twelve. spam & voice. the sound when we come running. ( backdated post-port. )

[indispensible]

voice } helena ( backdated )

Did you die? Did you kill anyone? [These seem like the two most likely options.]

voice } lydia ( backdated )

You got separated. You should learn self-defense. [This vaguely reproachful, which is a coded way of saying god that sucked, are you okay.]

voice } elsa ( present dated )

[She waits to get in touch with Elsa, who seems as easily overwhelmed as Vin was herself, not very long ago. Still, the desire to check in nags at her, and eventually she gives in.]

I'm worried about you. [It's simultaneously frank, honest, and very forward, but it seems like the right thing to say all the same.]

spam } stark ( backdated )

[She has been texting him incessantly and, of course, he hasn't been responding. She doesn't know why she's surprised. But she knows where to find him, at least. In the bar or in his cabin.]

[The bar's almost empty and he's not in there, so she slips up to his room and opens the door before he can voice an objection. Her look is steely; she knows he's done something or he wouldn't be avoiding her, but she doesn't know what.]

Why are you hiding?

open spam } present dated

[Today Vin is in the art room - or rather, the annex off of the art room that holds the piano. She is sitting at it, but not playing it, because she doesn't know how to. Instead, she is considering it, leafing through the music that she found in its bench, and arranging it in various patterns across the keyboard in an effort to make sense of it.]

[So far she hasn't had any luck, but she seems absorbed in her work. It's like learning a foreign language with no guide whatsoever. She can't help but imagine Sazed would be fascinated.]

Comments

[warisart]

[There aren't very many people that come into this room to play the piano; there are several that come in and poke at the keys, one or two that really play, and then there's Ben. Ben knows everyone that comes and goes, knew them even before Jesse gave him a key to this room, keeping a careful watch on who might in turn know that he frequents this room, on who is approaching something so important to him, even if he never does anything about it.

Ben knows that Vin is not normally one of those people.

He notices her when he walks into the room with a sketchbook in his hands, intent not on playing today but on using the piano as a model, something to hang his ideas on that he can see and understand and transfer to paper, possibly. His steps slow for a moment and he almost turns and leaves again, but she's moving the music around in patterns he doesn't understand, and he remembers why he showed her this the first time.

Ultimately, he's too curious to go away, and he wants the intangible reassurance of the piano room, and he trusts Vin to tell him bluntly if she'd like for him to leave. So he steps to the door and, after a moment of determining that he doesn't understand how she's arranging the pages and she doesn't understand how they're supposed to go, speaks quietly.]

If I may make a suggestion?

[indispensible]

[She hears him the instant he enters, of course. She may be absorbed in her work, but she's never too distracted to turn tin on, and Ben's step is easily recognizable even without it: precise, military, but light-footed.]

[It is not until he speaks to her, though, that she turns on the bench, spinning in a full half-turn on its smooth surface. She meets his gaze with her own, unblinking, and doesn't seem to realize that she's been caught at something strange.]

What is it?

[warisart]

[Ben is the last person to tell her that any activity is strange; it doesn't even occur to him, only that she is differing from the norm, no more and no less. He is one of few people for whom this bears no positive or negative connotations whatsoever, except insofar as his conditioning tells him to fear that which is abnormal and to avoid it at all costs.

That didn't exactly work out for him, but he doesn't always get the choice to make that decision, either.

Now he moves forward, as good as invited, and steps up to stand beside her where he can see the sheet music; he could have read it, easily, from where he was standing. He could have read it from the opposite end of the ship, but this is better for conversation.]

Your mind does not learn best in a technical fashion, Vin. You learn instinctively, by using your intuition, your senses, your abilities as they operate best, not as you understand them to work and then applying that understanding.

[He remembers telling her that he had such difficulty connecting marks on a page to the sounds from the keys, but the truth of it is he learned to read music very quickly.]

If you are attempting to learn, I would suggest beginning with the keys and the instrument itself, not the music.

If I am wrong about your intentions, I apologize.

[indispensible]

[She opens her mouth to argue with him - which is, in fact, more instinct than actual argument; despite his calm tone, she is still used to people describing the way she learns and her lack of schooling as a downfall rather than a potential strength, or just a different way of learning. But he's right: this is not an effective way for her to tackle this task. It might suit Elend, but it doesn't suit her.]

[Closing her mouth, she scoots sideways on the bench, making room for him.]

You aren't wrong. But I tried to play it earlier and it sounded like something was dying.

[Not cute. Not cute at all.]

private voice;

[adelphoktonos]

We survived. And we only killed the creatures that lived in the dark.

private voice;

[indispensible]

They were people. Once. I think they might have been, anyway.

I'm glad you're not dead.

private voice;

[adelphoktonos]

Then they were twisted past saving.

[...] Did you live?

private voice;

[lydiascreams]

[There's a delay before she answers, because no one reproaches her. But they helped each other and they were in a terrified situation, so she takes a deep breath before answering.]

I wasn't hurt. But all things considered, that's not a bad idea.

Are you okay?

private

[bothfoulandfair]

I'm fine.

[She's not. She's definitely, definitely not, but she's tired of feeling like she's falling apart, and she's been lying for so long that it still comes to her naturally.]

Thank you.

private

[indispensible]

Don't lie.

private voice;

[indispensible]

This time. I lived.

I was worried that the people I was with would die. But they didn't, either.

private voice;

[indispensible]

I'm still. [Which means no, no she's not. She'd rather be doing. Teaching. Running. Something.]

Tell me what you want to learn and I'll teach you.

private

[bothfoulandfair]

I'm not.

[warisart]

[Ben waits out her near argument, still ready to take his sketchbook and go if he is unwelcome for any reason. He wants to help, not insult or annoy her.

He sits down beside her when she moves over, though, unflinching and without another word about anything but what is before them now. He sets his sketchbook down carefully on the floor under the bench, straightens and folds one hand in his lap, the other reaching for the keyboard.]

That's because you are only beginning. When you began to read and to write, none of the symbols made any kind of sense. This is only an auditory version.

There are only seven distinct notes. They repeat, and the keys on the keyboard match. Pressing this one - [He pushes middle C, then his gaze flicks up to Vin, pointedly down to the matching key an octave lower.] - and that one will produce the same sound an octave apart.

Try it.

[indispensible]

[The way Ben approaches things is, as always, easy to examine and understand. She is not intimidated by it, nor does he try to talk down to her. She peers owlishly at his fingers and listens intently to the note he produces, then glances up at him.]

[Try it. She was told the same thing when she was being taught to write - by Sazed, mainly, and he was always so patient, but she never felt that her efforts measured up to his expectations. She would prefer not to fall short with Ben, either.]

[Best not to hesitate; hesitation never got her anywhere. While the note is still ringing out, she presses the C one octave down and cocks her head at the sound produced. With her tin on, it's painfully loud, but she can also hear the hammer hit, which is satisfying in its own way.]

[A hesitation, and then she moves one octave down again, looking at Ben questioningly before striking two Cs down from middle C.]

private

[indispensible]

. . . Well, if you were. You wouldn't have to.

[warisart]

[Most people fall short of Ben's intelligence, but very few fail to meet his expectations. He doesn't smile when she presses the right key, nor when she takes it that step further he absolutely intended and presses another C. He does nod approvingly, moving his own hand up an octave.]

See? Only seven notes. Over and over.

Some sound undesirable with one another - [He continues a moment later, pressing the white key beside his own C, holding it.] - while others sound sweet. [He stretches one more key, presses the subsequent E, drops another finger two more keys up on the G, producing a C major chord and holding that, as well.]

Only experimenting with putting them together will teach you which are which, but the basis is the same. Seven notes. Five modifiers. Over and over. [He walks his fingers up a few chords as he speaks, hitting chord after chord in slow, even tempo, before dropping his hand back into his lap and looking across at her.]

private

[bothfoulandfair]

Thank you for helping, during that port.

private voice;

[lydiascreams]

But not hurt?

[It's the least she needs to know. Just to be sure.]

Basic self-defense? Just, how to disarm someone if necessary. Or stop them long enough so I can get away.

[indispensible]

[Vin does not require smiles. Really, she doesn't need approval, either. But she has learned to appreciate it, not to question it when it comes - not to assume that she'll receive it, but not to question that she deserves it.]

[The second makes her wince, touching her lower lip lightly a moment later in wonder at the evocation of discomfort a simple combination of sound could produce. She leans forward closer and closer until the chord comes, and then she smiles, sweet as she imagines summer fruit in an open field must taste.]

[Seven notes. Five modifiers. Over and over. She watches his fingers and can't stop smiling; then, when his hand falls, she cautiously and slowly mimics the C major chord. It feels, at least for the moment, better than strength.]

They're like letters, [she says softly, wondering.] Seven letters.

private

[indispensible]

Did you expect me to just leave you there?

private voice;

[indispensible]

Not hurt. Not even a scratch.

I can teach you that. It's not - I don't know martial arts. Or anything like that. But I know how to stay alive.

private voice;

[adelphoktonos]

I am glad you're not dead as well.

Who was with you?

private voice;

[indispensible]

Lydia and Elsa. [Frankly:] They don't fight well. But I fight well enough for three.

private voice;

[lydiascreams]

I'm glad.

I think that will be a good enough start. Martial arts would be more structured but it'd take longer to master.

Thanks for offering, Vin.