Log [Alison, Forge] - Introduction to Music 101

[x-dazzler.livejournal.com]

Wednesday morning, before Introduction to Music 101. Forge arrives to class early and he and Alison talk a bit about music and the like.

Wonderful. Not only did he have to sit through a semester of a useless music elective, but it wasn't likely to even have GOOD music.

"Left wing, room 201-M..." Forge kept glancing down at his PDA to avoid eye contact with the other students he passed in the halls. He could hear the pauses in conversation as he meandered by, his slightly uneven gait giving him a distinctive tread. He knew people stared at the prosthetics. Let them, he figured. Not as if they'd give him the time of day for any other reason.

He paused in front of the door, cocking his head at the thick faux-wood door. He poked it experimentally with his prosthetic hand. Solid, but definitely different than the standard interior doors. Insulated? What was...

He checked his PDA again, cross-referencing the floor plan he'd been given with his class schedule. M101 - Introduction to Music.

Shit.

Alison glanced up from the class notes she was organizing, staring at the door for a moment contemplatively. Yes, there was someone on the other side, all right. She tapped the intercom pad on her desk lightly, wondering who was coming in early to class this time. "Come on in." Said the spider to the fly she completed internally, lips quirking in amusement.

Sweeping his baseball cap off his head and jamming it into the waistband of his jeans, Forge opened the door just enough to step inside. Just as he'd feared - music class. Semicircular rows of benches faced a small stage, with a desk set off to the side. The woman behind the desk was obviously the instructor. Too old to be a student. And too... wait...

Forge's eyes immediately snapped down to his PDA. It was right there in backlit text. "Introduction to Music: A. Blaire".

Wonderful. Not only did he have to sit through a semester of a useless music elective, but it wasn't likely to even have GOOD music.

The look of recognition she knew only too well by now - as well as the following expression to slowly spread over the teenager's features. The prosthetics drew a passing glance but no more - acknowledgement of their presence as opposed to overt goggling. "Well, I'm guessing I don't need to introduce myself," Alison waved him over, gesturing vaguely at one of the chairs closer to her desk. Technically, he didn't need to either but she figured he should at least get to do that. "And you'd be our latest addition to the student body... John Henry Forge, right?"

Forge opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He settled for nodding and obediently made his way to the indicated chair. He looked around the room briefly, seeing musical instruments in their cases arranged along one wall, while the other was...

Synthesizers. Mixing boards. A crossfader unit that was easily five years out of date but probably sufficed well for anything that a rinky-dink school presentation would need. Cabled systems were antiques now, anyway. But no one short of big-name arena rock bands used wireless ones, because the cross-traffic took a genius to manage without massive RF interference.

Forge, being such a genius, immediately started rewiring the equipment in his head. It could work SO much better if only he could get his hands on it and...

He became acutely aware that Ms. Blaire was looking at him expectantly. Had she asked him a question? His mouth was too dry. Swallowing a few times, he took a deep breath. "W-what?"

Well, that was the right attitude to take, she figured, letting him ogle the equipment to his heart's content, until he came out of the daze on his own - the briefing about him had included a description of his abilities, of course. "I hadn't asked anything, it's ok." Alison grinned, leaning back in her chair. "So, how'd you like it here so far?"

It wasn't a trick question but if anything it'd give him room to go on about anything he wanted to - or, well, nothing at all. Either way, it was a start of some sort, she figured.

"It's, um... nice." He fidgeted slightly in his seat, acutely aware of the fact that he was the only other person in the room, and thus the immediate center of someone's attention. The realization sent a quick shock of panic up his spine, and he sat upright in his chair.

"Real nice," he repeated, "I mean, I haven't had any problems - not WITH anyone, you know. I get along with my suitemates. Well, the one I've met."

Which begged the question - had he even spoken to any of the other students that much since his arrival? Alison figured it might be too much to ask about just yet, though. "Kyle, you mean?" She didn't bother looking at the clock - they had plenty of time after all.

Forge glanced down to his PDA, his fingers brushing over the touchscreen. "Kyle. Yeah." He looked around, trying to fathom what exactly was going to be involved in this class. "I don't, uh... I don't play music," he mumbled. Expecting some sort of rebuke, he steeled himself for the inevitable response.

"Well, that's why it's called Intro to Music. It's heavy on theory and history in the start, then we go into various musical styles until each student finds something they want to try. Then we pick instruments and go from there." She leaned on her desk, hands outstretched, palms upwards. "Hands please."

Okay, hell with it, Forge thought, sticking his hands out over the desk. He wiggled the fingers of the mechanical hand, almost as a silent message of "yes, it's real". It also gave him something to focus on, instead of making eye contact. That always made him uncomfortable.

This way, she wouldn't try and give him something like a violin or crap like that. The class was pointless anyway. He knew all he needed to know about music. You throw in the CD, turn it up, and that's that. Forge's concept was that he didn't need to know how it was made, any more than he needed to know how to raise a cow to enjoy a burger. But here the class was, and it would be too much trouble to think up an excuse for switching.

"So," he finally blurted out, "what do I get?"

She reached up, catching both his hands firmly before bringing her own down on the desk again long with his, eyeing them pensively. "You've got really good width for either guitar playing or piano here. Or the synthesizer if you like that better." Alison turned rested his hands flat against the table, then spread out the fingers of one of her own to show him what she meant, thumb and little finger making nearly a straight line.

"See what I mean?" She tapped the metallic fingers lightly. "What's your sensitivity with the prosthetic? Accuracy levels?"

Forge immediately smiled widely. "Full range of tactile feedback. I designed the interface myself. Well, with a little bit of trial and error. But I can type at over two hundred fifty words a minute, and
without even chipping a key. Heck, if I adjust the feedback right, I can even read Braille." He didn't mention that he had no clue how to read Braille - but the possibility was there.

To demonstrate, Forge began tapping a rhythm with his index finger on the desktop, gradually speeding it up and tapping his thumb in syncopation. Then he reached down to remove the stylus for his PDA, spinning it between his fingers adroitly before replacing it back in its sleeve.

Unfortunately, he looked down when he noticed a small clicking noise from his left wrist. One of the rotary gears had something jammed in it - a broken piece of pencil lead most likely. Resting his elbow on the desk, Forge raised his hand up in front of his face, absently pulling a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipping them on. "Ah, dammit," he breathed, grasping his mechanical hand by the fingers and twisting sharply. When he felt the click of the servos disengaging, he bent the prosthesis down at an angle no human wrist was designed for, and adjusted the gears with his finger. Reaching down to twist the mechanical hand back into a normal position, Forge wiggled the artificial fingers in front of his face and smiled.

Upon realizing that he was still sitting across from his teacher, Forge paled and dropped both hands into his lap. Glancing briefly over the wireless rims of his glasses, he shrugged. "It happens sometimes."

"I imagine it does." The lack of sheathing of any kind did leave the gears open to that sort of thing, as clearly demonstrated. There was a faint gleam in her eyes and she smiled faintly - no pouncing on the unsuspecting student to try and make sure he stayed all the way through to the advanced class, she reminded herself. Yet. He clearly had a notion for rhythm as well. No. No pouncing.

"Same'd probably happen to Haroun if his 'ware wasn't covered with synthetic skin." The murmur was more of a thinking out loud sort of thing, than a deliberate attempt at passing along information. Cybernetics had been very much on her mind, of late.

Forge slid his glasses back into his pocket, suddenly very self-conscious of how awkward he must look. "But there's nothing wrong with the mobility," he said, touching each metal finger in turn to the tip of his thumb. Inwardly, however, he'd already latched onto the ideas that Alison had mentioned. A piano was like a keyboard, wasn't it? Keys move hammers, hammers hit strings which vibrate at different frequencies - his mind didn't quite grasp sonics and harmonic theory yet. But things like chord structure couldn't be THAT hard, could they?

But then again - guitar. Forge smiled to himself, then switched it for a frown. Of course the cool kids had played guitar. It's the 'lead' instrument. Everyone pays attention to the guitar solo, the girls go nuts over the man with the axe, the front man, the big shot, the--

The twinge of feedback from his prosthesis alerted Forge to the fact that his fist was clenched dangerously tight. Attempting to casually rest his hands on the desktop, Forge cleared his throat. "Well, uh, I suppose it couldn't hurt to see what works, right?"

"Nope. And you get final pick on the instrument anyway. Doesn't make any sense to impose this kind of stuff on the students." If she had noticed the way his hand had fisted, she didn't give any sign of it. "How're your mathematics, by the way?" There was a reason she'd asked for him to be placed in her class, beyond the urge to try and spruce up the attendance in the introduction class a little.

Forge blinked. Had anyone asked Chuck Yeager "can you fly this?" or said "how's your grasp of physics?" to Stephen Hawkings? Had this woman even READ his file, or was she being sarcastic with him?

"I'm good," he said with false modesty. "Mostly the applied stuff, but if there's advanced calculus involved, I'm okay there too."

She grinned at his expression - it hadn't been a double take, but close enough. His file had been clear on the level of ability, but hearing it from him was something else. "S'why I asked for you to be in my class." Alison paused, and then explained. "I'm curious to see how your knowledge there will translate to music." It might be technical perfection, or it might be the something more few people had - there was only one way to find out, though she wasn't telling him about that part.

The concept boggled Forge. Music was art. What he did was science. The people who tried to combine the two were usually schizoid nutcases. "Sure, whatever." He figured he could humor the woman for a semester, it was just an elective, after all.