Original: Year of Ghosts and Shadows
Jul. 1st, 2005 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bedlamsbard*sniff* Oh, Flack, I'm so sorry. No, really, I am. If I ever write this, you are going to go through the purest form of hell. And you didn't even DO anything.
Oh, in other words, I'm back from Bioengineering Camp. I can sleep! ...and try to catch up on fandom news.
Also, I now have new books:
Underboss, by Peter Maas, about Sammy the Bull Gravano
The Last Gangster, by George Anastasia, about Ron Previte and the Philly Mob.
A Drink Before the War, by Dennis Lehane
Gone, Baby, Gone, by Dennis Lehane
Wild Cards: Down and Dirty, edited by George R.R. Martin
Wild Cards: Black Trump, edited by George R.R. Martin
More original band fic. I love Miranda McClanahan, really, I do (bassoon, but a former flute, and a freshman). Except that she has her occasional blond moments, and really bad taste in guys.
Miranda and Jimmie make their way downstairs before most of the band stirs from their beds. The doors to the California 1 common room are still closed, but much to their surprise, the hall isn't abandoned. There is just one chair in the hall, and what Miranda thinks of as the four sophomore boys are sprawled on it and each other. Dustin Silk (alto sax, sixteen, Darry's older brother, Miranda's mind fills in automatically, and she gives the sliver of pale skin and black hair she can see an appreciative glance) is on the bottom, with Scott Collier (oboe, also sixteen, on the newspaper staff) on top of him, then Alan Oberon (trumpet, not surprisingly also sixteen, Corinth's reigning soccer star), and Joey Jorgenson last of all (tenor sax, seventeen in August - he could be a young junior, she knows, but instead is just an old sophomore). Not that Miranda's obsessed or anything. Just observant. Very observant.
She and Jimmie pause a moment at the other end of the hallway, and in that moment Dustin manages to kick the others off and they go laughing onto the floor. Alan lands on top of Joey and she thinks she sees him freeze a minute befoe relaxing in an unnaturally blocky movement that takes too long and seems too forced. Miranda cocks her head curiously to one side at this, even as Joey flips them over so that he's straddling Alan. Scott kicks at Dustin, then lunges at his ankles and hauls him off the chair and onto the floor.
Miranda turns her head towards Jimmie and murmurs, "Gay band boys?" curiously out of the corner of her mouth.
Jimmie shrugs casually. "Wouldn't be surprised," she replies, gnawing on a hangnail. "Especially with these band boys."
Miranda spares another glance at the four sophs. They're rolling around the floor in a tangle of gangly adolescent limbs and multi-colored t-shirts and she swears she sees Joey lick an arching line along Alan's jawline. For a moment she thinks fleetingly of security - they are, after all, in a public area of a hotel in downtown Los Angeles - but the thought passes away at about the same time Scott fists his hands in Dustin's shirt and looks, for a moment, as if he's about to either kiss him or headbutt him. He loses his choice in options as Alan sweeps his feet out from under him and ends up again sprawled on top of Joey.
Miranda's really starting to believe Penelope's theory that half the boys in band are screwing the other half.
The "gay band boys" line comes from a real conversation my roommates and I had our first night in Disneyland. As does the hall-chair-sitting on top of each other event, only I didn't see it, only heard about it second hand.
Dude. I payed attention at BioE, I did, I swear. Mostly. Er, in other words, guess when this got written.
The Los Angeles school district swore it would lend the bus, which they saw as soon as the last of the ambulances left. Alan, sitting on the curb, with his trumpet case and his uniform bag on the sidewalk beside him, rested his chin on his fist and stared moodily at the neat yellow school bus. "I hate my life," he said to Flynn.
She nodded. "Hell yeah. This has to happen to us?"
Ben Stone raised his eyebrows. "It could be worse," he pointed out. "Ellensburg's band rooms flooded - both of them."
Donna raised her head to glare at him through one bruised eye. Alan stared at the bright flare of burst capillaries for a moment, then jerked his head away before she could turn her glare on him. "Shut up, freshman," she snapped, and dropped her head back down onto her case.
Ben and the other two frosh looked insulted. Flynn strangled a choked off snicker through her fist. Wandering over, Jason patted Donna reassuringly on the head. "Hey, don't take it pesonally," he said sagely. "She's just PMSing."
"Touch me again, Jason Drake, and I'll rip your hand off," Donna growled, voice muffled.
Jason took a slow, exaggerated step back. "I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly. "Would you like me to pass the message on to Mike McKenna?"
"Jeez, Donna, you're consorting with freshmen now?" Flynn said. "Can you say statutory -"
"Finish that sentence, O'Carolan, and you'll regret it," Donna snarled. "And Jason, you're behind the news. Mike and I broke up a week ago. Where the hell are you getting your information?"
Jason raised his eyebrows. "From you, except it's so darn hard to keep track of."
Donna rubbed at her eyes, then flinched. "God, don't you have a section to take care of or something?"
"What section? Deana's got the low woodwinds well in hand." He grinned blissfully. "The whole band's my section."
"Oh, God," Donna muttered. "I fear for the future of Corinth. Somebody shoot the bastard before I'm forced to strangle him."
Hmm. I need a band icon.
Oh, in other words, I'm back from Bioengineering Camp. I can sleep! ...and try to catch up on fandom news.
Also, I now have new books:
Underboss, by Peter Maas, about Sammy the Bull Gravano
The Last Gangster, by George Anastasia, about Ron Previte and the Philly Mob.
A Drink Before the War, by Dennis Lehane
Gone, Baby, Gone, by Dennis Lehane
Wild Cards: Down and Dirty, edited by George R.R. Martin
Wild Cards: Black Trump, edited by George R.R. Martin
More original band fic. I love Miranda McClanahan, really, I do (bassoon, but a former flute, and a freshman). Except that she has her occasional blond moments, and really bad taste in guys.
Miranda and Jimmie make their way downstairs before most of the band stirs from their beds. The doors to the California 1 common room are still closed, but much to their surprise, the hall isn't abandoned. There is just one chair in the hall, and what Miranda thinks of as the four sophomore boys are sprawled on it and each other. Dustin Silk (alto sax, sixteen, Darry's older brother, Miranda's mind fills in automatically, and she gives the sliver of pale skin and black hair she can see an appreciative glance) is on the bottom, with Scott Collier (oboe, also sixteen, on the newspaper staff) on top of him, then Alan Oberon (trumpet, not surprisingly also sixteen, Corinth's reigning soccer star), and Joey Jorgenson last of all (tenor sax, seventeen in August - he could be a young junior, she knows, but instead is just an old sophomore). Not that Miranda's obsessed or anything. Just observant. Very observant.
She and Jimmie pause a moment at the other end of the hallway, and in that moment Dustin manages to kick the others off and they go laughing onto the floor. Alan lands on top of Joey and she thinks she sees him freeze a minute befoe relaxing in an unnaturally blocky movement that takes too long and seems too forced. Miranda cocks her head curiously to one side at this, even as Joey flips them over so that he's straddling Alan. Scott kicks at Dustin, then lunges at his ankles and hauls him off the chair and onto the floor.
Miranda turns her head towards Jimmie and murmurs, "Gay band boys?" curiously out of the corner of her mouth.
Jimmie shrugs casually. "Wouldn't be surprised," she replies, gnawing on a hangnail. "Especially with these band boys."
Miranda spares another glance at the four sophs. They're rolling around the floor in a tangle of gangly adolescent limbs and multi-colored t-shirts and she swears she sees Joey lick an arching line along Alan's jawline. For a moment she thinks fleetingly of security - they are, after all, in a public area of a hotel in downtown Los Angeles - but the thought passes away at about the same time Scott fists his hands in Dustin's shirt and looks, for a moment, as if he's about to either kiss him or headbutt him. He loses his choice in options as Alan sweeps his feet out from under him and ends up again sprawled on top of Joey.
Miranda's really starting to believe Penelope's theory that half the boys in band are screwing the other half.
The "gay band boys" line comes from a real conversation my roommates and I had our first night in Disneyland. As does the hall-chair-sitting on top of each other event, only I didn't see it, only heard about it second hand.
Dude. I payed attention at BioE, I did, I swear. Mostly. Er, in other words, guess when this got written.
The Los Angeles school district swore it would lend the bus, which they saw as soon as the last of the ambulances left. Alan, sitting on the curb, with his trumpet case and his uniform bag on the sidewalk beside him, rested his chin on his fist and stared moodily at the neat yellow school bus. "I hate my life," he said to Flynn.
She nodded. "Hell yeah. This has to happen to us?"
Ben Stone raised his eyebrows. "It could be worse," he pointed out. "Ellensburg's band rooms flooded - both of them."
Donna raised her head to glare at him through one bruised eye. Alan stared at the bright flare of burst capillaries for a moment, then jerked his head away before she could turn her glare on him. "Shut up, freshman," she snapped, and dropped her head back down onto her case.
Ben and the other two frosh looked insulted. Flynn strangled a choked off snicker through her fist. Wandering over, Jason patted Donna reassuringly on the head. "Hey, don't take it pesonally," he said sagely. "She's just PMSing."
"Touch me again, Jason Drake, and I'll rip your hand off," Donna growled, voice muffled.
Jason took a slow, exaggerated step back. "I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly. "Would you like me to pass the message on to Mike McKenna?"
"Jeez, Donna, you're consorting with freshmen now?" Flynn said. "Can you say statutory -"
"Finish that sentence, O'Carolan, and you'll regret it," Donna snarled. "And Jason, you're behind the news. Mike and I broke up a week ago. Where the hell are you getting your information?"
Jason raised his eyebrows. "From you, except it's so darn hard to keep track of."
Donna rubbed at her eyes, then flinched. "God, don't you have a section to take care of or something?"
"What section? Deana's got the low woodwinds well in hand." He grinned blissfully. "The whole band's my section."
"Oh, God," Donna muttered. "I fear for the future of Corinth. Somebody shoot the bastard before I'm forced to strangle him."
Hmm. I need a band icon.