Work Text:
ukase \yoo-KAYS; -KAYZ; YOO-kays; -kayz\, noun:
1. In imperial Russia, a published proclamation or order having the force of law.
2. Any order or decree issued by an authority; an edict.
Ukase derives from Russian ukaz, "decree," from Old Church Slavonic ukazu, "a showing, proof," from u-, "at, to" + kazati, "to point out, to show."
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"There are those of you," Battersea said, moving in measured steps across the front of the room, "who are here because your families hold a proud tradition of being watchers, of serving this council for generations."
Giles repressed a sigh. It'd been difficult enough to come back to the fold following his adventures in London, but the cloistered world of academia and the Council had offered refuge from the horrors he'd seen in recent months. Oh, the horrors were real enough and he knew he'd find them detailed in the pages he'd be reading, but while these courses at the Watcher's Academy might drag up nightmarish memories, they'd also help him find a way to fight them. He'd screwed up badly and some type of amends needed to be made.
"While you might be here by virtue of your birthright, it doesn't mean you are guaranteed to pass this course or even complete the requirements of this academy."
Wesley did his best to transcribe Mr. Battersea's words into his notebook. It would be easier if they allowed recorders in class, but Mr. Battersea did not hold with such devices and he did not dare to cross his instructor in so trivial a matter, especially on the first day. His father had impressed upon him the importance of doing well, how his future within the Council hung upon his performance. If he failed, it would bring shame not only to him, but to his father and generations of Wyndham-Prices that had gone before.
"The Council is seeking the best of your generation, for there is great evil in the world. We need those of strong minds, of strong will, those who are determined and willing to make the sacrifices necessary to carry out the work that we must do."
Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake… Harry was pretty certain the mantra wasn't going to work. He didn't want to be here, but since his knee wasn't going to let him play football, he didn't really have a choice. Family business and all that rot and given the way his mother had teared up when she heard he'd been accepted, Harry felt at least some need to not disgrace her.
Surreptitiously glancing around as Battersea continued to drone on, Harry discovered at least one comforting fact: Mike, sitting several desks away, looked as if he'd drifted off and was about to snore at any moment.
"This is not an easy path that you have chosen, but it is noble one, a sacred responsibility."
Charlotte reflected that perhaps the peach sweater set she'd chosen to wear today was not the appropriate garb, even if it complimented her pleated wool skirt and sensible pumps. She'd hoped to blend in with her fellow students, but looking at their sober tweeds, she felt like a hothouse flower. Her hair was different, her clothes were different and the moment she opened her mouth, they would all hear that her accent was different. It wasn't that she disliked being different -- at Smith, the northern girls were immediately identifiable from the southern girls, who were different from those from the west and the middle of the country. That difference had been part of the fun of her college years.
Her father had warned her that differences were not so easily accepted in the Council and that was why he tried to talk her out of pursuing the career of a watcher, even though she knew he was practically bursting with pride at the idea his little girl wanted to follow in his footsteps.
"It will be difficult. You will work long and hard. This is not simply a job or a career; this is a calling. We hold in our hands the tools to help a world which can sometime teeter on the brink of total destruction."
Blah, blah, blah. Spike had always hated the fact some professors felt compelled to issue a bloody ukase at the beginning of a class, treating their words as if they were holy writ. Worse, if one twitched or fell asleep or even just looked bored, you could almost guarantee an instant failure, no matter how stellar your work was. He still wasn't certain how his father had made it right with old Morecombe for that Greek philosophy class after William had had the temerity to yawn during a speech that sounded terribly similar to this one, though he was pretty certain it had included a fine supper and good port. If he got on Battersea's bad side, though, there wasn't anyone to ride to his rescue nor enough port in the world to put things right. He was well aware he was still here on sufferance and he didn't particularly want to disgrace Giles after the efforts made on his behalf.
Oh, god, he desperately wanted to yawn…
"In short, what you study here will prepare you for the most important work you will ever do."
Dawn stifled her yawn just in time. She'd heard rumors Battersea gave the same speech year after year; Giles and Spike had started comparing notes when they'd heard she'd drawn his class, while Harry and Mike had added their own horror stories. Charlotte had offered the most useful advice: "If you smile pleasantly, it's more difficult for him to tell he's boring you to death."
So she smiled and listened, using her peripheral vision to glance at her watch and wonder how long he'd continue. Surely he couldn't have always been this boring...