Title: Down with Skool…more from the Quentin Travers Memorial Remedial Programme
Author: Ruth
Rating: R
Catagory: Sillyfic (and a bit risque; probably R to be safe)
Disclaimer: All the characters of BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, ME etc.
"Bloody! Sit up straight!"
"Bloody can't. D'you know what the chairs in Hell are like? Spikes. Bleeding spikes, wherever you look."
"Well, I'd say anything that discourages you from sitting on your arse all day is to be commended, Bloody. Now, as you all know, today is end of term at the Academy. Ms Rosenberg, have you been at the staff supply of…research fungi again? You're sure, now? Ah, just natural enthusiasm for the upcoming solstice celebration, then: very good. Could I just remind you that this is a Grade 1 listed building, and that chewing on the walls constitutes prohibited development?"
"Psilocebe Semilanceata: that's a Class A drug, sir. Mr Gunn says all the Masters should be doing five to ten in the pokey: he's a lawyer, sir."
"Yes, Pryce, so you keep saying. Last term, if I recall, your guardian was a 'bad-ass street fighter'. Do try to get your story straight, or I shall be forced to conclude that there is something wrong with your memory. *As* I was saying; end of term, holiday assignments and reading material. Reports have already been sent out. After last term's unfortunate incident with the owls - and yes, I am looking at you, Bloody - they will be sent by regular post."
"Cleaned up all the feathers. Some bastards are never satisfied."
"Stop muttering, boy. Ms Rosenberg, your assignment is: 'Sapphic Rites in Modern Paganism'. Feel free to draw on personal experience, if you wish. I'd like to see it on my desk on the first day of term…"
"Plain brown wrapper, marked *personal* attention of Dr Giles, economy box of *Man*size Kleenex to go with."
"*Bloody*; right, *your* assignment. At your sponsor's suggestion, I've tried to make this one directly relevant to your circumstances, in the hope that you might actually be persuaded to put pen to paper for longer than it takes to list all the obscene words you know in Fyarl…"
"You did say: 'two hundred words on any topic', sir. All the science makes my head hurt. Can't I just do a practical?"
"…I want a thousand words, minimum, on: 'Haemoglobin, alcohol and nicotine: complex chemical bonds and their effects on vampire physiology'. You'll doubtless be taking care of the 'practical', the second you step outside Academy grounds. As for the theory, Ms Burkle will, I'm sure, be only too pleased to help you with your homework. What are you scowling about, Pryce?"
"Nothing, sir. It's just…Ms Burkle said I could caress…er, carry some things for her. There might not be enough time, if she has to bring *Bloody* up to scratch. Oww. Sir, sir, he *bit* me."
"That's the spirit of enthusiasm for your project that I like to see, Bloody. Don't forget to number your footnotes. Pryce, after your disgraceful performance in this year's examinations, I want you to spend the holiday revising your essay 'Interpretation: when prophecies don't make sense.'
"I broke my pen, sir, and Bloody distracted me."
"It is the poor workman who blames the tool, Pryce. Now, I want you all to visit the Library before you leave at the end of today and get copies of 'How to Tell One End of a Slayer from the Other.' I've asked Wood, who will be joining this programme next term, to write a book report for us all. I'm sure he will have many fascinating insights."
"S'easy. They're like horses. One end bites and the other kicks, and there's the bit in the middle for riding on..."
"Bloody! Stop right there…"
"My pleasure, sir. How long for, sir?"
END
8 November 2003