For a moment, Kiri was too enraged to speak. Maybe it was the condescending tone that the professor used when he addressed her, hand-waving her question away like a bad conjurer. Or his... critical research failure when it came to meteors. She opened her mouth to let him know just how much of an idiot he was, but stopped herself just in time. Idiot or not, he was still a teacher, and as such could make life inventively miserable for her.

"How long does our... telescope have to be, Professor?" she asked, as politely as she could manage. She bent down and picked up a few of the toilet paper rolls. She stripped the rolls of the paper and then, bending each cardboard roll slightly so that it fit into the end of the next one. She repeated this a few times, grumbling mutinously under her breath. Then she was done; she'd created a length of cardboard made up of several rolls.

This sorry excuse for a telescope, however, did not improve her mood by an instant. She glared at the professor - which would, Kiri was forced to admit, have looked more impressive if she weren't covered in toilet paper. If he was going to brush her off with another "There, there"-sort of speech, she was probably going to set a new blood pressure record. "But Professor, we really don't need a telescope," she tried again, unwisely. "That's the whole point of the term 'meteor'," she continued, twisting the cardboard tube in her hands. "They're visible streaks of light in the atmosphere. And meteor showers are big enough that you don't need any equipment to watch them." She wondered vaguely how much of an astronomy expert this person really was. "They're only a few dozen kilometres up. That's not... 'very far away'." The quotation marks were clearly audible - and in good company with the sarcasm in Kiri's voice.