Once Tasha has settled in to her dorm room (mainly by hanging a signed JEF poster featuring Gabriel and one of Katie Kaboom on her racing bike and setting up her easel in the best lit corner) and gotten to know the facilities (such as where the women's washroom and laundry facilities are at), tried the cafeteria food (she's had worse) and come to the startling realization that there isn't any booze available that hasn't been snuck in from the Pit or made in someone's dorm, she gets down to the real work.
First and foremost is getting Melchior situated. The ancient spaceship that makes up the Winged Citadel has Titan bays, but they've been largely repurposed over the millennia. One of them remains more or less intact, mainly as a museum, including a Silent-Ones trainer Titan. There's also a good sized crowd there to watch the arrival, since the reactor has to be moved as well on one of the mobile cranes that can reach all the way down into the Pit (or the canal) as needed.
Among those watching are most of the recruit candidates, save for the older Karnor Joachim, who actually teaches one of the administration classes.
Aboard Melchior, Tasha surveys the route and ensure safety. The virtual avatar on her machine sits hunched on her command chair next to her, much changed since when she first met him. The woman's long intubation with her AI has lead to a change in both of tghem, drawing them closer together in more ways than one. The avatar is mouch younger now, Tasha's age.
"Looks like this will be our new home for a while," she tells him as she moves to proceed forward. The ancient machine leads the way ahead of the reactor core, it's sophisticated shock absorption system and movement programming allowing to walk with far less noise than might be expected of such a giant machine. "I'll probably come by to study; maybe we can digitize the books for more efficent absorption later."
"I do not have much knowledge of educational practices," Melchior notes almost apologetically. "I am curious though: will I have a ground crew? I know that I had such in the Pit."
"I think they're still arranging that. I apologize for not knowing yet," Tasha replies to her machine, mirroring his own apologetic tone. "It should be enough to scan the books for upload, then I can review them in virtual space without needing to have physical copies. Maybe we can make a library?" The great head of the Titan turns now, facing the crowd. "See them? That small group over there? Those are our new recruits; New members of the Joint Expeditionary Force. We've finally begun to grow past our original members."
"I have not met many of the original Fenris crew," Melchior notes, and the view zooms in on the recruits, noting each of their faces. Shojo the Vartan looks a bit intimidated, while Cassie the Eeee looks about ready to take to the air to get a better look. The human woman, Celeste, seems to be writing down notes, and the Silent-One, Digger-of-Ancients.. is inscrutable of course.
"Would you like to?" Tasha asks, even as the taloned hand of Melchior waves to the recruits. "The Vartan is Shojo, the Eeee is Cassiopeia -- or Cassie for short -- the human woman is Celeste, and the Silent-One is Digger-of-Ancients. You would probably like Celeste, she's seems to have an analytical mind. We could stop and say hello, maybe give the loader time to pass us and unload?""
"Do you propose to converse with them while piloting?" Melchior asks. It does conjure up the image of the giant Titan kneeling down to talk.
"Why not?" Tasha asks with a smile. "Anything I do outside, I can do here."
And then the great machine turns, walking several steps close to the crowd -- it's closest foot stopping only a few feet away -- before lowering itself to a kneeling position.
The voice that emminates forth is not simply Tasha's but a harmonious combination of Tasha's own voice and Melchior's avatar. "Hello, cadets. We decided to stop and talk awhile. This is the first time we have conversed in this fashion."
"Can you hear us?" Cassie shouts squeakily.
The rest of the crowd finds this amusing, giving a lot of attention to the cadets now.
"Of course," the great machine answers. "You are speaking to the gestalt persona of this Magi Titan, constituting both the pilot, Aldara Tasha Argentine, and the machine's artifical intelligence. If you have questions, we would hear them. We are interested in what you have to say."
"What happens if you're injured?" Shojo asks. "Does it impact your ability to pilot?"
"It depends on the injury," the machine replies ast first, it's left hand held out in a gesture of elaboration as it continues, "Depending on the severity of injury, piloting efficancy may be impacted. The exact boundaries of which and the full list of all possibile damage and their severity is classified."
Digger-of-Ancients says via glove, "That is an inappropriate question to ask out in public, Medic. It could reveal weaknesses that could be exploited by an enemy."
"Digger-of-Ancients is correct," the Titan notes.
"What?" the Vartan asks, then blinks. "Oh, yes.. sorry. I tend to focus on how to deal with injuries more than.. uh.. anything else, really."
"Noted," goes the great machine. "Are there other questions?"
Cassie is waving her hand now, waiting to be picked.
"Cassiopiea?" The machine asks, it's head turning to focus on the Eeee girl.
"Is it safe to ride on your head?" the bat asks. "Or any other parts? I mean, if you had to carry people.."
"She'll ask about making a cape for the Titan next," Celeste asides to Digger.
"While the flight system is idle or inactive, a person would be able to ride upon our head. However, the lack of railings or other safety boundaries, in combination with the smooth surfac, proximity of jet intakes, and expected movement range of the head would make such travel hazardous for fliers and non-flies alike," the machine informs the diminutive Cassie. "The shoulders exhibit similiar hazards. Of all sections, the hand area may be made the most safe for non-pilot, external, conveyance, as they possess significantly greater dexterity and sensory awareness than all other points."
"A cape would create movement interference and a fire hazard," the machine then notes.
"Hmmm," the Eeee ponders. "Okay, I'll see what I can do with that.. awww, but capes look cool!" She doesn't ask to ride in Melchior's hand though, at least.
The crawling crane passes with the reactor, while a second crane is lifting the supply locker. Quite a few people are on the ground guiding the reactor with ropes as well.
"We agree. However, they are inappropriate to this frame," the Titan then says. It's gaze sweeps across those gathered and asks, "Any further questions? We have seven minutes and thirty-two seconds remaining at current speed of the transport."
"Nothing that can't wait for a more private moment," Celeste claims. "I'm not at my best in crowds."
Digger has folded his arms inside his cloak, so likely doesn't have any for-public-display questions either.
"Noted. Anyone else?" After surveying the group, the machine then nods before rising. "Thank you for taking this time to speak with us. We will now recommence our relocation to the Titan bay." True to it's word, the great machine then turns and continues on its way.
"Does anyone else think the whole 'we' thing is creepy?" Shojo whispers to the others, but Melchior can still hear it.
"Noted," goes the Titan, some distance away now. In the cockpit, Tasha laughs. "They just don't understand, right?"
"Understand what?" Melchior asks.
"Our bond. To those external to our linking, our combined nature is disconcerting. They innately fear the blurring of the boundaries between self and other. But they don't know the strength in it, and how much more we are together than we are apart," Tasha remarks as the machine continues on its way. She reaches over to pat the virtual shoulder of her machine's AI.
"Is that not simply called marriage under normal circumstances?" the avatar asks.
"I believe marriage is different, more of a custom of the wedding of two mates -- unless you're asking to marry me?" Tasha asks with a grin, shifting her head to rest on her left hand as she guides the machine to its new home.
"I do not think it work out," Melchior notes as they enter the Titan bay to help maneuver the reactor into place. "You snore too loudly and are a terrible cook."
"Rejected by my own Titan," Tasha says, filling the cockpit with a sigh as she guides it in to its berth. "I'm sure this is some sort of cosmic revenge for being a terrible girlfriend in general."
A few minutes later, the locker arrives and a rolling ladder is brought to Melchior's back. The crew in the bay are, unsurprisingly, Silent-Ones, although there's also a big Vartan that seems to be in charge.
Tasha has since exited, waiting perched on the Magi's foot. "Hello!" She greets her ground crew, waving. "Would you believe he snubbed me? When did he learn to make innappropriate jokes? Actually," she holds up a hand, forestalling suggestions, "don't answer that. Forget I said it." She pushes off the hoof, then spreads her arms, "Thank you for coming. I'm Aldara Tasha Argentine, JEF pilot-cadet, and this is Melchior, who has apparently learned how to be a smartass."
"I'm Captain Frane," the big Vartan notes, crossing his arms and giving Tasha a semi-disapproving once-over. "Titan Tactics. The Silent-Ones don't anthropomorphize their machines, but then they are all men."
"Anthropomorphize nothing, he has an AI," Tasha notes, gesturing up at her machine. "Clearly he learned it from me, or else the universe has a strange sense of humor." She then plants her left hand on her hip, head cocking to the side. "Nice to meet you. Captain. Not what you were hoping for?"
"Hmmph," the Vartan huffs. "I was expecting a proper pilot with proper discipline, not an irreverent girl who stops to chat up friends while on maneuvers. Do you ever stick to your flight plan or mission, Cadet?"
"I wasn't aware there was a 'mission,' Captain. We were relocating resources, not fighting a battle," the young woman notes, tail going up. "Don't underestimate the importance of public relations, either. It's public trust that paves the future for growth and developement of the JEF, and those people, they've put their futures at stake to join us. Many are very excited to see the Melchior in action, and they deserve my time. People deserve to see my machine and I are more than just combatants. A machine like this scares people, so I do my best to show that we're on they're side. That we're approachable. Besides that, the AI hasn't developed robust interpersonnal skills and I thought he would gain from the conversation. He deserves to know his allies, as well."
"'He' can't do anything unless you are in the cockpit, from what I understand," Frane notes. "Teaching it to interact with others is pointless when it can never do it without you anyway. I hope that while you are here, you will learn and appreciate how to operate as part of a unit. I'll expect you this evening for practice." With that, the bird nods and heads for the personnel door leading back into the Citadel.
Tasha folds her arms, frowning as older Vartan walks away. ""Do you ever stick to a flight plan" he says. Does he have any idea what I've accomplished by not sticking to a flight plan? There's plans, and then there's reality," she mutters, head shaking.
One of the Silent-Ones techs listens and waits patiently for Tasha's attention.
Tasha growls a bit, low, then shakes her head one more time before sighing and turning towards the ground crew. "I'm sorry you had to see that, though I fear it won't be the last time. Anyway, I'll be your pilot. What just happened aside, I hope we can work together."
The Silent-One's mask identifies her as Sleeping-Flower, and her overalls hide her gender at first glance - she might easily be mistaking for a young boy, except for her height. "The Captain is very traditional," she signs. "You must show how to use the energy machine to charge your Titan."
"Traditional. I'll remember that," Tasha notes as she turns towards the reactor and walks over to it. She pauses a moment, apparently expecting it, but inwardly pushing herself to calm down. After a few seconds, she reaches out and signs, "We will review the BIT features, charging, discharging, emergency start and emergency shutdown procedure. Silent-Flower, you will follow my lead and then repeat each procedure."
At any given time, one finds the gym in use. Some Templars are more nocturnal than others, after all.. and some are just there to clean the place up. There's a group learning some sort of hand-to-hand combat system over on the mats, and a few men and women using the weights.
Though at first she walked past the gym, the cadet paused, returning and stepping through the door. With test placement only half an hour away, the unintentional sting of Melchior's joke, and the Captain's disapproval adding to fray her nerves, the alure of controlled violence was one she couldn't resist. Once inside she walks over to a nearby chair, observing the workouts and practice of those present.
The combat practice seems to revolve around staffs - an unlikely weapon, so it may just be for exercise or reflex training. Most of the people using the weights are men, with a few women as well (mainly on the complicated looking isometric machines). A human male works on one of the big cylindrical punching bags near the boxing ring, wearing padded gloves and a helmet and sweating profusely.
Weight lifting, as Tasha has disocovered, is a lot like box lifting -- the omnipresent job of her former life. A simple job, but busy and good for clearling the mind, she's found. Thinking that she may have lost some of her strength between her intubation and easier lving, the young woman pushes herself and makes her way over to the weights, stopping to examine the unused ones.
The weight benches are pretty simple, while the bigger framework systems seem to be for weight training specific body areas. The bar on the first unused one is empty still, but there is a rack of weights behind it. Unlike the water-filled or stone ones Tasha remembers from Rephidim, these are all differently-sized and labeled disks of iron.
Eying the disks, Tasha quickly deduces their use and placement, then pulls off two hundred pound weights and secures them for a total of two hundread pounds. She hefts the weight off, shifting to snatch the weight up from the floor to see how her strength has faired. Unsatisfied, she adds more weights until she's at around 240, where she begins to feel the strain.
And while strained, it's just not enough. After several repetitions she returns the weights and takes a seat, settling back and frowning. Tired, but unsatisfied. Her eyes wander until she spots the man in boxing gloves.
The boxer is taking a break, drinking from a bottle of water while talking to a big Naga. Humans sure sweat a lot.
Tasha has always wondered about the sweating. It seems peculiar to her, to leak water when she's been told you should be retaining it. Shrugging, and still quite angry, she makes her way over to the two and introduces herself.
"Hi," she pants, "I noticed you hitting the bag there -- it's a punching bag, right? You're 'boxing
?'"
The man turns to Tasha and nods. "Yeah, that's boxing," he says. Up close he looks older.. maybe in his 30s. "Interested in learning?"
"As long as I get to hit something and not get in trouble for it, I'm in," the red woman agrees, smiling.
"Well, you can start out on the punching bag," the man says, and opens a chest to get some gloves.. then notices Tasha's mismatched hands and has to get a second set as well for mix-and-match. "I'm Brick, what's your moniker?" the man asks.
"Red," Tasha replies as she acceptes the gloves, then gets to putting them on. She thumps them together, testing the feel. "These are to protect the hands then? And other person?"
"Yeah," Brick says. "No bare-knuckle stuff. Different species have different bones, and the gloves balance that out."
"Sometimes different bones in the same person, huh?" The woman remarks with a lopsided grin. "So are there rules about hitting? No biting, that sort of thing?"
"When you go up against an opponent, you'll have mouth-guards and helmets, so.. yeah, no biting. No hitting below the belt, aiming to deliberately maim, tail grabbing.. the sensible stuff. It's not street fighting."
"I see," goes Tasha. In truth, she's a little disappointed about the lack of street fighting aspects. In many way boxing seems like the new face of bar room fighting as her political persona is to her old public self: cleaned, sanitized, and careful. Sometimes, she decides, she misses beign able to just pick a fight. "Well, can't be helped, right? Are there special rules for different species?"
"Naga aren't allowed to use tail-sweeps, and no flying in the ring," Brick notes. "And there are different weight classes, so that opponents are evenly matched. But that's getting ahead of the train here - let's see how you punch." He gestures to the big sandbag.
Happy to move on to the hitting of things, the cadet steps forward, pictures the bag with the Captain's face, then swings a right cross with all her might!
The heavy bag gives a little, but is pretty resistant. It does almost feel like hitting flesh though. "Spread your legs more and swing from your hips," Brick suggests.
Shifting her stance, the young woman takes another swing. Her expression is focused, but the tell-tale hint of expressed anger is visible in the way she cants her ears back and hows teeth, for those who know the signs.
"So who are you hitting?" Brick asks casually.
"Captain Frane," Tasha mutters as she takes another swing. "I do my best, you know?" thump "You can't alays just follow plans." thud "You share tech, you fight for them, and it's just not good enough for some people." crunch
"Ah, first time meeting him I wager," Brick says with a grin. "He really likes to rattle the cages of the greenhorns to see how they handle it. Don't take it personally, he was just trying to rile you up."
"Well it worked," the cadet admits, hurling another punch.
"He'll toughen you up in time," the human insists. "Then nothing will get to you. Try swinging upwards, using your elbow and shoulder," he advises, nudging Tasha closer to the bag. "Imagine you only have eight inches of room."
The woman scoots closer, doing as she's told. Hearing that she was just being tested soothes her nerves somewhat -- then quickly spikes them. After the second punch she pauses, turning to Brick. "I almost forgot, I have testing in, um, well in not enough time for me to keep going, that's for sure. Do you think I could come back?" She begins untying the gloves, dearly hoping she still has time left.
"Sure, it's either me or Stubbs here," Brick says, gesturing over his shoulder to the big Naga. "We've got tournament nights every week too, if you just want to come and watch."
"I'll be here, count on it." Tasha hands the gloves over, then hurries to go, turning to wave back as she runs, "And thanks! See you later!" She calls out before rushing out of the room.
The testing is done in a room that resembles the mission room at the Silent-Ones Embassy - tiered rows of seats and tables facing a stage and blackboard. There are several others there, of various ages, genders and species. The big clock over the blackboard shows there are still a few minutes before things start, so Tasha has time to find a spot.
Wasting no time, Tasha finds the cloest available spot and has a seat, wings folded so as not to crowd anyone. "Whew," goes the cadet, running a hand through her hair as she settles back.
A Karnor girl appears at the front of the room, carrying a stack of supplies. She begins to go up the aisle and hand out pencils and test booklets, noting, "Please do not open the books until the exam starts."
Tasha accepts one of the books as well as a pencil, looking around and noting what everyone else is doign. The whole experience feels intensely alien to the largely uneducated off-worlder, a manifestation of both her perceptions of the haughty, unwelcoming edjucated elite she remembers from her earlier days, and her own fears of inferiority. She taps the pencil against her knee in nervous tention, observant for making even the slighest error as she compares her behavior to the others'.
The Karnor next to her seems to be obsessively squaring his booklet and pencil in front of him. A Vartan girl across the aisle nervously 'chews' on her pencil with her beak. A Silent-One sits ramrod straight, eyes ahead and hands folded atop his booklet, while his tail lashes about like mad. The Karnor girl that handed out the tests returns to the front of the room and sits down behind the big table there, then looks up at the clock. When it strikes the hour, she says, "You may begin. Please print both your full name and your moniker where indicated on the cover of the booklet. You have two hours. I suggest you tackle the questions you are certain about first, then revisit the ones you find harder."
Realizing she's not certain about anything right now -- but at least not alone in her anxiety -- Tasha hurries to start. She misspells her family name, erases it, re-enters it and the moves on to the actual questions.
The questions seem to be broken into various groups: Math, Science, Engineering and Medicine. Nothing involving History or government or social customs, not even military history. The questions in each section start out simple: basic arithmetic in Math, then progress in difficulty, covering geometry, algebra and calculus. There are also word problems about train schedules. The other sections follow similar progressions, with Medicine being largely biology - although 'general' biology, without getting into the specifics of any species. Science and Engineering focus on existing technologies as well: internal combustion, electricity and steam.
The final question is an essay one: What were your goals for growing up when you were a child?
Tasha progresses in fits and starts, her hodge-podge education revealing itself through her test taking as she breezes through some parts but stops dead at others. To her consternation, she is unable to complete most of the calculus section even after returning to it later. She realizes that while she was taught it, the imprinting hasn't taken, or else she simply forgot as she hasn't had to use it since the PersoCom system training. Biology is also an issue, with little progress made, though she's much more certain she never knew the answers in the first place. Science is a mixed bag; she finds she either knows something or doesn't -- and occassionally knows something else about the question that, while not a selection, she feels is more accurate or detailed and instead writes her thoughts in the margins surrounding the answer. Her grasp of actual technologies is much better, showing her working knowledge of available technologies -- she's able to piece together function even for many machines she hasn't been exposed to using what she knows about mechinized theory and other devices. She even manages some extra notation on electricity, including blurbs about interferene from the SPF.
Finally, she completes the last question, almost forgetting it in her doomed effort to finish the other areas. The answer is simple, both because she has little time, and because she was a simple person in what feels like a lifetime ago: "I wanted to captain an airship."
The other test-takers seem to have issues of their own, and a few are still madly working their pencils when the proctor calls, "Time! Pencils down please." She gets up and starts collecting the test booklets.
With a mix of relief and discomfort, Tasha hands in her book. "At least it's over," she mentions to the Karnor woman near her.
"This was just the general one," her neighbor notes, with a slight whine. "The actual placement tests are a lot more specific."
tasha's ears immediately flatten. "T-there's more?" She stammers, eying the podium fearfully. "What do the placement tests cover? Are they tailored to how we did with the last test?"
"I think so," the girl notes. "I mean, it depends on your study focus. There'll be tests to see where you need to start, or if you need help catching up, or if you have to unlearn stuff first. I think that's why they didn't have any history stuff, since.. well, each nation would have its own version after all.."
"I see. I thought at first I wouldn't have to worry about placement in the long run, but now it feels like every worry I ever had about not being good enough is back and wants to talk to me," the red woman murmurs, still eying the podium. "I'm not sure what I'll do if I can't handle this. I mean, I suppose I can still fight, but, it'll be hard watching other people pass me, and well, not living up to expectation. I don't even know how I can complete with people that were the best in their field."
"You don't have to," the girl notes. "It isn't about competition. That's the whole point of the Knights Templar - cooperation instead of competition. You train to the best of your abilities, and then use them to help. It's not like you have to do everything yourself after all."
"I'm not a member of the Knights Templar," Tasha notes as she tries to ease back, to relax. "We hold similiar tenants, but most of my peers are experts in their fields. In their species. I've managed to made due by pushing forward as best I can, doing my best and learning what I lack as I go, but things like this really make me feel inferior. I guess I'm afraid of not living up to the examples the others have made and being unable to excel beyond others when I'm no longer free to act alone. I've ignored the concern for a while, but things like this ... " She shakes her head.
"We're all just normal people here you know," the girl points out. "No geniuses or supermen. They don't need to improve themselves, after all. We're just here to do what we can, because.. we don't want to just be cogs in someone else's machine. We want to be cogs in a machine that's... uh.. all cogs, I guess? I'm not a poet."
"Cogs spinning in harmoney for the greater good," tasha suggests, being, as has been noted to her on several occassions, poetic if nonsensical. "But, you're right. I need to relax. I'm sure the Captain won't toss me out if I do badly, and there's always things I can do, even if I don't learn a thing." She leans back, running a hand through her hair. "I've always been afraid of places like this. I thought I beat that fear, but here it is again. I'm sure it's not as bad as I think."
"Oh, nobody gets kicked out," the girl says cheerfully. "Unless they're found guilty of spying or sabotage or spreading misinformation. Then they get chucked into a canal."
"Eeee," goes Tasha, ears perked. "At least I don't have to worry about that happening. Or," she suddenly remembers her near-brush with self-imposed canal diving, "not from someone that isn't me."
"So.. wait.. did you say you aren't joining the Knights Templar?" the girl asks. "You.. uh.. don't look like you're from the family of a rich donor, if I may say so.."
"It's that obvious?" Tasha asks, turning to face her sitting companion with a wry smile. "Not even a cobbled together one? Well, alright, you figured me out; No, I'm with the JEF. Pilot-cadet Aldara Tasha Argentine." She holds out her hand.
The Karnor girl takes it, but looks confused. "I'm.. uh.. Jenny," the girl replies. "JEF? I know I've heard of that.. uh.. oh! The posters, right? I only just got here.."
"Right, the posters! We're an exploratory group under the auspices of the PHTO Council and, thus, the four nations. We only just got here recently, too," Tasha explains, shaking the hand. "Jenny, huh? You're from Abaddon, right? What's your story?"
"New Zion, really," the girl says. "Oh, I just.. I like math. But back home that means I can become an accountant. I don't want to be an accountant, I want to.. explore.. math. But mathematicians are old men with beards and patches on the elbows of their jackets and I'd never be able to be part of that. So, here I am! Lots of pure science done by the Templars. They don't have to appease the taxpayers or require everything have military application."
"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, I think your courage is admirable. I know it's not easy to leave home and chase dreams, and not every warrior wields a sword, right?" Tasha grins, waggling her pencil at the mathmatician. "Me, I'm from Sinai. I grew up in, well, in a poor family, raised on an airship, or the docks. Places like this always seemed, well, like they seemed to you really: inaccessible and unwelcoming to people like us."
"Wow, you came a long way to take a test," Jenny says. "Do you have a nickname? Everyone here does except for the Silent-Ones.
"Oh, they call me Red. Creative, I know," Tasha answers, smiling and glancing towards the podium to see if the next test is forthcoming. "I decided to attend class after suffering injuries out in the field. I figured I'd need time to recover and could use the additional training if I'm to tackle future problems. I want to be ready."
"Is your nickname Jenny?" Tasha then asks, glancing back.
"Yes, that's the one I've chosen," Jenny says. "We should probably go. Your advisor will call on you when your test results are in, I think."
"Ah, right." Tasha rises, offering Jenny her hand up. "Well, it was nice meeting you Jenny. Maybe we'll see each other again, depending where we end up? You can usually find me at my dorm, near my Titan and probably in the gym."
Some time later, Tasha finds herself in the office of Counselor Travic, her advisor. "How are you settling in, Red?" he asks, using Tasha new nickname. "Nothing too disturbing I hope?"
"I had a run in with Captain Frane, but I appreciate his method now that I'm calm enough to regard it. Other than that, I'm still getting used to it all. I may be from the JEF, but most of our scientific and administraive duties are handled by others, so being immersed in a academic environment such as this is new to me," the cadet replies, hands folded in her lap. "I hope I didn't do too badly on the test?"
"The test isn't about passing or failing, it's to see where you are at," Travic explains. "You're new to academia, as you say, so you may not know that classes begin at specific times of the year, which we divide into quarters. You can't just jump into a class that's been going for a few weeks and expect to pick things up. So to fill the gap between when you arrive and when your classes will be starting, you will be doing prep work - that is, pre-class preparation - to cover what you need just to get started. This is handled by a tutor, who can be an instructor or a student what isn't busy with anything else."
The young woman inclines her head, admitting, "I suppose it's in my nature to see things as black-and-white tests of succeed or fail. Much of what I've done in the recent past has involved that sort of struggle, and while I push for the JEF to be open and supportive -- about helping the greater whole -- my personal expectations for myself and my recent battles have primarily been solo affairs." She then tilts her head and nods again. "I see, so I'll take on a customized learning programme provided by those with the time to do so, a sort of make-shift, individualized class. That makes sense to me."
"Your test results seem to favor the practical over the abstract," Travic says. "You have a rather mechanical approach to problems, and even if you can't work out the problem you still try to find an answer. A strong urge to prove yourself, or never accept defeat. Does this sound correct to you?"
"My face would agree, if reluctantly and unhappily," 'Red' answers, smiling lopsidedly.
"Well, at least Choir is something you can begin immediately," the man notes. "I see you are already scheduled for practice tonight, by the Choirmaster himself."
"Is that unusual?" The woman asks, ears perking as she leans forward.
"You must have made an impression on him," Travic says with a grin.
"I don't think I even met him, unless ... " Tasha's eyes suddenly widen!
"Yes, Captain Frane has been the Choirmaster for over a decade," Travec notes. "He started it to help shell-shocked soldiers."
"Is it bad that learning that makes me feel more traumatized?" Tasha asks, ears flattening.
"Don't worry about it," Travec assures. "The Choir sometimes goes on tour, like the New Zion Marching Band. It's even been to Star City. You wouldn't have expected Silent-Ones to enjoy choir singing, but then Frane insists that's why it's so important."
"I'll take your word for it, then, and try to think positive," Tasha promises, ears slowly relaxing. "Is there anything else I need to know, or should ask?"
"I'll let you know when the tutors are available," Travec says. "Until then.. just try to relax."
"I have," Red admits, smiling ruefully, "it's succeeding that's proving difficult."
"Well, there are other extracurricular events happening all of the time," the man says. "Make some friends and take in the culture."
"I'll do my best, sir. I'm sure it will all come together in time, after I get used to life here. And, to be honest, I probably need to be around people again -- maybe more than I need the education," says the young woman.