Dr. Quark Tops

While born and raised starched white-collar Quark was never about that kind of life, taking his opportunity at an Ivy-league school to escape to the realm of could-be's. Space exploration and theoretical physics were his passion and eventually they became his profession. At first glance Quark, or Dr. Tops as he asks everyone to address him (hey, he worked hard for that doctorate and he is going to flaunt it), may appear a flighty pushover, but push your luck in the middle of his class and you'll find he can sass with the best of them. Dr. Tops demands the respect of his students, especially after being mocked for his career choices for much of his life, but he gives that respect in return and when an agreement is arrived at actively encourages his students to challenge him and his ideas. He isn't the kind to advocate for the type of 'learning' that consists of sitting still and dozing off as someone drones on and on about one possible solution to one possible scenario. No, Dr. Tops is there to make the abstract tangible and exciting. To let his students drive the lessons with their own ideas and their own eagerness; lesson plans are for wimps. The methods Dr. Tops employs are at the very least odd, like the time he brought in some of his knitting to try and explain how the fabric of space and time work together and then sent every student home with their own needles, or when he asked the students to bring their instruments to exemplify string theory via the vibrations of Beethoven. But while calling these ideas zany would be an understatement, it seems to work, and Dr. Tops's students leave with their brains overflowing with the different ways of looking at the world around them, not just the ones he presented but also, and more importantly, their own. Outside of the classroom however, Quark is a bit of a mess. He truly doesn't have a life beyond teaching and weekends consist of him just rattling around the old house he inherited, claiming he's fixing it up to sell while in reality he hasn't touched it at all. After going away to college Quark had cast away most things from his old life, severing all communications with his family- or having them severed with him. He can knit and play the violin to a certain extent, though he hasn't practiced in a long time, but that and reading the science magazines are the only ways he can pass the time. Quark has essentially forgotten, or maybe never learned, how to interact with people other than his students. He has a forgetful streak, his brain stuck in the realm of potential rather than present times, and while his dressing sense is still sharp and reminiscent of his old life gradually Quark's bow-ties have become looser and his shirts not so nicely ironed. Holding up a conversation is hard. Quark is so used to teaching that he comes off overbearing and know-it-all-y, if not plain deranged. Quark hadn't known what to do with the deed. He already had a home, an apartment much closer to the school that he had payed for himself, it wasn't as if he needed the house. But at the same time, something was stopping him from just putting it on the market sight unseen, and it wasn't business sense- he had none of that. So for some feeling he couldn't identify, maybe curiosity, maybe homesickness, Quark signed away a weekend to poking around his old home. It was a beautiful manor, if a bit overgrown, all dark stately wood and sweeping window arches. Serious. Impressive. Cold. Quark slipped his key into the lock of one of the side entrances- using the front door just didn't feel right. The interior of his family home was even gloomier than he remembered it, creating an atmosphere where only whispering was appropriate. Quark didn't like whispering. One by one the man peered through the dust covered rooms; the kitchen he never went into, the dining room with too many different spoons, his father's office off limits unless he was in trouble, until now Quark supposed. Rooms, rooms, and more rooms which had no purpose other than letting a lonely little boy play hide and seek with himself. Quark stopped himself from checking behind a swinging drape. He wondered if ghosts could really exist. This seemed like the kind of place they would lurk around. Even when Quark was back out in the sunlight there was a chill in him he couldn't quite shake. Like a ghost had tagged along for the ride. But at least the house was in good shape. He could hand it off to a professional to deal with and he'd never have to set foot in there again. But he never called anyone in. He came the next weekend and the next, and every weekend after that until he couldn't remember when he hadn't. Not to check out a leaky pipe or fix a window pane like he said. Quark came back to look for ghosts. He never quite found one, but every now and then like when he picked up his violin for the first time in a longtime, Quark thought he felt someone smiling.

• 90s Music
• Knitting
• Bowties
• The Violin
• White Chocolate
• Ghosts
• Space
• Butterscotch

• Dark Chocolate
• Lesson Plans
• Lines
• Biology
• Cleaning
• Cooking
• Bitter Foods
• Silence

• BREEDING SLOTS
• 5/5

• LOPSUM
• IPSUM

• His Family
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• His Students
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• The Ghost
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