Vodbog walks steadily and coolly into the room, trips, corrects herself, then continues towards the computer. With a grin that could shave off an iron skin, she starts typing.
"Sorry to be the one to continue, but Sir Bruce has been called to an important meeting with the four riders of the apocalypse. Due to unfortunate circumstances that, I stress, have absolutely nothing to do with the kind Sir, the four apocalyptic horses have been cruelly slain. The only clues left behind are the deep gashes along their bodies, and some traces of compressed carbon. The police are still investigating cause of death.
It is indeed a terrible and foul time in which we live, when Death, Famine, War, and Pestilence must ride out to the stars on three cows and a wheel-chair with fire extinguishers attached."
She glances over her shoulder at the giant clock Sir Bruce was 'borrowing' from his old class-mate, Big Ben. She guesses she might have about ten or fifteen minutes left. Shame Sir forgot to go back for the hands... She turns back to the computer, and her hands dance over the keyboard like trolls on a bouncy castle.
"Ah yes. Exams. It is extremely important to revise for exams, for you will not do well if you fail to memorize everything on the answer sheet given to you.
As the teachers stride between the rows of innocent children, like cats in a meat-pie factory, glaring and hissing, the call out things like "Could Histories please stop trying trying to copy one another", and "Could the English put in the effort to refrain from talking - the Welsh are trying to work." Well, they do say 'You are what you take', which can sometimes get quite complicated - I take Welsh, English, French, and sometimes Latin, when I'm in the mood."
