[There aren't very many people that come into this room to play the piano; there are several that come in and poke at the keys, one or two that really play, and then there's Ben. Ben knows everyone that comes and goes, knew them even before Jesse gave him a key to this room, keeping a careful watch on who might in turn know that he frequents this room, on who is approaching something so important to him, even if he never does anything about it.

Ben knows that Vin is not normally one of those people.

He notices her when he walks into the room with a sketchbook in his hands, intent not on playing today but on using the piano as a model, something to hang his ideas on that he can see and understand and transfer to paper, possibly. His steps slow for a moment and he almost turns and leaves again, but she's moving the music around in patterns he doesn't understand, and he remembers why he showed her this the first time.

Ultimately, he's too curious to go away, and he wants the intangible reassurance of the piano room, and he trusts Vin to tell him bluntly if she'd like for him to leave. So he steps to the door and, after a moment of determining that he doesn't understand how she's arranging the pages and she doesn't understand how they're supposed to go, speaks quietly.]

If I may make a suggestion?

[Ben is the last person to tell her that any activity is strange; it doesn't even occur to him, only that she is differing from the norm, no more and no less. He is one of few people for whom this bears no positive or negative connotations whatsoever, except insofar as his conditioning tells him to fear that which is abnormal and to avoid it at all costs.

That didn't exactly work out for him, but he doesn't always get the choice to make that decision, either.

Now he moves forward, as good as invited, and steps up to stand beside her where he can see the sheet music; he could have read it, easily, from where he was standing. He could have read it from the opposite end of the ship, but this is better for conversation.]

Your mind does not learn best in a technical fashion, Vin. You learn instinctively, by using your intuition, your senses, your abilities as they operate best, not as you understand them to work and then applying that understanding.

[He remembers telling her that he had such difficulty connecting marks on a page to the sounds from the keys, but the truth of it is he learned to read music very quickly.]

If you are attempting to learn, I would suggest beginning with the keys and the instrument itself, not the music.

If I am wrong about your intentions, I apologize.

[Ben waits out her near argument, still ready to take his sketchbook and go if he is unwelcome for any reason. He wants to help, not insult or annoy her.

He sits down beside her when she moves over, though, unflinching and without another word about anything but what is before them now. He sets his sketchbook down carefully on the floor under the bench, straightens and folds one hand in his lap, the other reaching for the keyboard.]

That's because you are only beginning. When you began to read and to write, none of the symbols made any kind of sense. This is only an auditory version.

There are only seven distinct notes. They repeat, and the keys on the keyboard match. Pressing this one - [He pushes middle C, then his gaze flicks up to Vin, pointedly down to the matching key an octave lower.] - and that one will produce the same sound an octave apart.

Try it.