Flashback [The West Wing] Write something worth reading.

[Fallon]

As the Professor began to speak and explain Captain Wright to her student, Fallon took up the quill and ink. She dipped it into the vial that she had carefully balanced upon her knee, and drew the black out across the page. She made only quick notes, firstly with the name, followed with the expedition, and the mention of the sickness that nearly swallowed the ship whole. She barely had time to get down anything else down, for the rate the woman was talking was faster than Fallon herself could write. The nib clicked against the vial again as she wrote down the mention of Zeltiva never sailing so far again.
No wonder why we always went in the summer though, Fallon mused as she wrote down the name of this other Professor.

“Yes, it is a brutal cold up there. And potentially deadly,” Fallon cleared her throat “Well… definitely deadly in the case of the crew it seems. Did they not have any one who was a doctor on board then?”
Her eye brow rose as she asked the question, her eyes darting from the Professor and her handwriting. Her nib scratched on the corner of the note book, before returning to the ink “Sorry, I’m missing the point. And I know what you mean when you say it is far from a safe passage.”
But then the Professor began to speak once more, and so Fallon responded in writing down what was lectured towards her, before suddenly and abruptly stopping. Her eyes rose and focused upon the Professor.

“Not go? Why not go?” confusion hung on the face of the girl. It was perhaps to Fallon strange that the notion of simply not going to a desired place, for she was a traveller by nature and going places was the only thing she really knew about “I mean, a poet can bring forth an image through words many a time, but seeing the real thing is completely different,” for a moment Fallon thought she had spoken out of turn, yet with words already spoken she continued once more “See, I could tell you of the carvings of ice in Avanthal and how they capture the winter sun within their shapes, or of the vast tundra that stretch on to the ends of the horizon. But talking about it is different than seeing it.”
It was at that moment that Fallon released a blush and fell silent, her eyes averting down once more to the page “Sorry, I uh… got carried away. Please uh, continue.”

[Philomena]

Minnie cocked her head at the strange girl. She was not used to being so sociable with students - the first few class days, particularly, were far more often a work of wheedling information out of embarrassed strangers that she did not relish. This was a very different experience, a mixture of unsettling and exciting, and it left her very visibly flustered. It was not that Minnie never got excited about a topic - the opposite was nearly true. But, she did not have a great deal of experience in someone else being interested in the rambling excited monologues, short of taking notes for an examination, or cribbing her for help in a paper.

She found herself leaning forward slightly towards the girl, rubbing her hand across her hair, leaving the strong scent of mineral spirits in the air for a moment.

"No, no, no! ITs only... well, it is more this: If a voyage were to go to Avanthal... the stores, the sailors, everything, it would be so crowded! They would have room for so few useless tagalongs. The would bring a few people from the University, I have no doubt, on a voyage to a land we know so little of. But - practical people, mostly, hmm? A biologist, a geologist, weather, theology, historian. You know. For those with more abstract tastes, really, they'd have maybe a seat or two. If the world could have the record of only one person who looked at the harbor with the eyes of a human recorder... well, I shoudl rather it be a poet. I would rather the world have a poem on the place, than a long volume of me rambling about details. You... seem to speak with some authority on Avanthal? Have you... perhaps... met people..."

Her voice trails off, as she loses the ending of the sentence. Then blushes, nods, quietly.

[Fallon]

As the Professor spoke once more, she began to slowly nod with understanding. Of course, crowding was an issue. She remembered the days spent upon the ships, and how most of the time she was better off staying out of the way within the cabin. But the idea of a poet still seemed perhaps off to her. And here it was were their differences lay, Fallon after all had a tendency to prefer long texts bursting with detail, than a verse. Each to their own it would seem. Her nib lifted as if she was to write, her brow creasing. She felt slightly bad that she had managed to catch the professor off guard, and sent her into a state of being flustered. It was far from her intention; it was simply her asking questions, which had no doubt turned into a discussion. Though, on how close it was to the original subject of literature was yet to be seen. She lowered the quill, resting it on the page whilst she sealed the vial. Her fingers laced and her nodding finally stopped.

“Authority? I suppose so. Met people…? You could say that. Knowledge? To a degree,” She leaned back, her once hesitant and confused features being replaced with that of calm “Experience? Most definitely. It would be more correct to say that I’ve stood upon that ice gripped land. That I’ve looked up onto the frozen ocean and watched the waves roll,” Her eyes glazed over as she remembered the past, of a time in where she was guided and lead forth with purpose. Unlike now where she was little more than a drifter. She shook her head “But, alas, that will be nearly two years ago. And the past is the past.”
For a moment she was silent, musing still upon the icy landscape before bringing herself out of it “So… where were we again? Kenabelle Wright and Circumnavigation?”

[Philomena]

As the girl describes the roiling ocen, her words tease gently at the older woman's eyelashes, nudging them open into a full bloom of awe. Her eyes are peculiar anyway, a bit less in the way of white around the irises, and then magnified queerly by her glass spectacles, giving a childlike air to her interest.

"Avanthal!"

She's silent a moment, simply staring when the girl finishes, and shakes her head.

"Avanthal! I..."

She closes her eyes a moment, then opens them, "Yes... I... yes, I will not... I will not make you the teacher, here, though, Gods, I could. Perhaps... I ... maybe... maybe a dinner sometime, or I could... pay you. A little. But yes... Yes, I'm sorry... the Circumnavigation. Yes. The Northern Seas were only the first great devourer of her crew, there were three - I like to... well, I... I see it almost like a metaphor, though you might laugh at me."

She blushes, softly, looking down, "But, yes, you see, the philosophers, they look on narrative, and they say there are four types of conflicts, non? There is the soul against nature, the soul against other men, there is teh soul against itself, and there is the soul against the Gods. The fever, that was nature. Then, the coast of the Myrians, when a party came and murdered many more of the crew, inluding... the great Dr. Edgetower..."

She paused a moment, literally bowing her head, and closing her eyes, to murmur inaudibly under her breath. It takes, perhaps 15 seconds. Then she raises her head again.

"But then, at the city of the Akvatari, there was the case of a soul against itself, when so much of her crew abandoned her. Only three souls made it home: the Captain, one sailor, and Doctor Watchtower, my mentor. And of course... at home, I think they had to face their gods. And who can say who wins a conflict like that? I think... I think most of us, in some way go on this sort of trip - that's why I teach Wright first. Well, that and my own love for her."

[Fallon]

Fallon made no real comment to the stutters of the Professor. She just gave a small smile and a nod to the suggestion and left it there. Should the professor wish to pursue her on a later date about the place, Fallon would no doubt try her best to answer the questions that came her way. Instead she simply listened to the words whilst her fingers curled around the top of the ink vial. Every word that came forth she held onto, even when the metaphors came, still the girl listened. The explanation made sense, to a degree, though Fallon herself may have called it something different. What though she was unsure. So instead she simply nodded in understanding and tried to reflect upon herself and what she had faced. Her mind flickered through her memories, picking out the key points. Her eyes narrowed as brought forth the past.

Her eyes averted down to the page, contemplating what had been said and how it just seemed to make sense. Yet for all thought and focus she tried to put in, she found difficulty in trying to relate herself to it. Perhaps, she was too young of mind then or simply searched in the wrong places. She was well aware of what she had gained, lost and left behind. Her free fingers gently drummed against the top of the note book. But such thoughts were not an issue right now. She returned her thoughts to the topic at hand.
“She does… well… she does sound rather… impressive,” Fallon finally spoke “Such a voyage. It is no wonder why you feel so,” she focused properly on the professor this time “So if there were three devourers, would that make the second the fight against the Myrians? Meaning…” She trailed off as she tried to pick out the third one “I’m not sure… would the people leaving at Akvatari count? I mean… none of them died as such.” She pondered upon the dark subject for a moment, before slowly asking “But why did she decide to make such a voyage in the first place? I mean, sure there’s proving it can be done, but surely that can’t just be it? Is there something more to it?”

[Philomena]

Minnie smiles, softly, and blushes, bowing her head at the girl's question.

"Well, there's two questions there, let me take them one at a time. The desertion, I cannot say. I will say... well, like any girl from Zeltiva with a touch of the romantic, I read the Circumnaviagation, and thought immediately 'Oh! If I had been on the ship, I would have stayed!'. Everyone thinks that, right? In retrospect, if nothing else, it is so easy to say 'I would have stayed that last, simple, leg of the trip. But... there were many brave hearts who left. I am, now, in the middle of a catalogue of miniature biographies of each sailor and scholar who travelled, or those of whom we have some record, and many of them were truly heroic souls.

But then... that's the thing. You do not ever doubt yourself? I have... I have spent much of my life struggling between many voices in my heart. I think, with more or less awareness of it, most people do. The struggle, that last, is to vanquish the self, to keep the self from devouring one. It is a strange thought, hmm? I think... when Captain Wright returned, she could no longer be fully human. She was a heroine, then, not a person, people spoke no longer to Kena, but to Captain Wright, the Circumnavigator. Self must... be sublimated for that, to some extent. The self is the last victim that the hero lays upon the altar, in that sense."

"And... " she frowns, looking the girl in the eye, "Maybe... that is why she did it? Some of that. Perhaps. I don't know. I... I never met her. And Captain Wright had a startling ability to remove her own emotions from her writing, to... become the ship, instead of its captain. There are moments. When Bethany Edgetower dies, for instance. But I think, the Captain wished to be a cipher. I have never had that moment, the moment where one sees greatness before them."

She laughed softly, and a brown-red blush came to her sallow cheeks, "And I likely never will. The world has heroines in it. I have... met some in my day, some truly great women. I am not one. I am, as I said, not even a racontreuse. Just a recorder. Therein lies the rub, doesn't it? Those who truly understand what it is to be great, they seldom have time to write about it. And when they do... I think they usually cannot tell you what it means."

[Fallon]

Fallon listened to the words of the professor, hanging on to every mention and piece of information where she could. Her interest grew on the mention of ‘miniature biographies’, and her eyebrow rose further as she continued to listen. She gave a slow nod in understanding, her fingers still slowly tapping at the page, a low dulled rhythm that was easily drowned out by the words that were spoken. She heard the question asked at her, though it was more rhetorical in her ears, it still made the girl stop and think. The drumming stopped for a fraction, her lips pursing together.
“I see,” she spoke in a low tone.

Her questions indeed had been answered, but she could not help but feel a growing sense of dissatisfaction. Not with the Professor, or with the story. But to the question that was asked. Doubt. Or more in particular, self doubt. It was something that Fallon was built upon, the internal struggle between doing the desired and morals, which in turn had lead her towards harm. But for every action and consequence, she embraced whole heartedly, for there was little else she could do. Remember the past, remember the pain, but do not dwell on what has happened and how it could have been changed.

“Greatness?” Fallon questioned the word and leaned forward in the chair “Has many a different meaning to the individual person. But sometimes… greatness is just a title forcefully we put upon people to explain why we do not achieve.”
Fallon shook her head, awakening herself from the musing. Her fingers curled around the edge of the page, her mind grasping onto the words she just said, her eyes focusing properly now. She gave a smile, “Where… out of interest would I be able to get an actual copy of this book? Just so I can see read it for myself and give a better discussion for you next time Professor?”

[Philomena]

Minnie frowned, and stood, pushed herself off her chair to plop onto her feet - she was nearly the same height standing as sitting. She threaded past Fallon to her bookshelf as she spoke.

"That is... an interesting supposition. Perhaps. Perhaps we need excuses for our own smallness. Perhaps I am no Kenabelle Wright, not because of who I am, or where I come from, but..." her voice faltered, slight, "...perhaps its nothing but the fact that I have not chosen to be great. I chose the coward's way, perhaps, one too many times."

She lifts a dish of sand from the edge of one shelf, and reaches to the waistband of her dress, where there are two white cotton gloves folded together. She draws these out, and with a meticulous, almost ceremonial slowness, begins to work them onto her humid-skinned fingers, one finger at a time, mechanically running a finger tip across the glover-stitching, to make sure they were not torn.

"Perhaps One must make first the choice to be someone, before that other choice, to be simply the image of someone. Perhaps there is another conflict that I do not write about - the battle of man against inertia. Or against fear. A certain circularity to that, I suppose, for fear is a God, in its way, only one we make for ourselves."

The gloves are on now, and with the delicacy of one performing surgery, she touches the spine of a moderately slender, tall book, in rich morocco leather. She draws it out, slowly, still speaking.

"It is possible, I suppose. When I was a girl, I... thought..."

HEr breath catches, and her brow wrinkles.

//Shut up Minnie Lefting. She didn't come her to hear about you. You are not the heroine of this little story.//

"No... no, that will not, I suppose, be cogent to what you come here to learn. But it will be... interesting to me, to see what you come to believe about the Captain, yes."

Her voice is tender, sad, now, one the hand the result of her obvious introspection, on the other, something else. The voice one speaks of a long-dead lover with.

"I will be interested, for you seem insightful. I do not think you will find one in the pages who never doubts herself. Kena... Ms Wright, that is... she was a human. A mortal. And very honest, even as she wrote around herself. It is difficult not to read the book, I think, without wondering if she felt justified. In the price she paid to sail the limping ship with a crew of Akvatari, into the Harbor on that last day. I think she didn't. I think... if she could perhaps..." her voice decrescendoed through the whole story, until now, it was barely more than a whisper. It would have been inaudible, but that Minnie had moved. The book was pulled fully from its mooring now, and rested with the delicacy of a priest with a holy relic, on the white gloves. She had walked back to where Fallon sat, and now held the book up to offer it to her:

//The Annotated Circumnavigation of Kenabelle Wright: By Captain Kenabelle Wright, Edited by Dr. Philomena Lefting//

The words were broad and bold on the page, but for the editor post-script, written small, and in simple grey beneath the silver leaf of the embossed title and author. The book itself is not long, and at first glance upon opening makes something of a ridiculous spectacle - The last third of it is appendixes, some dry, all meticulously detailed. The first third is a collection of essays on the subject of the book: a short one from the editor herself, and another from a professor of history. The third is signed by Charm Wright, and consists mostly of a brief biographical sketch. The middle is the book proper - and even here, the actual text of the story usually takes only the upper quarter to third of the page. The rest, in minuscule, carefully set type, is notes. The notes are almost painfully detailed, with no particular narrative thrust, rather than an urge towards the encyclopedic, everything from records of the weather during different times of parting, to cross-references to notes on Myrian war-drumming, to a description of the woods from which the ship's timber was milled, with notes on the agronomy of the region.

"I think if the captain had had her choice... and this is only opinion, Miss, not me telling you what to think... I think perhaps she would have rather died on the Myrian coastline, with Dr. Edgetower. I think... she stayed, and wrote the book, only out of love for the Doctor, and respect for her goddess, Qalaya."

She bowed her head, and murmured gently under her breath as she said the goddess's name.

"In that sense... I suppose the book belongs as much to Bethany as to Kena. Or, perhaps, like all true and beautiful writing, it belongs to Mother Qalaya."

[Fallon]

Fallon watched the petite professor rise from her chair and go to her books shelf, and move about before it, with words escape. An agreement or a simple musing on the thought? Fallon could not tell, and her opinion was her own. She did not speak or interrupt, she simply listened and observed. The story of Kenabelle Wright has indeed made its mark on the woman, but would it in turn have the same affect upon Fallon.
“Perhaps, perhaps. It is the choices and consequences scenario. Whilst we are free to choose our actions we cannot escape the consequences,” it was more directed at herself than to the professor, a monologue of her musing. Whether or not the professor reacted to it was her choice alone. She studied the book that was carefully presented to her with care, much like she expected a religious article to be handled.

With gentle hands she reached up and took the book, gentle fingers rolling around the spine as she took it. She gave a nod of both thanks and respect to the professor. Although she was not like the professor who seemed to follow Qalaya, she still found the article interesting to hold due to the knowledge and history it provided. A source that Eyris would no doubt find interesting. Always seeking something new to learn and study. Careful fingers opened it, her eyes tracing over the font and the smaller, grey writing that could only belong to the professor. She studied the careful annotations, her eyes squinting at the small font as she went through the pages. A brief glance at what was there. She stopped long enough on pages to only glimpse into the work. To study it carefully would require a good few days to understand it properly, and then no doubt several more to draw information from it and create her own conclusions.

Gently Fallon closed the book and looked once more upon the professor. She was not quite sure on what else to say to her, and so her eyes simply turned to that of curiosity and questions as she tried to think clearly. She could feel the leather cover slide under her fingers, the Lormar prickle on the back of her hand prickle as she contemplated looking deeper into it. She gave a smile and rested the reading book down gently, taking great care in her movements whilst she caught the end of the Professor’s words.
“Yes… I can imagine Qalaya would be pleased with the work put in,” Fallon gave a small smile at this point “That and the history and knowledge that rests here, if not in the original text then what has been put in there by the Editor.”
A compliment in a sense thought Fallon was partially inept to giving them. Social situations were not always her forte. She cleared her throat “Is there anything you would like me to go and research Professor Lefting? Or look up? Or… anything else you might recommend?”

[Philomena]

Minnie returned to her seat, and lowered herself into it slowly, as the younger woman responded. The joints of her knees popped audibly as she did so. She listened to the girl's comments on free will, and her mouth opened to speak. But then she closed it again and simply nodded. She began, slowly, meticulously, to remove her gloves, pulling them, one finger at a time, in plodding, cautious tugs. The glove on the right hand pulls free, and she lays it delicately on the desk, and proceeds on to the left hand. The silence as the woman flips through her book isn't, in the least discomfiting. She watches the girl quietly, watches her flip through the pages, watches to see what she pauses at, what she flips through, what her eyes scan.

Then, the compliment comes.

It is not as if Minnie has never been complimented. The very work that Fallon held had received some considerable acclaim when it was released, and made her reputation firm at the University. Minnie even, somewhere in her clouded mind, knew that the work was good, though she'd be hard-pressed to admit it. But there is something to the cold and academic praise of a colleague that is different from the attention of someone both spontaneous and in the intimate setting of her office.

//Nonsense, Minnie Lefting. She's flattering you. You'll be grading her petching papers.//

Minnie frowned as she jerked herself violently from a moment of satisfied pride, out of even the transports she had been before, speaking on a subject that matters so deeply to her, and back into the frightened demeanor of the mundane. There is no subtelty to this. The observer can see the expansive, calm pleasure of her face, the openness of her shoulders collapse, visibly, into a quiet, defensive timidity, her eyes turning down, her chest caving inward, her hands closing protectively over her belly. The movement makes the neckline of her dress billow and hang loosely over air, its line ruined peculiarly by a weight just off center, sewn into the lining of it, and faintly underneath, to an eye that wanders, black lines traced across the skin beneath the cloth of the dress.

"Yes... Yes, Ms... Ms Sk'llair. Assignments, yes. A... yes, go ahead and begin with the Circumnavigation, and for next week, if you would, please consider reading some of the panegyrics of Ms Wright, and have some thoughts on the comparison of how the poets remember the voyage, versus how the Captain did, if you will. Jutes, Khirelly, O'Figh. PErhaps... Bullins, if you want an opposing viewpoint, yes... if you would. Then we can discuss then. And maybe a little... a little, we can discuss what you were saying about... about freewill, then."