MUGGLE STUDIES & lack thereof

Frank sat with the rest of the degenerates as he did every day,except unlike everyone else he glared at the professor with such intensity the man very well may have exploded if Frank was blessed with the ability to make people spontaneously implode. The prick was eating his breakfast at his desk. Frank hated that. He almost always missed breakfast and just about starved every morning until lunch. Bastard. It would have been utterly satisfying to smack the cup of coffee right out of his hand.

The distribution of papers interrupted his thoughts and Frank glanced down at the assignment.

Is he serious?

Only a moron would not have been able to answer the questions. Everyone knew what a bloody car was for chrissake. It was obvious the school did not have much in the way of a screening process when hiring staff. A hobo could have walked in right off the street and planned a more engaging lesson. But who the hell ever complained about a class being too easy, right?

Frank thought it best to humor the bastard and raised his hand, "It's a car, sir. It's powered by petrol and muggles use it to travel, and sometimes to procreate.." he responded, matter of factly.

The class was looking pretty disgruntled at Trent's test, which was normal since normally this class was movie night. Some lil' snitch fibbed and he couldn't watch horror flicks around some of the younger years, but his older students were generally chill about it. But some people were acting like this was the first time they ever took his class, clearly patronized by the dumb bullshit paper he wrote. The thing was, this stuff would be genuinely confusing to people who weren't ever around muggle junk. Everyone knew what a car was, but some folk didn't know how a muggle car was different. Hell, some people didn't even know what the hell a plane was.

It was almost like they were two different cultures. Because they were! Trent was a dumbshit, lonely muggleborn thrown into the life of magic, he knew the difference well. How would his life have changed if he had just been a muggle? Well, for one, he would have been homeless at eleven, but that was beside the point, considering he was homeless at twenty.

"It's a car, sir. It's powered by petrol and muggles use it to travel, and sometimes to procreate."

Leaning against the projector stand, there was a brief snort from the professor and he nodded knowingly. "Oooo, pro-creee-ate. Someone here's an intellectual," Trent smirked, "Good on you, Torrie. Though please don't 'procreate'. Spay and neuter your pets, always wear a condom, etcetera etcetera. I'd hate to see your children here in eleven years, I've had enough of your faces. Ten points to Gryffindor." Flipping his wand again, the slide turned once more to a picture of a telephone. However, before he could utter another word, a shit eating short stuff suddenly made his way to the front of the class.

Trent, in his filthy glory, eyes narrowed like a wolf, stood tall as the boy thought to speak to him like some wench on a street corner. Hell, if Trent was a wench on a street corner, he'd glasgow the boy's smile until he didn't smile ever again. But being a teacher, a teacher under The Murphy, he knew his limits. If The Murphy was willing to bring Trent in from the streets, Trent could only pay forward that questionable kindness.

"It's mind challenging to understand what the fuck you just said to me," Trent quipped back, now done with the cheese from his fingers, "I don't give a rat's ass what you think, Tower. I don't think anyone here does. You act like this is the first time you've ever taken my class, as if I want to ever look at your ugly mug and not Jamie Lee Curtis's tiddies. To be frank, I'd rather chew the vomit your mother conceived you out of, right? You understand me, boy?"

Snatching Victor's quiz from him, he rolled it up tight and gave the Slytherin a good swat on the back of his head.

"Now sit down, you dirty gremlin, else you'll be the only fucking loser in Hogwarts to somehow fail Muggle Studies," With that, he pointed his wand flippantly at the image behind him. "Question two. Telephones. Anyone else?"

Alina walks into class, found an empty seat in the middle row. After she sat down, puts her stuff down in front of her and sets her bag on the ground and than listens to the teacher talk.

Batty knew the answer. How could she not? TELEPHONES were devices of chaos, misfortune, and usually ended with death. MUGGLES were insane to keep such a thing in their house. If there was anything she learned from the many documentaries that they watched in class about muggle life, it was that you never answer the TELEPHONE. Batty shifted uncomfortably in her seat just the thought about telephones were enough to unsettle her. She watched panicked, owl like eyes scanning the classroom as if a telephone might suddenly appear. When she was assured that one would not come popping out, she shyly raised her hand and addressed Professor Travis quite seriously,

"Telephone's are harbingers of death, illness, or harm. Muggles keep these devices in their homes due to their innate curiousity and desire of knowledge, especially in terms of their future. " and also because they're quite suicidal.

If Batty learned anything about muggles it was that they really were like a completely different species. 

Frank sat up in his seat anticipating a throwdown between the professor and the older Slytherin guy, but since nothing actually happened his focus naturally diverted to Alina Stevenson's knockers. He directed a wide toothy grin at the older girl and winked.

Thankfully, it was just muggle studies that Llewellyn was late for. This meant family minimal grilling on his part considering Professor Travis either understood that Llewellyn was a walking travesty and took pity on him, or just didn’t give a shit. Llewellyn’s guess was the later and for whatever reason he more often than not found himself in the good graces of the Professor. So when he’d sat down in an empty classroom for several minutes wondering where everyone was for Potions, it suddenly dawned on him that A: it was 12:00 and not 2:00, and B: He probably could have passed on the third spliff. This is why when Llewellyn walked into the correct class nearly fifteen minutes late he hung back shyly, with glassy red saucer eyes, uncertain if he walked into the wrong classroom again.

They? Were? Actually?? Doing work??

And it consisted of a Buick and not a time traveling DeLorean? The imagery on the projector flipped to a phone.

He pulled his book bag closer to his collar bone as an apprehensive idiosyncrasy. There was some sort of standoff going on at the front of the classroom between the Professor and a Slytherin boy whose Irish cadence rivaled the Scotmens something fierce. Batty, his housemate, was freaking out, but this wasn’t particularly unusual or unnerving. Lowering his head he made his way as inconspicuously as possible to sit beside Batty.

As he slid the notebooks out from his book bag he listened to her answer and frowned.

“Actually Batty, they’re like, a bit better than how wizards have a chat...” he mumbled to his desk mate, sliding the parchment across the table and uncapping his inkwell. Despite being muggleborn himself, there was a good chance Llewellyn would even fuck up a quiz on something as trivial as telephones.

Batty Riggs

Stragglers joined the classroom and Trent nodded to each respectively. Technically, they were late, but Trent wasn't the type to care. He took a sip of his coffee before placing it back on top of the projector tray, and he willed a stool that sat behind him closer, so that he wouldn't have to hover over everyone like an ape. In all sincerity, he hadn't expected Batty to be the one to pipe up. First of all, she was more anxious than his ex-girlfriend's Pomeranian, may he rest in peace. Died doing what he loved, which was holding in all his pee out of pure, stupid nervousness. And also he was old or something. Batty would likely die in a similar fashion, Trent could sense it. At least that meant she would live a long, stupid life.

But no, she wasn't exactly stupid. She was just very, very concerned about every little thing in existence. Also, he hated her best friend, which meant that, in turn, he wanted very much to hate her, too. He didn't. Somehow she wasn't nearly as annoying as Noel, but she was still quite annoying.

Trent did always have a soft spot for Hufflepuffs is the thing. That was likely part of the reason he didn't immediately call her a god damn idiot. "Christ." He took another sip of his coffee real quick, let himself settle down, before finally answering.

"Not exactly, Riggs, but I appreciate the effort," He began, adding quickly, "Oi, don't write that down," to another student in front of him, snapping his fingers and pointing at the boy's paper.

"Does anyone wish to help Miss Riggs with her answer?" Trent tapped the base of his wand on his chin, "You blokes listen to your radios all day, I think you can figure out a telephone, yeah?"

A beat.

Sighing, he pulled out a parchment suddenly from underneath the prompter, where sat a lot of dusty scrolls. Unfurling it, he eyed it for a bit, before it became apparent that he was reading enrollment list of the students currently in his class. "Miss... Stevenson, is it? What say you?" He very much didn't want to have to call on people, but no one was trying, and that meant he had to try. Which meant he was doing way more work than he wanted, and therefore he wanted to call its quits and just fail them all. As if he even cared, anyhow.