Owen's Classroom

[Owen Cup]

Welcome to Owen's Classroom. Because he teaches mostly Art, it is primarily an art room, as is probably clear. However, since he also teaches Sociology, it is set to easily transform from an artistically creative atmosphere to a statistically creative atmosphere. In the back of the room near the windows (not pictured) is where he stores the art supplies: easels, drawing boards, all sorts of drawing and painting mediums, clay, brushes, you name it. Near the front left where his desk sits (also not visible) is where all of the soc. materials are kept like text books and such. But yes, seeing as the room is primarily art based, its kind of hard to tell he even teaches Sociology. Unless you went looking for the textbooks, you probably wouldn't find them.

Owen likes to think his room is his second home. Thought not often kept spotless, he does like to keep it clean and will feel personally offended if you leave it messier than it already was. He expects manners, even if he acts like a child most of the time. Respect his shit, and he'll respect yours. A'ight, bro?

Word.

[Owen Cup]

{ www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=92662464 }

First class of the day, last day of the week. Here we go, starting the beginning of the end. Was that a negative way to look at it? Or positive? He was positive about it being the last day, but increasingly negative about it only being the beginning. Increasingly because with each sip of his coffee, Owen's smug expression grew deeper and deeper, dragging his chin even further into his chest as he slumped back into his chair. He'd put quite a bit of creamer in this particular cup of coffee, and a good helping of that peppermint flavored shit, which made it taste like magic and sunshine. But it wasn't helping his mood. Surely Owen was never truly upset or mad, but he definitely had a case of the Mondays....... on a Friday.

The bell had yet to ring, but students were already mingling about. They tended to enjoy his art classes, and he didn't blame them. Owen thought he was a pretty damn good teacher. Not to mention he usually tried to not act like a teacher, but like a friend. Another student, maybe. Whenever they painted, he painted. If it was a sculpting day, he sculpted too. And if it was one of those mandatory note taking/book reading days, he'd struggle through and read right along with them, complaining just as much, if not more, about how boring Pablo Picasso's life was.

Whiny little shit. Why didn't he just paint normal people.

On this particular day, though, it was a tad hard to smile at the students as they came in early. It was raining outside. Raining! In January! Was that even possible? Was this real life? Owen wasn't even sure anymore. He figured maybe this was okay, cuz that meant it wasn't a bagillion degrees below zero out like it usually was. Hence, it was probably semi warm out (which it wasn't.. it was still cold). And though he loved the idea of it maybe getting a tad warmer, he still hated the fact that it was raining because it made the snow do that thing. Y'know, that thing. That thing where it gets all black and icky around the edges and melts along the curb, leaving a little shelf of snow-ice-shit where rivers run beneath and to the sewers. It was gross. Strictly gross.

Owen had always hated weather.

Snapping out of his odd little internal weather rant, though, Owen perked up when a kid was pushed into the glass beside his door. The boys face was clearly being forced as it smeared across the glass, leaving a great big nose and lip smudge. "Gah'dammit," Owen grunted, sitting forward a bit before just sitting back yet again only to ignore it. "Too early," he told himself, letting his back sink into the plush chair yet again. He'd made a body mark and he fit rather snug against it.

(i'm not even sure what i just typed)

[Heather Marie Barton]

The air around the girl was thick and heavy with humidity, a sticky, cloying moisture that clung unpleasantly to everything. Water on the ground, in the skies, dripping along the leaves; it was everywhere. Was it ever going to warm up any time soon? She doubted it. Heather was not used to the cloudy texture being so close to the earth. The mist around caused her hair to frizz sloppily down her shoulders. A warm cup of coffee was nested in her right hand, while the other clutched protectively at the hand bag at her side. She was going to be late, again. It was no surprise there, she only wished the damn cross walk would change. Well, on the bright side it was friday.

It was freezing out here, and there was more than a few heads that shot her dirty looks for her strange dress in such weather. A standard black victorian dress that cut off just above her knees. Unnoticeable to the girl, the backside of the corset styled strings had not been tied up all the way. Rushing out the door to get coffee for herself had to have been the culprit. She couldn't seem to function with out a warm cup of coffee in the morning. Either that or a nice bowl of pot that let her sleep at night. Being dry for a month, she only had the first option.

At least she had worn her black and white stripped leggings today! She scoffed, as someone hollered at her calling her a slut. Her light eyes strained as she looked at the school's building. The sign just now turning green. Her legs felt like they were about to crumbled beneath her as she picked up her pace into that of a sprint. The pain in her stomach began to gnaw at her, maybe she should have gotten a bagel or something as well. It wasn't too late to turn around and grab a bite to eat, was it? Though as soon as the thought came, she dismissed it. This liquid diet seemed to be working well, why give that up.

Heather frowned as the bell rung loudly over head. "Move it!" She commanded to the boy who had just been bullied into Mr. Cup's class room door. Typically she was against bullying, though he happened to be in her way. Quickly gathering his dropped things, she gave the boy an apologetic look as she handed them back to him. Her nose wrinkled with disgust at the fresh mark left on the glass. 

"Goodmorning!" She greeted as she walked through the door. Why she had even signed up for this class was beyond her. She stunk at art, but at least the teacher was really cool. He seemed to take notice that she was at least trying, even though most of her sculptures fell apart and her paintings looked like dog shit. "Black?" She asked tilting her coffee towards his a bit. If so it was a good choice, none of that sugared down crap for her.