Down to Chance

“I don’t like to read much,” Marsh said.

Elise raised her eyebrows at the stack of books next to his knee and strummed her guitar. “Really?”

“Sometimes reading is necessary, of course,” Marsh said. “But that doesn’t mean I like to do it. I can just do it quickly. And remember loads of it.”

“Those look like textbooks,” Elise said.

“They are, of a sort.” Marsh glanced at the stack of books. They were hardbacks and had lavish fantasy illustrations on the covers. Elise tilted her head to study the titles. Monster Manual, Psionics, Players Handbook, Exalted, Dragonlance.

“What are you studying?” They didn’t look like they would be useful in any subject at school, not even at Cody’s fancy private school.

“Rules. For a game,” Marsh said. “Every game has rules. The best players understand how the rules work – and how to make the rules work for them.”

Elise hummed thoughtfully, a counterpoint to the chords she was playing. “All right – what’s the most important rule in that game?”

Marsh’s smile was so sweet it was frightening. “Everything comes down to chance.”

(183 words)

In the Beginning

Kyle read in a strange, rolling tongue, “En arché en ò lógos, kai ò lógos en pròs tòn théon –”

Cody glanced up from his worn copy of Lovecraft’s Necronomicon and said, “What are you reading?”

Kyle blinked, startled out of his narration, and looked up at Cody. “Pardon?”

Cody nodded at the antique-looking volume Kyle had propped up on his knees. “What book are you reading? And for the record, what language?” They all spoke Hebrew, to one degree or another, and sometimes Aramaic and Latin came in handy, but that sounded brand new.

“It’s ancient Greek,” Kyle said. “And I’m reading from the Bible.”

Cody raised his eyebrows. “The Bible?”

“Yes,” Kyle said, and he began to recite, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God –”

“The New Testament,” Cody said flatly.

Kyle shrugged. “Yes, well, I do have Gabriel.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Well, Gabriel isn’t named till the New Testament, now is he?” Kyle smiled and returned to reading aloud in his rolling ancient Greek, leaving Cody to puzzle over that piece of information.

Cody finally spat on his fingertips and drew some Hebrew letters, and Asrael coalesced from the shadows, blinking and looking like a cat that had been unceremoniously dumped into a frigid swimming pool.

“Yes?” Asrael asked.

“Where in the scriptures are you first named?”

Asrael raised his eyebrows. “Well, they never really named me in the Qu’ran - there they simply call me the Angel of Death. I have many names, of course. But you won’t find my name in any canonized scripture, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Cody’s mouth shaped the word Qu’ran but no words came out.

Asrael smiled and patted his shoulder. “Maybe you need to read something else.”

(297 words)

Spoiled

Mark eagerly began the last chapter of his novel, Warbreaker. He had waited a while to savor this book until he had a little R&R and could take the time to really enjoy it fully. He could almost see it as if it were being played out in front of him. It was one of the reasons he loved to read. He could see it. He could rewind and replay a scene over and over again.

"Hey, I've read that one," Joe exclaimed as he wandered into the living room, "isn't it fantastic? I loved the ending, didn't you? I especially like the part where Vash defeats the bad guy at the end and the God-King is proven to be... Wasn't that a surprise?"

Mark looked up at Joe, his eyes flashing in anger. "It isn't a surprise anymore," Mark said flatly as he snapped the book closed, "do you know how long I've been waiting to read that?"

Joe swallowed hard, suddenly looking like he would rather be anywhere else than where he was. Joe slowly backed out of the room before turning and hurrying down the hall.

Mark growled in frustration and tossed the book aside. He hated a spoiled ending.

Cry to Heaven

“Whatcha reading?” Tobias asked.

DJ didn’t even look up. “A book.” He turned the page.

“Goodness gracious me, I’m so unobservant that I didn’t notice.” Tobias rolled his eyes and perched on the arm of the sofa with the uncanny balance of a bird of prey.

“You can read the title.”

“Yes, well, Cry to Heaven doesn’t tell me much. It could be religious or weepy or whatnot,” Tobias said.

DJ said, “It’s none of the above.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“Revenge.”

Tobias blinked. Then he leaned in, peered at the cover, and sure the cover was bright red and all, but that didn’t tell him much. “So...revenge. Who’s getting revenge on who?”

“A boy is getting revenge on his father,” DJ said, “and he has to become a monster to do it.”

“Oh.” Tobias mulled that over for a moment, then said, “But you’ve already done all that. Surely a book pales compared to the real thing.”

The smile that curved DJ’s lips would have sent Jack the Ripper fleeing in terror. “You’d be surprised.”

Later, when Tobias read the book, he was.

(185 words)

The Mammoth Ego of Merlin

“You are such an egomaniac,” Asia said.

Angel peered over the top of the worn paperback and raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

Asia nodded at the spine of his book. “The Crystal Cave? And don’t think I didn’t see your copy of Le Morte D’Arthur and The Idylls of the King. Also, let’s not forget The Mammoth Book of Merlin.”

“I’m very interested in Arthurian legend,” Angel said.

Asia rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re just obsessed with how most legends turned you into a cantankerous old man with a massive white beard.”

A mutinous expression crossed Angel’s face, and he looked ready to launch into an age-old tirade, but then he said, “Actually, I’m fascinated at how you manage to not be in any of the legends. To my knowledge, no one ever mentions his page, squire, or personal servant.”

“Do you really want to know?” Asia asked. She plopped down on the other end of the sofa.

Angel closed the book over a bookmark (a tattered thing made of plaited yarn born of one of Keith’s bored days). “You actually know the answer?”

“Yes,” Asia said.

“Go on then. Tell me how history managed to utterly cock up one of our finest moments,” Angel said.

Asia leaned in and lowered her voice. “Well, after Arthur died, we went our separate ways. You became a samurai, but I stayed in the British Isles, and I returned to my ways as a wandering songstress.”

“And?”

“And I might have started telling stories about a wondrous king, a sword in a stone...and his cranky old wizard,” Asia said.

Fury sparked in Angel’s eyes, and his telekinesis laced the air. Pillows launched themselves at Asia from all sides. She laughed and batted them away. Angel lunged at her, and Asia leapt off the sofa, danced out of reach.

“You –!” Angel yelled.

Asia was still laughing. “Yes, me.”

Angel attempted to fling more household furnishings at her, but she just dodged. When they finally settled down, Angel picked up his novel.

“Fine, so maybe I had it coming, what with spawning Mordred,” Angel said. Then he tilted his head and looked at her, curious. “Why did you write yourself out of the legend?”

“Because no one would believe a woman was any good with a sword,” Asia said easily, and both of them knew she was lying.

“Do you think you’ll ever get a second chance with him?” Angel asked.

Asia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like with all the others – do you think you’ll have a second chance?”

“No.”

“But the prophecy –”

“Those are books, Angel,” Asia said, and she stood up. Maybe one day he would remember that he, too, had been there to witness the burial of the king, and he’d heard her say the words himself. Until then, he could keep reading and imagining.

(479 words)

Project Assignment # 82 - Books

What is your characters favorite book? Have the written a book or do they just like to putter around? Why is the book their favorite? Does Tobias like historical fiction? Maybe Bryan likes fantasy books.

500 word limit.

Have fun!!!

Overview # 81 Musical Instruments

I tried to get a feel for what instruments my boys would play. And I think the most difficult was writing Stephens Beat Box piece. How do you render those sounds into writing...?

I have to say I partially failed this week because my sister gave birth and so it kinda didn't happen.

I enjoyed writing Mark and Joe's pieces.

Overview #81: Musical Instruments

So...this week was all right. I learned some new things about the boys and girls in Seraph-verse. The cheap thing about the boys in the Dagaz is that they all play instruments (except maybe Angel) and they all play bloody well. I'd given Tobias an instrument from his first life, and I think he's the only one who inherently has two, so I gave Keith another one out of national pride, but...I don't know that I really did anything new with them having musical instruments. In typical me fashion, what started off as an exploration of music itself turned into an exploration of character with music as a sort of foil or entry point.

Who knows. As long as I'm learning new things about my characters, I'm glad, but I'm not entirely sure I grew as a writer this week.

On the other hand...this week Madness wins! Because she wrote her own song lyrics for a piece. That's artistic integrity and dedication, friends. So...fandom of your choice, 1000 words or less!

For Food Money

Elise was surprised that the person who knew the most pop songs was Kyle. Cody had an ear for classical and ethnic music, most of which wasn’t suited for the western musical scale, and Marsh was a fan of old rock and alternative rock, in that order.

So Elise let Kyle sit beside her on the corner of Harney and 11th while they played for food money. Elise had put a lot of effort into learning weird Indie music and grunge rock – so maybe Cody calling her a Courtney Love cliché had some truth to it – but her taste in music wasn’t going to get them fed.

“Try some Leona Lewis,” Kyle said. “You can sing, right?” And he hummed the melody.

For all that Cody assumed most days Elise was uneducated white trash, she’d had a decent enough musical education, and she could pick out a chord progression for a melody. “I don’t know the words,” she said..

Kyle sighed. “Fine. Just for you, I’ll break out my countertenor skills. You ready?”

Elise tested the chord progression, and then Kyle explained the verse-chorus-bridge layout to her, and they began another performance. A group of girls stopped to listen and coo at Kyle (who looked all of six and was really twelve) and nod along to the song, and they dropped some actual bills into Elise’s case, and maybe at the end of an eight-hour day they’d have enough to buy supper for all of them.

Kyle scanned the streets and spotted a group of retiree tourists.

“How’s your American folk music?” he asked.

Elise could play Spanish guitar with the best of them. “What do you mean?”

“Woody Guthrie,” Kyle said. “I know all the verses.”

So Elise played, and Kyle sang, and they were paid.

(300 words)

Dirges and Love Songs

James flung open the door, still enraged at the absolute cock-up that was his afternoon improv exercise. His partner had been utterly unprepared – because, contrary to popular belief, improv required actual preparation – and everything had gone to hell in a handcart.

“Have you ever been stuck with Sanderson for an exercise?” he began, and he stopped short.

Tobias was standing in the middle of the room poised with a violin, eyes closed, making the the strings weep.

James took a deep breath, and then he closed the door quietly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Tobias opened his eyes and smiled. The curve of his mouth was utterly gentle, but his eyes were pitch black, and he looked ready to cry. “Don’t worry, you didn’t disturb me.” He lowered his bow and stretched his neck. “Just thought my instrument needed a little love. School got in the way for a while.”

“I didn’t know you played,” James said. He sat down on the edge of his bed.

“I’ve played since I was a child.” Tobias reached into his pocket for a hanky and used it to clean the strings. “I used to practice every day, but then I decided on drama instead of music.”

“I play the guitar, but not nearly as well as you play the violin,” James said, awed. “I hear it’s one of the most difficult instruments to play.”

“Maybe,” Tobias said. “Do you have a guitar?”

“Sold it to buy books,” James said. “What song were you playing?”

“Old Russian melody,” Tobias said, and his smiled turned brighter. “It was a love song, but they all sound like dirges.”

James laughed. “Can you sing any of them?”

“Do you want to top yourself?”

“Fine. Can you play Flight of the Bumblebee?”

(297 words)

Speak-Easy

Mark couldn't remember how long it had been since he had played the piano. He ran his fingers across the dusty keys and picked out a few chords. The bench creaked as he sat down, his weight settling the ancient wood.

Only one or two keys were slightly out of tune as Mark tested them out, his fingers flowing across the ivory. Music flooded the room and it sounded like an entire jazz band era orchestra was coming from the old piano. A vision seemed to materialize from the notes that shimmered in the air.

One could picture a 1920s speak-easy, fedoras tilted at rakish angles and the air hazy with cigarette smoke. Low conversation punctuated by the soft clink of ice in glasses of illegally obtained booze. Smooth men in suits with smartly oiled hair played cards and transacted business deals. Women were resplendent in tight cocktail dresses, hair perfectly coiffed, faces painted up to look like perfect china dolls.

Servers in tuxedos ghosted through the room, collecting glasses and lighting cigars. A piano sat in the far corner of the lounge, a smartly dressed man in slacks and suspenders sat on the bench, coaxing popular tunes from the instrument.

With a final flourish, Mark raised his fingers from the keys and the vision of the speak-easy faded slowly into the dusty darkness.

Guitar and Drums

“So I hear you play the drums,” Will said.

Anna blinked. “You heard correctly. Why?”

“Are you busy?”

Answering a question with a question – a law student should know better. Anna said, “No.”

“Is it true you have a set of drums in your apartment?” Will asked.

“Yes.” Where was he going with this?

“Great. Can I come over?”

Anna glanced longingly at the next season of Spooks, waiting for her in all its Richard Armitage goodness and said, “Yes.”

Seven minutes later, Anna opened her door and saw Will standing on the doorstep, guitar slung across his back, amp in one hand.

“Where are your drums?” he asked.

Anna gaped. Will – proper, buttoned-up, Victorian Will – played the guitar? A gleaming red electric fender, no less. Will craned his neck and peered past her.

“Oh, they’re in your room,” he said. “Is there a plug in there for me to set up?”

Anna said, “Yes,” because it seemed that was all she was capable of saying, and she led Will into her bedroom. He spotted a power outlet and set up immediately while she stared, confused.

“Sit down and play a beat, any beat,” he said, so Anna, still dazed, obeyed. She grabbed her sticks, adjusted the hi-hat, and picked a beat from a song she’d been working on for a while. It was a beat for a Moffatts song, but then Will began picking a series of notes, a Chili Peppers song, and somehow it worked.

Will played the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

In Anna’s room. While she played the drums.

Wonders would never cease. Anna kicked into a filler and slid into a new beat, and Will followed her, this time with some Pink Floyd.

To top it off, he began to sing.

(297 words)

Paying the Piper

“What d’you suppose this is?” the professor asked. The slide changed to an image of a series of shapes, faintly tubular, encrusted with dirt and obviously fragile with age, bound together in a series of staggered lengths.

The students in the dimly-lit classroom made no move to answer.

The professor sighed. “Come on, put your thinking caps on! Look at it from an artist’s perspective. Why was it given this shape? What was it for – was it practical or ornamental or both?”

Tobias raised his eyebrow at the notion of thinking caps, because they were in Art History 101, not second grade. He glanced up at the slide, and then he felt something in his chest tighten. He knew that image instinctively, from some place buried deep inside of him. He raised his hand.

“Yes, Andrew,” the professor said, and the name ricocheted down to the soles of Tobias’s feet.

“It’s a set of pipes,” he said, “carved from the antlers of the deer driven on the steppes by the people who roamed Russia back in those days. It was tied with a strip of deer hide and used both to play music and also as a signaling device for hunters to communicate across long distances.”

The professor blinked at the eloquent answer. “Yes...that’s a very real possibility.”

Tobias knew it wasn’t a possibility – he knew it was the truth, because he’d played those pipes himself. He could close his eyes and see Asia – no, Kana dancing to his songs. If he had those pipes in his hands, he could breathe life and magic into them, he was sure of it.

But then the lights came on, and the lecture was over.

Tobias wondered what other skills were sleeping just beneath the surface.

(295 words)

Brother My Brother

Joe let his fingers lightly caress the strings as he hummed a wordless melody, his pitch perfectly harmonic to the chords he strummed. A ripple of sound rolled off six strings and echoed through the wooden body of the old guitar that Alec had left behind.

"I didn't know you played the guitar," David said as he poked his head into the den of their little apartment, his thoughts had been sidetracked when he had heard the quiet music.

"I don't really," Joe replied, "Just the chords that someone once taught me. I shuffle them around into different patterns, though it never comes out quite right."

David stepped out of the room, his mind returning to his paperwork when he was arrested in his thoughts again as Joe softly began to sing, his voice a rich tenor.

"Brother my brother
our time, it was so brief.
We laughed until our days were gone
And now we come to grief.

Time and again I remember when
We laughed until we cried.
And even though the memory is strong
It feels like I'm dying inside.

Your spirit whispers softly
urging me to carry on.
Still you keep me from falling,
Even now, when you are gone."

David hadn't noticed when tears had begun rolling down his cheeks.



(I am proud to say that I wrote those lyrics myself just for this piece.)

Uilleann Pipes

“I might play the uillean pipes.” Keith slanted a glance sideways at Tobias, who was making a fine point of tuning his violin.

“I thought you played the bass,” James said.

“I do play the bass,” Keith said. “But I also play the uillean pipes.”

Asia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t ever remember you –”

“I might have picked them up in a moment of national consciousness,” Keith said.

“What are uillean pipes?” James looked slightly cornered with all of Asia’s brothers crowded into the tiny kitchen in his flat.

“The Irish equivalent of bagpipes,” Tobias said without looking up from his violin.

“Irish equivalent my foot.” Riley stood in the doorway, hands tucked into his pockets, grinning. “Uillean pipes sound far better than those Scottish honking geese.”

Keith broke into a grin. “A man after my own taste. Do I detect a hint of Armagh in you, m’lad?”

Riley grinned back at him. “Aye. And I hear some Ulster in you, I dare say.”

“Indeed.”

James cleared his throat. “So...how long have you been playing the uillean pipes?”

Keith started to say something, but Asia dug an elbow into his ribs, and he wheezed out, “Five years.”

“I have a set, you know,” Riley said. He reached toward the crowded table and poured himself a cup of hot cocoa. “Serenade us, why don’t you?”

Keith immediately turned a fantastic shade of red. “I, er, I’ve never performed before.”

“Why do you have a set of uillean pipes?” James asked.

Riley shrugged. “National pride. And my granddad played, too.”

“Tell you what,” Asia said, “sometime you play for us, and I will play for you.”

Tobias lifted his head sharply. “Since when do you play an instrument?”

“Didn’t you know?” James said. “Asia plays the piano. Hammers and strings.”

(299 words)

Beatbox

Steve sauntered down the hall towards his math class, headless of the looks that he got as he passed. He tapped rhythmicly on his thigh as his lips contorted, his voice forming the strangest sounds. For a moment it sounded like a snare drum to be followed by a base drum, a kick, some base, and various synth sounds, all of it tumbling from his lips in the most compelling patterns.

Steve leaned against the wall outside his class room as he continued to Beat box, his eyes closed and his fingers keeping time on the wall; increasing in tempo and complexity. He finished with a flourish of sounds and stepped into the room just as the bell rang, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The Harp

“You play an instrument?” Elise asked.

Marsh thought her eyebrows were going to fly right off her face.

“It’s not uncommon,” Cody said, hunching his massive shoulders defensively. “Reading music helps children read better when they’re younger, and practicing an instrument instills discipline –”

“Yeah whatever,” Elise said, waving a hand dismissively.

Cody hunched his shoulders further. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” Elise asked. “It’s not something embarrassing like the tuba or triangle, is it?”

Cody cast a shifty glance in Marsh’s direction.

Glee lit in Elise’s eyes. “It is the tuba, isn’t it?”

“It’s the harp,” Cody said flatly.

“The harp? Like...angels on a cloud harp?” Elise’s glee turned to puzzlement.

“It makes sense,” Kyle said, and Marsh blinked; he’d almost forgotten Kyle was there. Kyle was prone to long bouts of silence while he set wards on a safehouse.

“I guess...since Cody’s so big he can carry one around,” Elise said, but she was eyeing Cody with a newfound skepticism.

“King David played the harp,” Kyle explained.

“Like David and Goliath David?” Elise asked.

Marsh hummed tonelessly and attempted to sing, “I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord –”

“I always figured it was a piano,” Elise said.

“They didn’t have pianos back then,” Cody said. He cast Israfel a look. “Don’t you teach her anything?”

Israfel shrugged and sketched quavers in the air. “She sings, and I answer.”

“Play us a song,” Elise said.

Cody cast her a withering look. “I don’t have a harp with me.”

Elise snapped her fingers. “Israfel. A harp for the boy.”

“He’s an angel, not a genie in a bottle,” Cody said.

Elise shimmied her hips and sang an old pop song. Cody sighed. Marsh laughed. Kyle finished the wards.

(300 words)

Overview # 80 - Poetry

Okay. So I turned out a few this week that I was proud of, but I got sick with a terrible cold so my posting slacked off. I did have several more ideas, most of them were of the fever induced variety and they didn't stick around for very long. Plus my internet connection has been driving me up the wall this week! It will randomly stop working. So I hope to be forgiven.

Most of my work this week didn't rhyme; which is kind of a departure for me, but I rather liked it.

Project #81: Musical Instruments

I realize we have a list of challenges we'd like to do, and I know we did songfics recently, but I'd like to see how your characters deal with musical instruments. Can they play? What instrument can they play? Were they classically trained or self-taught? What kind of music do they play? Are their instruments expensive or cheap, rented or owned, family heirlooms or bought on a whim? Do they refuse to play? Is there an instrument they like listening to best? 100-300 words. Musical instruments...go!

Overview #80: Open-form poetry

.....And I wrote poetry for the first time in almost a year. Most of it was whimsical and centered around a single image, a metaphor, and was really prose with line breaks, the kind of prose you can't get away with in the middle of a fictional narrative but that works okay with line breaks. Only one poem had even a vaguest notion of a story. The rest of it was emotional.

I noticed there was a lot of emotional poetry this week. I'm my imagistic self, sticking to concrete images and trying to avoid abstractions (not that they didn't tumble off of my fingertips all over the place). I need to learn a new trick or angle, I think, and maybe my poetry will be better.