#i couldn’t dedicate to playing it a lot but if someone offered me a trumpet for a day..

[purble-gaymer]

viola is my one true love but if i ever had the chance to play trumpet. i wanna try it real bad

[slocumjoe]

usually when people apologize for something being long its like...two paragraphs, but i admire that you actually come through on that

I personally lay hexes on people who post very long text blocks without a readmore, so I did have to go through and just copy+paste so I could put a readmore. Also, I italicized quotations/parentheses and italicized+bolded+colored the names, as I usually do, just because it’s easier for me to read. sorry for like, hijacking your stuff

anyway, @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis’s band au

Sole: is the director of the band. It’s more of a community band that they formed up after being medically discharged from the marines. Always wanted to be in a concert band/have their own band, and was in college for music education before enlisting due to financial disparities. Allows anyone and everyone who has a passion for music to join, and is a very open and free director, does their best to be friends with everyone in the band so the members don’t just see them as a director. Has even reached out to many people (some of the companions) to join. Though they’re fun, they take the band very seriously. If someone doesn’t take the band seriously with their commitment/dedication they very firmly ask them to consider their involvement. Does their best to help out anyone in need (practice, transportation, etc). Does their best to put together community concerts to raise funds for charities or funds for the band so they can travel/have music or instruments. Will put together specific pieces to show allow people to show off their skills.

Cait: I think she would be a trombone player. She used to be a trumpet player throughout grade school, as it was one of the only escapes from her abusive home life. After school practices, concert nights/trips, spending time in the practice rooms after school to avoid going home. Though it was originally a tool to escape home, she grew to love playing in a band, the support of her director and the friends in her section/bandin general. Though, when she was in high school her parents stole her instrument (which was loaned to her by the school since she couldn’t afford one of her own) in order to buy drugs. This made Cait very understandably upset, and it caused her a lot of trouble since the trumpet belonged to the school, so she wasn’t allowed to play anymore despite it not being her fault. She never forgave her parents for that, and without the support of the band, and her lack of stability at home caused her to fall off, much like her parents. Drugs, fights, etc. It took several years of her life, but after one-too-many arrests, she was forced to join NA (narcotic anonymous), and saw a flier for Sole’s community band. She wanted to pick up trumpet again, but too many fights ruined the dexterity of her hands, but Sole helped her pick up trombone, since it doesn’t require finger movements, and since she had past experience with a brass instrument, she didn’t have to learn an entirely new embouchure, just adjusted it to the new instrument. Being in the band has helped her stave off any relapses, as she knows Sole relies on her to be the principal trombone player, and she’s also grateful of all the help they offered her when she was at one of her lowest points.

Curie: I think she would primarily play violin, but her eagerness and desire to learn has caused her to attempt to pick up just about every other string instrument. Though, her primary job as a pharmacist already makes it difficult to dedicate a ton of time to the band, which has caused her much grief and has even caused a minor break-down, because she wants to dedicate herself to your band, and wants to learn so many new instruments. Sole, doing their best to be a good friend and director, allows her to learn on the donated instruments they’ve gotten, or the few they've bought and restored themselves. This allows Curie to try a new instrument every few concerts, which involves months of learning while they practice the new pieces. So far, Curie has picked up viola, and cello. Though, Curie is more than happy to play the violin if Sole really needs her for a specific piece or two.

Danse: Is also a veteran, in fact, it was through the service that he met Sole. They were under his command for the first few years of their service before being transferred to put their skill elsewhere. He was medically discharged after a mission went wrong. Danse entirely blames himself, because he believes it was his decision making that led to the deaths of his entire team, sans himself for being in power armor, despite the fact that his mission was doomed from the start. He completely lost his self-confidence and his purpose in life after his injuries made it impossible for him to rejoin the service. He reconnected with Sole at a veteran association, where they told him of their band. Sole offered Danse to join, as there were a few other veterans from the community in. He refused at first, since he didn’t know how to play a single instrument, but reluctantly accepted their offer to be taught one. I had a bit of a hard time choosing which instrument he would play, since I think he would be either a french horn or euphonium player. Sole let him try out both, and since I’m more partial to him playing french horn, that’s what I’m gonna go with him choosing. Being in Sole’s band has helped him regain his self confidence, and has given him a purpose. He is a dedicated and quick learner, which has made learning the instrument very easy for him, though he has a tendency to over-play when practicing. He was also a little hard to get along with at first, since he treated his section like a unit of soldiers, barking orders and sharing his not-so-nice opinions towards players who weren’t as dedicated as he thought they should be. Though,after a meeting with Sole, he became more mindful of his behavior. Speaking of Sole, he is extremely proud of them, growing into a leader/director/teacher, as he remembered how they were when they were first under his command years ago.

Deacon: Deacon is adaptive, and loves to move around, which is why I think he would be in percussion. He is a sort of jack of all trades, knows how to play most instruments that involve mallets, drum sticks, chimes, etc. If it involves a stick and something to hit, he’s on it. This may involve him having to move around to different instruments throughout a concert or even in a single piece, but he’s got it under control. He moves so fluidly and quietly you sometimes don’t even see him transfer instruments. He is just suddenly playing when he comes in. He can even play piano in a pinch, though he isn’t a fan of being that close to the edge of the stage, so far in the front of the band, which is why he is particularly fond of percussion, because they’re in the back. He is sort of hidden back there, that’s something he very much vib(raphone)es with. He will also lightly make fun of Sole for the faces they pull while directing after practice/concerts. He has even made faces back in the middle of practices, which has caused Sole to get distracted more than once, to which they will lightly scold him afterwards.

Hancock: Saxophone. When I think of Hancock, I think of smooth, really mellow and slow jazz. He is an amazing player, but prefers slower songs, songs that don’t require much technicality or any strong concentration/practice. He is a very lax person, not much of a fan of hard and rigid genres of music. He much prefers jazz, pieces that have interpretive solos/duets up to the players. I think at first he didn’t take the band seriously, would occasionally not show up for practice and a few concerts, because he either didn’t care or got too high (more than just weed with this guy, he does harder drugs usually). After Sole had a talk with him though, he initially quit. He originally joined the band because he liked how fun and free Sole was, and how loosely they managed the band. When Sole had that talk with him about needing more dedication from him to be in the band, he initially was upset, believing that went completely against the “freeness” of the band. But, he very much missed playing for Sole’s band, and worked out an agreement with them. He helped Sole form a full jazz band, which was much more lowkey, and comprised a smaller section of the band, purely for those that wanted to play full on jazz pieces. The smaller band had less practices and would usually play 1 or 2 pieces at the end of a normal concert. Out of respect to Sole’s dedication to the band (and to Cait’s triggers) he no longer shows up high, and doesn’t not mention his drug use/habits during meetings.

MacCready: I see Mac as a violinist as well. He played throughout most of grade school, but had to drop out of school when he accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant. He had to drop out of school and drop the cello in favor of working to support himself and his son. His girlfriend’s parents thankfully watched Duncan while Mac went to work, but that stopped after his girlfriend died. They blamed it on him, and in a way, he blamed himself too. She had been on her way back to her parents when she was in a car accident, which she unfortunately passed away from. This resulted in Mac almost falling apart. It was a really tough time for him, and became even harder when Duncan became seriously ill. This is how he met Sole, through one of their charity events. Sole’s charity raised a ton of money for the families of sick kids, helping them afford treatment. Once Duncan got better, Mac felt like he had to thank Sole personally. This is where they offered him to join the band. He was hesitant at first, since he had very little time as it is, and thought he needed to find extra childcare for Duncan, but Sole encouraged him to bring Duncan to practices, and has even helped him with childcare, offering to watch Duncan for free while Mac was at work, and Sole even started teaching him how to play piano. It was very difficult for Mac to make friends as a single father, especially since his girlfriend died, but joining the band has given him a chance for friends, even some around his age with kids of their own.

Nick: When he was younger, Nick was a very good trumpet player. Though he hadn’t picked it up in many many years by the time he met Sole. As a retired detective that suddenly had a ton of time on his hands, he looked for ways to occupy himself. He heard about Sole’s band through the paper, and when he read that it was an open community band that required a little more than light commitment, he pulled his old trumpet out of storage and showed up to practice. Though it took some time to get used to it again, and after a few cleanings and tune ups, he was back to the star trumpet player he had been back when he was younger. Though he makes jokes about how difficult it is to keep up with the younger members, he is constantly impressing everyone with his range and speed. Nick has taken a very strong liking to Sole, due to their kindness and dedication to the band and the members of it. He tries to take them under his wing, helping them manage the band and concerts and charities and everything else. He worries Sole will overwork themselves, much like he had during his job, so he offers his help where he can, and reminds them to take breaks, both physically and mentally.

Piper: Played the flute and also picked up the piccolo throughout grade school, though it was more of a hobby and hadn’t played either since high school until she joined Sole’s band. She found the band while reporting on it during one of the charity events Sole put on, and liked what she heard so much she decided to pick up her hobby again. Her being a journalist for the local paper has its benefits, because she will write articles about the band, upcoming concerts, etc (she may or may not include how beautifully the flute section played, and write about how one unknown flutist in particular played so beautifully, it moved the crowd to tears). Her contacts and connections through her job have elicited larger donations for the band and the charities it supports, but has also gotten them very prestigious concert opportunities. Piper herself is a wonderful flute player, and since her job requires a lot of typing, technical pieces where her fingers are flying over the keys are her specialty.

Preston: Clarinet and assistant band director. Also a veteran, and was in an army band before his enlistment contract ended. He enjoys marches the most, but is also a fan of jazz pieces, which has allowed him to explore his confidence a bit more with all the interpretive pieces. Joined Sole’s community band for his love of playing clarinet. He offhandedly mentioned wanting to learn how to direct to one of his section-mates, to which Sole had heard and taken seriously. He was extremely unconfident throughout his life, especially in leader roles, but has slowly grown much more confident under Sole’s direction. They will switch out during concerts, with Sole picking up their own instrument and joining the band while he gets to direct. Sole has involved him in deciding the theme of the concert, picking out songs based on what strengths the band had/things they wanted to improve. Sole even handed the reins entirely over to Preston so he could coordinate his own concert and direct it entirely on his own. Preston has excelled with directing, but has unfortunately fallen victim to Deacon’s light bullying over his “director faces”.

Strong: Strong is a huge man, in every way. There aren’t many big-person friendly instruments besides the tuba, though he still manages to make the tuba look small. Strong had a somewhat rough upbringing, and very rarely had kindness in his life. So when he meets Sole, someone who is genuinely kind and does their best to offer help, not only to the members of their band, but their entire community, Strong is immediately transfixed. He has not known kindness like Soles’s someone who just gives it out, whether or not the person deserves it. And according to himself, he was not worthy of kindness for the things he’s done. As an ex-con, he struggled greatly to find places that would accept him, which is only strengthened by the way he looks. Big, intimidating, mean. But Strong is also kind at heart, and only wants to learn how to be able to give his kindness instead of the cruelty given to him and expected of him. When he heard of Sole’s band, he really wanted to join, but didn’t even know how to play a single instrument, though that has never mattered to Sole. They offered to teach him some instruments, starting with the tuba since it was the easiest for him to play, size wise. But then someone donated a harp to Sole, hoping they could put good use to it. Strong was mesmerized by the beautiful and large instrument, and was the first to volunteer learning it for the band. He fell in love with it instantly, to the point where Sole gave him an extra key to the practice room so he can come in and practice when he pleases. Sole does their best to find pieces that include harp, but Strong still plays tuba when needed.

X6-88: Growing up, his guardians brought him up playing piano. He was forced to play the instrument for the majority of his life. Practices almost every day, concerts, school band, church band, etc. His guardians were very strict, and didn’t let him quit or have any of his other hobbies. They told him he was made for piano, he had a gift. He was naturally quite good at it, and through the rigorous routine and harsh punishments of his guardians, he excelled at it. A prodigy, if you will, winning competitions, playing in state, etc. He even got a scholarship for a prestigious music school for it, and he went through with it because that was what was expected of him. That is where he met Sole. The college was near their community, and they were looking for students wanting to play in concerts, as many college music students were constantly on the lookout for opportunities like that. He took Sole up on their offer, because he knew it would be expected of him were his parents there. He did his role perfectly, playing piano, but Sole was able to pick up that it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do. And it was through Sole X6 was finally able to explore different hobbies, different interests. Sole also helped him gain the confidence to stand up to his parents, accept that he was his own person, an adult at that, and that he could choose his own hobbies and interests. He changed his major in college and has decided to pursue an entirely different degree, but he still plays in Sole’s band as their pianist. Now that he was able to pursue his own interests, he found that he did like piano, and was now playing as a choice instead of an expectation.

[scourgewins]

The Party

(I’ve been debating about whether or not to post this for, uh...months, but I figure if someone else can relate to it that would be pretty cool, so here this is. Basically, Jack experiences sensory overload and is helped by someone you wouldn’t expect. I wrote it in frustration some months ago and it’s just been sitting in my docs ever since. Anyway, I hope someone out there finds some kind of comfort in this like I did.)

(Warnings: Description of sensory overload, panic)

“I’m throwing you all a party!”

Joey’s declaration had been met with excited hubbub and eager smiles. The studio manager’s hands were thrown out wide as he grinned at each of his employees from his perch atop a chair in the music room. Jack had been standing in the front row just a few feet from his boss. He’d joined his coworkers in applauding their thanks and even waved his hat to show his appreciation. A party! Joey never threw them parties!

Most of the staff were gathered in the room and the cheers rose to a high volume in the cramped space. Jack winced at the noise and instinctively brought his hands to his ears, but thankfully Joey hushed them all so he could go into more detail about the celebration. Henry stood beside him and smiled up at his friend, showing his support. Sammy stood off to the side with a cello in hand, his icy blue gaze studying the crowd, making sure they hadn’t trampled on any instruments as they’d traipsed in. Susie was beside him and her eyes were alight with anticipation as she watched Joey go on and on about how dedicated they all were and how grateful he was to have them.

Jack found himself unable to look away from the voice actress. She was stunning with her long blonde tresses that draped over a tasteful green dress, the image of springtime and all things lovely. Then and there, Jack determined he would ask her to dance.

Joey clapped once and startled Jack from his thoughts, “Alright, you all! Continue working hard these next few days! There’ll be a party waiting for you right here in the Music Department at five o’clock this Saturday!”

A resounding cheer followed these words, though Jack was prepared this time and already had his hands over his ears. The noise was starting to make him antsy and the lyricist was one of the first to exit the room, walking quickly to his office in the sewers, where it was nice and quiet.

If he was being truthful, Jack had never been to a party before. His parents had never thrown him or his siblings any type of birthday bash and he’d never attended his school dances. Since he’d joined the studio, this upcoming party was to be the first Joey had thrown.

Jack didn’t know what to expect. He understood that it might get loud and that there would be a crowd of people, but he could handle that, right? Jack was forced to conclude that no, he couldn’t, but he didn’t want to be the one person not in attendance. Besides, Susie would be there; this was his chance to get to know her better and, hopefully, sweep her off her feet.

Shoving his doubts aside, Jack proceeded to his office with a bounce in his step. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because of the wave of babbling people leaving the Music Department.

Jack arrived at the party wearing a brown suit jacket, a red tie, and, of course, his hat. The room was already packed with people and Sammy and the band were up on a makeshift stage preparing to play. Joey was in the middle of a speech that Jack only heard the end of.

“Enjoy the punch and food, friends! Sammy and the band will be playing for us all evening!”

Joey leaped down from the stage as everyone cheered. Jack credited the alarm he felt at the noise to his excitement for the party to commence, which it did barely ten seconds after Joey had left the stage.

Sammy took to the piano and began a lively jazz tune that was soon accompanied by the trombone, the trumpet, and the bass. The employees let out a shriek of approval and set to cutting a rug, thirty pairs of feet stomping on hardwood floors. Jack felt himself jostled about as people moved to the center of the dance floor to meet up with friends. Some broke off from the rest to pour themselves some punch and chat with others.

In the midst of the chaos, Jack spotted Susie swaying to the beat, her blue dress following her rhythmic movement. Now was the time. He could go over and ask to dance with her. It wouldn’t be a waltz like he’d imagined, but he honestly didn’t know if he could hold out till then.

The anxiety Jack had felt before did not dissipate as he’d hoped it would once the music started and the party got underway. In fact, it got much worse.

The music and the stamp of feet and the clatter of the punch bowl and the voices raised to be heard in conversation coalesced into one deafening cacophony that assaulted Jack’s ears. The lyricist clapped his hands over them and backpedaled away from the stage, all thoughts of dancing driven from his head and replaced with the single-minded urge to get away.

He stumbled into someone and jerked away, nearly colliding with Wally, who danced expertly to the music and sang along. He paused mid-verse as Jack careened past.

“Woah, Jack! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” His voice couldn’t be heard over the noise.

The exit! Where’s the exit?! Jack cursed his height as he struggled to see over the crowd. At last, he spotted the familiar exit sign and headed for it. His heart was beating fast now and his breath was becoming shorter and shorter. His hands did little to staunch the constant stream of noise and Jack started to hum to himself to give himself something else to focus on. Someone bumped into him and Jack had to take his hands from his ears to steady himself, letting the sound collapse down on him.

“Stop! Stop! Stop it!” He begged of everyone to stop, to just be quiet. He needed quiet!

“Jack!” Someone yanked him out of the fray. Looking up, Jack saw it was Norman, who’d been hanging back watching the crowd. Jack realized tears were pressing at the corners of his eyes and at some point his hands had begun to flap at his sides. He could feel people staring but he didn’t care. He coudn’t stop moving.

Norman’s brows were knitted in concern as he dragged Jack further away from the people who’d noticed him. The pressure on his skin was too much and Jack ripped his arm from the projectionist’s grip.

Norman dropped his hand and studied Jack, “What’s going on?”

“It’s too loud!” Jack shouted. He couldn’t pause to face Norman. He had to keep moving. He started to pace around in a circle at increasing speed as if to outrun the sound, “They won’t be quiet!”

“Okay, then you’d better get out of here,” Norman gestured to the door and Jack started to rush toward it again, but this time Norman was right on his heels telling everyone to clear some space. No one gave them a second glance as they complied.

Jack sprinted out of the room and kept running until he’d reached the stairwell leading to the first level. The noise was faint from here.

The lyricist collapsed down on the step and put his head in his hands. He was shaking but the tremors subsided as he began to relax and his breathing slowed. He heard someone come running after him and looked up as Norman came to a stop once he saw Jack.

The projectionist sighed and leaned against the wall. Both were silent for a few seconds before Norman spoke.

“Are you good?”

Jack didn’t meet his gaze. He felt embarrassed for panicking like that, but most of it was trumped by relief to be free of the noise.

“I’m okay now.” he said quietly.

Norman considered him a moment more then moved closer to sit beside him. Jack noted he didn’t sit too near.

“Does that happen often?”

Jack shook his head, “Not as bad as that.”

“But lesser forms of that do happen a lot?”

Sighing, Jack nodded, “Yeah, when I’m outdoors or people are talking too much, sometimes it happens.”

Norman processed this information, “What is ‘it’ exactly?”

“I don’t know.” Jack shrugged, “It’s just something I’ve had to deal with all my life.” He gave a mirthless chuckle, “You’d think I’d have learned not to be in noisy places after all these years.”

Norman didn’t share his laugh. Instead, he fixed the lyricist with a hard stare. Jack hazarded a glance at the projectionist. He suddenly felt exposed, as if Norman could read his innermost thoughts.

“What?” Jack asked testily.

“Nothing,” Norman replied, “I just think I understand you a little more, now.”

Jack wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing, so he didn’t respond. The silence stretched on, though it felt like total bliss after what Jack had been through. Norman was the first to stand. He offered Jack a hand up then nodded up the stairs.

“Want me to walk you out?”

Jack shook his head, “No, I’m okay now.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Norman turned back around, “Have a good night.”

Jack turned too but knew he couldn’t leave just yet. He spun back around.

“Hey, Norman?”

Norman glanced behind him, “Yeah?”

“Thanks...for helping me…”

Norman gave a half smile, “Don’t mention it.” He hesitated, then continued, “And I won’t tell anyone about this, so don’t worry about that.”

Jack actually hadn’t been worried about that but it was comforting to hear all the same.

“Thanks.”

“Sure,” Norman walked back to the music room. Jack watched him go, then turned and jogged up the staircase.

Joey had intended this night to feel like a well-deserved reward for his workers, right? What better reward could there be than settling down and reading Shakespeare in the comforting quiet of his apartment? That sounded infinitely more pleasurable than any social gathering.

Smiling, Jack quickened his pace.

[woosey-woo-shitposts]

Guns and Roses

(Obey Me! Mafia!AU)

This au's concept originated from this user

Parts of this storyline are loosely inspired by Mafiatell (An Undertale Mafia AU) written by Staringback, adapted into a comic by Cutthroat-Jutsu which was later voice-dubbed by Vade.

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This narrative was written in first person to minimize the use of MC's pronouns for your enjoyment, however I ask you pardon any errors because I am inexperienced in this writing style.

As a matter of fact, I loathe it. But I wanted to make this a fun read. I did this for you.

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"You have got to be kidding me!" I snarled as I observed the wrinkled notice in my hands. Of course, the one time I get a good night's sleep, my landlord gives me a demand to pay extra for this month's rent! That was my biggest pet peeve: when they demanded money but never chose to specify WHY. As far as I knew, this wasn't a matter of protection fees, this was him taking advantage in the cruel world we all lived in.

I can't wait to get out of this town. Every cop, politician, or anyone else in some position of power was corrupted by selfish desire. As for me? I'm just someone living on my lonesome in a piece-of-crap apartment on a singer's wage. Oh-- yeah. I sing and dance if the price is right. If you dress nice and pile on enough make-up, you might make it out here. Unfortunately, I never made it past the low-life bars that paid a somewhat survivable wage. Now I had to lose all my leftover money on this in order to not get kicked out by my greedy landlord. My friends taught me to never respect someone who wears sunglasses indoors! What a mess...

I know what you might be thinking: "why not find another place to stay?" And my answer is-- this is the cheapest place around--even with that "living fee" my landlord was forcing me to pay IN ADDITION to this month's rent! Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about it! Thanks to a certain gang that controlled the area, it was hard to find a living space that didn't put you in debt because of the additional "protection fee" that all tenants were charged. All this city cared about were money and power and control. Sometimes they went hand-in-hand.

After a few moments of pacing, I finally went to my room to pick out some clothes for tonight's gig. That was the best I could do for now.

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Heavy on the eyeshadow, bright red on the lipstick. That's what the club owner asked for before I retreated into the bathroom to apply it all. If I had a say, I'd be going without the skimpy flapper girl dress, but that's what they wanted. For whatever reason, though, the club owner seemed more... tense than usual. I've seen low-life thugs and lesser members of the local gang in this club during my past performances, so it couldn't be that. What if it was someone more important...?

"Showtime in 10, darling~!" The owner hollered from the changing room door, snapping me from my thoughts as abruptly as they arrived in my head. He was attractive to say the least, although I could go without them opening the door and leering in. It was almost like they were trying to sneak a peek at me every time. Even if that wasn't bothering me, I felt this knot twisting in my gut, telling me that something big was going to happen tonight as I fixed up my hair to the best of my ability.

I could hear my shoes clicking against the wood flooring as I approached the stage. To my right was a small jazz crew: a trumpet, and a saxophone player... although one looked to be a kid in height, especially with how his blonde hair was styled. He looked far too short for the clarinet he was playing. The other gentleman was tall and muscular with darker skin. He also had a calming air about him, like a long lost friend of mine. To my left was someone on the piano, cracking his knuckles and poising his hands over the ivory keys. I've never seen him before. He was slender with white hair, but I couldn't see his face from where I stood as I adjusted the height of the microphone. However, my attention was drawn to the the pianist that stood from his post to investigate who was standing in the crowd.

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"Would you look at that?" A gentle, yet playful voice uttered before he turned to face me. He was tall, probably 5'11, with steely gray eyes and pale skin that was almost as white as his hair. Of course, I wanted to introduce myself, but my attention was drawn to the slightly parted curtains he was peeking through.

I squinted out at the dimly lit bar, scanning the tables. As I suspected: there were mostly low-life criminals drinking their worries away, however I noticed a menacing aura wafting from a far corner of the room.

Draped in shadow, there looked to be three men whose eyes seemed to glow with an inhuman glint. The first man seemed to be the tallest out of the three: dressed in a jarring red suit with a black tie and a golden chain linking his collar and his suit. His hair surprisingly looked even redder than the clothes on his back. Then there were his eyes, glowing like yellow-hot coals that matched the shimmering gold chains he wore.

On the far end of the table was a slender looking gentleman wearing a mint green jacket over a black vest. His eyes were shimmering emeralds, although I was more focused on how he patiently was sitting by, more focused on their surroundings than the men he was sitting with.

To his left--sitting between him and the man in red--was another man, sitting barely as tall as the first, yet sharing the same if not a more menacing aura than the figure in red. He had a more standard looking suit with a red vest and tie with a black suit jacket resting on his shoulders. His hair was black, swooped partially to one side more than the other with a hint of silver fading from the tips. I also took notice of his black gloves. He must've gotten his hands dirty in the past. Then there were his eyes. Those eyes were a shade of red that almost blended into the lighting of the room from what I could see from the curtain. Even so, I could feel a sudden piercing sensation when I felt like I was being watched. Before I could figure it out, I hastily closed the curtains and returned my attention to the pianist.

"That... that was Diavolo, wasn't it?" I questioned with a quiver of my lip. I heard that the gang leader of this area was a man who dressed in red as to hide how much blood covered his hands.

"Wow, even small town singers know him?" The man questioned in a teasing tone.

I narrowed my gaze at him in a cold glare. "Know /of/ him. I've never seen him in person, let alone pictures of him."

The pale man shrugged off my glare, keeping an almost foxlike arrogance about his demeanor. "Well, consider yourself lucky if you survive the night. Rumor has it his gaze can curse the weak of mind."

Right when I parted my lips to snap back at him with something- that club owner called from behind us.

"Get in position, you four!" He said in a hushed shout, signaling for the performers to get ready to start their number.

I bit my lip with growing anxiety before the club owner waved at me from back stage before offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing what seemed to be "break a leg". All I could do was nod curtly to acknowledge it until the curtains swung apart, temporarily blinding me with the stage lights.

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I had to admit, these musicians had talent. It was easy to keep in pace with them through the first number. As I removed the microphone from its stand, I danced about, letting my clothes sway about until the crowd cheered and called out to me. Even so, I felt that knot in my stomach. As my motions slowed, I noticed Diavolo and the other two men looking my way... whispering. It left me unsettled.

My dancing slowed to a stop as I returned to my spot by the microphone stand, but I kept with the upbeat tempo until the song ended. Those catcalls and whistles erupted into proud cheering where I stood. Still, my gaze fixated on those three figures, my gaze briefly locking with Diavolo's as a quiet gulp swallowed back my anxieties.

With a forced smile, I waved to the crowd. "I see a few unfamiliar faces tonight. I hope you enjoyed the music." I chuckled lightly to myself. "This next one is dedicated to a special guest tonight." Even though my body was fighting against a terrified tremor, my eyes met with those monsters again before winking in their direction.

------------

The crowd fell silent in appreciation of the next song, although, to a mixture of relief and fear, I saw Diavolo leave with his entourage of two. A few thoughts came to mind as the second and final song ended before the cheering became muffled behind a closed curtain.

"Bravo, darling~!" The owner rushed in to hug me, catching me off-guard. "Beautiful singing as always." He chimed as he twirled me about.

"Easy, Asmo." The saxophone player interjected, quickly separating me from the overexcited club owner. "A lot just happened. Give them some space."

The rosy-haired man blinked, taken aback by that remark. "If you insist. Darling, you're free to go. I left your pay in the changing room." He smiled in fake innocence as I walked past him and off the stage. In the corner of my eye, I saw Asmo glancing over his shoulder in... concern?... as I went backstage and back into that changing room.

------------

The room was pitch black when I stepped into it. Odd, I don't remember turning off the lights when I left to perform. I took a few steps into the room in order to find the light switch, using what little light that came in from the hall until--

Click...

My heart suddenly sank into my stomach the moment the door shut behind. Immediately afterwards, the light was switched on and a hand brought itself on my shoulder the moment I thought about running for the door I came through.

"I don't think so." A gentle voice mused. A side glance revealed a white silk glove gripping my shoulder. Even if it didn't look strong, my body refused to budge against it. Then, however, my attention was brought to a towering man in in a red and black suit. That tall, dark, and mysterious guy Diavolo was talking with. My heart was racing a mile a second as he stood up and approached me. Is this it? Is this how I die?! My eyes went wide as they locked with his.

The moment he brought his hand up to my chin, I let out a sharp gasp-- I couldn't help myself... I was scared for my life! I found myself tensing up as he forced me to look him in the eyes. Those dark red eyes were much more intimidating up close.

"Tell me, human." He began, voice deep and low. It wasn't even a whisper, but it was quiet enough to have the same effect on me. He tilted his head, glaring angrily down at me before he spoke. "Why were you looking at Lord Diavolo?"

TO BE CONTINUED

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Prince and the Baker - Pt. 2

Written for @herald-divine-hell. Thank you for being my friend, and I hope that this is worth the wait. Featuring OCs from both of us.

Esmyial had never spent the night before in a bed that wasn't of the finest materials, in rooms not designed for opulence and elegance, and he absolutely loved the experience. He had slept in a bed Tash explained belonged to his brother Arno, who was not using it, as he was traveling with a mercenary company, the Valo-Kas. It seemed Arno was human, as the bed was of normal size, compared to Tash's, which was proportionately large.

Tash's fathers had been pleased to meet Esmyial. Kaaras, the large Qunari man, his hair salt-and-pepper and his eyes gold like his son's, his horns nearly brushing the ceiling when he stood up, had welcomed him and thanked him for protecting Tash. Colm, the baker, a blond human with a full beard and shining blue eyes, had offered Esmyial lodgings for the whole Tourney, to which he had been very grateful.

They had spent a large portion of the evening (after a hearty meal of sandwiches made with leftover bread from the bakery's sales and fresh cheeses and vegetables brought by Kaaras, who worked often as a hunter to trade with the farmers on the outskirts and selling the skins to tailors and tanners in Markham Town) simply talking to each other. Tash talked about his love of baking and reading, and how every year he went to see the Grand Tourney. Esmyial responded with stories about his parents and siblings, and his life in Skyhold, although he refrained from mentioning that his mother was the Divine and his father was the ruler of the Frostback Kingdom. Esmyial figured Tash thought him the son of some minor noble lucky enough to live in the famous castle.

Esmyial couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm Tash seemed to have for everything, whether it was talking about his daily chores or getting a twinkle in his eye listening to Esmyial's stories. And Tash admired the quiet strength and care in everything Esmyial did, whether it was neatly arranging his things at the foot of the bed or pausing for a few moments to think before responding to an excited question from the other.

They stayed up far too late into the night, learning about the other. And something in Esmyial fluttered as he listened to Tash's breathing slow and turn into soft sleeping breaths.

---

The next morning, Tash awoke Esmyial with breakfast in bed. "You have to keep your strength up for the Tourney!"

Esmyial gratefully dug into the large plate of eggs, a pair of warm rolls beside it that he could dip into the yolks, and a small bowl of fruit with cream, a Marcher attempt at Orlesian crème fraîche with berries. He glanced up to see Tash hovering somewhat nervously.

"Oh, my apologies. Thank you for the meal." Esmyial said politely, although he had already given thanks when served. He thought back to his etiquette lessons. Jacqueline always seemed to be better at them than he was. Maker, even Isalian was better at them than he was. What was it? Did Marchers only say thank you after the meal or something? Had he made some sort of horrid breach of etiquette?

"Oh, er, no, it was no trouble." Tash said, starting. "I... I know that it isn't what you're probably used to. I... I made it all fresh."

Esmyial stopped, and gave Tash a hard look. "This... is one of the best meals I've had in my life. You made all this?"

Tash's face broke out into a grin, and Esmyial's heart fluttered again. "Well, I didn't make the berries, obviously. The bushes did that. But I cooked the eggs and took the rolls from the morning batch I made, and I mixed the cream." His voice lowered conspiratorially. "I also put powdered sugar on the berries."

Esmyial chuckled and resumed eating. "It's... ah... berry good."

Tash snorted in laughter. He seemed comfortable enough to go and get a plate for himself. They ate in companionable silence as the morning mist began to clear. 

---

Seeing as how his fathers had allowed him to take the day off, he offered to lead Esmyial to the registration tent, walking through the set up marketplace stands for merchants with their merchandise and makeshift barracks for competitors unable to find accomodation. There were always some on-the-day additions, he assured the young prince.

"So... do you have a strategy for the Tourney?" Tash asked, tilting his head. "Any allies you're planning to team up with? Are you fighting with a house or company?"

"No... not exactly." Esmyial said, the nervous jitters growing in his stomach. Being with Tash had completely made him forget about his nervousness. "I'm a freelancing sword."

"Ah." Tash said, grinning. "A mysterious knight of mysterious origins. That's good. Most of the fighters will wait to engage you, see what you do first. Freelancers are the wild cards of the melee. That gives you an advantage. Trust me; I've been watching these since I was old enough to watch things."

Esmyial smiled, only to frown as he noticed Tash looking at him appraisingly. "What? What is it?"

"You need something to help you stand out. The crowd's interest does, in fact, play a role. You're going to have a hard time winning if they're pelting rotten vegetables at you because someone more interesting is in the ring."

Esmyial's eyebrows raised. "I've never been to the Tourney. They do that?"

Tash nodded. "They like doing it to nobles who do fancy moves and let their house guards do the real fighting. We Marchers have kind of a thing against nobility. Another advantage of being a freelance fighter. It's not just me who enjoys the idea of the wandering knight. We need something special to help you stand out, like a crest or something."

"Or a favor?"

"That could work. Something in bright colors, maybe a deep red or a sharp green..." Tash seemed lost in fantasy for a moment as he imagined the possibilities, before returning to reality. He glanced around and quickly ducked towards a stall selling bolts of cloth, grabbing a shiny strip of green silk and slamming a copper piece on the seller's bench before the merchant could protest.

"This is the armor you're wearing?" Tash asked.

Esmyial nodded. "Yes."

Tash smiled. "Great." He brought the strip of silk up to his face and slowly breathed over it. Esmyial felt the surge of magic and saw a vague haze spreading across the cloth before it cleared. Tash quickly tied the cloth strip around Esmyial's bicep, the tails of the knot just enough to flutter artistically but not get in his way. "There. I placed a barrier on it so it won't get dirty and will keep distinguishing you."

Esmyial smiled. "So... this is my lord's favor, yes?"

"Oh... er... I... if you want it to be, I suppose?" Tash said, blushing deeply.

Esmyial's smile became a smirk. "I believe I do."

"Er... then a favor it is."

Esmyial ran his fingers through the tails of the silk bolt. "Then I shall return this to you along with my victory in the melee. I will seek you out in the stands."

Tash smiled. "I'll be right under the box for the royal guests."

"I shall dedicate my victory to you, my lord." Esmyial said, starting to chuckle.

Tash giggled and nodded. "Well, hurry, or you won't be able to get in!"

---

Esmyial glanced around anxiously as the competitors were led onto the field designated for the melee. They were meant to wait there while the royal guests were announced. There was a lot of buzz this year, but Esmyial kept his eyes focused on the area below the royal box, searching for Tash. His anxiety melted away, and he even flashed a confident smile at the Vashoth, who had politely squashed himself into a single seat above the jostling groundlings, his height meaning he almost scratched the bottom of the royal box with his horns.

Marcher ruler after Marcher ruler was announced. Lord Tethras, Viscount and the dark-haired Messere Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall earned a round of applause from the crowd. Esmyial's grin vanished. He hoped that Varric wouldn't recognize him.

---

"Remind me, Varric, why we come to these things?"

Varric sighed at his lover's reluctance. "Come on, Cal, you've been a Marcher for years, it's like Fereldans and their dogs. This is our dogs."

"I wish. It would be a whole lot more interesting if there were dogs involved."

"You never stop talking, do you?"

"You wrote me that way." Hawke teased, sticking out his tongue. Varric jabbed him in the sides, making the Champion bark with laughter in a most undignified manner.

---

And Queen Ava of Starkhaven, the other Champion, was announced alone due to King Sebastian staying behind to manage a revolt. Esmyial had had quite the crush on her when he was little. He was now struggling not to hide behind the burly Fereldan beside him, knowing that Ava, as a close friend of his father's, would certainly recognize him.

---

"Brother."

"Sister. So you got roped into this thing, too?"

Varric sighed loudly. Ava smiled at him. "Yes, but unlike you, I didn't get to come with my husband, so stop complaining."

Cal grumbled a little.

"So, it's been a while."

"Yes, well, we've all been busy. Although, I have heard a certain bit of news..."

"What's that?" Cal wondered.

"Oh, right. You mean the... guest coming to the Tourney." Varric nodded, tapping his nose.

Ava grinned. "Right. I knew you'd know, Varric. You have nearly as many informants as the Inquisition used to."

Cal pouted. "You both are doing this on purpose, and I hate it."

"But we just gave you a hint!" Ava teased. "But you had better figure it out in the next five seconds.

Cal's eyes widened. "Wait a minute... Amayian's coming here?"

---

Esmyial gasped as he heard the trumpets. This was not something he had expected.

"King Amayian I of the Frostbacks!"

The crowd glanced in shock as the former Inquisitor walked into the royal box. And Esmyial turned pale as Amayian's gaze settled directly on him without a trace of surprise. He smiled inscrutably, and Esmyial's heart nearly stopped as his eyes focused on the silk strip around his bicep, and then slid to look right at the back of Tash's head. Esmyial shook his head, trying to convey everything he wanted to say in that small desperate look.

Amayian inclined his head, eyebrow raised. He looked back at the Vashoth in the stands, who was unaware of the interest the Divine's husband was taking in him, who gave Esmyial an encouraging wave. The look on his face was clear. We will talk about this later.

He had wanted to escape his father's shadow, the shadow of being the heir to the throne of Ferelden, the shadow of the Sunburst Throne his mother sat on. He wanted to win the Tourney as himself, not as Prince Esmyial. But it now seemed foolish that that could be possible. He liked who he was without the worry of who he was expected to be. The way he was talking with Tash late into the night, or walking in the morning, flirting without having to worry about political alliances and slighting the heirs of such-and-such. And yet, his father had not exposed him yet.

He considered the facts. He liked the Vashoth son of a baker and a hunter living in the Free Marches, and he was the Prince Esmyial, heir apparent to His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin. He had run away from home to participate in the Grand Tourney. His father would already be livid. And now he wanted to somehow convince his father not only to not drag him back to Skyhold, but to allow him to stay and fight in the Tourney as a freelancer, and to stay in the house of a baker.

Esmyial felt like borrowing the words of Varric. "Well, shit."

[lonelypond]

Idol Protection Program: Jazz

Love Live, NicoMaki, 2.8K

Liberties taken, fun had, jazz played. Enjoy! Takes place after Maki’s 18th birthday, related to events in the “Birthday Moments” chapter.

Jazz

“So is Umi acting weird?” Nico’s voice was a little less chirpy than usual, Kotori noticed, but just thought the newly minted Top, Number One spot on the charts seizing Idol was exhausted by prep for her second major tour.

“No, she’s been telling me all about Honoka’s…” And Kotori’s voice trailed off as she realized, yes, Umi was acting weird, volunteering hour long video chats worth of information about everyone else in her life and practically nothing about her. So when Kotori continued, her voice had an edge. “Why do you ask, Nico-chan?”

“Probably nothing,” Nico sounded like she was settling back into pillows, “Maki just barely picks up the phone to talk, all texting, just answering questions...I know she’s taking a crazy courseload, but…” Nico sighed, remembering how hyperfocused her now wife would get when an idea took over her head. “This just reminded me of when she and Umi were stuck on a song, back in high school.”

Kotori hummed, considering, “I could ask Honoka.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Nico tried to play it off, but Kotori sensed genuine worry. This was Nico’s first tour as a chart topper and she was spending 18 hours a day, in an isolated location, working on choreography and music. Nico could always tell what Maki was thinking if she was anywhere near Maki, but marriage at a distance had obstacles, Maki sharing less as she spent more time alone.

“I’m sure everything’s fine, Nico.”

Nico sounded a little brighter after Kotori’s assurance, “So how’s the weather in Paris?”

“Gorgeous.”

“I’ll have to get them to schedule time for a visit. Nico’s wardrobe needs a celebrity upgrade.”

“Oh, you have to, Nico-chan. I’ve found the cutest little shops.” And as her friend was sounding cheerier, Kotori settled into her chaise for some real fashion talk.

Umi waited for Maki outside the Shibuya apartment Maki and Nico had moved in to on Maki’s 18th birthday and after Nico’s proposal. It was cosy, not nearly as pink as Umi expected, at least not in the kitchen and living room areas. The art on the walls was tasteful, not flashy so Umi suspected Maki had won the decorating battle there. Maki rewrapped her scarf around her neck, tucking the ends into the neck of her camel haired coat and nodded her head at Umi, “Sorry for making you wait.”

“We’re still on schedule.” Umi glanced at her silver and black Octavia watch, a graduation present from Kotori. It kept time in two time zones so Umi was always aware of when in the day Kotori was in France.”

“I had to drop off a paper and the Professor kept talking.” Maki shoved her hands deep in her pockets, “This was too many classes.”

Umi made a sympathetic noise.

“How’s Kotori?” Maki wondered.

“She seems fine. I talked to her last night.”

“Does she suspect anything?” Maki asked.

“I don’t see why she would, Maki.” Umi’s voice took on its strictest tone, “To that point, keeping important milestones from our loved ones is not a good habit to get into.”

Sidled against a building corner, but close enough to eavesdrop, orange hair completely covered by a black beanie, blue eyes behind sunglasses, Honoka fist pumped in agreement, startling an elderly man who nearly turned into her. When Umi glanced back toward the commotion, Honoka slid down the wall. Let them get ahead again. Then she would find out where they were going and report back to Kotori.

It was here, the night. Maki had her tuxedo jacket pressed and a car ordered. She could have driven, but with how nervous she was, getting dropped off and picked up was a far smarter option. Rin and Hanayo had offered to accompany her, but Maki had kicked Rin off the newlywed couch last night, insisting she needed solitude for preparation. Rin, as her best friend, pretended to believe her, while texting her every half hour with silly cat piano gifs and videos so Maki wouldn’t just be staring at her phone or her music.

Nico would be upset, Maki knew, even though Maki had Hanayo set up to record every note on an unobtrusive smartphone, but Nico was rehearsing and...well, it was complicated, everything was complicated, school was too much and Maki had found a piano in a rehearsal room and started to channel the jazz she was listening to at home, instrumental, trumpets, Terell Stafford, becoming fascinated by taking the melting, mellower notes of the best, tenderest horn players and wrapping piano wires around that...she’d never done anything like that, and after a manic late night on espresso, where did our creativity go session with Umi, who was experimenting with Western forms of poetry, they’d decided to write a few more songs together. If Nico were here, this would be a production, a fuss, everyone invited, not one anonymous Saturday night at the Jazz Spot Intro, on a piano shoved back in the corner of a tiny, tiny basement bar.

Maki, linen shirt already sticking to her skin, removed her jacket, settled into the piano, half turned away from the audience, music handy if she needed a reminder. Umi sat in the front row, with Rin and Hanayo, Umi prim and proper, hands folded, Hanayo leaning forward, Rin alternating which leg was going to bounce her chair across the floor. Maki gave them a quick smile, then fingers extended, rolled into the first piece, entitled “Ruby Smile.” Umi hadn’t written a poem for that one, Maki had needed no other prompt than the woman who always inspired her...with her energy, her love, her smile, her stubbornness, her caring, her dedication, her glow...Maki grinned, Nico in her mind, and the tune turned as lively as its spark. Maki could almost tell Nico how she felt, some nights, but shoulders swaying, eyes half closed, fingers caressing the keys...without a Nico to touch, this was how she could get her feelings across, the ones that always caught in her chest or were twisted silently into her hair.

Applause from the audience, Maki could feel them paying more attention. Umi had only offered her the next poem if she would sing it as well, so Maki cleared her throat, aware of the increasing scrutiny from her audience but letting the piano claim all of her attention. And so began “inner wind of beauty.” So very Umi.

By the end of Maki’s set, other musicians had joined in, one on guitar, one on sax, someone stepped into the drum kit, and they had ventured from Maki’s originals to jazz standards. Maki was following the guitarist who had led them into “Night and Day” when hands slid across her shoulders, a weighted touch very familiar to her skin and she jumped, earning a glare from the drummer, who ducked his head at a response Maki couldn’t see from the person behind her. She looked to the left, caught the twisted gold band of the ring matching hers on the hand sliding slowly down her chest and her heart skipped ahead of the beat as her fingers recovered from the fumble. Nico’s very throaty whisper of “you are the one” brought the blushing and accelerated both the pianist and the tempo. Nico shoved in between Maki and the wall on the piano bench, shoulder touching Maki’s, back to the piano, movie spinster looking, black, cateye glasses perched on her nose -- Maki nearly ruined the song then, as Nico’s eyes twinkled at her, lips blowing one perfect kiss before Nico looked away. The song finished and Maki’s hands fell to the keys, as the musicians around her began another song she wasn’t hearing at all. All she could hear was her heart and Nico’s humming. She glanced over, Nico was in a terribly business-like black suit, with her hair falling nearly to her waist...had it really gotten that long? Nico noticed Maki had turned away from music and stretched out a leg, maybe not such a business like suit, Maki thought, that was an awful lot of leg, especially for Nico. Then she smiled at the joke, glad she hadn’t said it out loud and the spell was broken and she was here and Nico was here and Maki spun around so she was facing the same way as Nico, took her hand and pulled her off the bench, one kiss, feeling Nico’s hand slide into her hair, teasing tingles on her neck at the hairline, and then she pulled Nico to the bar.

“What’s with the glasses, Nico-chan? I nearly ruined the song.” Maki grumbled.

Nico giggled, pushing the glasses up her nose, “Nico is trying new disguise strategies. Cocoa’s been watching Supergirl.”

Maki looked puzzled.

Nico laughed, “See, glasses, Nico is the mysterious yet super cute Mrs. Nishikino, who swooped off with an hospital heiress.” Then both hands to her forehead in THAT gesture, “Nico Nico Ni” followed by a dramatic swipe of the glasses off, “Nico is Super Nico Ni, Number One Idol in the Universe.”

“Give me those.” Maki grabbed for the glasses and ended up nose to nose with Nico, a much better deal. Nico slid them onto Maki’s nose, “And now, you’re the lovely Mrs. Yazawa, genius piano prodigy and composer, no relation to the notoriously reclusive and grumpy Nishikino Maki, heiress and over educated doctor to be.” Nico kissed Maki on the nose, “She stalks me, you know.”

“Ha. I think that it’s Mrs. Nishikino who is stalking me, since I never told you…” And Maki, warned by the downward trend of Nico’s agile left eyebrow, just let her sentence dwindle.

And then Nico bounced right back to cheerful, as the bartender approached, “We had Honoka stalk you.” And as Maki absorbed that, Nico ordered, “A virgin bloody mary for my talented wife and a club soda for me.”

Umi, Hanayo, and Rin came back to the bar, joined by Honoka, “Hey, Maki! That was awesome. Umi was explaining about jazz. I’m going to borrow some albums. Next time, I want to sing something.”

Maki laughed as she found herself in the middle of a group hug. Honoka really did have a knack for making her solo piano time something more.

“Nico is glad you’re writing again, Umi. Write Nico an Idol song sometime.” Nico leaned her head on Umi’s shoulders, “The royalties would be worth it.”

“Art is not an endeavor to be initiated for worldly gain.” Umi's voice echoed in a musical pause.

Nico shrugged and leaned back against the bar, her hand in Maki’s, “Have you seen what Parisian wedding gowns cost?”

Umi paled. “Perhaps I could consider it, as an act of friendship.”

Maki felt more content than she had in months, with Nico by her side, surrounded by friends, her fingers sanded by and still warm from the ridges worn in a set of piano keys. She pulled Nico in for a hug, letting her hand slide to her wife’s waist as she enjoyed her drink. Then two more voices intruded, “Thank you for inviting us, Nico.” Her mother smiled at Nico while Maki’s father met his daughter’s gaze, then nervously glanced away.

Maki tensed, but Nico hugged her, whispering, “Give them a minute, then we’ll go home” before dragging the rest of the μ's back to a table, as she and Umi compared recent Kotori chatter.

“Mama, Papa.” Maki put her glass down. It thumped solidly into the bar.

“Congratulations on your wedding.” Her mother said, pointing to the two rings on Maki’s finger.

“Thank you. We’re doing very well.” Maki crossed her arms, irked at Nico, and still furious with her parents.

“I’m glad you never gave up the piano.” Her father spoke quickly, his voice low, as he looked to where Nico had led the others, “It seems to have brought you much happiness.”

“Why are you here?” Maki couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.

“We missed you.” Maki watched as her mother leaned into her father, a pleading look in her eye.

He cleared his throat, “We regret how our last conversation ended. We should have considered your point of view.”

“You’re damn right…”

“Maki.” Her mother warned, but Maki had left many things behind the night she walked out of her childhood home and deference was one of them.

She spoke precisely and with sparse emotions, “I am glad you are both well. It was kind of you to accept Nico’s invitation. But you won’t receive another any time soon.”

Her mother smiled, “We’ll leave you to Nico. You’re both always welcome to stop by. We’re very proud to have her as part of our family.”

Maki shook her head, this was not the place for this conversation, and while she understood Nico’s impulse, she…

Her father nodded, “Maybe you’ll understand when you have children of your own.”

Maki froze. Children? Of their own?

And Nico was right there, super Idol senses having picked up on something. Maki’s eyes were unfocused, jaw agape. Nico kept her tone light, “And you broke her. Nothing Nico can’t fix, of course, but what did you say?”

Maki’s mother answered with a wry chuckle, “Children.”

If Maki had been paying attention, she would have seen a brief flash of panic mar Nico’s face. But then, the rigorous hundreds of hours of how to deal with the public training plastered a smile there, “It’s late. It was good to see you, but it’s time for me to get Maki home.” And somehow, Nico had acquired Maki’s tuxedo jacket, tucked her wife into it and led her out into a rainy street, a Tokyo street scene, neon, bustling umbrellas, the notes of “Candy” fading behind a door.

“Nico?” Maki’s question was a whine.

“Let’s get home.”

“Why’d you tell them?” Maki and Nico were on the newlywed couch, having agreed that disagreements stopped at the bedroom door.

“I love you, they love you, you love you...it seemed like we’d all have more in common.” Nico teased from Maki’s lap.

Maki grabbed one of the pink pillows Nico had scattered EVERYWHERE and raised it in a threatening fashion. “And how did you…”

Nico frowned and sat up, taking the pillow out of Maki’s hands pulling the redhead closer, “You kinda stopped talking to me. I was worried.”

Maki blustered, trying to remember the past month, with Nico off working on her show for the tour, but it was all a half asleep blur of too many classes, too little Nico. “I didn’t.”

“You texted me, you didn’t talk to me. I was worried.” Nico laughed, “It reminded me of when you couldn’t work out a song. You’d close yourself off.”

That made sense, it had felt a little like that, but with a lot less direction. At least a song had been a thing to focus on, this had been like a foggy month with an empty calendar.

“So how did you get time off?” Maki changed the subject.

“Family emergency. My mother is very ill.” Nico sounded grim, then poked Maki, “See, parents are useful sometimes.”

“Nico…”

Nico flipped so she was sitting across Maki’s lap, eyes locked on Maki’s lips with enough raw hunger, tongue tip lazy all over her top lip, that Maki was having trouble remembering why she was exasperated with Nico. That was a familiar feeling.

“When we have children…” Maki began, her voice breaking before she could finish the sentence as Nico’s shocked, wide red eyes snapped up to hers. The world went still, dormant, and silent and Maki had no idea what happened next.

Nico's combination of hopeful flirt and world weary coper was masterful, “Nico is too young, tired, and a month’s worth of hot for her super sexy wife for this talk.” Nico wiggled, settling down into Maki’s lap, nose to nose with Maki again. “You can’t be looking at Nico this close and thinking “there's somebody’s mother!?!””

Rapidly losing her ability to hold a thought, Maki shook her head as Nico began unbuttoning her, sliding the shirt off the redhead's shoulder and then teasing Maki’s neck with her breaths. Her voice dropped to those low notes that sent icy thrills cascading from Maki’s ears, “What are you thinking?” Nico whispered.

“You go to my head.” And Maki started humming into Nico’s ear, enjoying the sensations as her wife scooted deliberately, incrementally closer, until their lips barely brushed each other.

“Shall I go a few other places as well?” Nico’s tongue flicked Maki’s lower lip lightly, a tease that was too much for Maki as she took in both Nico’s lips and her next breath in one motion, no words, just reflex action and the urgent moans that made Nico dive her hands under Maki’s shirt, pushing the eager redhead back. Umi would never sit comfortably on the couch again if she knew how often this had happened,

Hours later, in the newlywed bed.

Sleepy Nico: “What was the name of that first song you played? Nico’s new favorite.”

Even sleepier Maki: “Ruby Smile.”

“ ‘S about Nico?”

“Every note.”

“Would make a nice name for…”

“Yeah.”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

A/N: Went to an amazing jazz concert yesterday, which kept looping around in my head so this happened. Give Terrell Stafford's "Candy" a listen to for a glimpse of the effect hearing it live had.

Next Casual Lunacy is on track to update later this week

.But meanwhile, here's to jazz and rain and neon and love and Spring....Take care!

[backpackersdiary]

Mexico City  10.04-16.04.2017

I’m all about surprises, but this time 2 Mexicans really managed to surprise me! After a long and exhausting flight from Hawaii to Mexico City my two good friends Eduardo and Mauricio who I have met in Japan back in July 2016, picked me up from the Airport and I didn’t know they would! They packed me in a car and drove me to their apartment, where they prepared a room for just myself! How nice to have some privacy again after so long – I almost forgot how this feels! After a delicious home cooked meal from Eduardo I had a long nap and appreciated a real bed. When I woke up we had one more guest from Japan and I loved her the minute I’ve met her! Mizuho is the Japanese teacher and also a very good friend of Eduardo. The 4 of us went for a very good Mexican dinner and I couldn’t believe how good my first day in Central America was!

The next day, Mauricio took me on a Sight Seeing tour through Mexico City and we didn’t miss a thing! We started off with the eye-catching “Castelo de Chapultepec”. We enjoyed a short walk to reach the Castle, which was the imperial palace of Maximilian of Habsburg and the presidential residence during the 19th century. Today it houses the National History Museum and is the home to the Siqueiros, Orozco, O´Gorman and Gonzalez Camarena’s murals. One of my favorite sight is the Socallo Cathedral which is located at the historic heart of Mexico City overlooking the Zócalo, more properly called Plaza de la Constitución, which has marked the city center since it was founded in 1325. We participated a walking tour which took us to the top of the cathedral! Wow walking around on the roof of Socallo Cathedral is breath-taking! We then took the subway to the “monument a la revolucion”. The star attraction of the monument is the 65m-high observation deck, accessed by a glass elevator. The vertigo-inducing lift opens to a spiraling staircase that ascends to a wide terrace with a panoramic view of the city.

Underlying the plaza and monument, the recently spruced-up Museo Nacional de la Revolución covers a 63-year period, from the implementation of the constitution guaranteeing human rights in 1857 to the installation of the post-revolutionary government in 1920. After a long day of sightseeing we went back home to pick up hard working Eduardo for some delicious Tacos around the corner.

One of the days Eduardo, Mauricio and Mizuho took me to the holy city of Teotihuacan ('the place where the gods were created') which is situated some 50 km north-east of Mexico City. Built between the 1st and 7th centuries A.D., it is characterized by the vast size of its monuments – in particular, the Temple of Quetzalcoatl and the Pyramids of the Sun and the Moon, laid out on geometric and symbolic principles. As one of the most powerful cultural centres in Mesoamerica, Teotihuacan extended its cultural and artistic influence throughout the region, and even beyond. After walking around the whole morning my favorite Mexicans surprised me again with a delicious lunch in “La Gruta” a Restaurant set in a vast, cool cave.

And as Mexico City is all about food we went to a traditional “Cantina”. The rules are as following: with every alcoholic drink you can order one meal. That means a lot of drinking and a lot of eating too!! No wonder I felt sick the next day after so much food... a day off was needed.

What is not to be missed is the mind blowing “Museo national de antropologia”. This world-class museum stands in an extension of the Bosque de Chapultepec. Its long, rectangular courtyard is surrounded on three sides by two-level display halls. The 12 ground-floor salas(halls) are dedicated to pre-Hispanic Mexico, while upper-level salas show how Mexico’s indigenous descendants live today, with the contemporary cultures located directly above their ancestral civilizations. The vast museum offers more than most people can absorb in a single visit – we spent around 3 hours only on the ground floor. We then went for lunch to “Coyacan” or ‘the place of coyotes,’ in Nahuatle, a relatively quiet neighborhood in central Mexico City. Formerly a rural village, over the years Coyoacán has become a rich pocket of art and history in Mexico’s capital. “Coyoacán” also hosts one of my favorite market places - the “Mercado del artesano”.

On my last day in Mexico City, Eduardo and Mauricio took me to see the “Frida Kahlo” Museum. Unfortunately, there was a huge line as it was still Easter break and we decided to go to the “Palacio Nacional” instead. Inside this grandiose colonial palace you'll see Diego Rivera murals (painted between 1929 and 1951) that depict Mexican civilization from the arrival of Quetzalcóatl (the Aztec plumed serpent god) to the post-revolutionary period. The nine murals covering the north and east walls of the first level above the patio chronicle indigenous life before the Spanish conquest. The Palacio Nacional is also home to the offices of the president of Mexico and the Federal Treasury. We proceeded to walk around the Old city and ended up being in a more “criminal aread”. Of course I was super excited to take picture of this part of the city while Eduardo and Mauricio where concerned and walked like bodyguards next to this blond, western, naïve and happy girl showing around her expensive camera… Lucky me, nothing happened. We walked back to the more safer streets and with the relief we started to feel a little bit hungry and ended up buying delicious sweet treats in the most famous and biggest bakery in Mexico City – I had no idea that places like this exist. This is Food heaven!  

Music is a very important part of Mexican culture and is always part of a celebration, whether big or small. The music of Mexico sings of love, country, passion, history, legend and oppression, among other things. Mariachi music is the first thing that comes to mind when one thinks of Mexican music. The term Mariachi is believed to be originated from the French term “mariage” which means marriage, as this music was often played at weddings. The band usually consists of violins, trumpets, a classical guitar and a “vihuela” (a five string guitar). Musicians wear a traditional silver studded “Charro” suit, including a sombrero. Every night the city’s mariachi bands belt out heartfelt ballads in this festive square. They toot their trumpets and tune their guitars until approached by someone who’ll pay for a song. Like we did.

As it was my last night Eduardo and Mauricio took me out for a very special dinner to “las delicias”. During the dinner there was live Ranchero and a dancing group. Ranchera music draws on traditional folklore and its songs are usually about love, patriotism or nature. “El Grito Mexicano” a yell that is done during instrumental interludes either by the musicians or by members of the audience is common in Ranchera music. The word Ranchera was derived from the word “rancho” because the music originated on the ranches of rural Mexico. We ended the night with dancing salsa and lots more laughter.

Thank you Lalo, Mau and Mizuho for making my stay in Mexico City an unforgettable experience. I can’t put in words how much I loved my time with you!

[readbookywooks]

'Unless it was stuffed with rocks,' said the astrologer, in a wretched and, as it turned out, entirely unsuccessful attempt to lighten the mood. 'But come down he must – somewhere. Where? we ask ourselves.' 'Where?' said the astrologer loyally. 'And immediately a course of action suggests itself to us.' 'Ah,' said the astrologer, running in an attempt to keep up as the wizard stalked across The Two Fat Cousins. 'And that course is . . .?' The astrologer looked up into two eyes as grey and bland as steel. 'Um. We stop looking?' he ventured. 'Precisely! We use the gifts the Creator has given us, to whit, we look down and what is it we see?' The astrologer groaned inwardly. He looked down. 'Tiles?' he hazarded. 'Tiles, yes, which together make up the . . .?' Trymon looked expectant. 'Zodiac?' ventured the astrologer, a desperate man. 'Right! And therefore all we need do is cast Rincewind's precise horoscope and we will know exactly where he is!' The astrologer grinned like a man who, having tap-danced on quicksand, feels the press of solid rock under his feet. 'I shall need to know his precise place and time of birth,' he said. 'Easily done. I copied them out of the University files before I came up here.' The astrologer looked at the notes, and his forehead wrinkled. He crossed the room and pulled out a wide drawer full of charts. He read the notes again. He picked up a complicated pair of compasses and made some passes across the charts. He picked up a small brass astrolobe and cranked it carefully. He whistled between his teeth. He picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled some numbers on a blackboard. Trymon, meanwhile, had been staring out at the new star. He thought: the legend in the Pyramid of Tsort says that whoever says the Eight Spells together when the Disc is in danger will obtain all that he truly desires. And it will be so soon! And he thought: I remember Rincewind, wasn't he the cruffy boy who always came bottom of the class when we were training? Not a magical bone in his body. Let me get him in front of me, and we'll see if we can't get all eight— The astrologer said 'Gosh' under his breath. Trymon spun around. 'Well?' 'Fascinating chart,' said the astrologer, breathlessly. His forehead wrinkled. 'Bit strange, really,' he said. 'How strange?' 'He was born under The Small Boring Group of Faint Stars which, as you know, lies between The Flying Moose and The Knotted String. It is said that even the ancients couldn't find anything interesting to say about the sign, which—' 'Yes, yes, get on with it,' said Trymon irritably. 'It's the sign traditionally associated with chess board makers, sellers of onions, manufacturers of plaster images of small religious significance, and people allergic to pewter. Not a wizard's sign at all. And at the time of his birth the shadow of Cori Celesti—' 'I don't want to know all the mechanical details,' growled Trymon. 'Just give me his horoscope.' The astrologer, who had been rather enjoying himself, sighed and made a few additional calculations. 'Very well,'he said. 'It reads as follows: “Today is a good tine for making new friends. A good deed may have unforeseen consequences. Don't upset any druids. You will soon be going on a very strange journey. Your lucky food is small cucumbers. People pointing knives at you are probably up to no good. PS, we really mean it about druids”.' Druids?' said Trymon. 'I wonder . . .' 'Are you all right?' said Twoflower. Rincewind opened his eyes. The wizard sat up hurriedly and grabbed Twoflower by the shirt. 'I want to leave here!' he said urgently. 'Right now!' 'But there's going to be an ancient and traditional ceremony I' 'I don't care how ancient! I want the feel of honest cobbles under my feet, I want the old familiar smell of cesspits, I want to go where there's lots of people and fires and roofs and walls and friendly things like that! I want to go home!' He found that he had this sudden desperate longing for the fuming, smoky streets of Ankh-Morpork, which was always at its best in the spring, when the gummy sheen on the turbid waters of the Ankh River had a special iridescence and the eaves were full of birdsong, or at least birds coughing rhythmically. A tear sprang to his eye as he recalled the subtle play of light on the Temple of Small Gods, a noted local landmark, and a lump came to his throat when he remembered the fried fish stall on the junction of Midden Street and The Street of Cunning Artificers. He thought of the gherkins they sold there, great green things lurking at the bottom of their jar like drowned whales. They called to Rincewind across the miles, promising to introduce him to the pickled eggs in the next jar. He thought of the cosy livery stable lofts and warm gratings where he spent his nights. Foolishly, he had sometimes jibed at this way of life. It seemed incredible now, but he had found it boring. Now he'd had enough. He was going home. Pickled gherkins, I hear you calling . . . He pushed Twoflower aside, gathered his tattered robe around him with great dignity, set his face towards that area of horizon he believed to contain the city of his birth, and with intense determination and considerable absentmindedness stepped right off the top of a thirty-foot trilithon. Some ten minutes later, when a worried and rather contrite Twoflower dug him out of the large snowdrift at the base of the stones, his expression hadn't changed. Twoflower peered at him. 'Are you all right?' he said. 'How many fingers am I holding up?' 'I want to go home!' 'Okay.' 'No, don't try and talk me out of it, I've had enough, I'd like to say it's been great fun but I can't, and – what?' 'I said okay,' said Twoflower. 'I'd quite like to see Ankh-Morpork again. I expect they've rebuilt quite a lot of it by now.' It should be noted that the last time the two of them had seen the city it was burning quite fiercely, a fact which had a lot to do with Twoflower introducing the concept of fire insurance to a venial but ignorant populace. But devastating fires were a regular feature of Morporkian life and it had always been cheerfully and meticulously rebuilt, using the traditional local materials of tinder-dry wood and thatch waterproofed with tar. 'Oh,' said Rincewind, deflating a bit. 'Oh, right. Right then. Good. Perhaps we'd better be off, then.' He scrambled up and brushed the snow off himself. 'Only I think we should wait until morning,' added Twoflower. 'Why?' 'Well, because it's freezing cold, we don't really know where we are, the Luggage has gone missing, it's getting dark—' Rincewind paused. In the deep canyons of his mind he thought he heard the distant rustle of ancient paper. He had a horrible feeling that his dreams were going to be very repetitive from now on, and he had much better things to do than be lectured by a bunch of ancient spells who couldn't even agree on how the Universe began — A tiny dry voice at the back of his brain said: What things? 'Oh, shut up,' he said. 'I only said it's freezing cold and—' Twoflower began. 'I didn't mean you, I meant me.' 'What?' 'Oh, shut up,' said Rincewind wearily. 'I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here?' The giant stones were black and menacing against the dying green light of sunset. The inner circle was full of druids, scurrying around by the light of several bonfires and tuning up all the necessary peripherals of a stone computer, like rams' skulls on poles topped with mistletoe, banners embroidered with twisted snakes and so on. Beyond the circles of firelight a large number of plains people had gathered; druidic festivals were always popular, especially when things went wrong. Rincewind stared at them. 'What's going on?' 'Oh, well,' said Twoflower enthusiastically, 'apparently there's this ceremony dating back for thousands of years to celebrate the, um, rebirth of the moon, or possibly the sun. No, I'm pretty certain it's the moon. Apparently it's very solemn and beautiful and invested with a quiet dignity.' Rincewind shivered. He always began to worry when Twoflower started to talk like that. At least he hadn't said 'picturesque' or 'quaint' yet; Rincewind had never found a satisfactory translation for those words, but the nearest he had been able to come was 'trouble'. 'I wish the Luggage was here,' said the tourist regretfully. 'I could use my picture box. It sounds very quaint and picturesque.' The crowd stirred expectantly. Apparently things were about to start. 'Look,' said Rincewind urgently. 'Druids are priests. You must remember that. Don't do anything to upset them.' 'But—' 'Don't offer to buy the stones.' 'But I-' 'Don't start talking about quaint native folkways.' 'I thought—' 'Really don't try to sell them insurance, that always upsets them.' 'But they're priests!' wailed Twoflower. Rincewind paused. 'Yes,' he said. That's the whole point, isn't it?' At the far side of the outer circle some sort of procession was forming up. 'But priests are good kind men,' said Twoflower. 'At home they go around with begging bowls. It's their only possession,' he added. 'Ah,' said Rincewind, not certain he understood. This would be for putting the blood in, right?' 'Blood?' 'Yes, from sacrifices.' Rincewind thought about the priests he had known at home. He was, of course, anxious not to make an enemy of any god and had attended any number of temple functions and, on the whole, he thought that the most accurate definition of any priest in the Circle Sea Regions was someone who spent quite a lot of time gory to the armpits. Twoflower looked horrified. 'Oh no,' he said. 'Where I come from priests are holy men who have dedicated themselves to lives of poverty, good works and the study of the nature of God.' Rincewind considered this novel proposition. 'No sacrifices?' he said. 'Absolutely not.' Rincewind gave up. 'Well,' he said, 'they don't sound very holy to me.' There was a loud blarting noise from a band of bronze trumpets. Rincewind looked around. A line of druids marched slowly past, their long sickles hung with sprays of mistletoe. Various junior druids and apprentices followed them, playing a variety of percussion instruments that were traditionally supposed to drive away evil spirits and quite probably succeeded. Torchlight made excitingly dramatic patterns on the stones, which stood ominously against the green-lit sky. Hubwards, the shimmering curtains of the aurora coriolis began to wink and glitter among the stars as a million ice rystals danced in the Disc's magical field. 'Belafon explained it all to me,' whispered Twoflower. We're going to see a time-honoured ceremony that celebrates the Oneness of Man with the Universe, that was what he said.' Rincewind looked sourly at the procession. As the druids spread out around a great flat stone that dominated the centre of the circle he couldn't help noticing the attractive if rather pale young lady in their midst. She wore a long white robe, a gold torc around her neck, and an expression of vague apprehension. 'Is she a druidess?' said Twoflower. 'I don't think so,' said Rincewind slowly. The druids began to chant. It was, Rincewind felt, a particularly nasty and rather dull chant which sounded very much as if it was going to build up to an abrupt crescendo. The sight of the young woman lying down on the big stone didn't do anything to derail his train of thought. 'I want to stay,' said Twoflower. 'I think ceremonies like this hark back to a primitive simplicity which—'