It is said that listening to music while writing can stimulate the creative process – this is what happened when I tried the theory out. (J. S. Bach. The Well-Tempered Clavier: 48 Preludes and Fugues.)
- Dedication
- For Coquette.
- Summary
- An introduction, a flight, and the interplay of two characters in a world where neither quite belongs.
- Spoilers
- None.
- Period
- 1893
- Written
- January 2003
- Word Count
- 4,212 words
- Rating
- All Ages
- Characters
- Will
- Content
- Violence implied; accidental cruelty to animals.
- Footnotes
- 1 footnote
Teaser
The rain, which had been falling in complex counterpoint to the applause, by the time the slow crawl of noisy people blocking the aisle cleared enough to let him slip through without touching anyone, had settled into a full symphonic ensemble, pounding onto the greasy paving stones with a relentless rhythm. The mass of the audience blocked up the porch of the little hall, filling the air with their off-key bleating.
Henry edged his way around the fringe of the crowd and stepped out without glancing up. Head down, gloveless hands bare to the arrows of rain. His shoulders gradually grew colder and damper as the thin cloth of his coat let the rain through, but he ignored it, his feet tramping in time to the tempo of the music. As he ran up the perfect pattern of the triplets he felt a sharp discordance in his hand and realised he must have been playing to the air again. ‘Oh,’ he said, and sucked briefly at his finger where a trickle of blood was oozing out from the knuckle. He took it from his mouth and watched the dark stain slowly reappear, until it melted into a drop of rain-water and vanished to the faintest pink swirl. Henry frowned.
‘He missed a note. In the F minor. The D in the ritardando.’ He hummed the piece as it should have been played, the high notes falling exactly into place and then cascading through the allargando with the brilliance of a mathematical equation coming to its inevitable conclusion.
‘Watch where you’re bleeding going!’
Henry stepped back onto the curb while he waited for the noisy man to sort out his horses and go away.
‘Stand still, you bloody animal. Now what’s up with yer? Whoa, yer old bugger!’
Henry wondered why the carter did not look at the black shadow that flitted around the horse. He watched the shimmer of darkness that made the animal jerk its head and flick its ears round, the eyes rolling back in its head until with a terrified neigh it lunged forward, clearing the way.
Henry licked thoughtfully at his raw knuckle again.
‘You said something about the F minor.’
Henry turned slowly and peered past the rain spots on his glasses.
Read on…
Disclaimer
Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel, and all the characters in them, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, the WB, UPN, and just about everybody else on the planet except me. I acknowledge this fully; and I promise I’m only playing with them without hope of profit. I will put them back in the box carefully when I’m done and apologise if they got a bit hurt while I was using them. But come on, they are vampires, they can probably take it.
Please be aware that since the stories involve vampires some of the subject matter may be unpleasant or otherwise not suitable for children. To help protect minors and those of a sensitive nature, all the pages on this site are labelled with ICRA.