Apparently not. Mort needs to get the 411 on BEING BETTER AT THESE SORTS OF THINGS. ))
There were four possible choices for exams, but only one obvious one for Mortimer. Compared to Herryk, who he saw beeline for the physical exam, he was a twig. A blue, stitchy twig. And his FEAR was certainly not anything supportive like, say, Mei’s healing, though to be honest it had yet to be actually doing damage to someone at the same time. And certainly spells and hexes were nothing an undead could typically do anyway; he had trouble keeping his minipets in line and not eating each other – imagine him having to keep track of what you had to say for a spell! This left him no choice but the fourth and final option: writing.
Mort paused, thought it over, blinked, and found this to be a good choice in the end. He was used to writing – well typing more like, but it wasn’t much different! A short test, three questions long, probably not requiring over-lengthy answers, most likely with basic knowledge. How bad could it be?
Wishing the others luck, Mortimer took a piece of paper, a pencil, and sat down to write on the examination grounds, using his journal as something hard to write on.
Okay. Deep breath, Mort. A written exam should not be hard for you. All it required was for the student to think.
Gulp.
Pushing his glasses up, Mortimer read over the first question: Name three classes of Halloween Town citizens and three sub-classes of each.
Sweet Sally, did they really need to ask that? Mort suppressed a small smirk as he quickly scratched in his response, having not to look further than his friends and acquaintances for examples: ”Monster: chimera, chupacabra, werelemur.” Mort could have easily pulled out werewolf, living doll, and falsicorn, but he doubted giving extra examples would impress these people. “Undead: igor, draugr, zombie.” Not hard in the least! ”Reaper: witch, valkyrie, grim reaper.” If the rest of the exam was this easy, he’d ace it in no time flat!
The second question: What are the dangers of mixing your FEAR with another person’s without the use of a pumpkin?
. . . ( lllﾟ▽ﾟ) Oh Jack . . . This sounded a little more intimate than Mort was used to. A lot more intimate than he was used to. Why was this on the test again? The idea of mixing the very fiber , the very makeup of himself with someone else was . . . intriguing, yes, but at the same time it was also disturbing, distracting, possibly disgusting if done incorrectly. What could happen indeed! Mort tried to think, tapping the pencil against his head.
He had once asked Mama why he could not be naked with another person in the room, after he had done a quick streaking montage one frightful evening; another headache of a day caused by frying his brain’s circuits. Mama had given him a strange answer, which was the best he could come up with at the moment. ”You’ll go blind.” Mort honestly wasn’t sure and was glad no-one else could see his test paper.
If he had any hopes for the paper, then he was thoroughly crushed upon reading the third and final question: Where do scarelings come from?
The look on his face said it all: a silent scream of horror. Why would he – what test asked – how should he know – why did it matter – AGGGAHAHAHG.
Zzzzzzzzzrp! went his poor brain as it overworked itself and discharged electricity through the zombie's body. Mort spasmed visibly for several seconds.
His brain no longer worked, that was for sure. Mort just slapped something down in jerky, hopefully not-legible handwriting: ”Your mother.”
Twitching from the side-effects of his brain shocking him once again, the zombie shambled over and handed the exam back without looking the boogeyman in the eye.
FINAL SCORE: 6/12
