[West Wing] Expression (Solo)

[Trente]

512 Spring 17

Trent came to an queer realization as he worked his way through the broken streets of Zeltiva to his first performing art's class. That realization being that he really had no clue what the performing arts were. He knew that, aside from Syliras, Zeltiva was likely the most developed city in the field, but overall lacked a clear understanding of what the field entailed. He had dedicated a full season to the study of this art, and ultimately maintained a hope that it would assist in his swordsmanship in some way as well as granting him some additional grace for his public speaking.

He knew of dance, and had always admired the art. Along with it any art that involved more the physical body than some artifact left behind. He was the last to suggest that artisans of all walks of life were unnecessary. He would even defend the idea that paintings were powerful and necessary, at least in a political sense. And surely writing had it's place. But, in Trente's mind no art could surpass in sheer thrilling power than that of the bodily arts. His impression was that the performing arts had directly to do with these art forms. He wasn't all together wrong. And, still, he had no idea what he had dedicated himself toward.

Trente had to admit the school was looking much better than the last glimpse he had of it. All the ruble had been cleared out, and the workmen were in strict attendance of the collapsed portions of the building. Trente's untrained eye could detect no incoherency between the new and older walls, and so he naturally assumed the university had employed the most skilled, and expensive craftsmen in Zeltiva to remake the damaged building into it's prior visage. Trente appreciated his tuition going to a good cause.

The performing arts room was smaller than Trente would have imagined, not nearly enough room to dance. Later he would discover they were to meet in the same hall the ball was held to practice the arts which took more room. This was, of course, after mountains of history work. The history he despised at first, but quickly learned to appreciate over the season. The reason for this entered the room five minutes after Trente believed the class should begin, notably after every student had convened.

The Professor looked no older than the bulk of students. And, notably younger than Trente, had Trente looked at all his age. As it were, however, Trente stood at about the same height, and his body just under developed. How he hated bowing to authority, if such a man could be called so, that fell into that dreaded category. The age between Trente's appearance and his actual age. Trente would always hold a firm loathing for all people, at least men, who fell into that category.

"Sorry I'm late, folks!" His voice was admittedly harmonious, even in speech. And none doubted his position as professor, even those that like Trente had not been warned of Leon's age. Leon, not Zeaumont, for he claimed quite explicitly as he took to the front of the cramped room. "I am far too young to be called professor, or my last name which is a secret." A young girl, already gracing the young man with familiar flirting eyes said his last name unabashedly, the same one that was attached to the course work. He grimaced comically, and shook his head. "Tisk tisk. Call me Leon." Giggles erupted from the primarily female body of the class.

Trente's stomach churned slightly as he listened, and his mind worked excessively to find an a reasoning behind what was unfolding around him. After several moment's Trente's eyes really looked upon his new Professor of the performing arts. His lips so plump and unique, his body slim yet athletic, his style sickeningly similar to Trente's. His hair was busied over, likely daily. Ah, Trente realized the fuss now. He was a pretty boy, handsome in his way, kind yet likely witty, and had bought the whole class a ticket to some dark hole of the University with that immature charm, no doubt. Trente would have shipped him off to some corner had he been on the board as well.

Trente's studying eyes won a returning inspection, one deeper than Trente had expected. He raised an eyebrow at the man as he looked Trente over, eyes darting about frantically, then finally resting on Trente's face. Trente waited impatiently as an awkward silence fell between them, and the giggling girls of the class ceased and watched.

After several moments Trente could take no more of the silent investigation of his person, which though usually reveling in adoration found the room cramped and his space both physically and metaphysically violated. He spoke harshly, "Is there something you wish to ask, Professor?" He disregarded the first name intentionally. He decided he might respect the mans wishes when he actually started teaching. Till then Trente knew what he was there for, and it was not some common man named Leon, it was a professor. This is what his question demanded.

Leon took a quick step backward, dangerously close to the wall behind him, nearly stepping into it. Trente's other eyebrow raised tot he motion. He had taken the term "taken aback" to a whole new level. Then, all in the room wittnessed a pure blush take over the expressive Professors face. Trente felt sick again. What a waist of all their time this exchange was. Trente wouldn't call himself impatient, but he certainly did not appreciate his class time being dominated by some juvenile show. He silently prayed to whatever god might listen that the man was simply putting on a show, that perhaps there was a point to be made. There was no divine answer, not in time anyway.

Leon smiled through his blush, in a way that almost appeared truthful, almost. "Um, yes, of course." He finally broke eye contact and glanced at the other faced in the room. "I have a question for you all. Your names!" He said the last in Vani, fluent and expressive. Trente decided he hated this man. Some people just had a way, a manner that seemed to request such loathing from Trente. In truth, it was likely how much the two had in common that disgusted Trente. He really, truly hoped that people did not see him in such a way.

Back to common Leon repeated, "What are all your names? Tell somebody next to you first, then we can go around and you can all tell us your new classmate's name. By the end of this season we will all know each other's names well."

Trente's brow crinkled, almost in a pitiful manner. That season would be a very, very long one.

[Trente]

The class obeyed the command, some more willingly than others. Most with more gusto than Trente. He later felt bad he had disregarded the attractive young women he had exchanged names with, but the whole ordeal had put him in a foul mood. And, when she took to whispering gushes of compliments upon Trente over the poise and grace of their Professor he quickly lost interest, finding it difficult to recall her name. He managed when time came, but couldn't help a keener interest from their professor in his name than hers. He was sorely tempted to leave at that point. His pride wouldn't allow him, not to mention his housing depended upon that class.

"What are the performing arts!" Trente winced to the words, far more audible than necessary as Leon paced about, giving flirting looks in abundance round the room. Trente wondered if the facade was intentional, or if he had stumbled upon such grace by accident. The Professor continued his mockery of a lecture. "The Performing arts are what gives life to society. Without art there would be no structure to life." Trente reserved judgement for a moment, and began thinking upon the words. He might be mistaken, but for a moment they almost seemed intelligent. Untrue, but intelligent none the less. "Think upon this. Where would our fair cities powers be without carefully spoken words, and well written letters? Maria Satterwhite wouldn't be able to hold our attention so firmly were she poor of speech. And, there is no doubt she had a teacher, much like myself, to guide her in how to speech with such grace." Trente rolled his eyes, which surprisingly caught the Professor's attention for a moment. He paused and stared a moment toward Trente, before disregarding the motion and continues, a bit less confident than before. Trente almost felt bad, but not quite.

"What would history be, without songs? Would any of you remember in such detail the emergence of the Zeltivan citizens after the Valterians had there not been John Shoruel's piece 'The Light?' I doubt so." Trente was unphased by the example, not being familiar with this piece, or the emergence. He couldn't imagine it was much different than any other people's, however. Except, perhaps, that Zeltiva still had some city standing. He couldn't imagine that being any more impressive than the Suvan, which was created by the event. Little did Trente know it was the pieces point, in fact, that there was still hope, that the past would endure. One point that, had Trente the wits to ask, could have been cleared up right then.

Instead, Trente grew impatient with the lecture, and decided to guide it with a request. "And, Professor, if you don't mind me asking, what is the strength of Dance? No doubt we have all felt this power, the impact of a master dancer's grace, as they sway and swoon to music. There is no political way of dance, yet on a personal level I would attest it is the most evocative of all arts."

Leon stopped his energetic pacing and looked at Trente, as did the rest of the room. Trente knew this well, they had not expected his speech, his manner of confidence and application of clear language. He smiled, honestly, at their stunned expressions. Especially that of his Professor who seemed himself the only one capable of deep analysis of the arts present. How sure the Professor's were in their superiority. It bothered Trente.

Leon's blush returned, then faded in silence. "That is a very good question, Trente." Trente wished he would call him by his last name, but said nothing, in fear that another statement may prolong the wait for his question even longer. Perhaps indefinitely. "Dance is extremely powerful, both in a production, as you mentioned, or in more mundane personal aspects. First, and foremost is the pride in which cultures can teach and display their own dances. Vantha dances differ greatly from Zeltvan dances, which are even more so removed form what you might find in a bar in say, Sunberth." He found his words scandalous, Trente did not share the opinion. He waited, and Leon continued with his lesson, "There is also the power it had to pull people together. At the winter ball for example." Again, Trente felt perhaps he wished to be scandalous, he was there, and had seen the travesties. A precursor to the storm. Sickening.

"Oh, I can tell by the look on your face, you were angered by the ball. But, one can not say that it was not a powerful, and what did you say 'evocative' event?" He wasn't wrong, Trente's face did show a disgust for the situation. Which should have been a warning not to push the subject. He had much time to think upon the subject, and wasn't about to let it go.

"So you believe that spilling blood on a dance floor is art, do you?" The other students suddenly grew uneasy with the conversation, which Leon had passed off so well as a jest. "I, and I would imagine many others in this room witnessed the events of the Winter Ball. What happened was nearly murder, not art. It was a heralding of what would come, the storm, the aftermath. The mages loose in the streets, those looming obelisks. All of this began in that moment, when Faylon," he knew the man personally, "became the living martyr of Zeltiva."

Leon's lips pursed together as Trente let loose his barbed words, and they won a few moments of silence at the end before the witty man smiled. He would make the argument light hearted, or die trying. Trente wished he had his sword with him, for he might be able to actually end the man. He wouldn't, of course, but the idea was tempting in that moment. "Some would in fact argue that combat is in it's own right an art." Trente didn't whole heartedly disagree with this stance, so he remained silent as the Professor continued. "In fact, many dances share roots with many martial practices. This includes fencing." He smiled at Trente, knowingly. "I was there, at the Ball, and I heard your speech. It was inspiring." Trente grew angry, he didn't want to speak of himself, he knew where the debate was going. "Though it was as serious as the fight itself, I would still call it art. You handled the pressure with finesse, you identified your audience, and you spoke from your heart. I would say it was art at it's finest. Bravo." Trente's eyes narrowed, in another moment this would have been a compliment, instead it was used as ammo against his point merit. Trente decided to bring his sword to the next class, just encase his annoyance surpassed his moral endurance. "Much like the speech our Lord of Counsel gave by Lavikus Statue, warning us all. A powerful message, one that no doubt sent prickles along the spine of every person in attendance. The same feeling a powerful dire could give."

Maria was a sore spot for Trente, and he realized the danger of provoking another to compare his speeches to hers, even in jest. She was to be an enemy. Trente hated that he would have to concede the argument, and quickly realized what his mistake had been. Challenging an art teacher to debate upon art was foolish, as foolish as betting a master swordsmen with a stick. Trente was unprepared, he vowed to fix that before the season was over. Trente could of course continue the argument then and there, however not without abandoning his true stances. Trente attempted to make it a point to never argue a point he did not truly support. He would save it for another day.

The remainder of the class was entertaining, to a degree, as he lectured on in his way about the power of art, and outlining a curriculum which rested heavily on the ideals of a historian, more than a performer. Still, Trente was not put off by the promised out of class paper work. For he had to admit, if there was one thing his Professor had managed it was to inspire him to improve. He would learn enough of the performing arts to beat his Professor in a fair and honest debate. Despite his other obligations.

[Paragon]

Adventurer's Loot Trente's Loot : Trente Skill XP Reward Observation +2 Investigation +1 Socialisation +1 Interrogation +1 Lore: Leon (Zeaumont): Performing Arts Teacher, The Importance of Art, An Artistic Challenge Items or Consequences: Nil Short and sweet, I enjoyed the little barbed exchange! - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, don't hesitate to PM me.