benthic_university | Correspondence Scholarship, Class Two [Tuesday Morning, June 17th]

Correspondence Scholarship, Class Two [Tuesday Morning, June 17th]

When the students arrived to their domed classroom, there was a broad-shouldered clay man standing before them. A pair of goggles were awkwardly affixed to her face. The hour to begin arrived, but no other tutor came with it.

The Clay Substitute laid her hands upon the podium. "PLEASE. OPEN YOUR TEXTBOOKS TO PAGE-"

Much the same as last week, there was a hubbub in the hall outside. The door slammed open, and one figure marched another to the front of the class. The Beleaguered Dean, swathed in a coat of thick tweed and a thicker coat of nervous sweat, was all but pushing The Ex-Disgraced Academic back into their pace behind the podium.

The Academic wasn't missing a beat in the argument: "-can't at all see what the issue is, so long as they learn the material-"

"You cannot offload your duties to an Underclay aspirant!" The Dean's fury is only matched by the fearful tension in his voice, "And an unfinished one at that! How did you get it up here-"

The Academic's eye widened in almost-honorable affront. "You can't prove that this perfectly capable worker is unfinished, can you?"

"No, but I can certainly prove that it's not on the faculty list." The Dean wiped his brow. "Get on with it, man!"

The Clay Substitute barely moved, but the grinding of her turning head rumbled through the floor. "I WAS TOLD THAT I WOULD BE PAID IN FULL, REGARDLESS OF HOW LONG CLASS WENT?"

Coin was exchanged, and, the Dean ushered The Clay Substitute out of the room. The Academic hissed through their teeth, clearly ready to vent their terrible mood at the first faces to cross theirs.

They turned to look at the class. And smiled a terrible smile. "Good morning."

Targets acquired.

"So! You've all decided to return for a second week. I suppose it can't be helped. Any damage you incur from here on out is upon your own heads." They began their lecture.

“English is a phonographic language, as the distinct letters of the alphabet each represent units of sound. The Correspondence is logographic, meaning that similar to the languages of the second and fourth cities (and the Khanate, of course), Correspondence Symbols each represent units of meaning.”

In bold, rapid strokes, The Academic scrawled a symbol onto the chalkboard:

They whirled around, pointing an accusing claw at anyone unfortunate enough to still be moving their pens. “Do not copy this into your notes! If you fancy yourself cheeky and attempt to copy it whilst my back is turned, I will still know, so do NOT try me.” They turned back, circling the image. Anyone foolhardy enough to ignore the command would earn immediate combustion to their notebook, and a quick, scathing look of satisfaction from The Academic.

“This is the symbol for “an unmappable direction. It is one of the more frequent symbols to be found in practical human application of The Correspondence, as well as in architectural engravings ranging from first city ruins all the way up to lapsarian London. It is also exceptionally flammable. None but the most expensive of papers can contain it.” And with a terrifically wicked smile: "Chalkboards are fine, though."

They continued. “The Correspondence is a purely semiotic construct. There are currently no known pronunciations or verbal applications for these signs-“ The Academic covered a bark of laughter, and then continued, “-apologies, but I would hate for my lectures to contradict the well-documented research that the Ministry of Public Decency has gently requested I adhere to."

The Academic pushed their current chalkboard up and out of the way, revealing an unblemished second layer. They added a tidy column of six simple symbols. "There are one hundred and eight basic radicals, and we've discovered twice as many in total. But for this course, we will begin with six."

Six symbols

And, after writing these on the board, the academic turned to the students. “These you may record in your notes, however-“ their tone sharpened, slicing through the momentum of those who may have rushed to begin- “confine each radical to its own sheet for practice. None of these, alone, is a complete symbol. But some can be converted very easily into real Correspondence symbols, and it is vital that you do not accidentally do so. Spend the rest of today's duration memorizing and practicing these radicals until you can reproduce them by heart. You'll know if you're doing well, because you paper will become warm to the touch once half-full. I will also be writing additional complete correspondence symbols on the other chalkboards. Your homework is to discern which of these six parts of speech each of the symbols is.”

symbols

The Academic pointed once more at the spray bottles on each row of desks. “At any sign of smoke, you are to douse the offending student’s work, without hesitation. Last week was not a one-off exercise. Consider this both a basic safety precaution, as well as your first taste of operant conditioning. Get to it!”

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The burden on the Socialite's shoulders was heavy enough to bow him physically as well as mentally. He hunched closer to his notes, the look on his face searching. Perhaps it was for the right words, perhaps it was for the right lie. Whatever the case was, whatever they settled on, they didn't look up at the Maven.

"I am afraid simply talking has failed me many years and will do no good here, though I appreciate the effort. You are kind, my dear, but this is an anniversary of a tragedy, another year holding aloft the weight of the sky as if I were to be dubbed Atlas. Words escape the burden. The only ease now is resolution." The age began to show in his eyes, haunted, even when not looking at the Maven. There were many reasons why they were dubbed the Morbid Socialite. This gaze was but one.

Maven's eyes turned down at that. She debated on the right thing to say. She did not want to unload her own burden onto his shoulders when they were so clearly weighed down already. So she opted for just a show of understanding without too much personal detail.

"I'm very sorry for your loss. I know it is a strange feeling to try and live with. It feels like everything should have just stopped when it happened, and yet the world goes on and you have to figure out how to keep going on with it. And you're right, the anniversary is the worst part. A day that is just like any other to the rest of the world holds so much weight and significance to you. It is difficult, trying to figure out how to live afterwards, and I am sorry that you had to deal with such an experience. I hope that, after class, you will be able to rest and take it easy on yourself for the day, because it sounds like you have and are already going through quite a lot as it is."

As expected, words didn't ease a burden buried so deep, but the Socialite gave an uneasy smile anyway, wishing sincerely not to discuss it further.

"Your empathy is much appreciated. You speak as if you've suffered a similar tragedy and, whilst I shall not pry further, I hope you come to know some peace in your own life."

Maven gave a small nod, respecting their obvious desire not to have her pry further as well, "I hope the same for you too someday." She stood up to give them some space, "I hope the rest of the day gets easier, even if only in a small capacity."

The Socialite flinched and finally turned. "Wait! You... don't have to go. I shall attempt to be good company, if you will spare me the time. I cannot guarantee I will be at all joyous, but I shall not be dour. Of course, you are free to choose your seat regardless of my wishes, but do not feel as if I am running you off. Please..." He was genuine, reaching out to another soul for companionship. He would find it regardless, but if the Maven wished to stay, there would be no complaint.

Maven immediately sat back down, "Of course! I just... I didn't want you to feel I was forcing my presence on you if you would prefer to be alone. I know I can be a bit... overbearing, in my desire to help others. I just didn't want to make things worse. But if my company helps, I can provide that. And please, don't worry about whether you're joyous or dour, it's important to feel whatever you're feeling in a time like this."

Why was it so much easier to give this advice than to take it, a voice in the back of her mind bemoaned...

The Morbid Socialite smiled, something genuine and warm. "You could never be overbearing. If anything, I believe human company must be a better distraction than that which is work related. Your heart is overflowing with kindness, a wonderful quality to have. Your desire to help is noble and honorable."

They did sigh as the words of comfort settled in, remembering those exact sentiments repeated day after day, week after week, every bleeding heart believing they're the first to tell an openly mourning man to feel things. It was all sweet, all nice, but they fell on deaf ears, the Morbid Socialite completely unable to feel their emotions in full with their plans in place. Denial and denial and denial, one must imagine Sisyphus sick with devotion, aching with conviction. There was nothing that could convince a man so lost to his own motivations, hidden as they may be.

Regardless, the Socialite gave a soft laugh. "While I will thank you, I have carried these emotions with me for years. One day of putting them aside for education will be loathe to kill me."

Maven nodded, "That is true. Sometimes you need to feel, but other times a distraction works better."

Unless all you ever do is distract yourself, the accusatory voice in the back of her head continued to needle her. Anything to chase away the sadness, to focus on anyone else's problems except your own.

Maven cleared her throat a little to hide a wince. This isn't about her! Focus!

Changing the subject, she focused her attention back on the Socialite, "By the way, where is Tularemia?"

Edited 2025-06-20 20:32 (UTC)

(OOC: I will be honest, and I apologize for not clarifying this sooner, I've been avoiding the Tularemia questions bc Maury reacts in surprise later on in the class when someone else points out she's missing, so he can't exactly notice she's gone before the class starts. Again, sorry about that)

The Morbid Socialite hadn't exactly been paying attention as the question was asked, too busy trying to memorize the rules laid out by the Academic in a previous lesson. "Oh, I'm sure she'll turn up." Was he even aware of what 'she' he was referring to? One couldn't say. Still, they were nice enough and refocused as soon as they realized they'd accidentally been ignoring the Maven's company. "I'm terribly sorry, I seem to have gotten distracted. But, yes, what was it you were saying about distraction as opposed to expression?"

(OOC: That's okay! I'm sorry too, I admit that I am not fully caught up on everything in the rp. I wasn't sure if he hadn't been answering because of their earlier tenseness or what, but I should have clarified too so that's also on me.)

Maven figured if the Socialite still wasn't answering, maybe this was another thing they didn't want to talk about. She waved a hand, "Simply that you had a point, distractions can sometimes be beneficial to one's mental health as well. While it is important to express your feelings, it also isn't good to dwell on them, and it can be good to find a healthy outlet for them that you can focus on instead. I was merely agreeing with you that this class may be a nice distraction."

"Ah, then I appreciate the sentiment. In fact, it's almost as if the class itself is helping to process, to resolve the issue at large and bring about a new dawn of life." The Socialite hadn't meant to let that slip, but took it in stride. "Of course, in matters of processing emotions. Nothing else of import, simply... the emotions..." The Morbid Socialite was remarkably bad at lying, it would seem. Or, at least, lying about this. It was almost as if the involvement, the story, was too massive to be contained within the fabric of the falsehood, pushing at the seams until the thread threatened to tear and reveal it all in an outpouring of honesty that even the Socialite couldn't stop. This, however, was not that time. For now, the truth only strained against its maintained confines.

The Socialite's comment made Maven tilt her head a little. Interesting phrasing there. She was tempted to try and comfort them over their turn for the morose again, but they made it clear they were looking for a distraction so decided to ask more about the first part, "How do you suppose the Correspondence would bring 'a new dawn of life'?"

Something sparked and the wind caught the metaphorical sails. "Alchemists believe that matter cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred, transmogrified into other matter. Of course, as old news, you likely knew that. Lead becoming gold? Passé, no longer in the fashion. The real research is in energy and how it functions. From my research so far, matter and energy go hand in hand. The burning of matter creates light and heat creates forward momentum. The transmutation of matter into fuel into energy is significant and, for now, unknown in source. We can, of course, do this seeming magic in our modern day, but why? How? And, the anomaly of the Correspondence, how does it create energy from nothing? You have fuel in regards to the material you wrote on, but where does the heat come from? How does a language, a different way of writing and, potentially, speaking influence reality? How can we harness the potential of the Correspondence to offer power to the Neath, to change the laws of life and medicine, to make our own rules for the world and nature to follow? Can the Correspondence aid us in saving lives, even when all seems lost? That... That is what I endeavor to discover. To truly find out, I must fully learn the properties of the language, understand it inside and out, to better utilize and study it and, potentially... fix what's broken about the laws of nature... Ahem, pardon me. My, I apologize for such a rambling monologue."

At the mention of alchemy, Maven turned fully to the Socialite. She knew her mother had had an interest in it, and she herself had done some research into it. But with all the duties she had taken upon herself she hadn't gotten much more opportunities to expand her alchemical knowledge outside of lab research. (and when she helped the Summer Schoolmistress with her little ones)

When he stopped and was apologizing, she waved a hand, "There's no need to apologize. Really, it's always wonderful to see someone passionate about what they are speaking about." She then thought more on what they said, "It is true that the Correspondence is capable of altering reality. If it were possible to use the Correspondence to aid in medical assistance, that would be a worthwhile endeavor to explore! Though... what do you mean 'fix what's broken about the laws of nature...?'"

The walls around the Socialite's psyche returned in a flash, everything about the gentleman all but physically locked down, entire body tense as they returned to their notes. "Nothing, dear Maven. Nothing at all. Simply fantastical musings of a man too tired to read his own shorthand. Perhaps I accidentally used the wrong honey in my tea this morning in my rush to arrive in a timely manner." He'd said too much and was promptly called on it. Damn his loose mouth, damn his insomnia addled mind, and damn to Hell- which was quite nearby- his inability to control himself when topics veered towards his d- his goals. He would not be saying any more on that particular matter this morning, that was certain.

Ah. Another topic they did not mean to go too far into, apparently. A shame, for a moment it seemed like he had been successfully distracted and was feeling better. Maven backed the conversation up to what was hopefully a safer point, a point of mutual interest between two doctors, "Very well. I do think what you said about the medical applications of the Correspondence has merit though. Our understanding of the Correspondence is still limited, so if there was a way to learn how to use it to apply it to aid people, help them recover faster, perform medical solutions that we haven't been able to with our current technology and abilities, finer methods of sterilization to prevent the risk of infection in medical procedures, create medicine at a faster rate to meet the demand of-" Maven now realized that she was the one rambling, and stopped herself, "Sorry, my point is that I think that is a very noble and worthwhile thing to research, and if you wanted assistance I would be willing to help."

The Morbid Socialite attempted to force his shoulders to relax, to try and give off an open air. "I... would appreciate the assistance. I am a doctor in one of the many fields of anatomy, physiology, and the body, but my patients have a- shall we say- zero percent survival rate. The assistance of one more used to the bodies of the warm and vivacious would be invaluable. The, erm... morbid arts tend not to be conducive to the continuation of life, in my experience. As familiar as I am with the human body, the understanding of some metabolic processes still evades me."

The Soft-Hearted Maven wasn't sure to interpret the Socialite's cageyness and wording as 'the details of my research make most people squeamish and so I am being vague to spare you' or 'the details of my research are morally reprehensible and so I am being vague to elude further questions and judgement'. She supposed she would find out and be able to make a more informed decision later, should the Socialite indeed follow up. She pulled out a calling card and handed it to the Socialite, "Here, this will make it easier to get in contact outside of class."

(OOC: If you would also like me to do so in-game I can. I noticed you didn't have your FL profile linked on your Dreamwidth profile, so if you want I'll link mine here so you can make me a contact https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Floweramon )

Watching the processing on the Maven's face, the Morbid Socialite gave an understanding smile. "Mortician. Or I was. With nobody dying permanently in the Neath, I've had to find other sources of income, but I have a doctorate in mortuary practices."

The Socialite looked down at the calling card and took it gratefully, passing along his own card between two fingers. "Call at any hour, I should be awake. I would appreciate the company, though I do warn that I am a husband twice over and my spouses tend to value sleep when they can get it."

(OOC: Thank you for reminding me! I finally got around to learning the HTML code to link things and just updated the post! I'm not on FL much, I'm afraid, but I'm always happy for the company!)

"Ah," Maven nodded in understanding, "That makes sense. With all that I've seen in the Neath, I admit I wasn't entirely sure if you meant it in a more mundane sense or not, but I didn't want to make assumptions."

She gave him a smile as she took their card, "Thank you, and I will be mindful of your spouses and their sleep if and when I come by so thank you for the warning."

Edited 2025-06-25 16:01 (UTC)

"But, of course, call at any time. Guests are always welcome. It would be hypocritical, if they weren't, considering my wife's penchant for unofficially adopting random urchins." The Socialite gave a kind and loving chuckle, truly enamored with his wife, it would seem. They finally pocketed the Maven's card, on the inside coat pocket. "I do hope all goes well."

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Correspondence Scholarship, Class Two [Tuesday Morning, June 17th]

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