Devotion By Jennifer Gosk
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story concept Based off of the books' timeline.
Music is a very important aspect to life. In fact, throughout my aging memories there are several instances in which music has calmed, soothed, inspired, or awoken some aspect of my mind. Not so much, however, as it did for a friend of mine, which I remember more vividly than my own small experiences with it in fact.
It started with a tall, lean form sitting in a red high-backed chair with a block of wood. The fire had been going for an hour or two for dusk had just hardly fallen. I also recall how the bright orange light also reflected off of the nearly flawless silver of Ms. Judson's tea tray, which had nothing left on it but the crumbs of several cheese crumpets that I had eaten. Basil always did like to tease about my delight over the small pastries. I neglected to mention the fact that I'd seen him inhale several of them myself during work on his experiments. We both had our weaknesses, I suppose.
That night we were both sitting in peace, observing some silence in which I am more than sure that Ms. Judson was happy for, the poor woman, and Basil was working steadily away at the wood with his pocketknife. Of course, like most of his other belongings, it was a rather expensive one. He had stayed quiet and concentrated for most of the night, a rarity in some terms, and I myself was comfortably nibbling on the last crumpet. Hence the crumbs. Outside, the fog had settled in close to the street, making only faint clacks of hooves and clunks of stiletto heels audible to our ears above the soft pops of the fire. Soft things always did seem to stand out much more prominently in Basil's home. Perhaps it was because the things that mattered most to him were small, almost infinitesimal.
After a considerably long silence, I looked up and noticed that Basil had finally finished his long-lasting project and was stringing it delicately. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, "Do you intend to play that instrument, Basil?" An instrument that could hardly be called so, I thought to myself.
The detective fixed me with a readily smug expression, professionally running his fingers along the length of the neck before resting the thick of it under his chin with care, "Surely you don't believe that I haven't had training, Dawson..?"
Another smile pulled at my whiskers from the detective's youthful enthusiasm for the roughly finished piece of equipment, though I was a little surprised, "Well, to be quite frank, no. I wasn't aware that you'd had any at all."
His nose lifted some in mild irritation, which only increased my good humor, "Ah! Prepare to be stunned, then, Dawson." He brought up the bow and set it to the strings then drew it over them in one single, languid motion. Of course, nothing in heaven or earth could have prepared me for the noises that exited. A horrendous screeching sound ensued that nearly sent me out of my chair in surprise. In fact, I can readily say that it caused my fur to stand on end. I slapped both paws over my ears, exclaiming incredulously, "I say! If you want us both to be deaf, then at least do it in a less torturous fashion!"
Basil looked at me with an increasingly agitated expression and stated with a huff in his voice that I wouldn't know true music if it had knocked me upside the head, then put the instrument away and left to tinker with something in his chemistry set. I stretched out in relief in my chair as the irritated detective mumbled to himself and generally pouted at the other side of the room. This was merely my first encounter with Basil and his music.
Over the weeks that followed, there was no escaping that horrible cat-like screech as Basil plugged on in determination to learn his strings. Apparently, the violin lessons he'd taken were only so much to give him skill with scales and he continued to practice stubbornly at learning the rest of it, much to the distaste of Ms. Judson and myself.
Then, one evening, things changed. We'd just finished with a rather exhausting kidnapping and I could sense Basil's discouragement, for he'd solved the case but had been unable to save the life of an older gentleman whom had been a hostage. Ms. Judson had taken it upon herself to fix him one of his favorite dishes, but even as the warm, comforting smell of a nice cheese soufflé wafted out from the homey kitchen, I could see the obvious droop in my poor companion's ears. Basil hardly left his chair for most of the evening, waving away many of the attempts I'd made to cheer him. There was so much anger in his expression. Anger at the inability, as he saw it, to be intelligent enough to spare that mouse. Finally, after he'd even turned down Ms. Judson's wonderful cooking, I suggested offhandedly, and with a secret cringe, that perhaps working with his violin might ease some of his discomfort. It had been a few weeks since I'd seen him pick the thing up. We'd been so absorbed in the case that Basil had hardly eaten or slept at all, which made the hostages' death to be even more of a devastating blow for the frustrated detective. It took me quite a few moments of persuasion before Basil finally gave in and picked up the instrument with a hopeless sigh.
I can't tell you what happened afterwards. The next day, my good friend suddenly went through a rebound, as if the last case had never even happened, and I can safely say that we never had another adventure after that wasn't accompanied by Basil's music.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story concept Based off of the books' timeline.
Music is a very important aspect to life. In fact, throughout my aging memories there are several instances in which music has calmed, soothed, inspired, or awoken some aspect of my mind. Not so much, however, as it did for a friend of mine, which I remember more vividly than my own small experiences with it in fact.
It started with a tall, lean form sitting in a red high-backed chair with a block of wood. The fire had been going for an hour or two for dusk had just hardly fallen. I also recall how the bright orange light also reflected off of the nearly flawless silver of Ms. Judson's tea tray, which had nothing left on it but the crumbs of several cheese crumpets that I had eaten. Basil always did like to tease about my delight over the small pastries. I neglected to mention the fact that I'd seen him inhale several of them myself during work on his experiments. We both had our weaknesses, I suppose.
That night we were both sitting in peace, observing some silence in which I am more than sure that Ms. Judson was happy for, the poor woman, and Basil was working steadily away at the wood with his pocketknife. Of course, like most of his other belongings, it was a rather expensive one. He had stayed quiet and concentrated for most of the night, a rarity in some terms, and I myself was comfortably nibbling on the last crumpet. Hence the crumbs. Outside, the fog had settled in close to the street, making only faint clacks of hooves and clunks of stiletto heels audible to our ears above the soft pops of the fire. Soft things always did seem to stand out much more prominently in Basil's home. Perhaps it was because the things that mattered most to him were small, almost infinitesimal.
After a considerably long silence, I looked up and noticed that Basil had finally finished his long-lasting project and was stringing it delicately. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, "Do you intend to play that instrument, Basil?" An instrument that could hardly be called so, I thought to myself.
The detective fixed me with a readily smug expression, professionally running his fingers along the length of the neck before resting the thick of it under his chin with care, "Surely you don't believe that I haven't had training, Dawson..?"
Another smile pulled at my whiskers from the detective's youthful enthusiasm for the roughly finished piece of equipment, though I was a little surprised, "Well, to be quite frank, no. I wasn't aware that you'd had any at all."
His nose lifted some in mild irritation, which only increased my good humor, "Ah! Prepare to be stunned, then, Dawson." He brought up the bow and set it to the strings then drew it over them in one single, languid motion. Of course, nothing in heaven or earth could have prepared me for the noises that exited. A horrendous screeching sound ensued that nearly sent me out of my chair in surprise. In fact, I can readily say that it caused my fur to stand on end. I slapped both paws over my ears, exclaiming incredulously, "I say! If you want us both to be deaf, then at least do it in a less torturous fashion!"
Basil looked at me with an increasingly agitated expression and stated with a huff in his voice that I wouldn't know true music if it had knocked me upside the head, then put the instrument away and left to tinker with something in his chemistry set. I stretched out in relief in my chair as the irritated detective mumbled to himself and generally pouted at the other side of the room. This was merely my first encounter with Basil and his music.
Over the weeks that followed, there was no escaping that horrible cat-like screech as Basil plugged on in determination to learn his strings. Apparently, the violin lessons he'd taken were only so much to give him skill with scales and he continued to practice stubbornly at learning the rest of it, much to the distaste of Ms. Judson and myself.
Then, one evening, things changed. We'd just finished with a rather exhausting kidnapping and I could sense Basil's discouragement, for he'd solved the case but had been unable to save the life of an older gentleman whom had been a hostage. Ms. Judson had taken it upon herself to fix him one of his favorite dishes, but even as the warm, comforting smell of a nice cheese soufflé wafted out from the homey kitchen, I could see the obvious droop in my poor companion's ears. Basil hardly left his chair for most of the evening, waving away many of the attempts I'd made to cheer him. There was so much anger in his expression. Anger at the inability, as he saw it, to be intelligent enough to spare that mouse. Finally, after he'd even turned down Ms. Judson's wonderful cooking, I suggested offhandedly, and with a secret cringe, that perhaps working with his violin might ease some of his discomfort. It had been a few weeks since I'd seen him pick the thing up. We'd been so absorbed in the case that Basil had hardly eaten or slept at all, which made the hostages' death to be even more of a devastating blow for the frustrated detective. It took me quite a few moments of persuasion before Basil finally gave in and picked up the instrument with a hopeless sigh.
I can't tell you what happened afterwards. The next day, my good friend suddenly went through a rebound, as if the last case had never even happened, and I can safely say that we never had another adventure after that wasn't accompanied by Basil's music.