Post by Disco Rentsky on Dec 2, 2008 3:46:08 GMT -5
Be inconspicuous, Disco Rentsky told herself as she slipped through the doors of the lecture hall. Inconspicuous, she stressed again as she scurried forward and slid into the cornermost seat by the hall's back entrance. She would've liked to have sat closer to the front, but a quick scan of the room told her that the seats nearer the lecturer's podium were almost all filled. She should've expected it - most of the college kids at To-Oh were probably ace students, the kind that were never tardy. Settling into her seat, she slipped her messenger bag over her head and laid it upon the writing surface at her front. With ginger fingertips, she pulled at the zipper of its outer pocket and peered inside to insure that her cargo - a small ruled notebook, a portable DVD player and a bundle of blown-up photos - was still intact. Everything was fine, and really there was very little reason for it not to be so, as she'd walked with a protective arm plastered around her bag the entire way to class. She was simply paranoid about the latter items' safety because of their tantamount importance. The notebook was simply for scrawling her notes in, and although she'd become somewhat sentimental about the little thing over the few months she'd had it, it wasn't of any particular value. She slid it carelessly from the pack and flopped it onto the table, flipped it open and began to doodle as if she was readying herself to take class notes. It was the portable player that she was really concerned with, or rather, the video inside of it.
The little device housed an amazing videotaped display of unidentified flying lights jolting about over a field in which crop-circle activity was known to seasonally reoccur. The field was in a small town in Gifu, and although her magazine normally only covered happenings in Kanto, the exorbitant drama and crisp quality of the video had prompted her boss to send her on a few days' retreat to the town to gather some information for a special story. Her conclusions about the happenings would be used to decide whether the story would be an expose or a front-page special. She'd seen the crop circles supposedly resulting from the night's action herself, and had no idea how designs so elaborate could've been so quickly faked. Not to mention, Disco had certainly seen her fair share of edited videos in her time at The Fifth Column (as the magazine hosted videos of the paranormal on its website), and if this was one of them it was exceedingly well done. Basically, she was all but convinced that the footage was real. Her own impressions aside, however, it was pretty outlandish subject matter for most, and the cinematic drama of this particular video would likely only serve to arouse more skepticism in the uninitiated. Still, it was a bombshell for her magazine, not to mention an amazing opportunity to get the general public more interested in the magazine's particular subculture genre by showing them a flashy example of what they were after. She needed more than her own opinion, more than her observations on the circles to validate her story.
That need was what brought her into the stuffy halls of the exclusive and prestigious To-Oh University. She was here to speak with one of To-Oh's physics instructors, a man who also happened to be a rather renowned expert at photo and video manipulation. At the thought of him, she glanced up to the front of the room where he already stood, readying himself for his presentation to the first-year physics class in which she sat. As quickly as she looked to him, she jolted her eyes back to her notebook, as something about the sight of him made her uneasy. Anyway, if anything could discredit or convince naysayers, it was a positive consultation with this guy, and considering she'd already had the video looked over and okayed as genuine by three lesser names, she had little doubt he'd come to an equally pleasing conclusion. As an added bonus, any degree of affiliation with To-Oh would add a much-needed jolt of extra credulity to her story. Actually establishing a dialogue with the professor, however, had proven itself a rather difficult task. Snotty bastard, he'd not returned any of her (numerous) phone calls, nor even graced her with a reply to an email. She'd been so persistent in her sending of electronic communication that it was hardly likely he hadn't gotten her messages. As a matter of fact, there was little doubt in her mind that he'd already seen the video, perhaps even formed some preliminary conclusions. Not that it mattered, because even if he'd simply discarded her emails without a second thought, she'd brought the extra copy of the video and the magnified screenshots as a precaution.
She'd been so incessant with her attempts to establish an electronic dialogue because face-to-face interviews weren't exactly her forte, and the fact that the professor seemed so reticent to speak with her online or via phone made her all the more nervous about confronting him in person. She dreaded the thought of having to introduce herself to him, deal with his probable realization that she was the reporter he'd been blowing off all this time. She hoped upon hope that he'd be brief with his reservations and inquiries about her. Better yet, she hoped perhaps he'd assume she was simply a reporter for To-Oh's student paper, and would give her a quotable response while neglecting to ask anything at all. No, no, that wasn't likely - not with her name and the video so liberally peppering his inbox, of late. He'd probably recognize her as the pesky would-be interviewer from the emails as soon as she uttered the first syllable of her name. It would've been nice if she could've given him an alias of some sort, but unfortunately even The Fifth Column didn't allow its reporters to conduct themselves so shadily - at least, not with interviewees holding as much clout as the professor. She sighed lightly and began a randomly circular trailing of her pencil. Her eyes left the paper before the movement was done, and although she wasn't looking at her efforts, she continued her scribblings. Without heed to her moving fingers, her gaze fell upon the student body at front and began to search for something, anything to bring her thoughts away from the upcoming interview.
Japan's best and brightest, eh? From her perch at the leftmost corner of the room, she had a good view of most of the students within it. Glancing from one well-dressed super-pupil to the next, she suddenly began to feel a bit self conscious in her heavy, lint-logged wool sweater and faded black tee. Maybe she should've gone with the blazer ... Ah, no. Her continued scan of the room led her to the discovery that she wasn't the only 'student' with an utter lack of fashion sense and a disdain for basic grooming. There was a chubby kid up front who didn't seem to be taking notes who had on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms under his corduroy blazer and crisp black button-up. The sight of him curled her lips into a small smirk. At least he put in a half-effort? Quickly flicking her eyes about, she also spotted a sleeping girl who wore a faded plaid button-up and loose, ragged jeans (although there was the distinct possibility that her grungy look was intentional, because she was leaning forward over what looked like a designer bag). There was also skinny kid in a plain white shirt and baggy jeans who didn't look like he'd combed his scraggly black hair since primary school. Kids after her own heart ...
As she glanced further toward the room's front, her eyes fell inadvertently upon the barrel-chested professor who stood a few feet behind the podium, his back to the class, broad shoulders wiggling oddly as he fervently jotted his formulas across the board. Her half-smirk quickly fell. She'd made a point of avoiding looking to him during the lecture, as the uneasiness looking at him had brought upon her reemerged each time her eyes settled on him. His movements seemed rather aggressive, and he had a very overbearing air to him that had never come through in the photographs she'd seen of him. Then again, maybe it was just her utter dread of confronting him in person that gave her these newfound impressions. It was pretty ironic, if so, because that would mean her brain was piling reason atop gut-churning reason for her to avoid this interaction. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of confronting him. Even so, it had to be done. There was no way around it. She'd tried and tried to get a response via electronic means, but no, he refused. She wanted his reference, needed it ... and she was going to get it.
If he wasn't willing to cooperate on her terms, she was going to march right up to him and get the information the hard way .... wasn't she? What if he refused outright? She'd have to persist, of course, even to the point of his anger. Certainly he wouldn't be extremely rude in front of his students, right? She'd known from the start that if a face-to-face meeting became unavoidable, she'd confront him in public. That was how she usually did these things, since most people felt the need to maintain at least a guise of politeness in public for propriety's sake. When she'd first started with interviewing, she'd had her share of curse-outs when she'd attempted to question the unwilling in semi-private spaces, and they were by no means pleasant. They made her skin crawl, left her so jittery she literally spasmed as soon as she had a moment's privacy. But, no, this professor had a reputation to uphold - and a damned good one, at that. He'd not do anything so harsh. He'd resign himself and have a look and give her a quick, muttered opinion. Certainly that was how this would go, right? She tore her eyes from him and glanced to the clock on the wall. Half-hearted reassurances aside, she couldn't decide if she was more pleased or annoyed by the quickness with which the minute hand seemed to be slipping around the clock's face.
With a quiet sigh, she leaned to prop her head on her hand and lolled her muddy brown eyes down to the notebook upon which she'd been absentmindedly scrawling throughout her musings. Her once lackadaisical doodling had become frenzied at the thought of the inevitable interrogation, and her hand had begun to produce some pretty elaborate shapes. They were, hands down, much more interesting to her than the lecture the professor was rasping out in his guttural growl of a voice. Unfortunately, the dull subject matter did nothing to quell the uneasiness the sound of it brought upon her. She tried to tune her fears out, but her brain paid her will no mind and kept lurching them to forefront. Preoccupied with attempts at rationalizing them away, she lost track of time, and it seemed mere seconds had passed when her ears caught the deep voice of the professor announcing that class was over for the day. She quickly folded her notepad and shoved it into her bag's side pocket and stood, tapping her fingers against her thighs in nervous determination. She hadn't gotten to where she was by heeding those thoughts. Quite to the contrary, she'd made her gains by ignoring them, acting in direct opposition to them. And of course, this instance was another situation that called for such pointed opposition. She made her way down the walkway at the side of the room, hoping to bypass most exiting students. To her disappointment, a sizable gathering of students was beginning to congregate in the space between the exit and the lecturer's podium, blocking her way to the professor. She sent a sidelong glance down the rows of seats, hoping that perhaps she'd see an escape route through which she could quickly dart and maneuver her way to her interviewee.
Unfortunately, there were bookbag-logged pupils still filing their way awkwardly down the rows, and it didn't seem that she would likely get past them. She looked back to the crowd and sighed annoyedly. With a quick burst of determination, she shuffled forward and snaked her hand between one kid's torsos and another's back, trying to wedge her way through and standing tip-toed all the while to keep a view of the professor. Much to her chagrin, he was quickly packing his briefcase and readying himself to leave. "Excuse me," she said, drawing in upon herself and pushing forward through the jumble of students. There was a murmur of excitement growing in the crowd of which she was now midst, but she wasn't conscious of exactly what was being said. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the words "balloons" and "streamers" and "festival" may have registered, but in her frantic focus upon her target, she payed them no heed. "Excuse me ... I, uh ... need ... to get ....," she continued, now practically shoving herself through the gathering; everyone seemed too focused upon their conversations to pay her any mind. "Pardon me, please ... I ..."
"Oh! Another volunteer! Great! We could use all the help we can get with decorations!" a loud, sunny voice said suddenly, and Disco felt the crowd break around her. The kids stepped away from her and turned inward, and she was gripped by the spine-tingling suspicion that all eyes were now turned toward her. Hers, however, were still situated upon the professor, and it was only when his gaze fell upon her as well that she looked to the crowd. Indeed, most of the students within it were now turned toward her, quiet and in await of her response. She felt her cheeks color and blinked frantically. "I ... ah ... uhm ... what? No! N-No, I ..."she stuttered lamely, darting her gaze about. "I just need to talk to ... uh ..." She brought her eyes back to the professor, who was also still looking to her. No, she thought to herself, No. This is too conspicuous a situation, too awkward. He might think something of it if you refuse. I mean, you're a freshman at the great and illustrious To-Oh, right? As much money as you're paying for this education, you probably want to get involved with student life. There would be other chances, and one more lecture wouldn't be so unbearable, would it? Anyway, if the professor witnessed her participating in student activities, he was much more likely to assume that she was simply an interviewer with the student paper, and that would of course save her quite a bit of trouble. She forced an awkward and bashful smile to her face and took in a deep breath, looking to the pesky and unnecessarily perky girl who'd called her out. "I mean ... yes, sure. I'd ... I'd like that."
The little device housed an amazing videotaped display of unidentified flying lights jolting about over a field in which crop-circle activity was known to seasonally reoccur. The field was in a small town in Gifu, and although her magazine normally only covered happenings in Kanto, the exorbitant drama and crisp quality of the video had prompted her boss to send her on a few days' retreat to the town to gather some information for a special story. Her conclusions about the happenings would be used to decide whether the story would be an expose or a front-page special. She'd seen the crop circles supposedly resulting from the night's action herself, and had no idea how designs so elaborate could've been so quickly faked. Not to mention, Disco had certainly seen her fair share of edited videos in her time at The Fifth Column (as the magazine hosted videos of the paranormal on its website), and if this was one of them it was exceedingly well done. Basically, she was all but convinced that the footage was real. Her own impressions aside, however, it was pretty outlandish subject matter for most, and the cinematic drama of this particular video would likely only serve to arouse more skepticism in the uninitiated. Still, it was a bombshell for her magazine, not to mention an amazing opportunity to get the general public more interested in the magazine's particular subculture genre by showing them a flashy example of what they were after. She needed more than her own opinion, more than her observations on the circles to validate her story.
That need was what brought her into the stuffy halls of the exclusive and prestigious To-Oh University. She was here to speak with one of To-Oh's physics instructors, a man who also happened to be a rather renowned expert at photo and video manipulation. At the thought of him, she glanced up to the front of the room where he already stood, readying himself for his presentation to the first-year physics class in which she sat. As quickly as she looked to him, she jolted her eyes back to her notebook, as something about the sight of him made her uneasy. Anyway, if anything could discredit or convince naysayers, it was a positive consultation with this guy, and considering she'd already had the video looked over and okayed as genuine by three lesser names, she had little doubt he'd come to an equally pleasing conclusion. As an added bonus, any degree of affiliation with To-Oh would add a much-needed jolt of extra credulity to her story. Actually establishing a dialogue with the professor, however, had proven itself a rather difficult task. Snotty bastard, he'd not returned any of her (numerous) phone calls, nor even graced her with a reply to an email. She'd been so persistent in her sending of electronic communication that it was hardly likely he hadn't gotten her messages. As a matter of fact, there was little doubt in her mind that he'd already seen the video, perhaps even formed some preliminary conclusions. Not that it mattered, because even if he'd simply discarded her emails without a second thought, she'd brought the extra copy of the video and the magnified screenshots as a precaution.
She'd been so incessant with her attempts to establish an electronic dialogue because face-to-face interviews weren't exactly her forte, and the fact that the professor seemed so reticent to speak with her online or via phone made her all the more nervous about confronting him in person. She dreaded the thought of having to introduce herself to him, deal with his probable realization that she was the reporter he'd been blowing off all this time. She hoped upon hope that he'd be brief with his reservations and inquiries about her. Better yet, she hoped perhaps he'd assume she was simply a reporter for To-Oh's student paper, and would give her a quotable response while neglecting to ask anything at all. No, no, that wasn't likely - not with her name and the video so liberally peppering his inbox, of late. He'd probably recognize her as the pesky would-be interviewer from the emails as soon as she uttered the first syllable of her name. It would've been nice if she could've given him an alias of some sort, but unfortunately even The Fifth Column didn't allow its reporters to conduct themselves so shadily - at least, not with interviewees holding as much clout as the professor. She sighed lightly and began a randomly circular trailing of her pencil. Her eyes left the paper before the movement was done, and although she wasn't looking at her efforts, she continued her scribblings. Without heed to her moving fingers, her gaze fell upon the student body at front and began to search for something, anything to bring her thoughts away from the upcoming interview.
Japan's best and brightest, eh? From her perch at the leftmost corner of the room, she had a good view of most of the students within it. Glancing from one well-dressed super-pupil to the next, she suddenly began to feel a bit self conscious in her heavy, lint-logged wool sweater and faded black tee. Maybe she should've gone with the blazer ... Ah, no. Her continued scan of the room led her to the discovery that she wasn't the only 'student' with an utter lack of fashion sense and a disdain for basic grooming. There was a chubby kid up front who didn't seem to be taking notes who had on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms under his corduroy blazer and crisp black button-up. The sight of him curled her lips into a small smirk. At least he put in a half-effort? Quickly flicking her eyes about, she also spotted a sleeping girl who wore a faded plaid button-up and loose, ragged jeans (although there was the distinct possibility that her grungy look was intentional, because she was leaning forward over what looked like a designer bag). There was also skinny kid in a plain white shirt and baggy jeans who didn't look like he'd combed his scraggly black hair since primary school. Kids after her own heart ...
As she glanced further toward the room's front, her eyes fell inadvertently upon the barrel-chested professor who stood a few feet behind the podium, his back to the class, broad shoulders wiggling oddly as he fervently jotted his formulas across the board. Her half-smirk quickly fell. She'd made a point of avoiding looking to him during the lecture, as the uneasiness looking at him had brought upon her reemerged each time her eyes settled on him. His movements seemed rather aggressive, and he had a very overbearing air to him that had never come through in the photographs she'd seen of him. Then again, maybe it was just her utter dread of confronting him in person that gave her these newfound impressions. It was pretty ironic, if so, because that would mean her brain was piling reason atop gut-churning reason for her to avoid this interaction. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of confronting him. Even so, it had to be done. There was no way around it. She'd tried and tried to get a response via electronic means, but no, he refused. She wanted his reference, needed it ... and she was going to get it.
If he wasn't willing to cooperate on her terms, she was going to march right up to him and get the information the hard way .... wasn't she? What if he refused outright? She'd have to persist, of course, even to the point of his anger. Certainly he wouldn't be extremely rude in front of his students, right? She'd known from the start that if a face-to-face meeting became unavoidable, she'd confront him in public. That was how she usually did these things, since most people felt the need to maintain at least a guise of politeness in public for propriety's sake. When she'd first started with interviewing, she'd had her share of curse-outs when she'd attempted to question the unwilling in semi-private spaces, and they were by no means pleasant. They made her skin crawl, left her so jittery she literally spasmed as soon as she had a moment's privacy. But, no, this professor had a reputation to uphold - and a damned good one, at that. He'd not do anything so harsh. He'd resign himself and have a look and give her a quick, muttered opinion. Certainly that was how this would go, right? She tore her eyes from him and glanced to the clock on the wall. Half-hearted reassurances aside, she couldn't decide if she was more pleased or annoyed by the quickness with which the minute hand seemed to be slipping around the clock's face.
With a quiet sigh, she leaned to prop her head on her hand and lolled her muddy brown eyes down to the notebook upon which she'd been absentmindedly scrawling throughout her musings. Her once lackadaisical doodling had become frenzied at the thought of the inevitable interrogation, and her hand had begun to produce some pretty elaborate shapes. They were, hands down, much more interesting to her than the lecture the professor was rasping out in his guttural growl of a voice. Unfortunately, the dull subject matter did nothing to quell the uneasiness the sound of it brought upon her. She tried to tune her fears out, but her brain paid her will no mind and kept lurching them to forefront. Preoccupied with attempts at rationalizing them away, she lost track of time, and it seemed mere seconds had passed when her ears caught the deep voice of the professor announcing that class was over for the day. She quickly folded her notepad and shoved it into her bag's side pocket and stood, tapping her fingers against her thighs in nervous determination. She hadn't gotten to where she was by heeding those thoughts. Quite to the contrary, she'd made her gains by ignoring them, acting in direct opposition to them. And of course, this instance was another situation that called for such pointed opposition. She made her way down the walkway at the side of the room, hoping to bypass most exiting students. To her disappointment, a sizable gathering of students was beginning to congregate in the space between the exit and the lecturer's podium, blocking her way to the professor. She sent a sidelong glance down the rows of seats, hoping that perhaps she'd see an escape route through which she could quickly dart and maneuver her way to her interviewee.
Unfortunately, there were bookbag-logged pupils still filing their way awkwardly down the rows, and it didn't seem that she would likely get past them. She looked back to the crowd and sighed annoyedly. With a quick burst of determination, she shuffled forward and snaked her hand between one kid's torsos and another's back, trying to wedge her way through and standing tip-toed all the while to keep a view of the professor. Much to her chagrin, he was quickly packing his briefcase and readying himself to leave. "Excuse me," she said, drawing in upon herself and pushing forward through the jumble of students. There was a murmur of excitement growing in the crowd of which she was now midst, but she wasn't conscious of exactly what was being said. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the words "balloons" and "streamers" and "festival" may have registered, but in her frantic focus upon her target, she payed them no heed. "Excuse me ... I, uh ... need ... to get ....," she continued, now practically shoving herself through the gathering; everyone seemed too focused upon their conversations to pay her any mind. "Pardon me, please ... I ..."
"Oh! Another volunteer! Great! We could use all the help we can get with decorations!" a loud, sunny voice said suddenly, and Disco felt the crowd break around her. The kids stepped away from her and turned inward, and she was gripped by the spine-tingling suspicion that all eyes were now turned toward her. Hers, however, were still situated upon the professor, and it was only when his gaze fell upon her as well that she looked to the crowd. Indeed, most of the students within it were now turned toward her, quiet and in await of her response. She felt her cheeks color and blinked frantically. "I ... ah ... uhm ... what? No! N-No, I ..."she stuttered lamely, darting her gaze about. "I just need to talk to ... uh ..." She brought her eyes back to the professor, who was also still looking to her. No, she thought to herself, No. This is too conspicuous a situation, too awkward. He might think something of it if you refuse. I mean, you're a freshman at the great and illustrious To-Oh, right? As much money as you're paying for this education, you probably want to get involved with student life. There would be other chances, and one more lecture wouldn't be so unbearable, would it? Anyway, if the professor witnessed her participating in student activities, he was much more likely to assume that she was simply an interviewer with the student paper, and that would of course save her quite a bit of trouble. She forced an awkward and bashful smile to her face and took in a deep breath, looking to the pesky and unnecessarily perky girl who'd called her out. "I mean ... yes, sure. I'd ... I'd like that."
