Title: MSU No Gakusei-Tachi Part 2: Foreign Profs are the Devil
Author: Kimiko
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-
insert
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde,
SallyxNoin
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain
from suing a starving college student. Tom's the real cafeteria-head guy at
Hubbard, and belongs presumably to his wife. I don't make any money
from writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very
thought.
Feedback: Please! I need to know if I should continue posting this fic as it
evolves! Off-list, though, please, as I'm lurking.
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me
know!
Warnings for PART 2: Crazy Japanese professor,
SexyGothArtistBoy!Duo, HetSquicked!Quatre, Bitch!Dorothy.
~TSUZUKU~
The classroom was full to bursting when they arrived. Nakamura-sensei
lugged her cardboard box into the room and plunked it unceremoniously
on the wobbly table. She wedged her squat, rotund little body between it
and the blackboard and began setting out teaching materials. Yui-sensei
slipped into the back of the classroom and took the one remaining seat, the
back left corner by the door.
The clock struck 9:10.
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei greeted her Section I JPN 101 class,
bowing. "This is Japanese 101; everyone is in right place, ne?" The sea of
nodding heads signified their understanding of the question, if not the
particle "ne". Yui-sensei permitted himself a small snort at the probability
that the latter would not change.
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei repeated unnecessarily, beaming.
"Watashi wa," and she pointed to her nose, "Nakamura-sensei desu." The
students blinked sleepily at her, uncomprehending. She turned and began
scribbling words on the board:
watashi - I, myself
wa - topic marker
sensei - teacher
desu - is, am, are
namae - name
"Do you understand? - Good." Without looking to see whether the class
indeed understood or not, she erased the board. "Yui-sensei, pass out
syllabus, please."
Yui-sensei traveled around the room distributing syllabi while Nakamura-
sensei asked the students their names.
"...Song Callahan," one girl replied timidly, pointing to her name on the
list. Nakamura-sensei checked her off and moved to the student behind
her.
Nani...?
The young man was tall, slender, perhaps Hiiro's age, with striking violet
eyes rimmed in heavy black. His heart-shaped face was whitened with
powder, his shapely lips painted black. His fingernails were black as well,
and his hands, pale, slender and elegant, languished regally upon a stark
black notebook under the weight of numerous wrought silver rings. A
spiked black dog collar was buckled around his slim neck, and his mass of
thick, silken chestnut hair was bound in a loose braid secured with a deep
red taffeta ribbon. His small, delicate ears were pierced in multiple places
and hung with various silver earrings. He was clad in black boots with
pointed toes, tight black leather pants, a taffeta poet shirt whose color
matched the hair ribbon, and a short leather vest laced up the front to hug
his body tantalizingly. The shirt was open just enough to reveal a
tantalizing slice of pale skin, a small bit of shapely chest...
"Duo Maxwell," he said to Nakamura-sensei with a tiny black smirk, his
eyes dancing.
Yui-sensei handed Maxwell-san a syllabus, his own strong, sturdy, tanned
hand brushing against a slender white one, sending tiny shivers up and
down Hiiro's spine. The violet eyes met his, the smirk grew into a devilish
grin, and his mouth went dry.
Scowling ferociously against his own reaction, Yui-sensei did not see the
lovely face fall as he moved resolutely on, following his boss.
*************
Relena Peacecraft examined her manicured hands, one dainty foot
dangling from where her smooth, tan legs were crossed. She carefully
adjusted her khaki skirt and twirled a strand of her artfully arranged
wheat-blond hair, gazing at the TA. He was very well made; compactly
built, rather like a cat ready to pounce, his well-developed muscles
bunching and coiling under his professional-looking navy blue suit. Her
gaze followed him as he turned away, lingering on a tight, firm, well-
shaped behind.
A sharp swat to the back of her head startled her back to full alertness.
"What?" she snapped, whirling to face her umfriend and roommate
Dorothy Catalonia.
"Bitch!" Dorothy hissed, "I'm still in the room!"
Relena rolled her eyes. "It's cool, I'm just looking," she pointed out.
"He's a GUY!" Dorothy growled. "What are you looking at a GUY for?!"
"Same reason I look at girls," and Relena shrugged delicately. "I thought
you knew."
"Well I didn't!" Dorothy snapped. "How would I? You never told me!"
She looked pointedly away from Relena and began reorganizing the three
items on her desk.
Relena sighed. "Bitch," she muttered. "Arrogant slut."
She was rewarded with another swat to the back of the head, but when she
turned, Dorothy was studiously ignoring her.
*************
Quatre watched these goings-on with a kind of morbid fascination; this
was nearly as good as Ricki Lake. Like every other mainstream American
college student, he viewed the problems of others as entertainment. "Hey
Trowa, Wufei," he whispered, "check out the catfight!"
Trowa looked around immediately, just in time to witness the second
smack, and snorted, smirking slightly. Wufei could not be reached for
comment; seated on Trowa's right, he was speaking with a young woman
in Chinese. Both were blushing, both were laughing nervously - it was
enough to make Quatre sick. The thought of a man... and a WOMAN... he
shuddered. *SQUICK!*
*************
Duo blinked at Quatre from across the room, noticing the shudder, and
Quatre waved a hand at Wufei and the girl. Duo grinned evilly and made
lewd hand gestures, causing Quatre to go green and squirmy. In a rare
moment of pity, Duo shifted in his seat and began actually to pay
attention.
He took down notes as quickly as he could, squinting fervently at
Nakamura-sensei's handwriting in a vain attempt to make sense of the
sheer quantity of information bieng thrown at him. After approximately
five minutes, during which he wrote down the letters "i", "r", and what he
thought might have been "q", he gave up and began doodling in his
notebook.
He sketched out an stick figure - the figure of a fallen angel. He began
carefully to flesh it out; strong arms, well-muscled chest... The wings,
bloodied and broken, reached out like a plea from the broad shoulders.
Dressed in a pair of torn jeans and a stained tank top... Spikish dark hair,
intense eyes, a tiny smirk that was almost a scowl -
- And he had drawn his TA. As an angel.
The clock struck 10:00, and Duo followed the other students out the door
before he had to think about what this could mean.
~TSUZUKU~
Author: Kimiko
Genre: Parody/humor, fluff, sap, AU
Warnings: Future lime?, silliness, OOC, bastard!J, yaoi, yuri, subtle self-
insert
Pairings: 1x2, 4x3, 5+Meiran, 13x6, DorothyxRelena, Catherine+Hirde,
SallyxNoin
Disclaimers: The boyz and grrrlz belong to Sunrise and Bandai and any
other rich people who hold a claim to them, all of whom should refrain
from suing a starving college student. Tom's the real cafeteria-head guy at
Hubbard, and belongs presumably to his wife. I don't make any money
from writing fan fiction - pardon me while I die laughing at the very
thought.
Feedback: Please! I need to know if I should continue posting this fic as it
evolves! Off-list, though, please, as I'm lurking.
Archive: Anywhere at all. (Darkflame, are you listening?) Please let me
know!
Warnings for PART 2: Crazy Japanese professor,
SexyGothArtistBoy!Duo, HetSquicked!Quatre, Bitch!Dorothy.
~TSUZUKU~
The classroom was full to bursting when they arrived. Nakamura-sensei
lugged her cardboard box into the room and plunked it unceremoniously
on the wobbly table. She wedged her squat, rotund little body between it
and the blackboard and began setting out teaching materials. Yui-sensei
slipped into the back of the classroom and took the one remaining seat, the
back left corner by the door.
The clock struck 9:10.
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei greeted her Section I JPN 101 class,
bowing. "This is Japanese 101; everyone is in right place, ne?" The sea of
nodding heads signified their understanding of the question, if not the
particle "ne". Yui-sensei permitted himself a small snort at the probability
that the latter would not change.
"Good morning," Nakamura-sensei repeated unnecessarily, beaming.
"Watashi wa," and she pointed to her nose, "Nakamura-sensei desu." The
students blinked sleepily at her, uncomprehending. She turned and began
scribbling words on the board:
watashi - I, myself
wa - topic marker
sensei - teacher
desu - is, am, are
namae - name
"Do you understand? - Good." Without looking to see whether the class
indeed understood or not, she erased the board. "Yui-sensei, pass out
syllabus, please."
Yui-sensei traveled around the room distributing syllabi while Nakamura-
sensei asked the students their names.
"...Song Callahan," one girl replied timidly, pointing to her name on the
list. Nakamura-sensei checked her off and moved to the student behind
her.
Nani...?
The young man was tall, slender, perhaps Hiiro's age, with striking violet
eyes rimmed in heavy black. His heart-shaped face was whitened with
powder, his shapely lips painted black. His fingernails were black as well,
and his hands, pale, slender and elegant, languished regally upon a stark
black notebook under the weight of numerous wrought silver rings. A
spiked black dog collar was buckled around his slim neck, and his mass of
thick, silken chestnut hair was bound in a loose braid secured with a deep
red taffeta ribbon. His small, delicate ears were pierced in multiple places
and hung with various silver earrings. He was clad in black boots with
pointed toes, tight black leather pants, a taffeta poet shirt whose color
matched the hair ribbon, and a short leather vest laced up the front to hug
his body tantalizingly. The shirt was open just enough to reveal a
tantalizing slice of pale skin, a small bit of shapely chest...
"Duo Maxwell," he said to Nakamura-sensei with a tiny black smirk, his
eyes dancing.
Yui-sensei handed Maxwell-san a syllabus, his own strong, sturdy, tanned
hand brushing against a slender white one, sending tiny shivers up and
down Hiiro's spine. The violet eyes met his, the smirk grew into a devilish
grin, and his mouth went dry.
Scowling ferociously against his own reaction, Yui-sensei did not see the
lovely face fall as he moved resolutely on, following his boss.
*************
Relena Peacecraft examined her manicured hands, one dainty foot
dangling from where her smooth, tan legs were crossed. She carefully
adjusted her khaki skirt and twirled a strand of her artfully arranged
wheat-blond hair, gazing at the TA. He was very well made; compactly
built, rather like a cat ready to pounce, his well-developed muscles
bunching and coiling under his professional-looking navy blue suit. Her
gaze followed him as he turned away, lingering on a tight, firm, well-
shaped behind.
A sharp swat to the back of her head startled her back to full alertness.
"What?" she snapped, whirling to face her umfriend and roommate
Dorothy Catalonia.
"Bitch!" Dorothy hissed, "I'm still in the room!"
Relena rolled her eyes. "It's cool, I'm just looking," she pointed out.
"He's a GUY!" Dorothy growled. "What are you looking at a GUY for?!"
"Same reason I look at girls," and Relena shrugged delicately. "I thought
you knew."
"Well I didn't!" Dorothy snapped. "How would I? You never told me!"
She looked pointedly away from Relena and began reorganizing the three
items on her desk.
Relena sighed. "Bitch," she muttered. "Arrogant slut."
She was rewarded with another swat to the back of the head, but when she
turned, Dorothy was studiously ignoring her.
*************
Quatre watched these goings-on with a kind of morbid fascination; this
was nearly as good as Ricki Lake. Like every other mainstream American
college student, he viewed the problems of others as entertainment. "Hey
Trowa, Wufei," he whispered, "check out the catfight!"
Trowa looked around immediately, just in time to witness the second
smack, and snorted, smirking slightly. Wufei could not be reached for
comment; seated on Trowa's right, he was speaking with a young woman
in Chinese. Both were blushing, both were laughing nervously - it was
enough to make Quatre sick. The thought of a man... and a WOMAN... he
shuddered. *SQUICK!*
*************
Duo blinked at Quatre from across the room, noticing the shudder, and
Quatre waved a hand at Wufei and the girl. Duo grinned evilly and made
lewd hand gestures, causing Quatre to go green and squirmy. In a rare
moment of pity, Duo shifted in his seat and began actually to pay
attention.
He took down notes as quickly as he could, squinting fervently at
Nakamura-sensei's handwriting in a vain attempt to make sense of the
sheer quantity of information bieng thrown at him. After approximately
five minutes, during which he wrote down the letters "i", "r", and what he
thought might have been "q", he gave up and began doodling in his
notebook.
He sketched out an stick figure - the figure of a fallen angel. He began
carefully to flesh it out; strong arms, well-muscled chest... The wings,
bloodied and broken, reached out like a plea from the broad shoulders.
Dressed in a pair of torn jeans and a stained tank top... Spikish dark hair,
intense eyes, a tiny smirk that was almost a scowl -
- And he had drawn his TA. As an angel.
The clock struck 10:00, and Duo followed the other students out the door
before he had to think about what this could mean.
~TSUZUKU~