'cacophony', 'delirium' and 'daddy'. Odd words for a child, his first one had been 'tea', which had been weird. And then he had said 'Maddy', which they assumed was a mix between mummy and daddy, or so they hopped cause otherwise they had a poltergeist infection. He had cleaned the classroom thoroughly and was pleased with the job. The board had been clean too, so for once it actually looked black. He had useless text books piled up into the corner and a copy of Artemis Fowl to test the particular student's reading on, of not, perhaps he should get some Doctor Suess instead. The cat in the Hat, maybe? Or perhaps something a little lower down the bench mark like... The Hunger Games. No, that was on par. Fuck it. He didn't know any lower level works of literature. He'd be happy and dandy when his son could read normally, then he wouldn't be using stupid methods to teach him how. Perhaps the Bible was a good material. It had a great plot, but really should have been sold in the Science Fiction section. Gerard had refreshed his mind on grammar, spelling and just general English. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, so because he had some kind of sugar rush after he and gotten his tea (of which was made using actually tea bags instead of that off liquefied stuff. He had a year's worth of tea shipped over every six months) and had decided to write something informative on his very big black board. He took out a fresh piece of chalk and wrote in big (very, very big) words with huge, slow movements. It took him a while to complete it, rubbing it out and starting again, his handwriting was a little sloppier on the big board then on paper, but that was just the fluke of writing at a ninety degreee angle like this. WHAT D'YOU WANT TO KNOW??

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'cause I've absolutely no idea.[/center]

He stepped back to take a look at it, and nodded once, before tripping back over the stairs and landing on his behind. He sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself.
He really should have taken out the extra question mark. It wouldn't do the said kid in question any good what so ever. Putting double speech marks at the end of every question.
He shrugged and got up, he might as well go into this headlong. Never did any one any damage.[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-right: 5px; width: 450px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; text-align: right; letters-spacing: 2px;]just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: center; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙notes: place in some notes~;[/style]credit to ZETTA! of LS & BTN[/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[wasaki]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30;] Right here, Right now. Let’s play that 8-beat! Right about…now!: Let’s play that 8-beat! Faring no better than his soon-to-be teacher, Wasaki leaned lazily over the edge of his bed, his hair a braided mess sweeping the exceptionally filthy room. Although the appeared to be resting his eyes were always on the swivel in case a certain intruder had unknowingly taken refuge—the occasion was becoming a frequent matter that the young man wasn’t sure he could bear for a third time. Maybe he was comfortable here. Shibusen was not a bad place and the people were friendly enough…if not all a bit touched in the head. “But I feel like I’m forgetting something…” he droned while staring out of the window adjacent from his bed. The portal allowing him to view only a cake slice of Death City Nevada, but somehow the sight filled him with unfamiliar motivation to do his best and make his school well renowned. “…Maybe I should go and find my I.D. Musta lost it during that bar fight…” Maybe not. A lazy sweep of the eyes saw that in the last five minutes there was not a single sign that ‘big-hair’ had not dropped in uninvited, but it also revealed the ‘something’ he’d been forgetting. Oh shit! Class! he thought as he jackknifed expertly though the landing was a bit flawed since the desired result was never to slam one’s face into his or her own closet door. Dizzy with pain, he clutched at his snout before shooting another exasperated glance towards the clock which hummed beneath the flurry of noise that currently made the harmony of his room. 2:35 P.M The damned thing seemed to take the pleasure of wagging its finger at him for forgetting about class…for an hour and thirty-five minutes. Perhaps the professor was the forgiving sort and would simply understand the arduous nature of….lolling around in his room like a sociopath. It was a noble venture in most circles, simply not the sort of thing the atypical student might engage in. “Yea, I tell him that shit. I ain’t no damn goody-two-shoe” he nodded proudly despite his inability to break down his thoughts into less slangish stipulations; the argument was there, just not the wording. Not minding what he wore, he simply looped the white traditional African wear over his shoulder, allowing it to settle before slipping two feet into finely crafted loafers he’d pilfered on his way to this city. While he was ignorant to some extent, Wasaki Tafari, would not allow himself to become a complete oaf without attempting to right his intellectual failings. Tapping his chin, he tried to figure out what to bring to his first tutoring session—he hadn’t even wanted to, but the stark conditions laid out by this Lord Death were enough to make him rise to the occasion. Even if it was approximately ninety to hundred minutes late. It never occurred to the rookie student that people did what he liked to call ‘snitching’ when others were not where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be. Why, he would very much not like that when it happened to him, but for now he shrugged his shoulders uncaringly before gliding out of his room. Not long after, about another hour or so. He’d stop to ask this cute redhead where the tutorial with Professor Mi-e-vil-le was—dictated exactly how it was read off the laminated certificate stating his name in sparkly italics. In those distinct syllables too. His tardiness was not to be mistaken for blatant disrespect for the rather handsome middle aged cockney, but the slip of paper he waved with a wolfish grin as he strolled happily into the room was as good a reason as a man needed. Apple face, easy going smile, and…tea? A distinct aroma made him feel slightly stuffy and prudish about things called ‘Parliament’ and ‘sconds’, but he didn’t mouth what was on his mind. He didn’t have time to before his eyes widened in disbelief as he read the flagrant message left on the board for him…. WHAT D'YOU WANT TO KNOW??

[/font]

'cause I've absolutely no idea.

Wrinkling his nose, he felt a little offended that this was what the school for weapons and meisters had only this…this…this…git to spare for a foreigner stepping into the world of pale faced inhabitants. Never one to balk at injustice he pointed to the board as while hitting his new sensei with a flat, unimpressed stare, “Yo, what’s the ‘dil’ with that shit?”

The match was set. Wasaki vs. Teacher. Ready? Fight!

[/div]

771 words | tagged; Gerard | Exigent circumstance

made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[gerrard]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-bottom: -15px; text-align: center;]blew down the doors to let me in[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 40px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -3px]shattered windows[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; margin-top: -25px; letter-spacing: 8px; text-shadow: 1px 0px 0px #000000, 1px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 0px 0px #000000, 0px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 1px 0px #000000, 0px -1px 0px #000000;]and the sounds of drums[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: -5px; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 10px]people couldn't believe what I'd become[/style] [style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙words : 496; ♙tags: Wasaki; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay;[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-left: 5px; width: 450px; margin-top: 5px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; text-align: justify; letters-spacing: 2px;]revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate[/style][style=background-color: #111111; padding: 5px; width: 447px; opacity: 0.7; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; color: #5b5b5b; height: 300px; overflow: auto;]He raised an eyebrow at the kid's entry. For a moment after his comment, all he could do was smile, or as much of a smile as he could, which was really just an intimidating smirk and a look in his eyes of 'I'mma kill you now, boi', when really was just quiet entertained. Hopefully the boy didn't go the wrong way and think it actually was an 'I'm going to kill you smile', because it wasn't. There was something about being shot five times in a foreign country that just blew it for you, and to be honest he'd never quite gotten over it, that and a permanent semi-limp as a souvenir. As well as disgusting memories of bloods, bullets and carnage at just about every turn, bad-night sleeps and the death of someone physically important to his sanity. Nothing about the boy was new to him. He'd seen a lot worse, even in the mirror once or... no make that a few hundred times before. In his past, anyway. He was above average height, about five foot ten/eleven, which still put him relatively above him. For a moment he said nothing, but then moved over to his desk, shuffling with something in his pocket (most likely a photo)and leaned against the desk. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. He pointed the board. "The truth,"

[/b] Gerard said casually. "I can't tell you what you need to know, unless you know what it is." He shrugged and moved away, looking at Wasaki. From what he'd read he was African; explained the lack of sophisticated English, and to be honest, his own English wasn't chipper as a high class gay ponse that pretended to be straight for fun.

His cockney accent destroyed the language and screamed for slang. He thought intensely sometimes about trying to force the accent out of you, but it never worked. But then it was better than an American accent, all kinds of shit could happen when you had an American accent. It was much safer to be of the Southern hemisphere these days. It would stop a suicide bomber from, well, bombing your home.
Instead, he had to go and be an Eastender. A proper one, as well, born and raised in the gangs and violence and drugs and epic fails of guys trying to score a night with the ladies.
He'd never shown any interest in lady company when he was younger, perhaps because his father would beat him half to death for any attempts for something that wasn't pain or 'OK'.
The father turned out to not be the father, so that didn't help things either.

"Look, sorry about the writing, but it is true. Don't start a fight over it, if you do you won't win. I'm not in the mood, either. Perhaps some other time?"[/color] Any British could detect the sarcasm, but to someone with relatively no sarcastic experience, it was a wonder how it sounded.

[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-right: 5px; width: 450px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; text-align: right; letters-spacing: 2px;]just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: center; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙notes: place in some notes~;[/style]credit to ZETTA! of LS & BTN[/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[wasaki]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30;] Right here, Right now. Let’s play that 8-beat! Right about…now!: Let’s play that 8-beat! "The truth,"

[/b] the man said. Elegant words flowing through a strong rumble in the throat, yet coated by the velvet sweetness of a queen…far, far in the eastern portion of the world where wonderful treats like Communism and crumpets were said to be abundance; surely there was no better part of earth than this.

At least the communism sounded cool to Wasaki…he’d probably end up playing that video game when he made some more dough from these missions he heard so much about. It was after that thought had floated through his mind that he realized his bad habit of picking at the inner portion of his ear while someone was talking had started up in earnest. Shit…I hope he didn’t notice… Looking back to the strange easy going fellow he found he’d taken a step back from the rather edged smile placed on the teacher’s face—the sort of thing you might suspect on the visage of a man of war, certainly not some pretty know-it-all. "Look, sorry about the writing, but it is true. Don't start a fight over it, if you do you won't win. I'm not in the mood, either. Perhaps some other time?"[/color]

Somehow those words stung with blistering coldness upon the ignoramus of a child, but there was a time and place for that. Shrugging nonchalantly he neither detected the ingenious use of irony nor gave into his primal instincts to dig a fleshly hole into the skull of some dandy looking for a nice brawl; he would beat them with his mind before he bothered with his fists. Rejecting defeat and refusing to amend his attitude he walked with a gait that looked like a limp and didn’t bother to forget jam his hands into the folds of his robes; they looked enough like pockets to be called such. It felt good somehow as he slid into one of the oak desk and glared blankly at the board, shutting out the world with the famous ‘Kaffir boy shuffle’. Yea, it’d been a long time since he’d done that—and they couldn’t whip him like back home.

Suckers…

Something occurred to him and he paused his stalwart ignoring of the blessedly handsome prof’s existence for a moment. “I wanna learn to talk right.” he said seriously. Determination to wield this thing called words was something he’d humble himself for…at least for the time being it was. He’d repay in interest what they did to him later on. “So you s’pose to be the professor…Professor muthafucka” Wasaki said before settling back into his seat, cool self-possession making him appear a lion curled beneath the sun.

If Michelangelo painted a picture of this sacred moment in time, his words captioning the still life drawing might have read something like ‘I call thee: “Let the assholery begin”’

Magnifico. [/div]

476 words | tagged; Gerard | Feelin’ it

made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[gerrard]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-bottom: -15px; text-align: center;]blew down the doors to let me in[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 40px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -3px]shattered windows[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; margin-top: -25px; letter-spacing: 8px; text-shadow: 1px 0px 0px #000000, 1px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 0px 0px #000000, 0px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 1px 0px #000000, 0px -1px 0px #000000;]and the sounds of drums[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: -5px; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 10px]people couldn't believe what I'd become[/style] [style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙words : 562; ♙tags: Wasaki; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay;[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-left: 5px; width: 450px; margin-top: 5px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; text-align: justify; letters-spacing: 2px;]revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate[/style][style=background-color: #111111; padding: 5px; width: 447px; opacity: 0.7; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; color: #5b5b5b; height: 300px; overflow: auto;]He could say that he liked the boy already. There was something about him that was just... you couldn't take his insults seriously. Well, he couldn't. He didn't know why, it was just the nature of the situation at hand. An kid who'd immigrated from Africa to come to Death City and fight, with very little knowledge of the English Language. Gerrard himself had always been the lover in a romantic play between Language and Humans, possibly very extreme in his devotion towards the language and liked to hope that it was here to stay. He didn't like the idea of young people forcibly changing the language because they were to lazy to actually say it, and had gotten used to speaking shorthand off of a screen. He never used shorthand or slang in text, and hardily when speaking unless the legendary cockney got in the way and made him drop a few letters. He hated it, and tried to teach himself how to enunciate (received one bitch slap from Alice) and tried to say the full word instead of 'cause and such. He smiled when Wasaki made his way to sit down, the boy looked isolated in this huge classroom, but that was only because it was well... big. Gerrard rubbed the board off and laughed when Wasaki spoke last. He could it funny, he quite liked how the day was going so far. He held a piece of chalk in his hand, flipping it and catching it without looking. For a man his size coordination didn't make the top of an expecting-to-be-good-at list. Gerrard pulled out a book from his desk and flipped through it quickly. It was British, but it could be made to fit the so-called American language (which was crap, because the Americans didn't even have a unique language). "I like you, boy? I haven't said that in a while but there's something about you," Gerrard looked at him and smirked. He came up closer to the desks and began like he did with any other lesson, well without the introduction and the other spoken requirements, he moved and awful lot, like a drama teacher. Levels, he was told, was a great way to regain control and show dominance in a class. Moving around showed that the space was yours, you owned it you knew it and everyone played by your rules. Being tall also helped. Being cockney also helped. Of course, Alice had taught him about levels and proximity in the class room, he decided to take her advice although he knew the only reason the boys listened in her class was because she was a good looking woman. He usually laughed when he thought about that talk and proxemics in the classroom. If they'd come out of their own uncertainties it would have been liable to laugh at the idea of 'moving closer assures dominance'. "I assume you know how to construct a correct sentence and how to use basic grammar such as comas and full stops. If you want I can run through the different word types; verbs, nouns, ad-verbs etcetera.

[/color] He moved around the stage of the lecture area, and he realized he'd have to do this another way.
He'd actually have to write things down on the board, and explain them thoroughly. Otherwise he'd do a terrible job and do irreparable damage.

[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-right: 5px; width: 450px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; text-align: right; letters-spacing: 2px;]just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: center; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙notes: place in some notes~;[/style]credit to ZETTA! of LS & BTN[/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[wasaki]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30;] Right here, Right now. Let’s play that 8-beat! Right about…now!: Let’s play that 8-beat! The moment that compliment was paid, the dark skinned foreigner, newly tossed into the violent waters of the ‘soul’ orientated world was desperately attempting not grin with delight. It wasn’t the gave a damn about this stranger’s opinion—or the fact that he seemed to be in the five to ten percent of people in this school that had a insurmountable height advantage…without the aid of a ladder anyway. Examining things from his point of view a teacher might have been endearing in the fact that the next time the apple headed Brit spoke he jumped slightly if not completely unnoticeably. "I assume you know how to construct a correct sentence and how to use basic grammar such as comas and full stops. If you want I can run through the different word types; verbs, nouns, ad-verbs etcetera.

[/color]

“…”

Silence. Glorious quietness rang clearly and lucidly through the room as one attempted to teach while the other sat at a desk with this chin resting in hand, boredom being the operative word for his expression. This was not to say that cognitive functions weren’t taking place in the mind of Cameroonian refugee who at the moment was rehashing a small recollection of where he’d heard the word ‘Brit’ prior to thinking it offhandedly in his branding this eloquent ‘kaffka’. ‘Kaffka’ being the slang term for boss, the braided student’s eyes glazed over in an oh-so-traditional fashion, the sort of tradition that struck down borders and plagued every classroom globally…and some just outside our solar system; ET doesn’t have an easy time teaching the structure of the ‘Quark’ either. The memory played slowly in the background of his mind. So slowly in fact that another injected simultaneously with an irrelevant, Damn, I want some of dat sweet cream these Americans are always bragging about...

It was the fact that ‘sweet cream’ had other connotations where he came from and real men did not desire sweet cream; not in thought nor in action. So crude was his mind that this actually jarred him the mental chess match with himself and back into the sunlit room where the soft auburn glow of sunset brightened things up considerably since the last time he…paid attention? Straightening up in his chair, he swished his braids from one side to other in an attempt to maintain that cool exterior though inwardly he racked his mind for the last words that had been said those ancient sixty seconds ago—damn him for not continuing on when he zoned out!

Eyes popping widely as the revelation came so strongly to him he stood up out of his seat and pointed to the board with a proud smile,

“The answer is Pi equals 2.4!”

Incorrect on all circles his confidence shook then subsequently shattered as that harsh wind that came only when idiots flapped their mouths rolled through the room threatening to thrash him brutally where he stood. Perhaps it was this sensation that he was about to be struck—bred by years of militaristic teaching at home, that made those three droplets appear just above his brow. Or maybe he realized that he’d left his room door unlocked before he rushed to class… Fuck! Dropping sulkily into his seat now he refocused on the professor, hostility still brash on his face as he followed his Nobel Prize winning response with another scholastic induction, “Man, this is bullshit. I don’t know a goddamned thing, but what da streets taught me,” he complained, arms folded in defiant self righteousness. His eyes narrowed judgmentally as he took in the aura of refinement surrounding the gangly man and wondered if all ‘Brits’ as they were so lovingly called, were this tall,

“I wouldn’t expect you to know nuffin ‘bout da streets, but I don’t know how read, write, man I don’t even know what a…whatchamahcallit—a fullstop!” he ranted, at this point out of his seat and palms pressed into the table as violent revolution seemed to take place in the brief tutoring session, “I don’t know what dat shit is either…some mo bullshit man…”

The argument so eloquently put now rode on the teacher’s shoulders to answer. It was a beautiful moment in which by rebuffing the young man carefully, a spark of desire to learn might be evoked; a truly rare apple of opportunity indeed!

…but was this handsome Cockney up to the task?

We shall see… [/div]

742 words | tagged; Gerard | Oddly Enjoying this thread

made by owlgirl of caution 2.0

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[gerrard]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-bottom: -15px; text-align: center;]blew down the doors to let me in[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 40px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -3px]shattered windows[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; margin-top: -25px; letter-spacing: 8px; text-shadow: 1px 0px 0px #000000, 1px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 0px 0px #000000, 0px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 1px 0px #000000, 0px -1px 0px #000000;]and the sounds of drums[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: -5px; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 10px]people couldn't believe what I'd become[/style] [style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙words : 610; ♙tags: Wasaki; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay;[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-left: 5px; width: 450px; margin-top: 5px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; text-align: justify; letters-spacing: 2px;]revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate[/style][style=background-color: #111111; padding: 5px; width: 447px; opacity: 0.7; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; color: #5b5b5b; height: 300px; overflow: auto;]Gerrard listened, slightly horrified, to Wasaki. Not a single thing, but he could talk perfectly… well, he was alright, it would do for now, but he seemed to be completely blank on everything else. There was probably nothing simple enough in the school resources that would ever accompany this; he’d stocked it full of Bran Stocker’s Dracula and The Weird Tale of HP Lovecraft and the Woman in Black. This was going to be a long, long session. Gerrard flipped the chalk one last time, before twisting and scribbling on the board, miraculously still listening to what Wasaki was saying. He flinched violently as he made a boisterous statement, he breathed deeply before going back to work. Now was not the time to break down, nor was it appropriate to teach the naïve boy a thing or two about ‘da hood’, about the drug dealers and the murderers and the child abusers and the warfare. It was not the time, not the place. Wasaki, whatever he’d been through, probably hadn’t seen what he’d seen or felt what he’d felt, like the need to wash himself in acid every waking minute of the day or put a gun to his head and pull the trigger. He was writing on the board the very basics of the English language, he felt slightly odd doing so but he did it none the less. He stepped back to go through the alphabet in his head, and nodded once. When he turned he had fire in his eyes, if Wasaki knew what he claimed to about the streets, he’d turn to stone. The hardest and the most ignorant could change with that single look of absolute wisdom and history. An open book of suffering, the human Malleus Maleficarum. The book of demons and the lore on how to spot a servant of the devil. Supposedly one of the most evil books in history (it started the craze of witch hunts and the supporting of witch burnings). Gerrard had written on the board the alphabet, A through to Z. He looked at Wasaki, and smiled at the darker boy. “Okay then, since you know nothing at all, we’ll start from the very basics, and I mean basics. The alphabet,”

[/color] he pointed at the board, energy flowed from him, an eagerness to teach unlike he’d ever felt. He was here for business, he was going to bring Wasaki up to speed no matter how much pressure he put the boy under.
He wasn’t however, going to give two shits about his annunciation. His own pronouncing wasn’t clear as day either. “Is what we all learn in primary school, the first year of our educational career. It is the fundamental building blocks to writing, reading, and sprayin’ lovely graffiti all over school property.”

He sat on the desk behind Wasaki and pointed to the top left symbols, ‘Aa’. The first was written much larger than the other, underlined in strong white.
The other letters had the same similarities. ‘Bb’, ‘Cc’, ‘Dd’ etc. He pursed his lips and thought for a few seconds. Where to go from here was the trick; he’d no idea what the hell to say, but he’d improvise. He patted out his black and blood red pin striped shirt and black waistcoat. He was going to get this right, he was set on it.

“The first symbols, that’s the upper -I’ll explain later- and the lower cases for the letter ‘A’, the first in the English alphabet. Your name is six letters long. Two of those are A. The second letter and the fourth letter.”
Gerrard smiled.

If only Alice could see him now.
[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-right: 5px; width: 450px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; text-align: right; letters-spacing: 2px;]just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: center; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙notes: place in some notes~;[/style]credit to ZETTA! of LS & BTN[/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[wasaki]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://parisvega.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/boxes-background.jpg); border: solid #D2691E 8px; width: 420px; height: 650px;] Let me hear the music... He continued stewing in his own hot-blooded disdain for the affluent seeming fellow striding to the board. Tutting and muttered under his breath he swore in a low growl as he couldn’t believe they sent some pretty boy to try teaching a lion how to read and write. For a time the mocha foreigner stared at his thumbs, flipping them end over end as it were, but eventually he couldn’t help to peek at what all the scratching at the board was about; what he saw made him…curious. “Okay then, since you know nothing at all, we’ll start from the very basics, and I mean basics. The alphabet,”

[/color] the man said indicating the odd symbols upon the board. They were vaguely familiar, perhaps from a time where he’d raided a classroom during class time, but that wasn’t something he wanted to revisit—this was for lack of a better word: serene. “Is what we all learn in primary school, the first year of our educational career. It is the fundamental building blocks to writing, reading, and sprayin’ lovely graffiti all over school property.”

Wasaki could tell. The man had gone from some rundown hick or whatever he was to a real world class boss. Now this was the kind of person that might be able to reach him—better still the man knew he had an affinity for tagging school properties. He ain’t half bad actually… There it was. The thought slipped through the spans of his mind before he had time to grab and choke it in his temporal hands; no teacher could be considered even lukewarm in his book. It was against the bloody code. Shaking his locks to regain his swagger, he righted himself in his seat, straightened, his back and returned the educative droning with a haughty smirk even as he was keenly listening. A clever ruse it was.

“The first symbols, that’s the upper -I’ll explain later- and the lower cases for the letter ‘A’, the first in the English alphabet. Your name is six letters long. Two of those are A. The second letter and the fourth letter.”

Confusion clouded the student’s face which consequently followed a hand shooting into the air. Again, the involuntary nature of a classroom had worked its mystical magic on him, molding him into a milk hearted seeker of knowledge. Belay that! He would never concede! He was a proud Cameroonian thug, no need for hand-raising or teacher coddling. Slamming his fist onto his desk in defiance of his role he growled his question or…rather boldly stated that he didn’t quite understand “Okay so I got ‘A’. How dat’s gon help me to sayin’ mah name…” he said a tad abrasively even by his standards. The cockney was getting to him.

A certain like of the man’s boldness, the way that story hung about the air around him. He seemed the silent and resolute type, the sort of men that Wasaki was always drawn to, but nay! He’d reject it! The man was a puppet of the…well of the other ‘man’, the big man. Hell no, he wasn’t going to like him. Gritted teeth and tightly folded arms stared back at Gerard of DWMA; it was his move in this chess match of a class. [/div]

...of your breaking bones.

WORDS: 550
TAGGED: Gerard

template made by mikey is a lady killer ?! @ caution 2.0, steal it and she'll send zombie pandas to eat your brains!
[/center][/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[gerrard]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-bottom: -15px; text-align: center;]blew down the doors to let me in[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 40px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; letter-spacing: -3px]shattered windows[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #efefc6; font-size: 15px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; margin-top: -25px; letter-spacing: 8px; text-shadow: 1px 0px 0px #000000, 1px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 0px 0px #000000, 0px 1px 0px #000000, -1px 1px 0px #000000, 0px -1px 0px #000000;]and the sounds of drums[/style][style=font-family: arial black; color: #c5c590; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 5px; margin-top: -5px; text-align: center; margin-bottom: 10px]people couldn't believe what I'd become[/style] [style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙words : very low; ♙tags: Wasaki; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay;[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-left: 5px; width: 450px; margin-top: 5px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; border-radius: 10px 10px 0px 0px; text-align: justify; letters-spacing: 2px;]revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate[/style][style=background-color: #111111; padding: 5px; width: 447px; opacity: 0.7; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; color: #5b5b5b; height: 300px; overflow: auto;]The feeling was odd. He hadn't been this fixated on teaching since his first day, which hadn't really given him anything to hope for. No-one had really shown to much interest in the arts and now he wasn't particularly bothered in regular classes. This was turning out okay, as far as he was concerned. The cockney was raring to go, watching Wasaki with a smile as his hand bolted up, then slammed back down to the desk. What an odd child. He was trying to fight against the classroom, it was like it had a strange magic when people actually listened. Perhaps he should try firing a gun in class before getting to work so his students actually listened. That probably wouldn't work and he'd most likely get fired. “This is going to help you write, hopefully. With writing you can make personal statements, write letters to employers and friends and, like I said before at least make your graffiti grammarcally correct. People laugh at it otherwise.” Gerrard thought for a second before jumping off of the desk with great energy, striding towards the board and picking up another stick of chalk. On the board he wrote Wasaki's name and underlined each letter. He numbered them too. W was 23, both A's were 1, S was 19, K was 11 and I was 9. Gerrard walked back over to Wasaki and handed him a sheet with all 26 letters of the alphabet with their corresponding numbers. It had the sounds they all made and Gerrard sat back on the desk behind Wasaki. "On the board is your name, if you put the sounds of the letters I have give you together, you will find they say Wasaki. Now, after you've got your head around that, you have three options; learn the alphabet, learn about grammar involving your name, or how to spell certain everyday words. It's up to you, chose one or I'll chose for you."

[/color]

[/style][style=background-color: #414141; color: #000000; padding: 2px; padding-right: 5px; width: 450px; font-family: calibri; font-size: 11px; -moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px; text-align: right; letters-spacing: 2px;]just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king[/style][style=font-family: verdana; font-size: 10px; background-color: #000000; text-align: center; margin-top: 5px; color: #464646]♙notes: sorry for the crappy post, I'm running low on muse~;[/style]credit to ZETTA! of LS & BTN[/center][/td][/tr][/table]

[wasaki]

One thing he could say for this guru was that he was at least exuberant in the zeal with which he attacked each and every learning experience—at least all the one involving Wasaki, who admittedly was not the best student. As each tender stroke streaked across the blackboard, whining each time the pale stick touched its surface the dreadlock toting youngster found himself leaning just a little bit further in his desk. Trying to make out what he could, fix his lips on each letter as they came into view; at least that’s what he had been doing until the professor whirled around just as energetically as he’d descended from the desk.

What the hell was he doing there in the first place? he wondered as he eyed the man who’s fixed expression said frivolity would likely be tolerated with a round beating up and down the classroom. For some reason he didn’t feel quite so confident taking on a teacher who spoke so freely about death—not in a place like this anyway, Guess ain’t nobody ever gonna know. he decided for himself.

"On the board is your name, if you put the sounds of the letters I have give you together, you will find they say Wasaki. Now, after you've got your head around that, you have three options; learn the alphabet, learn about grammar involving your name, or how to spell certain everyday words. It's up to you, chose one or I'll chose for you."

[/color]

Eyes that had been round with wonder as they browsed past the plain man himself suddenly narrowed with feline like ferocity. That last sentence had sounded like a threat.

Cool as ice itself, the boy only allowed his facial expression to darken for the moment before leaning back in his chair. It creaked of course and if it’d been a class setting maybe he’d even got a laugh or two for his swagger, but as it was it was a match of wits with himself and the teacher being the main contestants. The small smile bloomed beautifully into a full on grin that flashed his elegant pearly white as his chin raised in the telltale sign of a rebellious challenge afoot, “Choose for me, huh?” he asked, but quickly filled the moment of silence with his one voice—he didn’t want the teacher making him look stupid with any more of that fancy talk,

“Tell homeboy, what gangsta you know laugh at grammar in graffiti? I hope it ain’t nobody I roll wit cuz dude sound ‘bout as lame as yo ass.” he answered. Sure, it was flagrant affront on the charitable teacher, an undeserved one even, but Wasaki’s ruse was clever and almost full proof if one took the time to examine it. Even his taunts were simply a means for him to practice without appearing to practice. The horribly constructed sentence above possessed each of the letters in his name somewhere in it’s vicinity allowing him to work the syllables of the letters on his lips without allowing room for any…bonding between the man and himself.

While he couldn’t stop from liking the man in general, the boy was stalwart in his unwillingness to allow some crackpot teacher sell him the line of making it big based on education and performing good deeds like so many chumps before him had. The silence crackled over with the tenseness of a battlefield showcasing two enemies on either side of the valley. Canons pumped with gunpowder, bayonets at the ready, and the flags of both wavering majestically on the legend ushering winds of change—unknowingly he was simply recalling scenes from an old Confederate movie of his youth; too bad the North had one in that movie. At least he thought it was a bad thing.

Sniffing he resumed the staring contest before coolly laying on the teacher what he’d managed to work out by sounding each single letter out in his mind over and over again. “Wa-sa-key” he stammered uncertainly. He hadn’t even realized he’d been sweating. His dreads would start itching in a few minutes. No, he wouldn’t let any sort of shame show in his face. Within this belief in mind he took in a breath, rose to his feet and made his way to the chalk board to stand before his teacher robes and all. Somehow he seemed to glow with pride, the simple fact that he was finally able to read his name on a board lending itself to an unspeakable sense of self worth within him that he couldn’t help the beaming he was doing at the moment,

“My…name is…Wasaki.” Pointing to each letter on the board, “Wah” ‘W’ ‘Sah’” ‘S’ and ‘A’

“Uh…key” he said, underlining the remaining letters of ‘K’ and ‘I’ with a single stroke of the finger. Folding his arms he looked back at the teach, clearly taken with himself and his level of genius…he was a genius, “C’mon man…you gotta have sumthin’ betta for me to learn. This weak shit” [/blockquote]

[[OOC: Hey, I can understand the muse being low. You wanna try and flesh out the story a bit? I have a little wrinkle we could add to make things a bit more amusing. Only if you wish. Dunno what you wanna do.]][/size]