Flashback [Thundiirn] Some say a word is dead

[Philomena]

Winter 32nd, 509 AV
Lecture Hall, West Wing, Zeltiva University
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"This presupposes, of course, that Dr. Dumont actually visited Sunberth at some point in his illustrious career, and to be frank, I have found that presupposition is a dangerous game when attending to the notes of Dr. Dumont."

The comment was meant to be funny - in Minnie's defense it WAS a little bit funny. Part of what made the crowd receive it deadpan was her delivery. Minnie was not good with the entire idea of lecturing. Part of it, though, was the nature of the crowd, and perhaps, the over exuberant assistance of a friend of hers.

The title of the lecture - in fact, no more than an installment in the regular weekly lecture series of the schools of History, Literature and Aesthetics at the Universtity - was where the trouble began. Minnie had entitled the lecture, originally, "Regarding a post-Dumont interpretation of Sunberthian Aesthetics: Theory and Application". But the thrust of the lecture - simply because she knew that as an idea, it would be the lynchpin which she would have to place in order to have the rest of the lecture be of interest - was a careful exposition of the shoddy scholarship and mixed motives of the well-respected Dr. Khirekin Dumont, whose book 'The Savage Pit' on the city of Sunberth had provided a basis for scholarship on the city since its publication a few generations before. The ideas were not original to Minnie - doubts about Dumont's decidedly biased interpretations of Sunberth as the 'City the Gods Roll Their Eyes At', as he had once famously called it, had floated around for years.

The problem was that Dumont was enormously popular, because for all his poor scholarship he was an eminently engaging writer. Even as she bristled at his lazy intellectual shortcuts, Minnie was a touch jealous of his sense of narrative and style. And of course, the book itself, just underneath the veneer of scholarship, was as much scandal sheet as scholarship. A whole chapter was devoted to erotic poetry, not because it was enormously plentiful in Sunberth, but simply because Dumont languished in descriptions of the infamous perversion of Sunberth's now defunct culture of 'smoke seraglios'. Most of the book was written this way.

Even this would have been acceptable, but just before announcing the lecture, Minnie had run the lecture by the board of the university, who liked to prescreen the public lectures just to make sure there was nothing incendiary about them. That night, one of the people sitting on the board had been a young professor, Leyta Jonquil, a woman known as much for her saucy tongue as her work in the history of magic. She had laughed at the end, and declared, half as a joke, "The lecture was so interesting, but you won't get anyone into it with that snoozer of a title. How about… eh… 'Dumont: A Taste of the Spicy Bits."' Everyone laughed.

Minnie suspected that this had been written on the official notes of the meeting only as a sort of parting jest. But somewhere between that joke and the posting of the notice of upcoming lectures, the name had been recorded as the official title, much to Minnie's horror. The lecture had more than one young buck bringing a date. Some of the attendees were clearly not associated with the university at all, possibly just hoping for a bit of the saltier talk of Dumont's recollections. More than one person, one of Minnie's acquaintances at the library had suggested, was there possibly just to see the famously asocial Minnie Lefting have to discuss sex on a public stage.

The lecture had been none of that, so the crowd was irritable and disappointed, and Minnie was through the flustered period at the beginning, and into now a vaguely defiant posture of irritation with the whole lot of them. //Petch it all, I'm making a good sound argument, I'm not going to let them embarrass me for that.// She retained the sort of dignity one retains in a situation where it would perhaps eb easier on everyone if you simply lost that list fig leaf of dignity to the rising tide, staring down a few of the students (and even a professor or two) who squirmed in their seats. As per her normal practice - being too short for the podium, and having once had the experience of falling off a stool she stood on to reach it mid-lecture - she sat on the edge of the stage, her voice raised into a ringing, nasal pitch that crawled through the lecture hall with an insistent power.

But the facts! They were good facts! And she maintained to herself, anyway, that the focus SHOULD be on the facts. The myths had no need to be retold, except in fragments to illustrate their weakness.

"The work of Hobbs and Dunkirk, though largely forgotten now, actually provides an interesting alternate explanation for the corpus of work in Dumont's summaries. Their paper, which I've noted on the slate if you're interested in reading it, was predicated on their interviews of a number of storytellers and bards from Sunberth. The stories they told, while of course bearing the variation inherent in bard work over time, reflected several of the stories recorded from Dumont's supposed visits. This suggests that, perhaps, not only the depressing news of Dumont's fraud, but a far more interesting possibility - that the outline we are working from now excludes the very cores of Sunberth's aesthetic traditions - that all we have is, as it were, the scraps that their bards throw to foreigners who want a bit of salacious gossip from the mad city. That, what we really have is retellings of Sunberthian oral tradition, adapted to a Zeltivan audience, and then transcribed by a Zeltivan of dubious trustworthiness. And, personally, as a scholar, I think this is exciting."

The crowd, clearly disagreed.

Minnie crumpled, a bit visibly, but nodded to the crowd, "Anyway… I think… yes… there's the bells. I've run a bit long… but if you have any questions or suggestions or counterarguments, then I'm glad to receive them for a while afterwards. Good evening to you all.."

The crowd immediately began to hum, people standing, couples laughing, professors muttering. The room began to melt away.

[Thundiirn]

OOCI assumed you were still sitting. I hope you don't mind. If you do I'm happy to edit The bells rang, but she kept speaking a few more sentences before finally acknowledging them and dismissing the room. He couldn't decide rather to laugh or cry or stand still in awe at this lecture. It had certainly not been what he was expecting, based on the title. In fact, he had been attending more out of a weird sort of morbid curiosity than anything, a sort of curiosity most wouldn't understand based on the subject and that he couldn't explain, but he was rather relieved to find the lecture not true to its name. What he *had* found in the room was a woman with a passion, whose interests seemed more on par with his than the lecture's title suggested. Sure, she was somewhat dry and probably could have made "Dumont: A Taste of the Spicy Bits" just as boring had it actually been about that, but she cared about her subject and had passion for what she taught. What would life be without passion? Passion was what made life worth living, no matter the subject or the vessel it came in. He wanted to speak with her, and so he stayed seated in his chair in the back of the room as the rest of the people filed out. Giving a quick glance around, it seemed no one else felt such a burning interest. A shame, but their loss. The words popped into his mind unprompted, but stood true nonetheless. Very few happy faces stared out from the crowd, but Thundiirn could easily pick out quite a few irritated ones. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had been surprised by the lecture, but it seemed he was one of the only that was pleasantly so. No matter, everyone in this city seemed to find him odd and different. He never seemed to think as they did, or view things as they did. It was clear to any local that he was not a Zeltivan, not even much of a student for that matter. As the last few trickled out, and the last few grumbles escaped their lips, Thundiirn stood and moved to where the teacher still sat in her little lecture place at the front of the room. Dr. Leftling, he believed her name was, though he hadn't bothered to pay much attention at the beginning so he wasn't certain. She seemed a very interesting woman, from what he'd seen. It was difficult for him to guess how old she was. Late 40s was his guess, but she seemed an old soul so perhaps younger in truth. Her skin was a pale hue, much like his though hers likely was caused by more scholarly pursuits. "Greetings, Professor. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?" Thundiirn inquired quietly with a smile. The sound of his voice surprised him, it had been probably a few days since he'd spoken to anyone aside from quiet whisperings to himself.

[Philomena]

Minnie settles down, technically to wait for questions - but honestly there is seldom any. A man near the front, a pedantic professor, comes over to try to peddle Minnie on his own line of research, only tangentially related. Minnie gives a forced smile and listens for a moment, before telling him she would be happy to read it over if he will have a copyist make a duplicate. The man wanders off, impregnated with his own self-improtance. Minnie closes her notes and slips them in her satchel, still sitting on the edge of the stage, her legs swinging. Her eyes close, as she regathers her thoughts.

And then, a question. Eyes fly open. A question!

She pushes her spectacles, and - even on the low stages edge, she is much shorter than the man - looks up into the young student's face. Her eyes blink, thrice, very slowly before she answers, her midn a little blank.

"You... had a question... about... the lecture?"

[Thundiirn]

OOC She seemed somewhat shocked as he walked up to her. Makes sense, I suppose. Anyone can sense the lack of energy in this room, why would the leader expect anyone to take an interest after that reception? "Not exactly, Professor. I...I read Dumont's works in preparation for the lecture. I grew up in Sunberth myself and am rather interested in its history and...I'd just like to say I agree with you." Thundiirn now stopped, unsure of how continue. Was that really all he had to say? He'd only really planned out his first few sentences to say, and now they were said he froze up. Please PLEASE say something I can reply to and make this less awkward he silently prayed.

[Philomena]

The woman was, first of all, notoriously ignorant of the discomfort of others in an academic setitng, and second of all usualyl far too clumsy to do anything about it if she did. So for several seconds she literally just stared at the boy. Perhaps 30 seconds. Then, she opened her mouth a moment, and closed it again. Waited another 10 seconds, then spoke slowly.

"You are... from Sunberth? I spoke to a few from there, before but... well, scholarly pursuit and an exact accounting of history, I was told, are not particularly common there."

She frowned as she said this, but it was not an angry or even an unhappy frown - it was a thinker's frown, the sort one deployed as a reflection of a wrinkle forming in the brain.

"I am not an expert, even, in the field - but then, the experts, of course are relying on these secondary sources, anyway. My own studies are interests were secondary - I have done research into your city largely in my studies of Kenabelle Wright, who gained fame opening the trade route between our respective homes. Have you heard of her? How... you are in Zeltiva... to study at University?"

[Thundiirn]

He blinked at her. She blinked at him. He blinked again, and so did she. Just as he was starting to get thoroughly creeped out by the silence and began his plans to make a run for it, she opened her mouth. ...And then closed it again. Thundiirn raised his eyebrows at her, puzzled by this response. At last, she spoke. "You are... from Sunberth? I spoke to a few from there, before but... well, scholarly pursuit and an exact accounting of history, I was told, are not particularly common there." The ball was rolling once more. Faulty, shaky, rolling nonetheless. He nodded in agreement at her description, and was about to speak on the subject when she started talking again. Well, as long as it's rolling no need to stop her now he thought cheerily to himself. He could already tell this was going to be an odd conversation, but a fun one. "I am not an expert, even, in the field - but then, the experts, of course are relying on these secondary sources, anyway. My own studies are interests were secondary - I have done research into your city largely in my studies of Kenabelle Wright, who gained fame opening the trade route between our respective homes. Have you heard of her? How... you are in Zeltiva... to study at University?" "Yes ma'am. Things happened back home and I decided to try my hand at living outside it. This was the easiest to get to, and so I came here with a bit of financial assistance from my parents." He didn't want to get too detailed with a total stranger. No need to mention that he'd robbed his parents of a hefty sum of money and slipped off in the middle of the night to escape from there. Though judging from the frown on her face, perhaps she was sharper than he'd given her credit for... Had she already seen through that lie? He liked to think himself a better liar than THAT, but no matter. Back to what she had said. Kenabelle...Kenabelle... The name was ringing a bell in Thundiirn's head. Where had he heard it before? It was an incredibly familiar name, he knew he had to have heard it thousands of times before. WHY wouldn't it come to him? It was going to bother him until he figured it out. He'd simply have to ask her, and hope not to trigger too much nonsense babble. He had loved the life it gave her during lecture, but he wanted to stay on his topic for the moment. "Professor, I'd be very interested, and think you might be as well, to speak about Sunberthian storytelling, but first I absolutely must ask... Who is Kenabelle Wright? I just know I've heard the name before, back in Sunberth."

[Philomena]

Philomena's eyes broadened, and she was, for a moment without words, "Kenabelle Wright? She is the greatest hero of Zeltivan history! A sailor, a writer, a poet, a navigator, founder of the library, mother of the greatest line Guildswomen that the city has ever seen. She is..." her voice fell now, into something closer to reverence than respect, "... the head of the expedition that circumnavigated Mizahar."

Minnie reached around her as she said this, and pulled her bag forward. Inside was a small book, a duodecimo, filled with a tiny, cramped handwriting - painfully small, actually, inhumanly so almost. She flipped through it, until she came to a page with a sketch of a woman on it - not genius art, but a fair human likeness, a bleak-faced woman, hollow-eyed, with short hair, and slightly parted lips.

"This is her. Or... well, a picture, I... she is gone, now, she disappeared, actually, on... when she was going to sail to Sunberth."

[Thundiirn]

"Ahaha!" Thundiirn laughed, delighted as this explanation unearthed the long-buried memory that had been so bothering him. He began to chant. "Bella, Bella, Kenabella Sailed to Sunberth, what a fella. Who would come here, who would stay? Smart of her to move away! If she stayed we woulda got her Bopped her on the head and cut her Strewn her blood up on the wall When we was done she couldn't crawl." A rather disturbing sing-song, but what could he say? It's how Sunberth went, and kids were always little monsters. And some of the older verses were much less...twisted. "Its a typical Sunberthian childhood rhyming game. It's what you were talking about in lecture, the sorts of oral stories that don't necessarily make the transition outside of Sunberth. But it's a major piece of how we remember history, without a University or major library. It's how I was taught of Kenabelle. There's also a little skipping game that goes with it, and there are hundreds of variations on the second verse. Kids come up with new ones all the time, usually when special events in the city." Aaaaaand he ran out of things to say again. This conversation certainly was having trouble rolling. "I...Is that interesting to you? I find it intriguing. I thought you might as well" he finished, feeling rather lame again.

[Philomena]

As the boy begins the rhyme, Minnie's eyes go wide and shocked, and for a moment, its unclear whether or not she's upset. But, quickly, she flips her bag open and pulls out a wax tablet, flipping it open, and grabbing a stylus, to begin writing minuscule - amazingly small, actually - strings of an unreadable shorthand.

"Interesting to me? Yes! Yes, of course! You... remember these from your own childhood? The special occasion ones, do you know any of them? Children's rhymes! That's amazing! I would love to know how this information flows down... you do not... learn about thes... of course you don't have schools, per se, in Sunberth, non? I think not anyway."

Its difficult to get a word in edgewise, the woman is rattling off at full speed, now. HEr hand skitters across the page as she writes.

"Is the skipping with ropes? Do you remember learning it? Or is it a sort of street knowledge, something one simply knows?"

[Thundiirn]

The small professor exploded with words of excitement, and Thundiirn had to almost stifle a small laugh. She was attacking him with rapidfire questions, he having unintentionally struck what seemed was two nerves at once. Patiently, he waited for the moment she'd have to take a breath. "The special occasion ones, do you know any of them?" "...of course you don't have schools, per se, in Sunberth, non?" "Is the skipping with ropes? Do you remember learning it? Or is it a sort of street knowledge, something one simply knows?" He couldn't even keep up with everything she was saying, but he caught most or all of her questions. It seemed she was slowing down, and so he threw himself back into the new-found action. "I dunno exactly when I learned it, but I was young. We learned it from the orphanage kids. They wouldn't let us play with them or teach it to us, so we spent the day memorizing their game so that the next day, we could piss them off by playing it next to them. They'd draw a little diagram on the ground, a map of sorts, and your feet were supposed to go to a certain place with each beat to the rhyme. They'd play over and over, going faster and faster, and each person that missed a step was out until only one 'champion' remained. Until the next game... And of course there were other games. We didn't really realize what it was we were reciting at the time, as mere kids, it was just a way to get reputation on the street at a young age, being 'Kenabelle's Champion'. There were mining games, Obal games, and many many more. I'm sure the children these days are already making games for the Daggerhand and the Night Eyes. Knowing Robern, he probably made his game himself and made the kids go play it." Stopping, he squinted his eyes trying to gauge her reaction to this information. She was still scribbing wildly unintelligible letters as he spoke, likely trying to write every word he spoke, and likely failing miserably. Clearly Sunberth has the better method Thundiirn thought to himself, a small but visible smirk sneaking out onto his face. Nothing like city pride. "Tell me, Professor, do you know any books I could look at on this subject? Or is this all new to you?"