Difference between revisions of "Logs:Formal Training"

Classes are dismissed for lunch, now, leaving Journeyman Kharven alone to tidy up his papers, rearrange chairs, and generally take a moment to recover from the morning's exertions. He's a dark-haired man in his thirties, dressed smartly - though his top button has been unbuttoned, probably /since/ classes came out. As he works, he hums a tune beneath his breath.

After the children had all swept by in the caverns, Emmeline watched to see where the stragglers came from. And then, traced back their path to the classroom. There's a polite clearing of her throat before the girl steps into the room; arms laden with a few of her great-grandmother's books. And of course, it's on auto-pilot that she nudges a chair back into place and plucks a stray pencil from a table while making her way towards the Journeyman. "You're Journeyman Kharven, yes?" Her eyes stray towards the shoulder-knot, trying to remember the loops and tassel configuration that would mean she's right. "I'm one of the Islander's. Emme."

Emmeline is not the only one looking for Kharven today: Rorkes is also just dismissing his classes for the evening, and venturing through the halls to find this particular classroom. He's a tall, reddish-haired man, in his thirties too, with a low voice and a serious air as he pauses at the open door to knock first.

"That's me," agrees Kharven, with an unsurprisingly mellifluous voice. He has to stop humming in order to answer, but it seems music is never far away: his fingers, idly, begin tapping out a tune upon the wooden desk. Rorkes' knock on the door distracts his attention from the exile only briefly; green eyes flicker towards him, beckoning the other Journeyman in even as he's turning back to Emmeline. "And what could I do to be of use to you, Islander Emme?"

Emmeline seems to find the constant need for some sort of music or rythm a reason to smile. It falters a bit when she finds herself facing two people instead of one, and her eyes dart back and forth between the two men for a moment as she takes a step back. But, the girl speaks up anyway. "I.. was the island's harper. I thought maybe I could speak to someone about some more formal training." That's a painful admittance in its own way, but once it's said, it seems to be a relief. She sets her few books down on the table then. "My great-grandmother's books. What our line has all been taught from. There's a songbook. And a few other things."

Rorkes, with a stack of papers under his arm, steps further in and offers, "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." That said, though, he seems in no hurry to drop off his business and leave, because the presentation of island books earns his attention. Leaving his bundle on one of the desks, he reaches for the top book to flip through it, nevermind he's not precisely the target. "You managed to keep these, out there?"

Kharven's response to Rorkes is a quick, "It's no interruption," though he doesn't so much as glance at the other harper again. His attention, too, is taken by the records: his eyes go eagerly wide. "I'd like to get a good look at those. I think our new arrivals - not your like, Emme; some more harpers - will be /very/ eager for them, too." His words dry up as he gives her another appraising look, still his fingers while he considers her. "You're old to be a Junior Apprentice," he says, not unkindly.

There's nearly a squeak out of Emme when Rorkes approaches and /touches/ the books. Her sacred books! If she had pearls to clutch... "They were kept in a cool, dry place. And only the family was allowed to touch them." she explains, clearly ill at ease. "I've also a written record of what she said happened to the exiles and how they set up our elder council. And why.. well, why things were set up the way they are on the Island. But those are with my things. These were just the teaching materials." One can hardly blame any of the islanders for being suspicious and secretive, right? There's a brief flicker of disappointment in her eyes at the mention of her being too old to be a Junior Apprentice, but she seems stubbornly determined anyway. "I learn quickly, and I already have some training and knowledge. Is it necessary to start out as a Junior Apprentice?"

At the squeaking, Rorkes lifts his brows, but obligingly sets the book down again, while he leans against the table idly and glances over Emmeline. "I was fifteen when I apprenticed, he notes idly. "But I was the oldest, by a good turn, turn and a half even, in my class."

Kharven's green eyes continue to consider Emmeline intently, as his fingers go back to their idle music-making. "You would be older still, by the looks of you," he remarks, in the wake of Rorkes' remark. "Though, certainly, you're not perhaps completely untrained. But... do you know musical theory, world history, law and diplomacy, instrument making, educational theory-- I could go on. All Harpers start as Junior Apprentices." It doesn't seem to be an outright no, though.

"I... no, go ahead. People need to look at them." Emme will just look pained for a little while is all. Really! She even proffers Rorkes with a slight smile to show that she means it. "I've 18 Turns." she admits, rubbing the back of her neck now, idly. "We were told to try and attach ourselves to a craft if we had any interest. I didn't realize that any of us would be too old." When he reaches the litany of subjects, her lips thin. "Some musical theory. And ... some law and diplomacy. History, obviously, is limited to the Island and exiles. And, I've been teaching the children for two turns now. So whether that counts or not, I couldn't say. We didn't exactly live the same kind of life that you do here." Well, at least there's no bitterness there. "I've been working on transcribing information since we've been here. And continuing to help with the kids."

"Etiquette," adds Rorkes, thoughtfully. But Kharven's list is pretty complete, if Emmeline's exact age makes him visibly wince. "Ah. Yes. It's--I don't know that there's a specific cut-off date, but... most people, after a certain age, just--don't apprentice. They give up on passing the entrance exams, or they don't want to do remedial classes with the children even if they do pass, or..." A shrug.

Etiquette: yes, that's one Kharven /did/ forget, and he adds it now by acknowledging Rorkes' remark. His mouth draws together as he lets the other Journeyman talk; he drops in, at the end of all that, with, "Particularly with the... circumstances, in this particular case, we're likely to be more lenient, of course. I did say that you were /old/, not that you were /too/ old." His long fingers stretch out, splaying upon the top of the desk. "How would you feel, being a student alongside children barely older than those you used to teach, I wonder?"

Emmeline catches that wince, and glances back down t the table a moment, thoughtful. Especially when Rorkes explains that there are entrance exams and remedial classes and... yeah. Kharven's portion of the speech is near enough to make her wilt. But, "If that's what I have to do, then I will. Being a Harper is the only thing I know. It's the only thing I want to do." She reaches out to flip over the cover of the songbook, giving a brief smile at the notations mae there.

With a guilty expression for the wilting going on, Rorkes shifts his weight, ventures, "We work with students, too, sometimes--people interested in the craft but not willing or able to commit to it at an apprenticeship level. If you wanted to try it for a time, maybe we could..." He trails off, looks helplessly to Kharven. "I wish there were easier answers for you. All of you."

Kharven rubs at his eyes, carefully keeping his gaze away from Emmeline - and away from Rorkes, too, though he's probably caught the other man's helpless glance. "It's an option," he allows. "Although mostly, our students take on other jobs, and don't /work/ as harpers, and I suspect that wouldn't make you happy, would it?" He does give the islander a glance for that. "I suppose we could let you take the exam, and see where you are." And whether there's talent, something he's very carefully been avoiding mention of.

"Yes, it's... it's quite a conundrum isn't it." Emmeline agrees, giving both of the men a brief but genuine smile. "I don't mean to make this difficult, gentlemen. So why don't we maybe start with the exam, to help you.. uhm, place me." she suggests, glancing between them. "And if worse comes to worse I guess I can always speak with the Nannies. I'm good with the children. And try to work as a student. Maybe." No, it certainly wouldn't make her *happy* by the sounds of it. But at least she seems willing to accept whatever decision is made. "Is that alright? I mean, at least giving me the exam."

Rorkes, as much as Kharven, hesitates before allowing, "It would be a nice compromise. And, somewhere to start, certainly."

Hastily, "It's not as though we want to turn you down, Emme. Please do understand that." /Now/ Kharven is glancing up, attempting to meet Emmeline's gaze squarely. He looks a little guilty. "To be honest, I'm more concerned about /you/. Going from being a 'harper', to being the most junior of Apprentices." Rorkes gets a brief glance, little more than a flicker of his eyes. "The examination it is, then. We'll have to arrange to go to the Hall for that."

Emmeline pauses for a moment, putting together her thoughts. And then just pulls out a chair and sits down. "I.. understand that. I don't think you wish to turn me down." she clarifies, tapping her fingers idly on the desk. "This is just something I feel I have to do. And, I need more training. Much more training, before I can help the other exiles the way I'm supposed to. I won't be able to do so as a Jr. Apprentice, really. But being the "exiles Harper" will open no doors for me either. Nobody is going to listen to someone with no formal training." She pushes the books across the table, towards the harpers. "As long as I'll be able to claim them back, feel free to look at them. It will give you an idea of what I know. And what music an exiled harper is able to write in her spare time. I expect Maylin would have wanted the Hall to have a copy of it all, at least."

There's silence from Kharven for a moment, and then, with apparently genuine curiosity, "'help the other exiles the way you're supposed to'?" A beat. "What do you mean by that, Emme? Surely you and the others are being integrated, now."

"Integrated?" Emme smiles at that, looking maybe vaguely ill for a moment there. "Yes, of course everyone is trying. But we're used to things being handled in a certain way. Some will need an... an advocate. And what of those who want to reclaim their heritage? There's nothing. No proof for them. Except what I've got. And what about when people want to leave the Weyr entirely?" She gives an uncomfortable shift of her shoulders, there. "We know there are plenty who aren't happy to have us here. We're a burden. We need to earn our keep."

Kharven's expression turns increasingly, and even rather desperately, uncomfortable at the mention of 'heritage'. "You belong at the weyr, now," he says, finally. "For now. I'm sure the Weyrleaders will do their best for you. I suspect..." he trails off, shooting a glance at Rorkes that displays genuine concern, though his expression is smoother again as he glances back. "I'm sure they'll get you all settled, one way or another. /Now/." He puts himself back on firmer ground. "Two days from now, report here first thing in the morning, and we'll take you over that exam. After that, we'll just have to see."

Emmeline apparently has a hidden talent for masking her expression at least, since her first inclination is to narrow her eyes at Kharven's reaction. Instead, she keeps her expression bland, but lets out a sigh. "Right." she agrees, dryly. "I'll be here in two days, first thing in the morning." The agreement made, apparently, she stands up again and gathers her things. "I appreciate the audience." And then, of course, she sweeps out of the room.

Rorkes is suspiciously quiet, taking an inordinate amount of interest in the books Emmeline has left with them. He waits until the young girl is gone, and then slides a glance at Kharven. "I feel badly for her," he admits, rueful. "But I can't help but think nothing good is going to come of this. Them." Sigh. And on to other harpery business.

And Kharven? He /groans/. "We are going to be in /such/ trouble. But... how do you avoid it?" He shakes his head. At least: the books.