Over a pitcher of fluorescing ‘Witch Head’ lambic, specialty of the Ale Blue Dot Nanobrewpub, Van Loan punctuated a sloshed treatise with a deep fried spear of pickled zucchini. His audience, the five members of the Modular Orchestral Transcription band Fugue State, faces eerily under-lit by the phantasmal blue light of the brew in the dark, cardice swirled interior of the pub’s melodramatic interior, watched his pickled performance with amused interest.
“... You schee,” He stabbed Zucchini at the band members : “itsch rheally schimple! Mushic ish schience, UND,” he channeled his inner Rotwang, “schience IST mushic!” He chomped his organic pointer.
“Ohhhh, Deep!” The bottle-blonde pixie Japanese drummer, Suki2-- Suki Suki to her friends-- enthused so intently that one might suspect irony if one did not know Suki Suki : her only affection was her hair.
“You play, then?” The question, lobbed with an inquisitive twinkle, emanated from the most bewilderingly beautiful intersection of physical traits that belonged to the Lead Guitar, Asada Strangelove. Her genetic heritage could only be expressed as Transcendent Pan-Racial : she was a Teutonic Indian Meso-American African intersect that was somehow impossibly gorgeous. Her ice blue almond eyes further tapered with elegantly applied Elizabeth ‘Cleo’ Taylor makeup and separated by a decidedly Roman nose, dilated with pleased humour. Even her rich and oddly burred voice seemed distributed across the tracts of many lands.
“Ab-shou-utely!” Enthused Van Loan. “I have a collhection of shur-a...Schera...heh, I might be a thad dhrunk!” That was good for a group giggle. Van Loan took a deep breath, collected his scattered, wandering wiles ; and enunciated : “I co-llect and play ther-e-mins!”
“Ther-a-whats?” Khimera Chang, five-foot-four Japanese Second Guitar was floored by the fact that there was some sort of musical instrument that had escaped her knowledge.
Asada winked at Van Loan : “Radio frequency modulated tones utilizing the heterodyne principle.”
“Oh!” Chang decided to accept that nugget of esoterica with a pull off of her Shirley Temple.
Asada addressed the decidedly even more green than Wandblume final member of the band, Dazzle Ardent. “Think we can incorporate a theremin into Der Rock Ring des Nibelungen ? “
The punk Orion, all spiky raven hair, piercings and dark eyes grinned roguishly ruby lips. “You’d think that my Moog would be up to it, but I couldn’t get a decent theremin out of it if I fucked Apollo himself!”
“Leave it to Dazz to express herself so colourfully!” The dry comment dropped by the ebon Kenyan bassist, Aerial Cypher, was almost as rich as the full bodied notes she could trick out of her Gibson. “A theremin in the band would be the cat’s ass! I say give him a go!”
Van Loan bowed, lost his footing ; planted his forehead in the corn chip guacamole.
Asada surveyed the band. “All in favour say, ‘Awesome!’
The reply was loud, unanimous and affirmative.
“We’ll audition you during our gig at your reception, tomorrow night.”
“Huzzah! I’ll bhreak out Blhack Bhetty : she’s my scherious rhock’n out ghirl!” van Loan poured out a round, even managing to fill at least fifty four percent of the targeted tabled tankards.
A resounding toast of, “Rock on, Wagner!” sloshed a sizable strobed spray of luminous suds as the dance floor lighting commenced. The band, a unit, steered the man of the hour towards the dance floor.
****
Wandblume was in the midst of amassing suitable table settings at the The Island’s Holy Matrimony! emporium when she abruptly found herself surrounded by a black garbed tactical team. A fancy black doily in one hand, and a swath of green taffeta tablecloth in the other, Wandblume looked positively piqued at the interruption.
“Rain check, boys! I’ve got a marriage to plan, attend, receive & honeymoon! She held up her wristwatch wrist. “Come back in, say, twenty four hours and whisk me away.”
The squad leader, feminine under the bulky ‘Sam Fishers’ touched her throat mike.
“Vigil, Vendor reporting : the Jade consignment’s secured.”
Wandblume snorted. “Jade. Cute.”
“Vendor, delegate consignment delivery.”
The fact that Wandblume could actually hear the command chatter confused her. It seemed like terrible unit protocol until it became patently obvious to her that she was meant to hear the conversation : it was Mikuru of the recently spanked Patrol.
Vendor snapped up her helmet’s smoked visor, a bemused expression clouding her pretty puss.
“Delegate, Vigil?”
“You’ve got a wedding to prep, Vendor! Jade, brief her!”
Wandblume sniggered, handing over her samples to the chagrinned looking Vendor. “Black, green & blue colour scheme for forty guests in a fifty square meter hall. Here’s the guest list for place setting tags.” She fished a PDA out of a pocket, added it to the items in Vendor’s hands. “Don’t make it too paramilitary!” Chuckling, she presented her hands for cuffing and her head for bagging. “Okay, Mikuru, time to spank the Doe!”
****
“Good day for a martial wedding!” Vendor, pushing a cart piled high with sundry articles, exited from the store directly across from Holy Matrimony! She sang a bit of this store’s advertising campaign as she headed towards Space Truck’n cargo rentals : “Survive with taste, outlive the waste, entrust the taste of Jim Bob’s!”
“... You schee,” He stabbed Zucchini at the band members : “itsch rheally schimple! Mushic ish schience, UND,” he channeled his inner Rotwang, “schience IST mushic!” He chomped his organic pointer.
“Ohhhh, Deep!” The bottle-blonde pixie Japanese drummer, Suki2-- Suki Suki to her friends-- enthused so intently that one might suspect irony if one did not know Suki Suki : her only affection was her hair.
“You play, then?” The question, lobbed with an inquisitive twinkle, emanated from the most bewilderingly beautiful intersection of physical traits that belonged to the Lead Guitar, Asada Strangelove. Her genetic heritage could only be expressed as Transcendent Pan-Racial : she was a Teutonic Indian Meso-American African intersect that was somehow impossibly gorgeous. Her ice blue almond eyes further tapered with elegantly applied Elizabeth ‘Cleo’ Taylor makeup and separated by a decidedly Roman nose, dilated with pleased humour. Even her rich and oddly burred voice seemed distributed across the tracts of many lands.
“Ab-shou-utely!” Enthused Van Loan. “I have a collhection of shur-a...Schera...heh, I might be a thad dhrunk!” That was good for a group giggle. Van Loan took a deep breath, collected his scattered, wandering wiles ; and enunciated : “I co-llect and play ther-e-mins!”
“Ther-a-whats?” Khimera Chang, five-foot-four Japanese Second Guitar was floored by the fact that there was some sort of musical instrument that had escaped her knowledge.
Asada winked at Van Loan : “Radio frequency modulated tones utilizing the heterodyne principle.”
“Oh!” Chang decided to accept that nugget of esoterica with a pull off of her Shirley Temple.
Asada addressed the decidedly even more green than Wandblume final member of the band, Dazzle Ardent. “Think we can incorporate a theremin into Der Rock Ring des Nibelungen ? “
The punk Orion, all spiky raven hair, piercings and dark eyes grinned roguishly ruby lips. “You’d think that my Moog would be up to it, but I couldn’t get a decent theremin out of it if I fucked Apollo himself!”
“Leave it to Dazz to express herself so colourfully!” The dry comment dropped by the ebon Kenyan bassist, Aerial Cypher, was almost as rich as the full bodied notes she could trick out of her Gibson. “A theremin in the band would be the cat’s ass! I say give him a go!”
Van Loan bowed, lost his footing ; planted his forehead in the corn chip guacamole.
Asada surveyed the band. “All in favour say, ‘Awesome!’
The reply was loud, unanimous and affirmative.
“We’ll audition you during our gig at your reception, tomorrow night.”
“Huzzah! I’ll bhreak out Blhack Bhetty : she’s my scherious rhock’n out ghirl!” van Loan poured out a round, even managing to fill at least fifty four percent of the targeted tabled tankards.
A resounding toast of, “Rock on, Wagner!” sloshed a sizable strobed spray of luminous suds as the dance floor lighting commenced. The band, a unit, steered the man of the hour towards the dance floor.
****
Wandblume was in the midst of amassing suitable table settings at the The Island’s Holy Matrimony! emporium when she abruptly found herself surrounded by a black garbed tactical team. A fancy black doily in one hand, and a swath of green taffeta tablecloth in the other, Wandblume looked positively piqued at the interruption.
“Rain check, boys! I’ve got a marriage to plan, attend, receive & honeymoon! She held up her wristwatch wrist. “Come back in, say, twenty four hours and whisk me away.”
The squad leader, feminine under the bulky ‘Sam Fishers’ touched her throat mike.
“Vigil, Vendor reporting : the Jade consignment’s secured.”
Wandblume snorted. “Jade. Cute.”
“Vendor, delegate consignment delivery.”
The fact that Wandblume could actually hear the command chatter confused her. It seemed like terrible unit protocol until it became patently obvious to her that she was meant to hear the conversation : it was Mikuru of the recently spanked Patrol.
Vendor snapped up her helmet’s smoked visor, a bemused expression clouding her pretty puss.
“Delegate, Vigil?”
“You’ve got a wedding to prep, Vendor! Jade, brief her!”
Wandblume sniggered, handing over her samples to the chagrinned looking Vendor. “Black, green & blue colour scheme for forty guests in a fifty square meter hall. Here’s the guest list for place setting tags.” She fished a PDA out of a pocket, added it to the items in Vendor’s hands. “Don’t make it too paramilitary!” Chuckling, she presented her hands for cuffing and her head for bagging. “Okay, Mikuru, time to spank the Doe!”
****
“Good day for a martial wedding!” Vendor, pushing a cart piled high with sundry articles, exited from the store directly across from Holy Matrimony! She sang a bit of this store’s advertising campaign as she headed towards Space Truck’n cargo rentals : “Survive with taste, outlive the waste, entrust the taste of Jim Bob’s!”
