1963-10-17 - The Columbia Bandwagon
Summary: Bernard considers his university options with the Columbia welcoming committee.
Related: N/A
Theme Song: None
bernard rogue 


Midterm at Columbia sends students running about in fraught agitation, dropping off papers or preparing for exams. The very air vibrates in response to their anticipation and anxiety, the many sleepless nights and lengthy days sitting in front of a typewriter feeding some kind of dark, dreary atmosphere.

Certainly the rainfall doesn't help, coming in great waves across the campus from a scowling heavy sky. The oppressive warmth of the weekend has since fled, leaving a coiling mist wrapped around the monuments near ground level. It all works against a bright mood.

Frantic students run through the hallways, while others sit in clusters, trying to cram in the last bit of knowledge about chemistry formulae or English literature on 'great classics' that ought to be forgotten in favour of new, exciting writers like Vonnegut. In all, they scowl and grumble and glare, the largely masculine student body interrupted rarely.

Like, say, by a redhead. Said redhead emerges from one of the darker lairs on this side of the university, not in the main campus but an adjacent annex, and her black umbrella shields her from the worst of the weather. Behind her will come other students, wrung out and weary, though not that one, glowing like a poppy in a field of dandelions and flattened daisies. She drifts through purposefully, countenance bright, eyes heavy-lidded while she assesses a folded up newspaper below the lead. Scarlett has a good sense of what will move for her (students) and what will not (benches, chairs, and tables). Thus she avoids the latter.

*

Dressed for a visit to the college campus with comfortable denim jeans, a long sleaved teeshirt in a simple brown with a comfortable leather jacket over top of it for October chill, Bernard seems entirely pleased by what his curious gaze passes over on his walk through of the campus. A leather satchel briefcase hangs somewhat heavily in his left hand, his other hand just resting in the coat's pocket to give it something to do aside from hang down. The rain and mist cling about him, but don't seem to bother him too much considering the grumpiness of others. The redhead seems to stand out more, perhaps her ease, or some other factor. Offering her a smile as she moves along by, he thinks a moment, and drawing a little bit of courage to approach a beauty like that, he clears his throat before inquiring, "Seems like you are having a better day than most. Is the rest of the student body here usually so… perturbed?" His comment comes with a gesture to the other grumpier soggy students.

*

Scarlett's meanderings carry her through the main corridors, the closed umbrella tipped over her shoulder sending a scattering of fine droplets in her wake. Someone diligent might trace her progress back to the classroom where she settled into a seat, bent over a paper or staring at the chalkboard while the professor projected his notes. Her long, graceful footsteps still after a moment, giving her a chance to pivot and mark the source of the voice, her luminous green eyes searching curiously for whom might have addressed her. It won't take long, and she tenders a sunny smile in response to it. "Rough time of year for them. The freshmen learn what it means to be a student and sometimes it's the first plunge into adulthood for them. I cannot blame the poor dears, being so nervous about how they performed. Worst part is, they need at least a week or two to see the results, depending on the class size." Her smile fades slightly, though her lilting tone carrying the whispers of an English or southern accent carry through just fine. "Though have you not heard about the bad dreams people have? It seems to be the latest sign of impending doom, to hear them talk."

*

"Hrm, so student woes and weather concerns with a dash of nightmare fuel," Bernard says with a smile, nodding a tad to himself at that. "Just wanted to make sure that I wasn't thinking of attending a university for the morose and beligerent." He seems to glance over his shoulder perhaps looking towards other students before returning his gaze to the lovely young woman. "As for the dreams, I've heard some, but thus far my sleep is disturbed more by external noises rather than internal." He offers a slight shrug, but offers a hand, pulling it from his coat pocket. "I'm Bernard, by the by. College touring. I presume you yourself are a student here and not just visiting as well?" His own voice seems carefully controlled, at least enough not to carry any easily discernible accent.

*

"A dangerous combination, without doubt, to face down the anxiety inducing course of examinations while nothing seems fit to lighten the burden." The redhead shakes her head slightly, sending a dusting of braids over her shoulders, and the purple chrysanthemums adorning those thin, elaborately woven lines shiver. "No, you would be hard put to call this place morose. Full of possibility and sober thought, a bit more than NYU, but then NYU has a reputation for something of a protest school." Mischief laced among the words conveys no inimical impression of that other school, though it's hard to match Columbia for pedigree, stretching back to the Revolution and beyond. "You should be accounted as a lucky man for only suffering external noises. I think the grand majority of us would be glad for only the rumbling of a train instead of our bellies when we realize it's been hours since we last had any kind of snack." Her fingers curl around the handle of the umbrella, then swing it point down to present less of a girl about town look, and one prepared to have a real conversation. "Bernard?" The name gets a little of its French origins applied. "Scarlett. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Quite a student, third year here, and bounding along in hopes of making my bachelor of arts. What degree or faculty lures you in?"

*

Seeming to think over her words a tad more thoroughly, Bernard finally nods accepting her words. "I think I would prefer the possibility and sober thought over protests. Tends to disrupt studies, and well, protests have been getting rather more violent." He frowns somewhat more at that. "And I'm well used to the sounds of a grumbling stomach. Affording a greater education is more of a recent blessing than one far back along my life. I hope to make the most of it." There's no embarassment of the admittance of having grown up poor at least. "I would be but a freshman coming in. As for degree? I'm not so certain as to what I would prefer. I've somewhat of a knack for ancient history and dead languages at the very least," that last said comes with the smile of someone with a private joke in mind. "What sort of arts do you study here Miss Scarlett? Fine arts, history, or perhaps the more modern subjects in photography?"

*

The redhead smiles, giving a little wobble of her hand. "Columbia prides itself on a great many traditions and the journalism school is at the forefront. Of course we have enough rivalries to other Ivy Leagues, but it is a good place to learn. Excellent academic resources, competent professors, a host of other challenges to broaden the mind and deepen insight. They like to say they make thinkers here, not students." Her diction would certainly imply that, if not the gracious way she inflects certain words by the delicate motions of her hands, or the conversations going on around them. Fragments of conversation might reveal discussions ranging from social activism to whether physics — and this whole imaginary multiple realm theory — is more than just a fantasy, with actual grounded proofs.

"You'll find all kinds here, though it is still something of a closed faculty. I get looks for showing up, and more when I ask questions." Scarlett laughs under her breath, the warmth not lost on her. "You might find it good to press boundaries, even in history. That's actually one of my specialties, history and anthropology, though in truth I study culture and the world."

*

"It seems like a good place to round out one's education at least. I've had a fairly narrow set of education from tutors, which doesn't necessarily correspond to useful vocational matters," Bernard replies, somewhat amusedly at the subtle underpinings of her message. "Perhaps you'll be able to suggest some good teachers then, ones more willing to teach truth instead of simply what people want to hear? I've spent enough time reading and listening to specific view points, that it can taint the process. It was written by the winners, after all. Even if the spoken record disagrees."

*

"Rather good if you can put up with the odd bit of attitude and inherent snobbery. NYU has it too, though others would say not, and I always gain a bit of a laugh hearing how the liberal arts are going the way of the dinosaurs by those lovely gents in their lab coats at both schools. A word if you like, of advice, for here and anywhere," Scarlett adds, a playful candor to her voice mingled by the long spill of her crimson hair for a necessarily fiery response. "Do what you enjoy and you feel is right. I have found more students enjoy themselves when they follow what interests them rather than what everyone says they should do. As for able teachers, it really does depend on your concentration. Ancient history can define anything from, what, 500 BC before? What is your passion? Egypt, the Hittites, Rome, the ancient Berbers or Scythians, India, north or south or west or east? There's enough of a concentration about here you can pick your continent practically."

*

Chuckling somewhat at that, Bernard rolls his eyes somewhat, though not so much at her."Snobbery and attitude I am used to at least. Between my tutors and those whom they introduced me to, I am sure that I have seen enough upturned noses for a life time, an impressive feat when you consider I'm head and shoulders over half of them." Opening up his satchel, he seems to flip through something inside of it, the sound of heavy books thumping against each other in the movement. "Sumer is good, Egypt too. Never been particularly fond of Rome or Greece, honestly I prefer the Rennaissance and the so called Dark Ages of Europe, though far less ancient. I'm not concerned about being taught the languages at least, I doubt the teachers would be much better at it. Mostly the culture and history of the places. It helps to put things in context."

*

With a sharp little sniff, high pitched and dismissive, Scarlett tosses her head. "I haven't a clue what you mean. Anything beneath me is invisible. What is that strange interruption. A… middle class person? I thought they were only on television." Her improvisation collapses in a chuckle, and she tips her head to the comments of preference. "Language is required for any of the older studies; Greek and Latin, foremost. They've got a number of excellent teachers familiar with Hebrew, Aramaic and several of the Near East languages, though you might have to consult with them. My experience is a touch further west and north. The Dark Ages of Europe are, ah! Controversial. The first time you watch a student torn apart while considering the glories of the flying buttress, the religious art, illumination, stained glass… It's well worth it, and eye opening. You may well be surprised. Yale has a few experts more than here, I am told. Renaissance is a broad and popular one; Miroslav, Yates, Smith — Adam, not Leslie — and Charles Bainbridge are all excellent in that. I haven't much of a taste for Cliveden or Thompson at all. They prefer we read too much and discuss too little."

*

Placing the back of his hand to his mouth to contain his laugh at her impersonation, Bernard shakes his head a bit as he recovers. "Something along those lines, I don't exactly fit the mold amongst many in the…uh, occult field." He actually seems somewhat embarassed at that, though for which part it's hard to say. "Still, it seems that there is a great deal to choose from. I may be able to test out of the language classes even if they are required. You can only be forced to go through declensions so many times before your eyes glaze over." As she goes through a list of the teachers, he pulls out a small note book and starts to scribble away, concentrating so as not to miss any. "Not Leslie? Right." He says glancing to her for confirmation before scratching it back down.

*

"Indeed, not Leslie. Man has too high an opinion of himself, and a categorical preference for Italian achievements over the northern Renaissance. You'll never hear him say it directly but the proof is in the pudding. He spends all of ten minutes on the Spanish Netherlands and you'd hardly know the Germans existed in any state at all. He also tends to prize reading over actually thinking about the topics, and his authors tend to be the fawning sort, with little sort of critical thinking or assessment on impact." Damning statements from the redheaded bohemian, who so lightly rolls her heel. "What is it that attracts you to history? And all the language options are challenging; Latin is becoming a touch irksome, admittedly, but that's only because you can only read so much Virgil in a semester."

*

"It tends to be a general failing, after all should we not all be students of the artists and philosophers of Italy? Even Shakespeare was enamored," Bernard says shaking his head. "Mostly as I said, to put things in context. I have a somewhat specific education that touches upon a lot of edges of it without going over it. It is easy to know whom people called out for in aide, but not why. And why this particular material over another which would have been far better for the purpose. Things that are part and parcel of the daily lives of the people of an area that have no context in the tomes I have gone through." He chuckles a little at the Virgil comment though. "The Aeneid was alright, a little dry, but such is the way of things. Shame his physician hadn't known the true cause of his malady," the last coming with a shake of his head.

*

Poor, troubled little Italy! "And to say nothing of the achievements of France or the questing minds of Austria, nor the Germans or the Danes or the English, all of whom stared south but maintained their own traditions too. It is altogether too easy to see pieces, as you say, rather than the whole. I do hope that we are challenged to look broadly and deeply, and understand their motivations. That is so much the issue of historical bias; we look at what is there through our own eyes and never seek to understand or reason what motivated people. Nor what fits in the context of their own times instead of our own, which is so much the pity." Shaking her head, Scarlett utters a little sigh full of amusement and brightness. "A pity, true. Though I doubt you wanted to speak of the failings of such like Virgil or the Renaissance. Is there anything you would like to see?"

*

Smiling at her rant on history, Bernard's head bobs slowly in agreement, till a bright smile passes her lips as she comes back to the present. "Oh, mostly just touring the facilities and seeing the students. You've already been quite a good help. If the other students are half as knowledgable on their subjects of interest as you, it cannot be a bad place to attend." He contemplates a moment as if going down a mental checklist before looking back to her. "I haven't managed to find the library yet on campus. Would you say it's fairly quality in its own right? Or does it rely on external libraries for studies?"

*

Scarlett rubs her fingers against her scalp, easing the tug of her braids. "You flatter me. I know a little, but I owe much of my understanding to hard lessons learned over time. You will no doubt gain your own expertise in time, we all do." At least the successful ones who don't slink back to their parents with their tails between their legs do. She rests upon her heels, and the umbrella drags a point. "Would you like me to walk you to it? It's one of the finest libraries in the city and comparable to nearly any of the major universities on the East Coast, though Yale and Harvard, along with the Library of Congress, give an impressive span. I've spent many an hour in there, and the most obscure titles can usually be located without much effort. They do many loans."

*

"I would gladly accept an escort to the library," Bernard replies glancing about. "Perhaps I should have inquired as to a map of the place as well. The university itself almost feels like a small town in its own right, bubbled away from the rest of the city." Readjusting the weight of the satchel as he shoves his notepad back away he considers a moment. "Oh, are there many good places for students to catch a bite to eat around? I'd rather not need to take the subway about between classes if I can avoid it."

*

"Allow me to show you the way, then. You no doubt need map. Half the classrooms aren't directly here, but surrounding the campus in several buildings, and there are further labs and such out that way and this way." She waves her hand in the general direction of the west, sweeping in a wide hemisphere at least. "I could not tell you how important it is to know a few spots that stay open late and don't demand three bucks for the privilege of a meal and a place to stay. At that point, you might as well pay rent."

*

"I'm sure they'll provide one for orientation," Bernard says somewhat optimistically. "A shame so many places try to take advantage of the students like that. Exploiting a captive audience, while sound business, is fairly in the realm of distasteful behavior. Not that theres much one can do in retaliation or to get fair treatment provided. They have the location which allows them to exploit the resource." Nodding a little at that, he does offer her a bit of a smile. "Would it be too presumptious to ask if you'd like to catch a bite to eat some time? If nothing else than to repay you for your kindness in showing me the way. I hadn't meant to take you from anything important you were heading for."

*

The philosophy of brutal abuses of the innocent is nothing new, a curse of humanity since they started gathering in towns and cities all those many generations ago. "I don't always try to rationalize their decision making, otherwise I would be infuriated," Scarlett agrees, giving a dip of her chin. "The best attributes one can say about here, we vote with our feet. A place which treats students poorly or tries to abuse our credit will soon find itself out of a space, or run off to Harlem and Queens. We have no illusions about the price of a good meal, much less how it all comes together." Her mercurial expression carries that seed of light that breaks out into full force now and then, and asking her if it's presumptuous meets with a shake of her head. "No, never! I would like to discover whether New York agrees with you or your journeys uncover some new treasured experience worth talking about. You can appreciate the value of a good conversation, and that is worth more than a bowl of soup in a debt."

*

"A good enough way to manage mealtime oppression. At least the city blocks are easy enough to traverse to get where one may need. A few blocks in any direction opens plenty of opportunities if nothing else," Bernard offers. Her reaction to his ask does give him a smile though. "I'm glad to hear. I wouldn't have wanted some jealous boyfriend showing up to knock me around over a simple meal." Letting out a bit of a sigh relaxing at that he nods. "I have to say, I did not have any precise expectations of what a collegiate life would entail, but I cannot complain too much thus far. I will have to remember to bring an umbrella around though." Not that he seems particularly damp despite the drenching weather.

*

"We, the dinnertime bourgeoisie, must raise our forks and knives in protest of this mistreatment and suggest our fellow comrades storm the chequered tablecloths and laminated menus of the city, demanding change and fair prices rather than exorbitant costs!" Scarlett, the leader of the revolution, is a right Hamilton there. Maybe one day they will pen odes to her daring and determination to bring fair restaurant dining to all. "Not in the slightest. Discussion is what I do, organizing and meeting and trying to help connect one end of the populace to the other. I fear it may not be glamorous or even remotely fast, but I enjoy meeting people." she tucks her hands into her pockets, tucking the umbrella under her arm. "Come, tell me what suits your fancy for a meal and I can take you to a good place. You can be bold, too. We have food from all over the world around New York."

*

Grinning, Bernard shakes his head again. "Do not say those words so loudly, I imagine some of the more conservative sorts may not take too kindly of communism engaging with their favorite diner." Raising a brow as she implies it again, he offers her a smile. "I have been in New York all my life Miss Scarlett. The apartment I moved my parents to is about, seven miles in that direction." He gestures, at that and offers her a chuckle. "I was poor, and my parents were immigrants, but I am a New Yorker, even if I don't always manage to have the proper accent." He offers her a leather clad arm, though from her not shaking his hand earlier he doesn't expect it. "I'm fine with hitting one of the delicatessens personally. I've always been a bit of a fan of corned beef, even if my parents got dirty looks when they went into them."

*

She shakes her flower studded braids at him. "Oh, yes. The fear of McCarthy still runs strong even here, I am sad to say. They might have some degree of sway still, but the Soviet threat was always going to be there. I'm a redhead. My name is a shade of red, and sadly it wasn't vermillion or carmine or incarnadine or cherry or strawberry or ruby." The rattle of adjectives grace her lips, sweetly uplifted. "I could be Poppy, but that somehow strikes me wrong, even if I am every inch a bohemian. Probably worse than even the colony of them upstate." In a few years, she would be called a flower child, a hippie, and then some. "Many, many New Yorkers have no idea of the breadth of things they have in the city, in my defense, though you wound me fairly!" Hands clasp over her heart, the umbrella cracking onto the floor and rolling away. She can snatch it up without trouble, bending in half like it means nothing, pinning her minidress hem to her legs and catching the fallen device. "May I ask where your parents are from? And a deli is always a good stop. Morningside Heights has enough of them, but Milano is the best of them in my mind. Everyone likes Hamilton, though I think the Milano Market has better filling."

*

"Your parents must have been interesting sorts," Bernard replies to the list of names she brought to the front. "My parents were German, they came over right after the War." The bland look on his face at that, implies very much how life was like. "They still have the accent, but at least it's been better in recent years. People like to pick different people to blame for their problems every few years after all." He at least was polite enough not to blatantly pay too much attention to her bending activities, though he does look. "If you know of one convenient to here I'll gladly pick your suggestion. I think people will always default to saying the one they grew up going to had the best, so i will refrain from saying which one I prefer."

*

The impact of German background on her is absolutely naught; it fails to dent her composure or dim the shine on her presence, any more than a cloud flitting across the sun stops it from burning and illuminating the world. "I can see how that might give difficult, and I'm sorry to hear it," she murmurs, giving a sympathetic nod. "There are struggles everywhere in this city, and it would be a mistake to assume it is restricted only to one group or religion or type of person. We hear enough about it all the time, and I cannot help but feel for those who encounter their difficulties. I get some of it, and eventually we all need to grow up and start looking at one another as the same. All people who live on the planet, might as well treat one another well, right?" It's a distant wish, a harsh dream scribed into the youthful curve of her smile and the banked glow of her emerald eyes, a shade too bright, a tone too rich. "Milano is nearby; Hamilton too. We can try either and if you do not find it worthy of your tastes, we can try somewhere else. Tell me more how you came to learn all those ancient languages and what interested you in the first place. It's not common nowadays, is it?"

*

"I can't really complain I guess, it wasn't so bad in comparison to the plight of others. It did at least drive me to educate myself and lose my accent as best I could," Bernard offers a shrug concerning his own troubles. "And let's try Milano, sounds Italian perhaps? Guessing more traditional charcuterie? Mostly I've only been to the Jewish delis myself." He's curious but willing to try it either way. "As for how… Well, I can tell you the truth and likely have you look at me funny, or I can tell you something that sounds reasonable. Which would you prefer?" He has a slight smirk at that, figuring he would end up with the truth and troubles, but it wasn't in him to lie to the smiling girl.

*

Scarlett nods and gestures to one of the further hallways. "We turn here, and it will drop us out on the main green. From there you want to head southwest, as any of the main north-south streets will take you in the right direction. I think we should be able to manage that without too much trouble, no matter if the weather is attempting to pour out the clouds' guts upon us." Such a lovely way to describe that, she's more than willing to snap open her umbrella to lend them both shelter. "You cannot possibly make the impossible sound impossible. Tell me the truth, and never question whether I want the situation blunted for my own sake. If it makes you comfortable, I have been run down by a demonic stag with soul bits in its horns, so my tolerance levels are quite high."

*

"I'll try to keep track of that then," Bernard says as he does seem to be trying to memorize the path, his lips moving at least to repeat it. The comment about the demonic stag does cause him a blink though. "Well, that would make things a lot easier to explain then. I went to a shop that doesn't exist and I acquired a tome in a language so dead it took months to translate. Ever since, demons and other weird creatures like to stick around me, and well they've taught me a bit of sorcery." He grins at that, enjoying making the impossible sound boring. "It's why no umbrella. It's a little abjuration against water." With the hallway around them empty enough, he makes a gesture towards her umbrella, his lips moving as he utters something in a quiet whisper, and the accumulated moisture on her umbrella escapes all at once towards the floor.

*

"Much, doesn't? I keep an open mind and find it helps me cope with the various things I've encountered." Grin while you still can, in this city. There's no escape, no way to run if you can't overcome those strangeness and charm. "You went into one of the vanishing bookshops. I would tell you there is one in the borough of Harlem, but it would be pointless because it supposedly travels around like a bad version of the Scarborough Faire, and probably moved down to Harlem just to make a point, or hides in the concessions on Coney Island." Scarlett could be teasing, and not. Then she inclines her head. "You learned all this from demons, or what other weird questions there are? And, ah, thank you!" See, no panic when it comes to the business of drying out the umbrella.

"That's the trick, and one I wish I had more easily at hand. Come on," she points to the grass, "let's go try those sandwiches and I can tell you about all the deeply terrible things deer in Central Park do…"

*

"Not everything. I mean, not all were what would classically be referred to as demons. Mostly it was books, the rest of you lot mostly just taught me the languages. Hey I'm telling her the truth." Bernard seems to be addressing the second half of his statement to the air rather than to Scarlett. Glancing back to her somewhat sheepishly, he offers a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that. And yeah, for the most part I'm still getting a hang of the sorcery. I look forward to the sandwiches, the deer? I am beginning to think I don't want to know," he says as he follows her out to the grass, the rain avoiding coming anywhere near hitting him.

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