Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Two: BJ
04-04-2012, 05:17 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.
Forgetting or ignoring or perhaps no longer capable of being aware that every note he played brought the city he'd spent his life training to protect closer to utter annihilation, the Maestro launched from the last fading notes of the Overture into the frantic Fugue that would shape the formless musical mass that was Crowe into the unholy terror that is the Symphony. The last remaining viking commando was still hovering nervously by the wailing pipe organ, tuning fork held limply in his hand as it became clear he no longer needed to threaten or cajole the Maestro into cooperation; it took him several seconds to notice the arrival of the three contestants, as the all-consuming music certainly overpowered the quiet sounds of their footsteps or Cascala's assembly of her instrument. When he did, his eyes scrabbled around the room for support; finding none, he adopted an aggressive posture by the Maestro, assuming their aim was to kill the Symphony's handler, and raised his dog whistle.
As the near-invisible streak of silence shot from his lips towards the group, Cascala raised her hands and sensuously sculpted a mournful melody in the air around her theremin. A multitude of evanescent blue lights rose from the floor and spiralled upwards, acting as baffles to the whistle's assault; no more able to handle Cascala's music than it had been to overpower the Symphony Guard's, the assassin's note faltered and disappeared. Pulling her left hand back, the magus gradually increased her volume, causing her instrument to warble like a computer attempting opera and the coruscating glimmers around her to swell and lap at the walls and ceiling.
"Go, my little monsters!" Cascala crooned, only barely audible over the wall of oppressive, complex organ music. "I'll see to the Song and the Symphony."
Not entirely sure what she meant, but pretty certain they could handle the commando and his subtle weapons, Klendel and Harmon stepped forward, resolving to be annoyed at taking orders from an apparently-unbalanced wizard when whatever was happening on the stage was over. Klendel brought the whistle he'd salvaged from the earlier assassination attempt to what could probably be called his lips and blew, forcing the commando to duck and dodge while trying to maintain his position near the Maestro. The doctor, meanwhile, was struggling to think of any kind of song that could be sung with either the organic, undulating melody Cascala was producing or the musical manifestation of insanity that was falling from the Maestro's fingers. She settled for just loping into a run, reasoning that if all else failed, she could just hold the commando's hands behind his back and let Klendel finish him off from a distance.
As Harmon sped across the distance of the great Concert Hall, Cascala's wandering tune seemed to be reaching some kind of conclusion. It climbed an atonal peak and seemed poised to resolve into a dark, minor end, but at the last second it faltered, changing modalities and leaving a sense of unfulfillment in the listeners. After a beat of what would have been silence if not for the omnipresent Fugue, she kicked a pedal on her equipment and quickly ducked down to wind her amp's volume as high as it could go. When she raised her hands again, her theremin no longer sounded like a robotic singer, but like an alien organ, and her melody was no longer lost and distressed but fast-paced and angry.
Harmon ducked behind a pillar to avoid a strike from the commando just as Cascala launched into her next movement. It seemed... Frankly, it seemed really stupid, and Harmon felt really stupid herself for having any kind of trust in the plans or leadership of someone so obviously insane. There was no way anyone could overpower the pipe organ with a tiny little portable amplifier. What did she expect to do? Break through the shell of arpeggios that had surrounded the Maestro? It was ludicrous. The doctor risked a peek around the pillar only to find that not only had Klendel gotten the better of the commando without her help – likely because he had no real way to keep avoiding peppergun blasts of weaponized whistle-blowing while chained to the Maestro's side – but that the black shape that was becoming the Symphony was writhing... oddly. She turned her head to look at the serene thereminist and back again to what was certainly no longer Crowe. Cascala wasn't trying to overpower it; she was harmonizing with it.
Several bars of frantic neo-pop later, Cascala's voice raised in what was hard to call any one of chanting, speaking, or singing.
Born in the dark
And made in the light
Your mind hasn't found you
Your whole body's not right
And the man in the lab coat and the man in fatigues
And the man who dances both of them like puppets on strings
They watch you and pull you
They tug you and use you
They'll never let you think or be a thing that you'd choose to
Without her consciously bidding it to, Harmon's voice called out in a clear, perfect soprano, and Cascala allowed herself to provide backup song.
But I'm a womaaan
A woman of darkness and a woman of light
And I'm prouuud
A woman of magic and a woman of might
And I'm strooong
A woman of science and a woman of sight
And I'm here
The watery light show that had filled the hall since Cascala's performance began had been steadily weaving itself with the dark, geometric manifestations of the Maestro's playing; with that one staccato here, the entire building shook as the blues flashed. The hands at the keyboard faltered and the eyes above them finally tore themselves from their work; the Maestro saw he was no longer being menaced, but it was too late to stop playing: the Symphony had begun, and there was no taking it back. Without knowing why, he felt compelled to match the theremin rhythms he could only barely hear, allowing the enormous pipe organ to become simple harmony and countermelody to the tiny instrument.
Every man I've ever met
Every face I've ever loved
They saw me and they thought I was a tool to be won
So they took what they could get
From a girl they could shove
But let me tell you now that little girl is done!
With every syllable she belted out, the Symphony resonated, shaping itself to her will and her design. With every word, she poured into it her frustration with this battle, with the Spectator, with Cedric and every other Cedric there had ever been. The Symphony, forged of baroque sensibilities and cast in iron, thrummed with a ballad of empowerment and the strange, fluid notes that flowed from Cascala; it grew, and it changed, and with every chorus and refrain the women returned to it became a different beast. Finally, it burst through the roof, a maelstrom of modern musicality, as Harmon's last line rose and became a scream.
Yes I'm a womaaaaaaaaan!
Forgetting or ignoring or perhaps no longer capable of being aware that every note he played brought the city he'd spent his life training to protect closer to utter annihilation, the Maestro launched from the last fading notes of the Overture into the frantic Fugue that would shape the formless musical mass that was Crowe into the unholy terror that is the Symphony. The last remaining viking commando was still hovering nervously by the wailing pipe organ, tuning fork held limply in his hand as it became clear he no longer needed to threaten or cajole the Maestro into cooperation; it took him several seconds to notice the arrival of the three contestants, as the all-consuming music certainly overpowered the quiet sounds of their footsteps or Cascala's assembly of her instrument. When he did, his eyes scrabbled around the room for support; finding none, he adopted an aggressive posture by the Maestro, assuming their aim was to kill the Symphony's handler, and raised his dog whistle.
As the near-invisible streak of silence shot from his lips towards the group, Cascala raised her hands and sensuously sculpted a mournful melody in the air around her theremin. A multitude of evanescent blue lights rose from the floor and spiralled upwards, acting as baffles to the whistle's assault; no more able to handle Cascala's music than it had been to overpower the Symphony Guard's, the assassin's note faltered and disappeared. Pulling her left hand back, the magus gradually increased her volume, causing her instrument to warble like a computer attempting opera and the coruscating glimmers around her to swell and lap at the walls and ceiling.
"Go, my little monsters!" Cascala crooned, only barely audible over the wall of oppressive, complex organ music. "I'll see to the Song and the Symphony."
Not entirely sure what she meant, but pretty certain they could handle the commando and his subtle weapons, Klendel and Harmon stepped forward, resolving to be annoyed at taking orders from an apparently-unbalanced wizard when whatever was happening on the stage was over. Klendel brought the whistle he'd salvaged from the earlier assassination attempt to what could probably be called his lips and blew, forcing the commando to duck and dodge while trying to maintain his position near the Maestro. The doctor, meanwhile, was struggling to think of any kind of song that could be sung with either the organic, undulating melody Cascala was producing or the musical manifestation of insanity that was falling from the Maestro's fingers. She settled for just loping into a run, reasoning that if all else failed, she could just hold the commando's hands behind his back and let Klendel finish him off from a distance.
As Harmon sped across the distance of the great Concert Hall, Cascala's wandering tune seemed to be reaching some kind of conclusion. It climbed an atonal peak and seemed poised to resolve into a dark, minor end, but at the last second it faltered, changing modalities and leaving a sense of unfulfillment in the listeners. After a beat of what would have been silence if not for the omnipresent Fugue, she kicked a pedal on her equipment and quickly ducked down to wind her amp's volume as high as it could go. When she raised her hands again, her theremin no longer sounded like a robotic singer, but like an alien organ, and her melody was no longer lost and distressed but fast-paced and angry.
Harmon ducked behind a pillar to avoid a strike from the commando just as Cascala launched into her next movement. It seemed... Frankly, it seemed really stupid, and Harmon felt really stupid herself for having any kind of trust in the plans or leadership of someone so obviously insane. There was no way anyone could overpower the pipe organ with a tiny little portable amplifier. What did she expect to do? Break through the shell of arpeggios that had surrounded the Maestro? It was ludicrous. The doctor risked a peek around the pillar only to find that not only had Klendel gotten the better of the commando without her help – likely because he had no real way to keep avoiding peppergun blasts of weaponized whistle-blowing while chained to the Maestro's side – but that the black shape that was becoming the Symphony was writhing... oddly. She turned her head to look at the serene thereminist and back again to what was certainly no longer Crowe. Cascala wasn't trying to overpower it; she was harmonizing with it.
Several bars of frantic neo-pop later, Cascala's voice raised in what was hard to call any one of chanting, speaking, or singing.
Born in the dark
And made in the light
Your mind hasn't found you
Your whole body's not right
And the man in the lab coat and the man in fatigues
And the man who dances both of them like puppets on strings
They watch you and pull you
They tug you and use you
They'll never let you think or be a thing that you'd choose to
Without her consciously bidding it to, Harmon's voice called out in a clear, perfect soprano, and Cascala allowed herself to provide backup song.
But I'm a womaaan
A woman of darkness and a woman of light
And I'm prouuud
A woman of magic and a woman of might
And I'm strooong
A woman of science and a woman of sight
And I'm here
The watery light show that had filled the hall since Cascala's performance began had been steadily weaving itself with the dark, geometric manifestations of the Maestro's playing; with that one staccato here, the entire building shook as the blues flashed. The hands at the keyboard faltered and the eyes above them finally tore themselves from their work; the Maestro saw he was no longer being menaced, but it was too late to stop playing: the Symphony had begun, and there was no taking it back. Without knowing why, he felt compelled to match the theremin rhythms he could only barely hear, allowing the enormous pipe organ to become simple harmony and countermelody to the tiny instrument.
Every man I've ever met
Every face I've ever loved
They saw me and they thought I was a tool to be won
So they took what they could get
From a girl they could shove
But let me tell you now that little girl is done!
With every syllable she belted out, the Symphony resonated, shaping itself to her will and her design. With every word, she poured into it her frustration with this battle, with the Spectator, with Cedric and every other Cedric there had ever been. The Symphony, forged of baroque sensibilities and cast in iron, thrummed with a ballad of empowerment and the strange, fluid notes that flowed from Cascala; it grew, and it changed, and with every chorus and refrain the women returned to it became a different beast. Finally, it burst through the roof, a maelstrom of modern musicality, as Harmon's last line rose and became a scream.
Yes I'm a womaaaaaaaaan!