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2) Dead Poets Society
🕑 Added 2023-08-31 13:40:00 +0000 UTCMC (POV)
Sigh, what time is it yet? I ponder at my question, before I pick my head off the desk and turn my wrist to glance at the wristwatch on my left wrist.
3:18
‘Fucking hell’. I curse in the confines of my mind. Time truly is a bitch you know? It flies by super-fast when you’re doing something engaging, something you’re genuinely interested in. But the moment, the tempo switches to something tediously mundane, all of a sudden, it practically comes to a halt.
Just as I’m about to launch into a philosophical tirade…
“RICHMOND!”
Shocked out of my senses at the sheer volume and intensity of the voice, my head snaps off the desk as I stare up front at the offending individual. Mr. Nystrom, my attention craving arithmetic teacher.
“Ah, there we have it, Mr. Stirling’s triumphant return from the realm of dreams!” He said in one of the most irritatingly sarcastic tone ever. Like seriously, I like sarcasm just as much as the next guy, and if I’m the butt of a really good joke, I’ll laugh along for sure. But this son of a bitch has a talent for saying sardonic shit in the fakest sweet voice. It really grates on my nerves, especially when the rest of the class erupts in raucous laughter, as if they actually understand shit.
“Yes, Sir?” I spoke, keeping my voice succinct. No matter how vindictive I felt at the moment, further defiance would not benefit me in any way. Really, take my word for it, never bite back at an authority figure when you’re firmly under his authority. I don’t care what high school movies show, saying some random savage shit and attempting to roast the hell out of every offending person just outlines your own immaturity. It does NOT magically make you cool, and girls will definitely not find it impressive.
“Ah, Richmond, Richmond, it seems we are at an impasse.” He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms, staring down at me pompously. “This is the 3rd time I’ve caught you snoring off red handed. When the Principal agreed to let you skip grades, on account of your impressive performance, this is not what he intended, dear boy.”
“I wasn’t sleeping Sir, I-I was paying attention.” I said, making sure to stutter a little. Why you ask? Well, just cause I’m not gonna talk back, doesn’t mean I won’t fuck around with him. He’s practically asking for it. I cast the bait, let’s the hope he falls for it.
“Paying attention, you say? Very well then, you wouldn’t have any trouble coming up in front of the class and solving this word problem then, would you?” He held out the chalk in his hand, as he raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this far more than he should.
‘Hook, Line and Sinker’ I grin a little, before masking my face again and clearing my throat.
“64 dollars.”
“… I- w-what? Mr. Stirling I’m askin-”
“Discount will be discount % into original price, so 20% of 80 dollars. Therefore, discount is 16 dollars. The final price will be discount subtracted from the original price, so 80 – 16, we get 64 dollars.” I grinned triumphantly.
“Sarah paid 64 dollars for the dress after the 20% discount.” I finished confidently, enjoying the look on his face.
A stunned silence followed, as every eye in class peered at me, including Mr. Nystrom’s.
Ah, sweet, sweet, vindication. Oh, how I have missed your tender touch.
“Yes well, th-that is correct Mr. Stirling, well done. It seems you been absorbed my teachings with great enthusiasm, and I hope you continue doing so for the rest of the semester.” He concluded, trying to assert his dominance over the classroom like it was his personal fief.
“Yes Sir.” I sat down and promptly crossed my hands on the desk and laid my head down. A quiet disdainful exhalation escaped my lips, a dismissive puff of breath, that carried with it a subtle blend of skepticism and indifference.
As if I was gonna stay here till the end of this semester, or, pay attention to the ramblings of that clown.
It’s weird enough to be in a classroom full of middle-schoolers at the tender age of 8, but to be singled out every single time… it just gets to you man.
After ascertaining the fact that Nystrom’s attention won’t swing back to me at random, I finally dropped my guard a little and opened my status page.
[Name – Richmond ‘Ricky’ Stirling
Age – 8
HP: 54/54
Occupation: Civilian Child
Title: Prodigy/Genius (100% increase in Exp Gains to Skills)
Affiliations: Berkeley Hall Middle School (Temp.)
Base of Operations: City of Los Angeles
Citizenship: American
Education: Middle School
Money: $37,548.66
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 11
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 32
Wisdom: 27
Charisma: 17
SP: 0
Skills:-
Gamer’s Mind [Passive] Lv. Max
Gamer’s Body [Passive] Lv. Max
Yep, I know. I’m freaking awesome. The gamer is a cheat, plain and simple. There is no greater path to guaranteed success than the one the game offers. With it, I can legitimately become a maestro in almost every single field of study and arts conceivable to mankind, before I reach the legal drinking age.
I mean, it’s not all powerful, since it only impacts me, it doesn’t change the word around me one bit. For example, I don’t have a relationship meter. I can’t compliment and flatter someone enough to make them my personal slave like the other versions of this. Apparently, this version views human relationships as too complex and multi-faceted, to be able to quantify their extent accurately. Sure, my charisma will definitely make me easy on the eyes, but never, to the point of mindless slavery.
I will never be able to blast someone with my all-powerful gaze of bedroom eyes, and make them orgasm with my sheer presence.
Nope, as powerful as this gamer is, it is quite a bit different from the other gamers, and has several limitations and loopholes that make it better and worse in some aspects.
Let’s talk about the most fundamental variation. There are no levels. Yeah, it was a huge shock to me, but there are no fucking levels. Again apparently, a human life’s accomplishments in various sectors and areas are too wide-spread and subjective to ever be able to quantify them through a single magnitude. I mean, it kinda made sense to me later on, but at first, I cursed at the interface for like 5 mins. Continuously.
Now you may ask, what about the stat points? Well, apparently my base stats will correspond with my age until I reach 20, and then basically stop unless I perform activities that stimulate specific stats in a consistent manner.
That means, weight-lifting and general work out to gain STR, activities that involve quick and precise movements to gain DEX, focusing on health and wellness and gaining resistance to harmful substances to increase CON, studying and researching shit raises my INT, Meditation, Mindfulness and general self-reflecting gains me WIS, and finally CHA. To improve that, I just need to be fucking charismatic in day to day conversations and dialogues. Also performing. Performing in front of people is really effective.
Now see, normally, I would have to do all of the above, but the gamer for some reason, perhaps to compensate for the lack of levels, essentially awards me 3 stat points to allot on each birthday. From the time I was 2 to now, I’ve gained 18 stat points. All of em free.
Not to mention all the stats I’ve gained from genuinely consuming knowledge like a beast. And Meditating, a shit ton of that.
I became so good at meditation, that I don’t even need to cross my legs anymore. When I’m in a boring ass situation, any of them where sitting and doing nothing is important. I just start meditating. At first, I needed to close my eyes but now, I can do it with my eyes open.
Speed Reading on the other hand, it just kinda developed out of nowhere. I started reading books to increase my intelligence, which allowed to read more books at a faster rate which increased my intelligence and so on and so on. Speed reading just came outta nowhere, and it didn’t take me long to max it out. Hardly 5 months. Well, 5 months, 3 days, 18 hours, approx.
Yep, an increased intelligence really fucks with you at the start. Take my title for example. At first, it came to be, due to my counsellor consulting with a variety of psychiatrists to assess my IQ. Apparently, my maturity and increased rate of understanding had me pegged as beyond exceptional. One of em called me an era defining genius. Now, there are not a lot of things other than being given such high praise, that don’t just stroke your ego, but rather cuddle and fondle it, give it a hand job even.
That’s when my title came into existence, and what a fucking boon it was. It made mastering skills so much faster. I have mastered over 40 skills of varying amounts of usefulness, and seeing the word MAX right next to them, it fills me with euphoria.
I genuinely believe I’m addicted to grinding skills. And I don’t even see it as a bad thing. In the end, learning never hurt others now, did it?
Anyways, after returning home from the clinic, my dad started treating me like I was gonna be the next Einstein. I was not amused. I mean, not that I couldn’t become the next Einstein, surpass him even, but that’s not what I want to do with my life. At this point, the world is my oyster, I could become the GOAT of any goddamn field if I wanted to. I could open a start up and have it skyrocket to the top of the Fortune 500 list, all while being the sole proprietor, enter politics and become the fucking POTUS, start a Mafia style gang and dominate the underworld, etc, etc.
I did see merit in a few of my dad’s ideas though, like skipping grades for example. I mean, sure it would tank my social life tremendously, but I could theoretically graduate high school by the age of 10 or 11 at worst. Young Sheldon will have nothing on me by the time I’m done with the education system of USA.
So here I am, attending middle school with 13-year olds, at the tender age of 8.
I’m thinking by next year I might just start high school. Or just, attain my General Equivalency Diploma. Anyways that’s for next year, I’ve still got 2 more months of this shit before midterms begin.
TRRRING – TRRRING
The bell rang, as the class was filled with hustle and bustle, everyone hurriedly packing their respective bags and engaging in idle chit chat simultaneously. I glance at my wristwatch.
4:01
Huh, I guess time really does fly when you’re lost in your thoughts and memories.
The car finally pulled up. I opened the door and exited the vehicle, before making my way through the entrance of my home, the Stirling Estate.
Oh, my sweet, sweet home. You know, it won’t be an exaggeration to call the estate an architectural masterpiece that defined elegance in its purest form. It is a symphony of modern sophistication, what with its regal gates, adorned with intricate ironwork, that lead into a majestic driveway, flanked by meticulously manicured gardens. Not to mention the polished marble flooring, ceilings adorned with handcrafted chandeliers, and let’s not forget the resort style pool surrounded by lush foliage and a poolside cabana.
This property is 20,000 sq. ft of pure entertainment, with a sauna, a steam bath, game rooms, a bowling alley, and a customized, expansive cinema hall installed by dear old dad. Hell, there’s even a basketball court, a lawn tennis court, and for some reason, an indoor soccer turf. Apparently, father is a huge fan of soccer. He’s been supporting Manchester United for decades now, shouting and screaming at the T.V with a beer in his hand at nearly every game.
It’s not a surprise really, considering he is a British native. Last I heard, he became embroiled in some disputes with his family in Manchester, and came over to the States to try his luck.
And what luck he had.
I still remember the night when he shared his success story to me, simply because of how ludicrous it seemed at the time. It still does to be frank, but years of living with him has essentially numbed me to his special brand of craziness.
That man migrated to USA, and immediately made his way to Las Vegas, with 100k in cash. You think you know where the story is going, but believe me, you have no fucking idea. Apparently when he made his way there, it was the start of 60s. During that time period, industrialists and corporations were buying up casinos and hotels by the dozen, and had essentially legalized gambling by calling it ‘gaming’.
My father, the immaculate opportunist that he was, managed to wiggle his way into a high-stake poker game, where he met him. The man, the myth, the legend himself. Howard Hughes.
He didn’t regale me with the specifics, but somehow by the time the night ended, my father walked away with 1.4 million cash, and the friendship of the ‘Aviator’ himself.
Now Howard Hughes, was a fucking legend of epic proportions, in my world at least. I mean, this man was one of the richest and most influential in the world. He was a business magnate, a record setting pilot, an engineer, and a film producer. His exploits with various actresses of his time were legendary, and every playboy could only hope to achieve a tenth of what he had, in their pitiful excuse of a lovelife.
Anyways, my father became best friends with him over the period of an year, and the next thing he knows, he’s producing films under the banner of Howard’s production company, a Big Five of that time, RKO pictures. And he was wildly successful.
Over the period of a decade, he had produced no less than 17 films, and 14 of them were highly successful at the box office, raking in millions. The other three films? Well, apparently, they weren’t exactly meant to be successful he said. He called them ‘Oscar bait’.
Now that was a term, I was familiar with. You see ‘Oscar bait’ is a term used in the film industry to describe movies that appear to be deliberately created and marketed with the sole intention of bagging prestigious awards, particularly the oscars. A few hallmarks of such movies are compelling performances, emotionally-charged storylines, historical or biographical subject matters, social or political relevance, etc.
A few famous examples being ‘The King’s Speech’, ’12 Years A Slave’, ‘The Revenant’, ‘Dallas Buyers Club’, etc.
Anyways, as my dad elaborated, those other 3 movies that weren’t successful, they were showered with rave reviews from critics. One of em was even inducted into the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress just last year. Granted the NFR was opened last year, but to be among the first batch of 25 films to be inducted for preservation, it’s pretty fucking prestigious.
Anyways, with the help of the devil’s luck, my father had transformed himself into one of the most successful and sought-after film producers in recent history. Especially after Howard Hughes kicked the bucket in 1976. With his death, RKO’s share price tanked. So my father, who had opened his own production house by then, the Stirling Star Productions, took the opportunity to buy a majority stake in RKO and rebrand it as Clayton Studios. It took like 5-6 years, but Clayton studios had finally stabilized financially. It was no longer considered one of the Big 5 however, now there were only the Big 4.
Nevertheless, my father has since then expertly produced movies using Stirling Star, and distributed them using Clayton, essentially becoming self-sufficient. That’s partly how he was able to amass a net worth of over 700 mil at the age of 48. And this is 1990. In 2020, accounting for inflation, his net worth would be north of 1.5 billion.
If nothing else, I respect his ingenuity. I mean, escaping a life of British aristocracy and going on to become a veritable titan of Hollywood, I’m pretty sure after his death, there’ll be biopics made of his life story. That’s just how fantastical all of it sounds.
Anyways, about time I have a talk with daddy dearest regarding my high school ambitions.
“MR. HARRINGTON!”
“Yes, master Richmond?”
“When will papa be home?”
The butler stroked his chin, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “I-I’m afraid he hasn’t seen fit to inform me of his arrival time today. I suppose we can only assume it’ll be another late night for him.” He said.
I sighed, “Just great. Anyways, I’ll be going for a swim. Please make sure to keep the steam room ready.”
“Of course,” He nodded and departed, leaving me with my thoughts, as I got ready to level up my swimming skill.
The gamer is fucking awesome.
