#me when spooks by louis Armstrong comes on

[deathbypufferfish]

We need a revival of vintage Halloween music. Where are the songs these days that are just "Dracula's dinner party" and "zombie jamboree". I wanna get stupid with some ghosts and spooky noises

[aquietwritingcorner]

March Mildness Day 4: Laughter       Word Count: 741   Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: K/G   Characters: Alex Louis Armstrong, Olivier Mira Armstrong     Warning:     Summary: Laughter hasn’t been common in the Armstrong Mansion in a while. Alex and Olivier are unintentionally rectifying that.   Notes: Takes place at some point post-PD. I have no idea when!   AO3 || ff.net  

Laughter

Although it wasn’t unheard of, bouts of raucous laughter were not something that was commonly heard in the Armstrong Mansion anymore. Certainly, there had been periods of time when unrestrained laughter had been heard, but that had mostly been when there were young children in the home, and their laughter and shrieks had been part of childhood. Much of that had faded long ago, and most of the laughter that was heard in the mansion was chuckles, or subdued laughter.

Tonight, however, was different. Inside of the family sitting room, Alex’s voice boomed with laughter. He was nearly doubled over with it, trying to catch his breath, and failing. To make this even more unusual, the other voice that was laughing with him, loud in its own was, belong to his sister, Olivier. The two of them were laughing hard, both trying to catch their breath.

“That,” Alex finally managed to say, although a bit breathlessly, “explains why when General Hakuro came back, he stayed away from the lentil soup.”

Olivier grinned, although there was, as usual, a bit of ruthlessness to it. “Never cross the cooks at Briggs. They hold far too much in their hands.”

Alex let out a few more chuckles, and then leaned back, wiping at his eyes. “I had wondered what had happened to him up north. I’m glad I know!”

“It was worth it to see the pompous windbag get what was coming to him,” Olivier replied, leaning back herself.

Alex reached for his drink and took a swig of it. “Ah… I’ve missed this, Olivier.”

Olivier snorted and took a drink of her own beer. “Missed what?” she said. “Swapping military stories?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Alex said. “This. This here, between you and me.” He smiled fondly. “We got into so much trouble as children.”

Olivier snorted again. “I suppose we were more of a handful than either Amue or Strongine were.” She suddenly sat forward. “Do you remember that time we got it in our heads to lay traps in the garden? I wanted to practice skills I had read about, and you just wanted to dig holes.”

Alex chuckled. “Do I. I still remember the scolding mother gave us. We trapped at least seven of the servants.” He leaned forward as well. “What about that week where it rained constantly, and we decided to use the house as a battle ground for varied territory when we sparred.”

“Father wasn’t pleased with that one,” Olivier said with a smirk. “What about the tunnel to the guest house, and accidently surprising the guests from Xing.”

“The slide from the attic to the pool.”

“Rerouting the garden stream and flooding the basement.”

“Getting stuck on the roof.”

“Accidently spooking visitors’ horses with whips from the willow tree.”

Alex shook his head. “Even with you being six years older than me, we still managed to get into our fair share of trouble.”

“I had to make sure you were trained, didn’t I?” Olivier said. “Although, admittedly, some of it was just childhood fun.”

Alex chuckled again, but sat back, a look of wistfulness entering his eyes. “I wish we could have kept that up,” he said. “Instead of the break in our relationship that happened.”

Olivier was silent for a moment. “The past is the past, Alex. It can’t be changed, no matter what you wish. All we can do is move forward.”

Alex hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose so,” he said. “Ah—say, are you going to General Warthrop’s speech tomorrow?”

Olivier scowled, “Unfortunately so. I couldn’t care less what that mealymouthed politician has to say. But orders are orders.”

“Yes, I have to go to,” Alex said. “Perhaps we can endure it together.”

“I suppose you’re better than any of other choices,” Olivier said. “Although I don’t think anything could make it pleasant.”

Alex leaned forward. “Actually, Big Sis, I think I have a story that might interest you. I heard it from Mustang’s unit. It happened when Grumman was still in charge out east, and Warthrop tried for a power play.”

“Oh?” Olivier said, leaning forward. “Grumman never did like it when someone tried to take power from him. This could be interesting.”

Alex launched into his tale, and soon enough the laughter rang out once more. It was followed by another story, and another, and another, as the two siblings found their way forward again, with laughter lighting their way.

[dianamjackson]

On them spook-filled Arkansas back-roads

”The first time I really paid attention to music was when I used to listen to a radio show called “Harlem Rhythms.” I was about seven or eight. The show used to come on at fifteen minutes to nine every day, so I was late to school a lot because I was listening to that program. But I had to hear that show, man, had to. It had all them great black bands on there and I remember being fascinated by hearing the records of Louis Armstrong, Jimmie Lunceford, Lionel Hampton, Count Basie, Bessie Smith, Duke Ellington, and a whole bunch of bad motherfuckers on that program. Then when I was nine or ten I started taking some private music lessons.

But before the lessons, I also remember how the music used to sound down there in Arkansas, when I was visiting my grandfather, especially at the Saturday night church. Man, that shit was a motherfucker. I guess I was about six or seven. We’d be walking on these dark country roads at night and all of a sudden this music would seem to come out of nowhere, out of them spooky-looking trees that everybody said ghosts lived in. Anyway, we’d be on the side of the road – and I remember somebody would be playing guitar the way B. B. King plays. And I remember a man and woman singing and talking about getting down! Shit, that music was something, especially that woman singing. But I think that kind of stuff stayed with me, you know what I mean? That kind of sound in music, that blues, church, back-road funk kind of thing, that southern, midwestern, rural sound and rhythm. I think it started getting into my blood on them spook-filled Arkansas back-roads after dark when the owls came out hooting. So when I started taking music lessons I might have already had some idea of what I wanted my music to sound like.”

Miles: An Autobiography