Steely and Matthew split up in a corridor and go into different classrooms that are stand-alone trailers.
In one class, a smooth but occasionally glitchy 3-D projection of a teacher greets Steely. The teacher is severe in appearance and manner. Though her projection corresponds to a live human being somewhere else on the planet, she might as well be a robot or at least the ghost of a human once capable of warm emotion.
Teacher: 'Punctuality appears to be your Achilles' heel, Mr. Grude. Alas, you've cleared H3, admirable. Quiet your ears, then solve the riddle.'
The teacher trails away.
Steely exhales loudly. Takes his bag off and hangs it on a hook. There is a digital 24-hour clock in the top left corner, it's black steel with white numbers. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper, overhead there's a clear paneled mechanical ceiling. The mahogany floors ramp up to class seating, with curves and layers dynamically represented. A wall for projection wrapped in a semi circle lies at the head of the class.
Steely breathes in deeply, dropping his shoulders. The room is so quiet. He closes his eyes. A montage flashing in his head: Shoobie's mouth, himself as a small boy calling up from a pit, fencing, climbing a fence, running. A small quiet click comes into his ears from a clock. The memory of his father first forgetting while giving a lecture at his school. The silence. The stutter. The angry burst at someone touching his arm. He remembers his father not remembering him. His mother throwing things out of focus. The canopied street. The first car he stole on a spinning platter. His father's car.
Steely is mumbling a mantra and slowly his memories whitewash away. He opens his eyes and he is seated on a chair in full lotus. He breaks position and pulls a tray out of a side compartment and now he has a surface with a bowl in its center, a few gauges and a small loupe. It's what seems to be a mini solar system that he's manipulating with the gauges.
The teacher swarms back in and places a decades-old transparency paper on a projector.
The riddle:
Teacher: 'You poured it hot and you're stirring it up, now what's moving faster, the tea or the cup?'
Steely: 'The tea.'
Teacher: 'What's harder Mr. Grude, a liquid or a solid?'
Steely: 'Shit'
Teacher: 'Of course. And what does your understanding of physics inform you of as it relates to softness and hardness of matter, Mr. Grude?'
Steely: 'That, from a sub-atomic perspective, my shit is composed of particles mostly vibrating at a higher rate than my piss.'
Teacher: 'Thank you, Mr. Grude. Your deft articulation leaves little to the imagination.'
Steely: 'You don't have an imagination.'
Teacher: 'Well, congratulations Mr. Grude. It has been my pleasure watering yours.'
In one class, a smooth but occasionally glitchy 3-D projection of a teacher greets Steely. The teacher is severe in appearance and manner. Though her projection corresponds to a live human being somewhere else on the planet, she might as well be a robot or at least the ghost of a human once capable of warm emotion.
Teacher: 'Punctuality appears to be your Achilles' heel, Mr. Grude. Alas, you've cleared H3, admirable. Quiet your ears, then solve the riddle.'
The teacher trails away.
Steely exhales loudly. Takes his bag off and hangs it on a hook. There is a digital 24-hour clock in the top left corner, it's black steel with white numbers. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper, overhead there's a clear paneled mechanical ceiling. The mahogany floors ramp up to class seating, with curves and layers dynamically represented. A wall for projection wrapped in a semi circle lies at the head of the class.
Steely breathes in deeply, dropping his shoulders. The room is so quiet. He closes his eyes. A montage flashing in his head: Shoobie's mouth, himself as a small boy calling up from a pit, fencing, climbing a fence, running. A small quiet click comes into his ears from a clock. The memory of his father first forgetting while giving a lecture at his school. The silence. The stutter. The angry burst at someone touching his arm. He remembers his father not remembering him. His mother throwing things out of focus. The canopied street. The first car he stole on a spinning platter. His father's car.
Steely is mumbling a mantra and slowly his memories whitewash away. He opens his eyes and he is seated on a chair in full lotus. He breaks position and pulls a tray out of a side compartment and now he has a surface with a bowl in its center, a few gauges and a small loupe. It's what seems to be a mini solar system that he's manipulating with the gauges.
The teacher swarms back in and places a decades-old transparency paper on a projector.
The riddle:
Teacher: 'You poured it hot and you're stirring it up, now what's moving faster, the tea or the cup?'
Steely: 'The tea.'
Teacher: 'What's harder Mr. Grude, a liquid or a solid?'
Steely: 'Shit'
Teacher: 'Of course. And what does your understanding of physics inform you of as it relates to softness and hardness of matter, Mr. Grude?'
Steely: 'That, from a sub-atomic perspective, my shit is composed of particles mostly vibrating at a higher rate than my piss.'
Teacher: 'Thank you, Mr. Grude. Your deft articulation leaves little to the imagination.'
Steely: 'You don't have an imagination.'
Teacher: 'Well, congratulations Mr. Grude. It has been my pleasure watering yours.'
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