Chapter 14 – Artistically Bankrupt

Wherein Rose struggles at Bardic.

Meanwhile Rose was struggling to get through six days of lessons each week, at least four hours a day. Taumdays were completely booked from early morning to early night. No chance to visit her new friends.

On her one day a week off from college she rested, staying at home and catching up on household tasks. Usually Valentina would join her and they would joke and laugh, or have deep philosophical discussions.

Most days she took up post outside Paragon's Cup; there was always a good crowd there, plenty of traffic. Usually she went home with a decent amount of coins in her pocket, especially now that people knew to expect her.

Sunsouldays before school she liked to go a residential square and play devotions around dawn. Moving into winter, dawn was coming later and later, the weather was turning colder and wetter, the winds were picking up. The residents of Ansovald Square valued her presence. Most mornings she would get warm breakfast and tea, brought to her by a housekeeper or kid. Once she’d been gifted a slim volume of sheet music and been invited to play at a soiree.

She’d accepted that invitation. The pay had been spectacular, the food had been better, and the compliments heartfelt. She’d played what she knew, easy country tunes, some devotions, some of the classical pieces from the gifted booklet. It had been wonderful to see people enjoying themselves while she provided the backdrop. She loved that she could inspire joy in people. It made the struggle of Bardic almost worth it.

Almost, because the college library, which she'd hoped would be a fount of wisdom, was yet another disappointment. As a first year student her access was limited to a section of the ground floor isles. Only second years and higher had access to the whole collection. First years could gain the privilege, if they completed an extra course on social science. She wasn’t going to bother for a course that would just make her more miserable for having to jump through hoops.

More than once Rose marvelled over the bureaucracy and rules that made life difficult for everyone. She’d found out there was an entire wing filled with administrative staff, doing Sunfather knew what with their hours. Most menial tasks had long since been replaced by thaumic instruments and memory-crystals.

But Rose had no time to figure out what the administration staff was or wasn’t doing. Brittany kept taking centre stage. The diva had a clique of groupies hanging around, serving her like sycophants. It would have been funny, if Rose hadn’t been a victim of their pranks. Her bookbag – and those of a few others – had been emptied through the cafeteria. Papers waiting for grading had been strewn in the fountain. Little personal items – like pens, pins, pictures – had gone suspiciously missing.

There hadn't been any more physical altercations like the pulling of her hair. For now.

Brittany had been getting nastier. The other ‘Fair Fields’ kids had gotten some attention, but for some reason Rose was a favourite.

As proven by the song they’d made up about her.

It was a Paladay. Rose hurried unsuspectingly into the practicum room. She had skipped a tube because the first one was too full to hop into. The second one had been late because of an accident earlier on the track; a thaumatic engine had runover a hand cart full of apples and crushed two kids that had to be revived on the spot.

“Sorry I’m late,” she apologised, forced to take a front row spot.

“You’re in luck, Miss Cerdos, we hadn’t started yet.” The teacher scratched out something on his clipboard; her name probably. “Today’s assignment was to write a satirical song about a modern-day political issue.”

The teacher, a human man in his thirties with a smile so slick he could grease an axle, called one of them to the podium.

Rose slouched down in her seat. The teacher didn’t want them to take notes, feeling that commentary should come from the heart, not the head. She crossed her arms to keep herself from picking up a pen anyway.

The kid with his untrained alto started jabbering away about the war and women soldiers using men to their benefit.

The next girl up wasn’t much better. At least her skills at the harp was above entry-level. The subject of the song as unclear to everyone, but the teacher seemed to like it. He applauded with vigour.

It was the third performer that made Rose want to disappear. Brittany made her way down to the little stage with flair befitting a theatre star. Her venomous smile found Rose and grew wider. She wiggled her fingers in a gesture that was everything but friendly.

“Is it okay if I ask my friend to help me out?” Brittany asked the teacher with a darling smile and a tone sweet as honey.

“Of course. Working together is one of the key pillars of education at Bardic,” the teacher lied; or he believed the brochure promises, because so far Rose hadn’t noticed any community spirit. It seemed to be every man for themselves in here.

Brittany called down one of the sycophants, a young man smitten with her. He played his lute well. “Like we practised,” Brittany whispered loudly to the longhaired youth with the shaggy beard.

The first few bars sounded alright to Rose’s ears. It didn’t have depth, but it was catchy. It was familiar, somehow. When Brittany started singing in her most peachy tone, about life on the farm and all the little animals in their pens, Rose wanted to die.

It was a child’s nursery rhyme. It was hell.

But in the eyes of the teacher, Brittany could do no wrong. She was praised. She was revered. He clapped along to the rhythm, beaming a proud smile.

She had no talent what so ever. Her musical skills lacked about as much as air freshener in public toilets. Her magical musical device could fake a lot, but it couldn't fix what wasn’t there. Which was why she’d needed lute-boy with his wasted skills, Rose knew.

At the second chorus, other voices joined in, loudly belting the familiar lyrics. She couldn’t see them. Didn’t want to turn around to try and see them. She recognised enough voices. Even one from someone she’d thought she was on friendly basis with.

This proved one thing to Rose. Talent may not buy one good grades in this institution, but money surely made the princess. Brittany’s papa had paid for a new teacher's wing, with all the latest thaumaturgic gadgets integrated into the building.

How she made it to the end of the lesson, let alone the end of the day, Rose didn’t know. Animal sounds had followed her through the halls wherever she went. If she’d ever wondered what she was missing out on, not living on campus, she was cured of that musing now.

Standing in the tube, being tossed about in the nigh-empty carriage, she let go of the feelings of shame and unworthiness that had been heaped onto her.

On the trek from the tube to Stygian Way, she screamed into her elbow, garnering a few surprised looks of passers-by.

Feeling calmer, feeling like there was solid ground under her feet again, she walked the rest of the way home.

Later that night, after dinner with the girls, and tea in the salon, as Rose was getting ready for bed, she thought back to the day’s events. The truth of it was, Rose had noticed all the people getting bullied by queen bee and her posse were the ones getting called skilled by the teachers. They were the ones Rose thought could actually make it as classical bards, if they would only get taught decently.

Getting actually useful lessons was a hope Rose was slowly letting go off.

Slowly, because she wasn’t ready to let go of her dream.