ArchivedLogs:Crime and Punishment

Crime and Punishment
What is consequentialism?
Dramatis Personae Jennifer, Ivan
In Absentia	2013-04-16 Ivan is next on Jennifer's naughty list.
Location <XS> Gymnasium - B1
For a mutant school, this is a pretty standard gym, even if its sturdy construction to handle mutant powers is less standard. Still, it is designed along normal lines; setup for a basketball court, standard equipment -- punching bags, rubber mats, standard assortment of balls, weight training equipment, the usual fare. It is large, and as well-appointed as the rest of Xavier's tends to be. Introduction to Fitness comes and goes, although students have learned the hard way that the returning teacher is every bit as firm as the rumours implied. The class might be the last class on the list of most students today, but for Jennifer it doesn't mean that should necessarily be the easiest. Hell, if this is the /Introduction/ to Fitness, it's probably a good thing /Challenge/ Fitness is taught by Logan. Of course, Jennifer does not expect her students to perform extraordinary feats during this particular course; after all, it is neither her job nor her intention to strain the students more than necessary. A few aerobics exercises are issued, followed by some running. The capabilities of each student is jotted down in her personal notebook - how many push-ups can each student down, how far they can jump and how high they can jump. For a while, the echoing commands of the PE teacher die down, exchanged for an almost stampede-like cacophony of running shoes hitting the gym floor. Everyone rushes off to the locker rooms. There is one person who will have to delay that trip, however. One more shout cuts through the vast space of the gym. "Ivan!" It's like a bunch of exhausted bovines, the way the students slog out in search of a change of clothes and some /rest/. The herd moves on, leaving one of its members standing exactly where he stood when his name was called. Like an underfed calf, having decided for itself that whatever predator seems to be calling for him, he might as well just /give up/ and let whatever needs to happen, happen. Ivan turns slowly, dressed in a white t-shirt and somewhat loose-fitting dark blue shorts that hang awkwardly around his knees. Almost needless to say, he did not make the top of the Jennifer's list when it came to push-ups. Or jumping. Or indeed running. But he still /tried/, and a narrow chest still heaves as he answers nigh-inaudibly to the person at the other end of the gymnasium, "Yes, Miss Walters." If he is not going to come to her, then she is going to come to him. Jennifer shows next to no signs of fatigue, although most would chalk it up to the simple fact that she didn't work out nearly as hard as the students, and that shouting loudly and issuing commands does not require a whole lot of stamina - just really good lungs. "Mister-- Dray--" Dravovich. Oh, sure, she might have spent time around some Russian immigrants growing up, but unfortunately that did not impart her with the ability to pronounce their admittedly ridiculous names correctly. And so she wags her hand dismissively, stuffing that embarrassing attempt under the metaphorical carpet. "Ivan", she repeats once she is close enough. "Come." A wave of a hand gestures towards the teacher's desk she had dragged inside. Cue suspicious staring. Ivan shows /all/ the signs of fatigue, but braces himself and attempts a straight beeline forward upon being beckoned to do so. His eyes stay locked on Jennifer's form, like he's waiting for her to close the distance between them with a /leap/, all the way until he's sufficiently far enough. Unlike /some/ students, there is no lip from this one, no witty quips. Just the staring, largely neutral. A little expectant. Once at the desk, Jennifer claims a seat on the edge of the desk, wriggling on top of it to make herself more comfortable. "Busy bee that I am--" She stops. Jennifer looks over to Ivan uncomfortably. Somehow, she can't help but feel uncomfortable mentioning bees around Ivan, since she's learned of the bee accident not too long ago. "--I checked your homework right after today's class. I am still getting used to all the different handwriting, so, I had a couple of questions for you." Turning her torso to face the neat piles of sheets of papers, Jennifer snatches up something that Ivan might recognise as the homework he handed in. A few pages are flipped through. "What are the main three theories associated with applied ethics?" Flipflipflip. "Aaand-- What is consequentialism?" That word, 'homework', manages to do several things at once-- the first is fairly obvious, seeing as he promptly straightens his back as if instead of having been posed quite an intelligent question, he had just been told to TEEENNN-/HUT/. He also swallows, with some difficulty due to and already dry throat. "Why..." He starts, quietly, but makes a visible effort to /focus/ into something slightly louder, "Why is my handwriting important if you want to discuss my answers?" Though there's some curiosity present in his tone, the lion's share of it is decidedly /fearful/. Dodging questions is not something Ivan has much experience with. "Because I couldn't /read/ your answers, and I know some students might look at the context of the rest of the exercise and try to change their minds about what they wrote down." Putting Ivan's homework back down on the desk, Jennifer casually crosses her wrists on her lap, looking at the tense teen expectantly. "If you can't answer the questions, I have to pick one of two assumptions - either you forgot, or someone else did your homework." The boy tenses /further/, face growing paler than it usually already /is/. Standing at attention! Which-- may look a little strange seeing as he's all elbows and knees. To his credit, at least he doesn't look away, eyes scanning the teacher's face. His chest puffs out in an extra long inhale. Okay. "The main three theories are utilitarianism," this word is very nearly tripped over, leaving his mouth like a doormat squeezed throuh a pet door, "Deontological ethics," this one isn't much better, and his hands curl into fists at his sides, "and virtue ethics." His eyebrows seem undecided on whether they should be staying exactly where they are or scrunch together with the might of a thousand suns, and they just kind of... twitch periodically. If there is a God, this kid will never play poker. "Consequentialism... I think..." A pause. "I think I got that one wrong." His tone is not one of /thinking/. It is of /knowing/. Jennifer eyes Ivan with a significantly better poker face, however. Her emotions are unreadable as she simply glares at the kid, likely only worsening the pressure. In regards to consequentialism, Jennifer's features relax somewhat, mixing amusement with disapproval. "You did. On purpose, I assume?" The slew of stapled-together pages is grabbed again. Pages are hastily flipped through, and, when she reaches the exact page she needs, she keeps the pages separate by holding onto the top with nimble digits. The content of the page in question is presented before Ivan. "I /could/ read your handwriting. You wrote down the wrong answer under the question about applied ethics. Shelby, on the other hand, got it right. Now, combine this with your grades and hers-- The conclusion becomes very obvious. But on the off chance you try to convince me otherwise, don't bother - I already talked to Shelby." Lying to the poor freckled student about the answers being the exact same-- A little bit of well-measured and precisely placed pressure had cracked Shelby right open about the issue. "I was not going to." Comes from Ivan, who... despite his nervous demeanor, pulls that answer off quite steadily. He is bad at lying, after all, but telling the truth proves so much easier. In fact... he may even be relaxing a little now that it's all over, shooting a look from the paper toward Jennifer again and waiting for her to simply continue. There is, however, a brief glance around. Maybe toward the exit in particular. But his eyes find the teacher again soon enough. The verdict, if you please. Hearing no significant input from the student, Jennifer frees a disappointing sigh from her chest. "Right", she murmurs, setting the homework aside. "When I came back, I spent the first day just looking over as many profiles as I could. Yours was one of the few that had the words 'model student' in it. But recently, you've been getting into all kinds of trouble. Arguably, helping others cheat is your worst offense so far." Pause. "You know what /I/ hated as a kid your age? Speeches. Every teacher had 'em. But I also had one teacher who, instead of giving me a boring old speech every time I messed up, made me prove myself by giving me situations where I could show that I can /learn/ and I can be /better/." That may have been a speech of its own, even if a short one. "Long story short", she begins in the midst of a tiresome exhalation, "you and Shelby are going to fix this mess you've made for yourself /together/. I still have to iron the kinks out with Xavier and Logan, but you'll be assigned to extracurricular Danger Room sessions with Shelby." The pause does not help much to urge Ivan into talking again. Even his face is slowly returning to neutrality during the bigger part of him being lectured, but the fact that the content of the talk may soon apply to /him/ is not something that manages to get through to him until the very last sentence. The look of shock that then returns to his face is doubled at the absolute end of that sentence: 'With Shelby'. /That/ drives him to talk again, and quite readily at that, accent clinging heavily to his words when he speaks without any of his usual premeditation. "But I will not do it again. I was only helping-- I can not do anything in the Danger Room it probably also says that in my profile if you just look it probably does." He doesn't say 'please' but it might as well be attached to every single one of his words. As if the file was right there, he sways toward the desk slightly as his eyes scan the surface in desperation. Ah, the pleas. They are the part of teaching Jennifer enjoys the least. Why can't these little critters just accept their mistakes? The court halls may have had similar situations, but at least there all is driven by the well-oiled machine of Law. Here, the lines of punishment are blurrier, especially considering the nature of the school. "Ivan, you're not in kindergarten any more--" Cutting her sentence short, Jennifer shakes her head, murmuring under her breath, "Although so far, I can barely tell the difference." And then her voice rises again. "You won't do it again? That's great news! Unfortunately, it doesn't change the fact that you just /did/." "The Danger Room is not reserved for fighting super-powered foes with explosions and concussion rays. It is for learning lessons the classroom cannot teach, and it looks like you and Shelby are /exactly/ in that situation. In fact, you will be forbidden from using your powers within until I state otherwise." Even now, even /here/, there suddenly appears a spider. It's fingernail-small and Jennifer might not even see it but it struggles to find its way out of Ivan's shirt, over the side of his neck, and into his hair. Clearly a safer spot. Two more follow shortly afterwards. For a moment, Ivan looks like he'll blurt out some more words, fumbling to make his mouth behave enough in order to do the Words(TM) thing-- bbgh, fffh, NNH. Nothing. Nothing's working. He calms, eyes still on his teacher's face though the intensity of his stare has increased. Not angry, not sad, not even remotely disappointed, just focused. Finally, after a spot of silence, he nods. Understood. Another sigh. While she maintains her gaze, Jennifer does not really look mad. Even what disapprovement can be seen in her emerald eyes pales in comparison with that which could only be described as hope. "You know what's consequentialism, Ivan? It is the theory that dictates that you can judge the rightness of an act by observing its consequences. It proposes the idea that we are only as morally right as the ripples we create." Sliding off the desk, Jennifer circles it to claim a seat. Some organising is to be done. "I've asked for your detention to be done here, in the gym, tidying it up. After you're done with that, you'll be free to go." The quiet from Ivan's side of the conversation remains, but though verbal acknowledgement of consequentialism is lacking, there is a slight narrowing to his eyes when it is mentioned, along with a tilt of his head upwards. "... Tidying up... what?" His eyes sweep the room, but skip over several objects that are immediately deemed unfit for this job. Maybe if there were books around. His hands clasp together behind his back, a last bit of tension escaping as they press together. Seated at the desk now, Jennifer gestures to the entirety of the gym. "Jump ropes, balls, dumb bells-- Should be good additional exercise for you, too." She pays little mind to Ivan after that, or at least pretends to. In truth, now and again she would lay her eyes on the boy, just to make sure that he's not struggling /too/ much with the task. And after she's done with the short-lived task of sorting the papers and the notes, she would actually help him. In a way. Since there is no chance in hell Ivan will carry the barbells and the associated weight disks, that is the part of tidying up that She-Hulk takes upon herself. Not that she employs her mutant powers; she visibly strains herself, carrying the heavier stuff yet refuses to rely on her super-strength. It may be a thinly veiled attempt to teach Ivan something, or maybe it's just how she does things. Or maybe it's both. There is a different kind of fearful expression on Ivan's face when he is told what, exactly, his task will be. Not in anticipation of badness, but in the knowledge of it. But... he does as he's told. After all, consequences of one's actions, all that. The small things are taken care of first, but the heavier things get, the more he struggles. And he struggles /easily/, having very little in the way of both stamina and strength. But he tries. Oh, how he tries, unceremoniously pushing and shoving and pulling and sliding and - on one occasion - just plain falling down. Breaking any of the equipment would probably be difficult, but he looks on the verge of breaking /himself/ when Jennifer comes to his rescue. With what appears to be a look of gratitude from his side, even if it is hard to read under all of the breathing and fighting urges to simply lie down where he stands. Still, if there was any doubt, there is a breathed out, "Thank you." Lesson, for now, learned.