Fantasy Knighton Academy of Magic

[Bellatsakha]

This is the thread for the RP, post as much as you want to, but try to make it more than a line. Give everyone a chance to post before you move the plot on, unless someone hasn't posted in a couple of days then you can move on without them. It would be greatly appreciated if you could post once a day or once every 2 days in the interest of keeping the story going, but don't feel any pressure to if you don't want to. If you want to leave the group, please PM me first so I know and you don't just suddenly disappear because I can write you out of the plot properly.

 

[Bellatsakha]

Vanya

Vanya Blakely strut through the empty hallway of Knighton Academy like she owned the place. There was no reason for her to do so because everyone else was in class, but she saw it as preparation for facing the headmaster. She didn’t exactly know why she’d been called there, but she could have a pretty good guess.

Her black Mary Janes clicked on the dark oak floorboards and her too-long-for-the-dress-code skirt swayed with every step, she stood perfectly straight with both buttons on her black blazer done up. From the outside, she looked like the perfect student. She knocked on the large wooden door with a plaque reading ’Headmaster Brixton’ and waited for a reply.

“Come in,” The Headmaster’s calm voice replied.

She took a breath and effortlessly schooled her face to seem relaxed as she stepped into his office. It was well lit, a chandelier hung from the tall ceiling and multiple colored lamps sat on different table tops around the room. He gestured for her to have a seat and she did.

He lowered his glasses to look her in the eye, “Now, Miss Blakely, do you know why you’re here?”

“No, sir.” She held eye contact, her dark eyes piercing into his with all the faux confidence she could muster.

“You’ve been seriously slacking on homework for the past year. I’ve had multiple teachers tell me you haven’t been paying attention and even skipping it altogether. Could you tell me why that is?” He placed his hands on his desk like a concerned parent.

“No, sir.” She reiterated. She wasn’t going to explain herself, it would just give him something to use against her and she couldn’t have that with the precarious situation she was in.

“I see.” He said after a few seconds of waiting for more, “You’re aware that your parents pay a lot for you to be at this school. We have the best teachers and the best facilities. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to make full use of them. If you don’t want to be here, please tell your parents so they can pull you out. It would leave an opening for a student who actually wants to be here.”

“I understand that.” She stated.

He sighed, “I see I’m not going to get anywhere with you today. All I’m going to say is due to your abysmal grades, I’m putting you in remedial classes. Think of it as a support group that might help you find your feet again and keep you from falling too far behind.”

There were no ‘remedial classes’ in the school to her knowledge. Only the most elite students were accepted top Knighton so there was no point. Surely he couldn’t start offering remedial classes because of one student.

“You won’t be the only one there. There are a few other students who could use some lifting up in their academics, so don’t feel like you’re being singled out.” He continued, not bothering to try asking any more questions, “You’ll meet in classroom 248 tomorrow at 8am, don’t be late. You’re dismissed.”

That got her thinking. Just how many students were failing for him to start remedial classes? She’d never heard of anyone who actually scored below 50% in the past 30 years and there had to be enough for an entire set of classes to be introduced, so the only logical conclusions were; past students had paid their way through like she had, there was suddenly a boom in failing students, which she found unlikely, or there was another reason for it that hadn’t been disclosed. She would bet money on the first one.

She got up and left as quickly as she could, closing the door quietly behind her. She began to walk back down the corridor and caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the windows. She looked closer and smoothed out her bangs to make sure they were equally spread across her forehead before heading back to the classroom. But even if she wanted to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, she couldn’t because she was too busy thinking about remedial classes and how bad of an idea they were.

They would overlap with her piano practice time and she didn’t want to miss that. She considered skipping them but decided it would just lead to more prodding from the Headmaster and she didn’t want him to send a letter home. She’d already had enough of her parent’s ire over her bad grades during the summer holidays and she didn’t want them to be called up to the school.

Yennie N Nue Feywild Mistory Will_0121

 

[EliaAnneFree]

Elia was sat in her history lesson with Miss Cleveland, diligently jotting her notes down as the teacher spoke.

'I need to make sure these notes are perfect. If I don't study properly I'm surely going to fail.'

The lesson continued and Elia tried her hardest to keep up. After another twenty minutes of lecturing Miss Cleveland finally dismissed their class. Elia looked down at her notes and sighed, she hadn't been able to keep up and her notes were practically useless at this point. She put her things into her bag and headed for the classroom door.

"Miss Free?" Miss Cleveland called after her.

"Yes, Ma'am?" She turned to face her teacher.

Miss Cleveland had a scowl on her face, "Miss Free, I'm sure you are aware of the academic standard we set for our students here at Knighton Academy."

Elia nodded in response

"Then you are also aware that your current grades do not meet those
Standards, correct?"

"Yes ma'am, I'm aware."

Miss Cleveland shook her head, "Look, I know transferring must have been hard for you but you need to start asking for help." She sighed, "However, since your grades have had yet to improve your other teachers and I have decided to place you in remedial classes until you meet our standard. If you fail to do so you will be asked to leave Knighton Academy."

Elia was speechless. Her parents would be so upset if she got kicked out.

"I understand. Thank you for informing me. "

Elia exited the room and briskly walked to her next class with her head hung low.

'I am so screwed.'

 

[StrixDesmodus]

Francis: I drew a somewhat stylized picture of some horses grazing in a field as I listened to the teacher's lecture. Every now and then, I would unwillingly pause my listening and drawing with speculation- I was notified ahead of time that Headmaster Brixton wanted to see me after this class, but not why. I could guess why of course, but it wouldn't mean I guessed right.
Eventually, in the midst of wondering if a previous argument with Mrs. Armstrong had something to do with it, class was dismissed, which was my cue to close my notebook and head to the headmaster's office.
Having gathered my stuff, returned them to their between-usage spots, and headed for Brixton's office, I hummed a tune to calm myself down until I arrived- It only worked to keep me from expressing my inner turmoil- inside of me thoughts boiled into terror. I was starting to get a headache, actually. I considered just changing into a bird and flying out the nearest open window to completely skip town, maybe even start anew in another country, but as soon as I reached the office, I spotted the headmaster standing in the doorway, with a disappointed expression on his face and I stifled the feather-growing.
HM Brixton: "You're late, Mr. Sato."
Francis: "Sorry, Headmaster." I tried to keep my tone level, but wondered if my nerves were obvious.
HM Brixton: "Do you know why you were called here today?"
Francis: I shook my head.
"No, Headmaster." I watched his eyebrows raise and I broke eye contact to stare at my feet.
"The reason you are here is because it has been clear that you need extra support."
Francis: My head practically snapped upwards. I didn't at all like the manner he said that in.
"This is about the doodling, isn't it? You know that helps me focus, right? Or the fact that I've been consistently antagonized by a certain few people and had the audacity to react as one naturally would when obviously being picked on?"
HM Brixton: "You know you need the help, regardless of who had the audacity to do what."
Francis: Though sighing at the fact that the only word he seemed to pick up was "audacity" I resisted the urge to shake my head.
"I'll go along with this, but I'm telling you, if it helps me at all, it won't be in a way that any of you people expect, and if it doesn't help me, then it won't be my fault."
With that, I exited the room in long, quick strides, chiefly for the purpose of avoiding a fight.

 

[Lizy]

Violet Miller

Violet walked down the hall to Headmaster Brixton's office. She was slightly nervous about the meeting. There was no denial that she was struggling in most of her classes. Everything had started out so well, she was getting good marks and pleasing her parents, but suddenly it all got really difficult for her. Her parents didn't mind much. They just told her to try harder, but there was no extreme reaction. She was trying, she was trying really hard, but it didn't get any easier. She was starting to get lower marks and she was very disappointed in herself for it. She was probably taking it worse than her parents. It made her feel like such a failure and there was nothing she could do about it. Violet hoped that this visit with the headmaster wouldn't just be him scolding her about it. She reached the office door and knocked twice.

"Come in," she heard Headmaster Brixton say. She opened to door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. "Ah, Miss Miller," the headmaster said when he saw her, "Are you aware why I called you up here?" Violet glanced around before taking a seat.

"Um- not really," she shook her head, "I mean, I might have and idea of why."

"And what might that be?" he asked. His words weren't harsh, but she was still a bit afraid to speak.

"Well, I haven't been doing the best in my classes," she bit her lip, "That might be an issue."

"Indeed Miss Miller," he nodded, "Due to your struggle in your classes it is clear to me that you might need some extra help."

Violet looked down at her feet. "I'm trying to do better," she said nervously. She didn't like the feeling of someone judging her for her poor ability.

"And I thank you for that. But with your grades I feel it necessary to place you in remedial classes," he stated. Violet just kept her eyes down, she was disappointed that he thought that was what was necessary, but wasn't one to argue. "This is the best option for you," the headmaster said calmly, "The classes will begin tomorrow."

"Thank you," she nodded and got up to exit the office.

This was an awful situation, she thought as she stepped though the doorway. She didn't want to go into remedial classes, she wished she could've done better in all her classes. She wondered what other kinds of people would end up in remedial classes. She hoped that they'd be nice. She also didn't want her parents to be disappointed in her. She reminded herself to write to them later, she wanted them to hear that she'd been placed in remedial classes from her ​

 

[SandyMandy]

“Yo, how’d the test go man? Oof, next time hit me up, I can help you out.”

“You need help with those books? Nonsense let me get the door for ya.”

On the surface Solomon Ford was all smiles, you would never have guessed that he was actually livid.

“The Headmaster’s office? What a juvenile punishment.” He thought to himself. “This education model is clearly flawed if I have to be sent to ANYONE’S office.” Just as he approached the door to Headmaster Brixton’s office, it swings open. A brown haired girl with bright red lipstick walks out, looking slightly defeated. “Oh great,” Solomon thinks to himself. “One of these.”

This isn’t the first time Solomon had been lectured about his test taking drama. He’d done it all, from purposefully failing his tests, to openly giving answers to other students. Some teachers let it slide, others had a fit. He’s been sent to many a principal’s office and not once had he ever apologized. Why should he? Did Martin Luther King Jr. Apologize?

Solomon steps into the room.

“Hey Brixton, sorry I’m late. Crazy how many books some people think they can carry.” Solomon examines the office, it was bright, several lamps covered every inch of the place with light but, he had a chandelier as well, just to be sure. Solomon saw the carefully placed chair in front of the Headmasters desk. He saw the chair and saw the Headmaster gesture for him to sit in it. Solomon decided to instead use the movement of his neck to make it look like he missed the gesture; he stepped over to the bookshelves that lined the walls. He could feel the Headmasters eyes following him over. He’s trying to play it cool, he isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to.

“I take it you know why you’re here, Mr. Ford?” The Headmaster asks.

“My name is Solomon.” Solomon snaps back. Welp, so much for cool.

“Solomon, do you know why you’re here?”

“Because some people can’t stand having their authority challenged?” Solomon spits out, pretending to flip though a book he pulled off the wall.

“Because your grades are far below the standard of this institution.”

“Because the standards of this institution are inherently unjust and, to be frank, below my standards.” Solomon spins around to face Headmaster Brixton. “Do you know why I’m here, Brixton?”

“Enlighten me.” Brixton replies, calmly.

“I think this room is enlightened enough for both of us.” Solomon walks over to the chair, grabs it, and pulls a second chair out of the first; he spins the new chair around and sits on it in reverse, leaning his chest against the back. “I know Armstrong is the reason I’m here.”

“That’s Mrs. Armstrong, Solomon.”

“No, it’s Armstrong. Until I get a first name out of her, or you, she’s Armstrong and you’re Brixton, and I’m Solomon.”

“Well, Solomon. You seem to have a firm grip of how things work around here.” He sounded entirely sincere but, Solomon knew better. They sit in silence for a few seconds.

"Do you know how long I’ve been involved with Kighton Academy?”

“No, I don’t.”

The Headmaster chuckles. “A long time Solomon, let’s leave it at that. Longer than you’ve been alive, longer than much of my faculty has been. I’ve seen students achieve great things by utilizing the teachings of this academy… And I’ve seen the consequences of allowing students to leave before they are ready.”

Solomon raises an eyebrow, he didn’t know how to proceed.

“Mr. Ford, it’s clear, even to Mrs. Armstrong that you could have passed the test if you wanted to. And Miss Cleveland says you’ve been such a great help…” He places his hands onto his desk. “You’ve actively sacrificed your own grades in order to lift others up. I commend that. Truly, I do.”

Solomon squints his eyes the lamps surrounding the Headmasters desk intensify in brightness. What’s going on?

“But your disrespect to my faculty and to my time will not be tolerated.”

Solomon, felt a tingle on his neck, there was a magical energy filling the air, making it thick and hard to breathe. Despite the fact that it was clear the Headmaster was doing this, Solomon felt no anger coming from him or his words.

“We are placing you into Remedial Classes. Mrs. Armstrong will be your superior and if you are sent to my office again, we will be having a very different conversation. Have a nice day, Mr. Ford, and thank you for the extra chair.”

The chandelier above them is beyond anything Solomon could have imagined, the light in the room fills his eyes without pain and as soon as he realizes he’s… outside of the Headmasters office. Sitting on the floor, sweating and panting, confused.

“Wha-huh? Where?...” Solomon stands up.

“Remedial classes???”

 

[Bellatsakha]

Vanya woke earlier than normal the next morning, an entire hour earlier. She did so because the remedial class would take up an hour of her morning that she’d usually spend practicing so she needed to put that hour somewhere else. She didn’t eat breakfast with the rest of her house, she rarely did anyway, but this time she really didn’t want to listen to everyone enjoying themselves while her mind was swirling with anxiety about what she would do if the rest of the school found out she was lagging behind so badly. Of course, no-one could tell by looking at her face.

She pulled on her black shirt and white tie before buttoning up a double-breasted vest and putting her black blazer over it. She straightened her dark hair and bangs and covered up any small patches of red naturally so her skin looked perfect and no-one would know she was wearing makeup unless they looked closely.

On her way out, the house mistress commented on her skirt being too long again and she just brushed it off as usual. She wondered if that kind of behavior contributed to her having to take remedial classes. The classes were supposed to start at 8am so she had exactly an hour and 26 minutes to practice before she’d have to head over since it took her 7 minutes to get to the correct classroom from the music room. She calculated it all so she’d be early yet still make the most of her extra time.

She wondered who else would attend the classes and doubted they would be the type she’d want to sacrifice an hour of practice for. Probably a bunch of delinquents with no future, she thought at first as she started to practice her violin, but she had to remind herself that she was in the classes too so perhaps it wouldn’t be like walking into juvenile detention. Also, Knighton was an elite school so the word ‘delinquent’ could be used lightly.

She ran through the same piece over and over again until she eventually got it completely correct. She checked the clock periodically and left exactly 20 minutes to 8. There weren’t many people hanging around the main building at the time since most of them were in their common rooms doing homework or in extracurricular activities and would be until 9am.

The classroom was right next to one of the dance studios so she knew where it was. It was also the geography classroom, which was a lesson unique to her house, Weyfell, and so that should’ve been the reason she knew where it was, only she hadn’t attended a geography lesson in five months. To be fair to herself, she was practicing her magic more than the average student. So, she wasn’t reading through books and books of magical theory, but that was all semantics when it came to physically doing it.

Mostly, she practiced because ice magic enhanced her balance and she could carry ballet moves over so it was kind of like extra training. It was also one less thing her parents had to complain about.

She opened the door to see the room empty so she took a seat in the front row, opened her bag up and pulled out a book.

 

[theroseoforlais]

Mason Black slouched in the chair placed in front of Headmaster Brixton's desk, as he picked at his cuticles with an unreadable gaze. He gave off the impression that he had no interest in what was about to occur, but the headmaster didn't seem to be fazed by this, as he slid into his own seat.

"Mr. Black. I apologize for the wait," he said, looking at Mason with kind eyes. "Do you know why I called you here?"

Mason inhaled slowly, then answered in a dull tone: "No, but I'm pretty sure that whatever lecture you're about to give me, will be an utter waste of my time." He met the headmaster's gaze, his hands gripping the arms of the chair till his knuckles went white.

Once again, the headmaster was not fazed. He calmly adjusted his glasses, and said: "Mr. Black, your grades have plummeted. Not only that, you are exceedingly rude to your teachers and classmates, and you skip lessons. Help has been offered to you on multiple occasions, but you are insistent on refusing it. I have to ask: Alexander pays a great deal of money for your education, do you really wish to squander it?"

Mason simply raised an eyebrow defiantly. "I'm not squandering anything, Sir."

Brixton sighed. "Very well, Mr. Black. I'm not blind, I can see that you are a bright young man, but as you are determined to be difficult, I will be placing you in remedial classes. Tomorrow, in Classroom 248, at eight AM, you will meet with students not unlike yourself."

"I was right," Mason muttered, as he got to his feet. "This was a waste of my time."

Before Brixton could say anything else, Mason walked out of his office.

***

The next day, Mason did what he normally did. He woke up earlier than almost everyone in his house, Santana, and walked to a quiet place in the castle, where he read. Every so often, he would jot down some information that he had just discovered in a notebook that he carried with him. Eventually he heard people talking, and coming down the hallways, but he didn't really notice. He only cared about the books that he was reading, and his ideas and curiosities. The rest of the world was lost to him.

He could have missed the first remedial class, and it wouldn't have mattered to him. In fact, it would have brought him some happiness to defy Brixton. But, surprisingly, he checked his watch five minutes before eight, and decided that he might as well go. He had finished his book, after all, and he needed something to do before he could get another one. He would probably attend the first few classes, then skip all of the rest. He was curious as to what these remedial classes would be like, but, like with all things, he would get bored of them. That was life.

Once he had gathered his things, Mason left his secluded spot, and started to walk through Knighton's hallways. He was silent, and expressionless, unlike most of the students. Truthfully, Mason didn't have any friends. He only had a few acquaintances from group projects at the start of his education, but Mason wasn't foolish enough to think that those people were his friends. He was by himself. He always had been, even with Alexander. Mason liked it this way. After all, everyone is inevitably alone in life, in his opinion.

When he entered the classroom, he saw that there was already a girl there, but he didn't say anything to her. He simply dropped his bag next to a desk at the very back of the class, then sat down.

 

[StrixDesmodus]

Francis: With classes going as usual, I felt like I could forget the debacle and just focus on my studies, but returning to my room later that day.... Well, just think how appalling it was! A letter, on my bed, with the Headmaster's handwriting on it, labeled for my reading. Reluctantly, I opened it, and read it. I was to wake up early and attend remedial classes at eight in the geography room with Mrs Armstrong. Egads!
I considered, once again, turning into a bird and flying off. Actually, that was just what I needed to do, at the very least to dispose of my letter.
I put the letter back into its envelope and then seized it between my teeth, opened the window, and transformed myself into a raven.
Once the feathers were all over me, my beak extended, and my size reduced, I flew into the open air, and off campus to the Smithstone River, where I resumed human form and proceeded to tear the letter into small enough pieces that they would dissolve quickly and throw them into the river.
When I was done with that, I flew back to the school, this time in the form of a robin so as not to rouse suspicion.

Sam: Mr. Brannigan had told me everything I needed to know about why I was being placed in the remedial class, and where I needed to go. I felt like a failure, but kept it hidden as I practiced telekinetically rolling a glass ball from one end of a table to another at varying speeds.
When classes dismissed, I levitated every book I had a foot above my left shoulder, and continued like this for a while. I might as well get a head start, even if I kept having to take so many breaks.

The Next Day​

Francis: I was almost shaking as I entered the remedial class, especially knowing who would be teaching the class. Why is it that the teachers who are least qualified to teach are always tasked with those who need the most help, or wouldn't even need help if not for their barbarism? It's just not fair!
I sat at the classroom's rear. I figured that way I would be less likely to draw Mrs. Armstrong's attention. Next to me, there was a guy with dark hair and sharp features.

 

[EliaAnneFree]

Elia received her schedule early the next morning and nearly burst into tears when she saw her remedial classes. She tried to ignore the guilty feeling that was growing in her stomach. She did her morning routine then headed to her morning class. As she made her way to the remedial classroom she grew more anxious. She tried to shake off her nerves as she approached the classroom door but it did little to put her mind at ease.

'I can do this. I just have to get through these classes then my grades will go up and there won't be anything to worry about.'

She opened the door and walked in slowly. Two boys and a girl sat inside silently. Elia took a seat in the middle near a window and stared outside. Dark clouds occupied the morning sky and blocked the sun from shining.

'That's odd. It was clear this morning.'

She heard thunder rumble in the distance and jumped slightly. She groaned quietly and put her head down on her desk.

'Today is going to be a long day.'

 

[SandyMandy]

-The Next Day-

Solomon slept about the same amount as usual. 3.5 hours, from 3:30am to 7am. He’s perfected the every-man sleep cycle. He spent his night well, typing out a short speech to give to his fellow remedial students. Solomon wrote it out and edited it, he made sure the words read easily. When he was done typing he printed the words out and began reciting them, he need to have them more or less memorized by the time he woke up. By 3:30am he was knocked out. When Solomon finally woke up he was perfectly pleased with himself. Sure, he may have pissed off the headmaster but, he stood up for his beliefs and that’s what mattered most. Besides, what’s passed is past after all. Hakuna Matata, ya gotta put your behind in your past. So Solomon woke up pretty pleased with himself.

“They’re trying to break me. I won’t let them. They want to see me crack; I’ll only double my resolve.” Solomon said to himself as he gazed into his bathroom mirror. If this is the game they want to play, he will play it. As he walked through the Santana house hallways he thought of his strategy. He’d pass these completely unwarranted “remedial” classes with flying colors, get put back into normal classes, and then stage an even larger protest than before. That would show them something proper. In fact, perhaps these classes were a blessing in disguise. A chance for him to gain a following among his like-minded peers. He read through his speech one last time before leaving his dorm room.

He walked briskly to the location of the first class; Mrs. Armstrong would be “thrilled” to see him… not. But this wasn’t about her. Solomon takes a deep breath before opening the door to the classroom. He takes a step inside and looks around. There are 4 people in the room. 2 boys 2 girls. One of the boys, a fan of the color black, with pointed features and eyes so blue you could see them even when he wasn’t looking your direction, Solomon had definitely seen around his dorm more than once. He’s a Santana, good, he has something in common someone in the room.

“So, we’re the remedials, huh?” Solomon starts, surveying the group. “Well, I don’t think we look all that dumb… do you?” Solomon, looks around, curious to see if he’s gotten anyone’s attention. “Albert Einstein, a man who let’s admit was likely one of us, once said, “Everyone’s a Genius, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.” This school, despite being old and magical, uses the same antiquated educational system as schools on the outside, and it will achieve the same results. Students like us don’t care about grades, we care about learning. We care about honing our talents, about absorbing book after book, not to raise a C to a B but, because we enjoy the feeling of our minds expanding. Schools like this one should cherish that, not punish it. Not allow mean old bats like Mrs. Armstrong to throw away perfectly capable students like they’re nothing just because they don’t respond well to this specific way of teaching. That’s not right. The point is they’re the problem, not us. Don’t spend any time here working to succeed in a broken system. The result will be allowing them to rob you of your sense of goodness. Your love of knowledge.”

With that, still unsure if it reached anyone but, wanting to sit down before Mrs. Armstrong walked in, Solomon walked to the back of the classroom to sit next to his fellow Santana houser. “Hey, I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? You’re in Santana house but, I don’t think we’ve ever spoken. My name’s Solomon, Solomon Ford. What’s yours? What’d you do to earn your place among such distinguished company as this?”

 

[StrixDesmodus]

Francis: I perked up at the newcomer's speech, having previously been sulking. Finally somebody got it! Or sort of got it. I didn't think we could change the system without finding a way to impress the big enchiladas than ran it, but honestly, his idealism wasn't unwelcome to me.
I kept an ear out for an opening in his conversation, and watched to show I was listening. Perhaps I could make a friend. That way, something good could come of remedial classes. I know I wouldn't have much of an academic chance given who was teaching.