Halcyon Halls

Who: Alice, Mirael
What: Mira & Alice meet in the music room
When: Thursday Afternoon
Where: Music Room


The strains of the first movement of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 drifted out from behind the closed doors of the music room, the solo piano line missing its normal accompaniment of strings to complete the richness of sound which the composer had intended.

Nimble, calloused fingers swept over the keys, familiarizing themselves with the touch of the instrument. For all the standardization of the instrument, every piano was different, worn by the practice sessions of its users. Acoustics on each instrument could be subtly different, accounting for changes in the wood. The pedal response varied enormously to a trained musician. Mira wanted, needed to learn this one's particular intricacies, especially if it turned out to be the only available instrument for her practice sessions.

Hitting a particularly difficult phrase, the elf opened her eyes, scanning the sheet music which rested upon the stand. She'd been playing with her eyes closed, testing her rote memory, and now could see that it had been a 4-1 crossover missed in the left hand, responsible for the little stumble. Dropping her right hand uselessly to one side, she repeated those two bars, eyes on the movement of her fingers until the transition was smooth.

Only then did she add her right hand, returning to a prior rehearsal mark to test the phrase. But satisfaction wasn't to be had in playing something right once. Worthwhile things took time and trouble, not luck. Mira was of the opinion that practice merely made habit -- it was perfect practice that made perfect. And piano was one of the few human inventions she had enough of an innate love for to tolerate practicing.

Satisfied with her progress on the phrase after some minutes more, the elf paused, stretching one arm across her chest before flexing her fingers. How long had she been here? In fencing and music, the young elf had a tendency to lose herself -- and with that went any sense of the outside world, focus on the task at hand rather than the realities of time.

Who: Mira and Ita
What: "This is not the dining hall." -- Mira makes her first kitchen raid, accidentally.
Where: Kitchens
When: After classes


Mirael was lost.

A lost elf, she berated herself, pausing momentarily at the intersection of two stone hallways. Weren't elves supposed to be natural guides? Good navigators? Well, here was the true test: throw one inside a new environment, indoors instead of out, and the entirety of one's adeptness could be thrown right out the window. With a resolute sigh and a grumbling stomach, Mirael examined the crux of hallways once more. They were impassive; the stone was cool and cold, surrendering no clues to the fencing-calloused tips of her curious fingers.

Well; if one could not count on one's eyes ...

One must follow one's nose, she decided, thinking back to the most recent instructions she'd been given -- from an older student who seemed to be in quite a hurry to go about his business; totally uninterested in helping a new student find her way back to the dining hall. "Oh, it's that way," he'd gestured, irritably. "And turn right when you've passed Defense." That was all well and good, assuming one knew what 'Defense' was. Mirael decidedly did not, and here she stood. Logically concluding that she'd already missed the right of which he'd spoken, the elf made a right at this intersection. A turn in that direction was due, though at this stage backtracking was probably a more prudent option. Another dozen steps passed, silent in the hallway and virtually inaudible, and then she caught it.

Wafting through the air was the smell of something delicious and after two days of homesickness, poking around at her meals, Mira's stomach was finally protesting. And protesting loudly. Following this sense, she soon came to a set of swinging doors that did not at all resemble the ones she thought she remembered; but the smell persisted. When Mirael stepped through the doors she was definitely not where she intended. On a much larger scale the room resembled the kitchens at Gardener Hall -- but these were obviously in use, and the ones at the manor were lucky if the stove was ever lit, the elves had such little use for them.

"This," she said, almost to herself, and paling already, "is not the dining hall."