Resurrecting this briefly, because I found this scene on my thumb drive and wanted to put it up....
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Before a wedding, there are the greetings. People drawn together by the event meeting outside, reminiscing and introducing new friends to older friends. Groomsmen and bridesmaids rushing about, stopping briefly to greet attendees, and trying to keep their respective charges from melting down. Real life intruding (as it does), problems being defused or put on hold, and all of the hustle and the bustle that occurs in those last few manic moments before any important ceremony.
After a wedding, however, everything is much more relaxed. The ceremony is over, the wedding party is off taking care of photos and other inconveniences, and the attendees are all circulating, catching up with each other, and telling stories about the groom and bride. Drinks were served; food was forthcoming.
It has been a lovely ceremony, thought Blackstone, seated at the table reserved for the Hong Kong Cavaliers. The tattered remains of one of the Jason’s oranges lay on the plate in front of him. Nothing unusual, just a good, old-fashioned California navel orange. Sometimes, it was the simple things that were the most impressive. Like the wedding. Nothing overly ostentatious, no grand pomp and circumstance, just a simple ceremony, with a simple pair of vows, and a simple kiss.
Blackstone considered the last segment of his orange and looked across the table at Kaos. “Simplicity is best.”
Kaos, dressed rather incongruously in a suit and his new ‘Bama baseball cap (the old one having given its life in a particularly ugly melee during OBJ), sipped at his Dublin Dr. Pepper, and nodded. Then, he said, “Except when it isn’t.”
“Absolutely,” replied Blackstone. He bit into the orange segment and chewed, relishing the tart sweetness. Then, he methodically wiped stray juice off his hands and face and stood, saying, “Time to complicate things.”
The tables at the reception had been set with votive candles. Blackstone carefully retrieved the one from the center of the Cavaliers’ table, and then, excusing himself, retrieved the votives from the tables on either side. Holding the candles in their holders cautiously, he walked back over to his table. “Nez,” he said, “would you play the part of a beautiful assistant and hand me my hat?”
Nezumi looked up from the conversation she was having with a nine-year-old sitting next to her, and said, “I’m talking to Zoe. What if I don’t want to play the part of a beautiful assistant?”
“Then you can play the part of a filthy assistant and hand me my hat before I shoot you with my bowel disruptor.”
“You don’t have a bowel disruptor, Blackstone. Kaos has the bowel disruptor.”
Blackstone sighed. “Foiled by elementary logic.” Turning to the girl sitting next to Nezumi, he said, “Zoe, sweetheart, would you please hand me my hat? Your father’s being a bitch.”
Zoe grinned. Reaching under the table, she pulled out a traditional top hat. Standing up on the chair, she placed it on Blackstone’s head. “Here you go, Uncle B. Break a leg.”
“Thanks, kiddo.” Blackstone walked out towards the risers at the front of the room. The Cavaliers’ instruments had been set up there, and he walked to the baby grand that had been flown to Grover’s Corners especially. (He planned on leaving it here; PS 238 could use it for choir practice, and he had another one at Clark Stadium.) The crowd, seeing him approach the stage, quieted.
Setting the three votives on the top of the piano, he removed the hat and checked the interior. After removing a pair of roses, half a tuna sandwich, and 17 handkerchiefs (all knotted together), he held it up to the room, indicating that it was, in fact, empty. Holding the hat in one hand, he dropped each lit votive into its open brim, one by one, and then, with a small flourish, he pulled a lit triple-pronged candelabrum out. Bowing his head slightly at the applause, he set the candelabrum on the top of the baby grand, stowed the hat underneath the piano, and sat down.
Grinning an overly toothy grin, he looked about the room, leaned forward to his microphone, and says, “I wish my brother George was here….” Only a few people laughed, causing him to shake his head, smiling ruefully. Then, with a brief moment of contemplation, he placed his hands on the keys, and began to play.
The tune, in characteristic Blackstone style, was one that most people in the room knew, but few would expect to be the first tune played at a wedding reception. He had agonized over what the first song was going to be, and no others that had come to mind had been appropriate. This one had a simple universality to it, and it was hard to go wrong with a ballad from the Piano Man.
She's got a way about her
I don't know what it is
But I know that I can't live without her
She's got a way of pleasin'
I don't know why it is
But there doesn't have to be a reason anywhere.
Blackstone’s voice had been described by a Rolling Stone critic as “abysmally normal,” but that negative critique had been drowned out by any number of positive reviews in the blogosphere that said that he managed to sound like everyone wanted to sound, sincere and without pretense. Joel’s words rolled out across the room, filling the spaces and almost providing an appetizer for the ears (an amuse orielle, as it were), promising songs to come and setting a general tone.
As the song ended, there was a brief round of applause. “Thank you,” said Blackstone. “My name is Blackstone … but you probably know that. If you don’t know it, then the Feynmann bar mitzvah is three doors down on the left, and you’re in the wrong room.” He paused for the few laughs, and continued, “We’re here to celebrate the wedding of our friends, Noah and Leda … but you probably know that as well. If you don’t … well … as I said, three doors down on the left.” That got a few more laughs, especially as he peered towards the back of the room, as if someone were hurrying out to make sure they got to the fictional bar mitzvah.
“Anyway,” Blackstone continued, “as part of our gift to the happy couple, the boys and girls in the band and I offered to do what we do. The wedding party’s getting done with the photos right now, so we’re gonna get things started a little early, and when they’re ready, we’ll give them the floor.”
“But first,” he said, cracking knuckles and turning to the keyboard, “I need to do a roll call….” With a flick of the switch, he turned on the synthesizer mounted next to the piano and started the echoing, electronic tune that everyone in the room knew that he was going to play from the moment he stepped up onto the stage.
As Blackstone’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the other members of the Hong Kong Cavaliers rose from their places among the wedding guests and took position on the stage. First, Kaos, shrugging out of his coat, slipped in behind the drums and took over for the synthesized drum machine beat that Blackstone switched off just as his sticks first hit the snare. Then, Nezumi, bending to give her daughter a quick kiss, hopped up on stage, plugging in her black-and-chrome Rickenbacker and laying down the rapid-fire harmony. Finally, J. sauntered up to the stage, pausing to finish his drink, before picking up his axe and adding his voice to the quartet. By the time that Blackstone reached the end of the march, what had begun as an synthesized tune in the very style of the movie soundtrack had become a living and breathing rock march, and the four musicians were in unison on the final fanfares.
As the music died away, J. said into the microphone, “All present and accounted for, Blackstone.”
“Excelente, my brother,” replied the keyboardist. “Let’s get this thing grooving, then.”
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Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com
"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."
---------------------------------------
Before a wedding, there are the greetings. People drawn together by the event meeting outside, reminiscing and introducing new friends to older friends. Groomsmen and bridesmaids rushing about, stopping briefly to greet attendees, and trying to keep their respective charges from melting down. Real life intruding (as it does), problems being defused or put on hold, and all of the hustle and the bustle that occurs in those last few manic moments before any important ceremony.
After a wedding, however, everything is much more relaxed. The ceremony is over, the wedding party is off taking care of photos and other inconveniences, and the attendees are all circulating, catching up with each other, and telling stories about the groom and bride. Drinks were served; food was forthcoming.
It has been a lovely ceremony, thought Blackstone, seated at the table reserved for the Hong Kong Cavaliers. The tattered remains of one of the Jason’s oranges lay on the plate in front of him. Nothing unusual, just a good, old-fashioned California navel orange. Sometimes, it was the simple things that were the most impressive. Like the wedding. Nothing overly ostentatious, no grand pomp and circumstance, just a simple ceremony, with a simple pair of vows, and a simple kiss.
Blackstone considered the last segment of his orange and looked across the table at Kaos. “Simplicity is best.”
Kaos, dressed rather incongruously in a suit and his new ‘Bama baseball cap (the old one having given its life in a particularly ugly melee during OBJ), sipped at his Dublin Dr. Pepper, and nodded. Then, he said, “Except when it isn’t.”
“Absolutely,” replied Blackstone. He bit into the orange segment and chewed, relishing the tart sweetness. Then, he methodically wiped stray juice off his hands and face and stood, saying, “Time to complicate things.”
The tables at the reception had been set with votive candles. Blackstone carefully retrieved the one from the center of the Cavaliers’ table, and then, excusing himself, retrieved the votives from the tables on either side. Holding the candles in their holders cautiously, he walked back over to his table. “Nez,” he said, “would you play the part of a beautiful assistant and hand me my hat?”
Nezumi looked up from the conversation she was having with a nine-year-old sitting next to her, and said, “I’m talking to Zoe. What if I don’t want to play the part of a beautiful assistant?”
“Then you can play the part of a filthy assistant and hand me my hat before I shoot you with my bowel disruptor.”
“You don’t have a bowel disruptor, Blackstone. Kaos has the bowel disruptor.”
Blackstone sighed. “Foiled by elementary logic.” Turning to the girl sitting next to Nezumi, he said, “Zoe, sweetheart, would you please hand me my hat? Your father’s being a bitch.”
Zoe grinned. Reaching under the table, she pulled out a traditional top hat. Standing up on the chair, she placed it on Blackstone’s head. “Here you go, Uncle B. Break a leg.”
“Thanks, kiddo.” Blackstone walked out towards the risers at the front of the room. The Cavaliers’ instruments had been set up there, and he walked to the baby grand that had been flown to Grover’s Corners especially. (He planned on leaving it here; PS 238 could use it for choir practice, and he had another one at Clark Stadium.) The crowd, seeing him approach the stage, quieted.
Setting the three votives on the top of the piano, he removed the hat and checked the interior. After removing a pair of roses, half a tuna sandwich, and 17 handkerchiefs (all knotted together), he held it up to the room, indicating that it was, in fact, empty. Holding the hat in one hand, he dropped each lit votive into its open brim, one by one, and then, with a small flourish, he pulled a lit triple-pronged candelabrum out. Bowing his head slightly at the applause, he set the candelabrum on the top of the baby grand, stowed the hat underneath the piano, and sat down.
Grinning an overly toothy grin, he looked about the room, leaned forward to his microphone, and says, “I wish my brother George was here….” Only a few people laughed, causing him to shake his head, smiling ruefully. Then, with a brief moment of contemplation, he placed his hands on the keys, and began to play.
The tune, in characteristic Blackstone style, was one that most people in the room knew, but few would expect to be the first tune played at a wedding reception. He had agonized over what the first song was going to be, and no others that had come to mind had been appropriate. This one had a simple universality to it, and it was hard to go wrong with a ballad from the Piano Man.
She's got a way about her
I don't know what it is
But I know that I can't live without her
She's got a way of pleasin'
I don't know why it is
But there doesn't have to be a reason anywhere.
Blackstone’s voice had been described by a Rolling Stone critic as “abysmally normal,” but that negative critique had been drowned out by any number of positive reviews in the blogosphere that said that he managed to sound like everyone wanted to sound, sincere and without pretense. Joel’s words rolled out across the room, filling the spaces and almost providing an appetizer for the ears (an amuse orielle, as it were), promising songs to come and setting a general tone.
As the song ended, there was a brief round of applause. “Thank you,” said Blackstone. “My name is Blackstone … but you probably know that. If you don’t know it, then the Feynmann bar mitzvah is three doors down on the left, and you’re in the wrong room.” He paused for the few laughs, and continued, “We’re here to celebrate the wedding of our friends, Noah and Leda … but you probably know that as well. If you don’t … well … as I said, three doors down on the left.” That got a few more laughs, especially as he peered towards the back of the room, as if someone were hurrying out to make sure they got to the fictional bar mitzvah.
“Anyway,” Blackstone continued, “as part of our gift to the happy couple, the boys and girls in the band and I offered to do what we do. The wedding party’s getting done with the photos right now, so we’re gonna get things started a little early, and when they’re ready, we’ll give them the floor.”
“But first,” he said, cracking knuckles and turning to the keyboard, “I need to do a roll call….” With a flick of the switch, he turned on the synthesizer mounted next to the piano and started the echoing, electronic tune that everyone in the room knew that he was going to play from the moment he stepped up onto the stage.
As Blackstone’s fingers flew across the keyboard, the other members of the Hong Kong Cavaliers rose from their places among the wedding guests and took position on the stage. First, Kaos, shrugging out of his coat, slipped in behind the drums and took over for the synthesized drum machine beat that Blackstone switched off just as his sticks first hit the snare. Then, Nezumi, bending to give her daughter a quick kiss, hopped up on stage, plugging in her black-and-chrome Rickenbacker and laying down the rapid-fire harmony. Finally, J. sauntered up to the stage, pausing to finish his drink, before picking up his axe and adding his voice to the quartet. By the time that Blackstone reached the end of the march, what had begun as an synthesized tune in the very style of the movie soundtrack had become a living and breathing rock march, and the four musicians were in unison on the final fanfares.
As the music died away, J. said into the microphone, “All present and accounted for, Blackstone.”
“Excelente, my brother,” replied the keyboardist. “Let’s get this thing grooving, then.”
---------------------------
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com
"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."