Post by Deleted on Mar 27, 2013 20:54:15 GMT -5
The library. Many a tome of knowledge from those long gone rest here, slowly gathering dust till an inquiring mind has their interest piqued, thereby being plucked from the shelf to be scoured for hour on hour until the aforementioned youngster becomes unbelievably bored with the lack of pictures and instead decides to doodle some of their own, many of which being quite vulgar in nature. These were among some of Blaine's favorite, however, as the poor, neglected, mistreated and abused book would soon be in the loving arms of a true connoisseur of the literate to be properly cared for and mended back to health.
"Philistines," he muttered to himself, rubbing at a particularly "cylindrical", shall we say, drawing with a q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol. "An academy of philistines and nary a single lover of the written word. Fear not, friend. You are in good hands. I should say my talents would be better suited elsewhere, however I daresay any other institution would hire one such as myself." He paused for a moment before carrying back on with his work. "That or one who talks to books."
He chuckled to himself, merrily carrying on with his work. The library staff would be more than capable of performing this duty on their own, but Blaine couldn't be bothered for anything else. This was his zen garden. His peace of mind. That and the babbling dribble of babes that he would have to grade at some point or another was, by no means, calling his name. The poor red ink pen. So much of a work out in such little time. Had it been an employee, there would be tremendous amounts of overtime to pay.
With a sigh and a smile sprawling on his face, he worked dutifully on his finely spined friend. The last page, the last doodle, and on to yet another in a seemingly infinite pool of work. Ah, this one had a flipbook illustrated in the corner. "A" for effort, but "F" for content and delivery. A "D" is nothing to write home about, dear anonymous student.
"Philistines," he muttered to himself, rubbing at a particularly "cylindrical", shall we say, drawing with a q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol. "An academy of philistines and nary a single lover of the written word. Fear not, friend. You are in good hands. I should say my talents would be better suited elsewhere, however I daresay any other institution would hire one such as myself." He paused for a moment before carrying back on with his work. "That or one who talks to books."
He chuckled to himself, merrily carrying on with his work. The library staff would be more than capable of performing this duty on their own, but Blaine couldn't be bothered for anything else. This was his zen garden. His peace of mind. That and the babbling dribble of babes that he would have to grade at some point or another was, by no means, calling his name. The poor red ink pen. So much of a work out in such little time. Had it been an employee, there would be tremendous amounts of overtime to pay.
With a sigh and a smile sprawling on his face, he worked dutifully on his finely spined friend. The last page, the last doodle, and on to yet another in a seemingly infinite pool of work. Ah, this one had a flipbook illustrated in the corner. "A" for effort, but "F" for content and delivery. A "D" is nothing to write home about, dear anonymous student.