[If Wada-sensei would not learn that putting Gintoki in front of a class was the sheer antithesis of educational, then there was no hope for him giving up on Takasugi either. Perhaps poor Wada-sensei even believed in them to some extent.
The poor, poor bastard.
The poor bastard who was apparently going to allow this clear wreck of a presentation to continue - as it wasn’t Wada-sensei who stopped Gintoki’s beyond sick (read: D.O.A.) beatz, but Takasugi. The last spit from Gintoki’s mouth came to fruition as a wad of saliva that hit the floor not centimeters from the toe of Takasugi’s shoe. Gintoki blinks a few times - though the look he gives Takasugi is not one of total surprise.
In fact, he almost seems offended that Takasugi is continuing to raise the bar on this challenge. So he was aware that this had turned into some sort of pissing contest of whose ancestors would churn in their pits. And as a few awkward claps begin to fill the room from unsure students, Gintoki’s face turns severe.
He looks as if he would love nothing more than to actually spit on Takasugi this time around. A dance? Did Takasugi think a dance would be enough to deter him from spreading his wings and flying?! He puffs his chest and puts a hand to his mouth - letting out a faux, meek little cough.]
Ah. Takasugi-kuuhn. You’re embarrassing me in front of the class! Ahem. I just got so shy. So shy that I got mixed up. Mmhm. Mmhm. [This is punctuated by a nod before he puffs his chest.] Then I will actually open up our presentation on the ruthlessness of the Disciplinary Committees Patrols during the Lunch Hour with an interpretive dance while Takasugi provides slam poetry slamming the feds to the tune of our school’s anthem.
Take notes.
[And with a swing of his weight - Gintoki has begun a lazy march and some sort of gyration of his hips. He shifts from foot to foot, incorporating a sick, sad little arm movement from time to time reminiscent of Doctor Roboto himself…
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The poor, poor bastard.
The poor bastard who was apparently going to allow this clear wreck of a presentation to continue - as it wasn’t Wada-sensei who stopped Gintoki’s beyond sick (read: D.O.A.) beatz, but Takasugi. The last spit from Gintoki’s mouth came to fruition as a wad of saliva that hit the floor not centimeters from the toe of Takasugi’s shoe. Gintoki blinks a few times - though the look he gives Takasugi is not one of total surprise.
In fact, he almost seems offended that Takasugi is continuing to raise the bar on this challenge. So he was aware that this had turned into some sort of pissing contest of whose ancestors would churn in their pits. And as a few awkward claps begin to fill the room from unsure students, Gintoki’s face turns severe.
He looks as if he would love nothing more than to actually spit on Takasugi this time around. A dance? Did Takasugi think a dance would be enough to deter him from spreading his wings and flying?! He puffs his chest and puts a hand to his mouth - letting out a faux, meek little cough.]
Ah. Takasugi-kuuhn. You’re embarrassing me in front of the class! Ahem. I just got so shy. So shy that I got mixed up. Mmhm. Mmhm. [This is punctuated by a nod before he puffs his chest.] Then I will actually open up our presentation on the ruthlessness of the Disciplinary Committees Patrols during the Lunch Hour with an interpretive dance while Takasugi provides slam poetry slamming the feds to the tune of our school’s anthem.
Take notes.
[And with a swing of his weight - Gintoki has begun a lazy march and some sort of gyration of his hips. He shifts from foot to foot, incorporating a sick, sad little arm movement from time to time reminiscent of Doctor Roboto himself…
Wait.
Did the topic of their presentation change?]