Voicemail

Nov. 21st, 2027 03:30 pm
atreideslioness: (Default)
"You have reached the messaging service of Ghanima Atreides.  I am not in, obviously, so you'll need to leave a message at the tone.  I would apologize for the inconvenience, except that if you ask my brother, it was already pre-determined.  Leto is obviously no fun at parties."

*BEEEEP*

Voicemail

Nov. 21st, 2027 03:30 pm
atreideslioness: (Default)
"You have reached the messaging service of Ghanima Atreides.  I am not in, obviously, so you'll need to leave a message at the tone.  I would apologize for the inconvenience, except that if you ask my brother, it was already pre-determined.  Leto is obviously no fun at parties."

*BEEEEP*
atreideslioness: (Daughter of the Golden Path)

Class did not go up today because, well, I was at the clinic making sure this wasn't broken.  Apparently my body decided to MAKE me take a day off by tripping over my own feet. 

Class will resume next week. 

atreideslioness: (History)
THE ART OF WAR

Syllabus:
Welcome: Introductions and Sun Tsu
Chapter I. The Calculations
Chapter II. The Challenge
Chapter III. The Plan of Attack
Chapter IV. Positioning
Chapter V. Directing
Chapter VI. Illusion and Reality
SPRING BREAK
Chapter VII. Engaging The Force
Chapter VIII. The Nine Variations
Chapter IX. Moving The Force
Chapter X. Situational Positioning
Chapter XI. The Nine Situations
Chapter XII. The Fiery Attack
Chapter XIII. The Use of Intelligence

Syllabus is subject to change dependent upon island whims and Acts of Invasion


Student Registration:
Cassandra Pentaghast
Cosima Niehaus
Eric Bittle
Isabela
Kathy Li
Laura Kinney
Lucille Sharpe
Mara Jade
Raven Queen
Rey
Ringo Noyamano
atreideslioness: (Aryeh)
Since she'd gotten so much reading accomplished yesterday, Ghanima was back in her office today to continue her productive steak. This time with piles of scrolls all over her desk, and an ego-likeness recorder set up next to them.

"Begin recording," she said, waving a hand over the machine while still reading though the masses of paper before her. "Hail and well met to the Great Houses, you may be seated. In regards to the trade agreements set before us, we have studied them most carefully and find them disingenuous at best and deliberately insulting at worst..."

Leto did so send her the best projects. It was a day for Politics in Office #22, which really was the same thing as dealing with parents.

[OOC: Open door, open post.]
atreideslioness: (Game On)
Today's meet and greet was for the students and their loved ones (and tolerated-ones) to reconnect, and so Ghanima went to open up her office instead; piles of research materials neatened up, tea brewing slowly, and Ghanima behind her desk, already at work on her notes for next week's class.

While her office may not be what some parents would expect at an educational institution -- long gone were the sterile furnishings of your typical American office in favor of overstuffed chairs and cushions, with tapestries and silks draped everywhere, brought with her from the market of Arrakeen -- she had removed her throwing blades from the dart board. Ghanima was the very image of a perfectly respectable professor... if your idea of respectable included glowing blue-on-blue eyes.

In honor of the visiting guardians, the office hours of Ghanima Atreides were now in session.
atreideslioness: (FRANK! : Frank the Gremlin)
Yes, my fine Fandom friends, it's that time of the year again.  When I head out to CONvergence, sit on panels, and terrorize all who come before me!  MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

*ahem*

ANYWAY.  Tags from me are going to be pretty non-existant for the next five days.  Live-tweets as available, and I promise not to get caught doing anything that requires bail money.
atreideslioness: (History)
It was late when Ghanima left her office that afternoon, having needed to make-up time working on her lesson plans. She pulled her throwing blades out of her target and put them back in her desk, returned her glowglobes to neutral, fluffed the pillows and over-stuffed chairs, and then left without even locking the door.

In the years that Ghanima had been at Fandom, she had grown to trust the people around her, to an extent. When once the the spice melange was kept only in her suite, under lock-and-key, the school itself had withstood so many sieges that Ghanima felt comfortable keeping a small emergency sample in her office, along with her other Sayyadina and Bene Gesserit herbal supplies.

That did not mean she was a fool.

The apothecary chest was one of Bene Gesserit design, each drawer having a unique puzzle lock, which solving then made the physical lock accessible. The cataloging labels in Chinese was Ghanima's own private system, a version of the language so old that few people on Earth spoke it beyond scholars of ancient literature, although a few might be able to read it. It had a place of honor in her office, next to her desk, and was almost as high as she was tall. It would take a miracle for someone to find what they were looking for in there.

A miracle. Or perhaps just the right sort of intelligence and a few tools beyond that of this time-period.

[OOC: For one! NFB PLZ!]
atreideslioness: (I am listening)
It had been two weeks since that last, wrenching phone call.

Ghanima sprinkled sand over her letter to Captain Algren, waiting for it to absorb the excess ink and setting it aside. She could only hope that it would arrive at its intended destination, and that she would receive an answer. His journal sat in the chest in her bedroom, wrapped and ready to be returned at the slightest sign that its original owner wished to reclaim it.

She had yet to hear from Biff or Tyler, and either of them only got another day or two before she tried calling on her own. She had no doubt that they were alive, they were both too stubborn to stay vanished forever, but she wouldn't put it past either of them to still be in a drunken celebratory 'the world did not end' stupor.

[OOC: Expecting a call, but open door & open post!]
atreideslioness: (I am listening)
It had been two weeks since that last, wrenching phone call.

Ghanima sprinkled sand over her letter to Captain Algren, waiting for it to absorb the excess ink and setting it aside. She could only hope that it would arrive at its intended destination, and that she would receive an answer. His journal sat in the chest in her bedroom, wrapped and ready to be returned at the slightest sign that its original owner wished to reclaim it.

She had yet to hear from Biff or Tyler, and either of them only got another day or two before she tried calling on her own. She had no doubt that they were alive, they were both too stubborn to stay vanished forever, but she wouldn't put it past either of them to still be in a drunken celebratory 'the world did not end' stupor.

[OOC: Expecting a call, but open door & open post!]
atreideslioness: (Daughter of the Golden Path)
Ghanima had returned to her suite after class, not yet willing to go down to the board of the missing to add Algren and Tyler to the roll.

She had risked the spice trance for nothing, failed to see - to remember - even the slightest glimpse of the future, but there was still the sense that something was just out of reach. Fragments of memories, perhaps, but of things hidden under sands. It was the same feeling she got under her skin when a storm was brewing out in the deep desert, and the worms dove for the planet's core. You could not hold a whirlwind, after all.

Her inner voices were adamant, with Chani at their lead, and Ghanima found herself forced to agree to their demand. She would not try the spice trance again, not while there was still too much at stake.

[OOC: Open!]
atreideslioness: (Daughter of the Golden Path)
Ghanima had returned to her suite after class, not yet willing to go down to the board of the missing to add Algren and Tyler to the roll.

She had risked the spice trance for nothing, failed to see - to remember - even the slightest glimpse of the future, but there was still the sense that something was just out of reach. Fragments of memories, perhaps, but of things hidden under sands. It was the same feeling she got under her skin when a storm was brewing out in the deep desert, and the worms dove for the planet's core. You could not hold a whirlwind, after all.

Her inner voices were adamant, with Chani at their lead, and Ghanima found herself forced to agree to their demand. She would not try the spice trance again, not while there was still too much at stake.

[OOC: Open!]
atreideslioness: (no easy answers)
She had gone out on to her balcony to watch the sun rise, letting the first rays seep into her skin. Now, more than ever, Ghanima missed Dune. Missed the cleansing heat of the sun and sands. This weak sun was not her ideal choice, but it would do. It warmed her, soothed her, and steeled her resolve in what she must do.

That had been hours ago. Years. Centuries. )

She simply needed to see.

[OOC: For one. My canon is a strange and screwed-up place, where this is normal for this family. DELIBERATE DRUG OVERDOSE AND ADDICT BEHAVIOUR WITHIN That Ghanima deliberately overdosed is NFB.]
atreideslioness: (no easy answers)
She had gone out on to her balcony to watch the sun rise, letting the first rays seep into her skin. Now, more than ever, Ghanima missed Dune. Missed the cleansing heat of the sun and sands. This weak sun was not her ideal choice, but it would do. It warmed her, soothed her, and steeled her resolve in what she must do.

That had been hours ago. Years. Centuries. )

She simply needed to see.

[OOC: For one. My canon is a strange and screwed-up place, where this is normal for this family. DELIBERATE DRUG OVERDOSE AND ADDICT BEHAVIOUR WITHIN That Ghanima deliberately overdosed is NFB.]
atreideslioness: (water to the dead)
Ghanima had meditated.

She had counseled herself to patience, to trusting in the Golden Path and Leto, and in the bright minds and indomitable wills of Fandom. This too would pass, brought low like all other challengers to this place.

She had been wrong.

Ghanima had listened to the message fifty, perhaps sixty, times since last night, replaying it over and over as the journal sat heavy in her hands, its letter tucked safely inside. She had given water to the dead, and sung what dirges she could, alone. She had followed the lessons of the Bene Gesserit and look what it had cost her. No more. Not this time.

Stilgar had always said that Ghanima was more Liet than Kynes, Fremen over Imperium, and in this he had always been correct. There was spannungsbogen, and then there was a time to act. And while Ghanima did not relish the path she was about to walk, she saw no other option. The Dune Tarot remained infuriatingly silent - for once - and all her meditations and conversations with her Inner Voices was gaining her nothing but headaches.

She stood, tucking the Maker-damned phone back into her sleeve, the journal going under one arm as she strode over to the medicine chest she kept in her quarters. She was not Alia; she had already mastered her ancestral memory, and Chani stood sentinel against those that would attempt an uprising. Her mother also agreed this most be done, which gave Ghanima the courage to attempt what she was contemplating.

She picked a large jar out of one of the drawers, holding it up; the Spice within it glowed radiant blue in the dim silver light of the pre-dawn hours.

There were preparations to be made. It was worth the risk. No one else.

[OOC: Establishy. NFI, NFB. DUN DUN DUN!]
atreideslioness: (water to the dead)
Ghanima had meditated.

She had counseled herself to patience, to trusting in the Golden Path and Leto, and in the bright minds and indomitable wills of Fandom. This too would pass, brought low like all other challengers to this place.

She had been wrong.

Ghanima had listened to the message fifty, perhaps sixty, times since last night, replaying it over and over as the journal sat heavy in her hands, its letter tucked safely inside. She had given water to the dead, and sung what dirges she could, alone. She had followed the lessons of the Bene Gesserit and look what it had cost her. No more. Not this time.

Stilgar had always said that Ghanima was more Liet than Kynes, Fremen over Imperium, and in this he had always been correct. There was spannungsbogen, and then there was a time to act. And while Ghanima did not relish the path she was about to walk, she saw no other option. The Dune Tarot remained infuriatingly silent - for once - and all her meditations and conversations with her Inner Voices was gaining her nothing but headaches.

She stood, tucking the Maker-damned phone back into her sleeve, the journal going under one arm as she strode over to the medicine chest she kept in her quarters. She was not Alia; she had already mastered her ancestral memory, and Chani stood sentinel against those that would attempt an uprising. Her mother also agreed this most be done, which gave Ghanima the courage to attempt what she was contemplating.

She picked a large jar out of one of the drawers, holding it up; the Spice within it glowed radiant blue in the dim silver light of the pre-dawn hours.

There were preparations to be made. It was worth the risk. No one else.

[OOC: Establishy. NFI, NFB. DUN DUN DUN!]
atreideslioness: (Default)
Ghanima had been splitting much of her time between the school and the palace as of late, and her portal barely got her back to Fandom in time for Parent Weekend. The time-differences between home and the island were hard to map, and she had much to accomplish on Dune in the next few....hours? Weeks? She gave a mild frown, but dismissed it immediately. She was Atreides. It would all happen as it must.

For today, however, she was in her office. The door open, the coffee brewing, and her office appearing as it always did; the warm, cushion-filled room of a seitch instead of a 'proper' professorial office as she waited for the parents of her students.


[Open door, open post, will be afk for a bit as I go pick up more moving boxes.]
atreideslioness: (Default)
Ghanima had been splitting much of her time between the school and the palace as of late, and her portal barely got her back to Fandom in time for Parent Weekend. The time-differences between home and the island were hard to map, and she had much to accomplish on Dune in the next few....hours? Weeks? She gave a mild frown, but dismissed it immediately. She was Atreides. It would all happen as it must.

For today, however, she was in her office. The door open, the coffee brewing, and her office appearing as it always did; the warm, cushion-filled room of a seitch instead of a 'proper' professorial office as she waited for the parents of her students.


[Open door, open post, will be afk for a bit as I go pick up more moving boxes.]
atreideslioness: (Future Imperfect)
There was something waiting. Ghanima could feel it, hovering at the edges of her prescience like the air before a coriolis storm. Just beyond the dunes, if she cared to look.

Except that would take all the fun out of it. Infinite surprises, as she and Leto craved, and Ghanima resisted the urge to pick up her Dune Tarot. Instead she channeled that restless energy into dusting off her old syllabus and preparing to get back into an academic classroom. Working with Wade was interesting, but had left her with a craving for something a bit more intellectual.

[OOC: for one, please!]
atreideslioness: (Future Imperfect)
There was something waiting. Ghanima could feel it, hovering at the edges of her prescience like the air before a coriolis storm. Just beyond the dunes, if she cared to look.

Except that would take all the fun out of it. Infinite surprises, as she and Leto craved, and Ghanima resisted the urge to pick up her Dune Tarot. Instead she channeled that restless energy into dusting off her old syllabus and preparing to get back into an academic classroom. Working with Wade was interesting, but had left her with a craving for something a bit more intellectual.

[OOC: for one, please!]

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atreideslioness: (Default)
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October 2016

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