Well, howdy y'all. I am trying to write this on a google doc and paste it in because I am stupid and know next to nothing about technology. I am always the person in class who is smacking their laptop screaming, "Work, you piece of crap, work!" Or in Spanish: "Ayuda me! Ayuda me, senora, mi computadora es tonta! Tontaaa!" …One in every crowd. Right? There is, right?
Anyway, the following drabbles are indie music. helped me a little. She's been my backseat driver from the beginning. Oh, yeah, and we're sisters. Cat's outta the bag. (She adds: Excuse me, a little? All of her best stuff came from me! (LIE) And I never moved. Yes, I am that pathetic that I lied to my kind readers so they wouldn't hate me. And everyone was all, "Oh yeah, moving stinks, it's okay." I'M GOING TO FANFIC HELL.)
Wait, what? She did that? That is pathetic.
Anyway, the catch is that all song titles or bands have something to do with Glasgow, Franz Ferdinand, names of book characters, etc. I will try and put a short explanation for each. They're all awesome songs that I recommend.

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All For You, Sophia by Franz Ferdinand (THIS BAND IS FROM GLASGOW SERIOUSLY)
Franz realizes the food has been poisoned. He is stupid and trusting. So trusting.
He doesn't tell his wife. She has gone to sleep, and will probably never wake up. It's better this way, he thinks. Not that any of this could be called good, of course, he thinks as his vision blurs around the edges. His head is throbbing madly.
He thinks of Sophia, of course. And Alek.
His son is so brave and kind. A noble heart for such a young man. But will he escape? Will he fight? He doesn't want Aleksandar to fight. He wants him to run. Be safe. He thanks God for all the planning he has done with Ernst.
The politics are terrible, of course.
He closes his eyes.

It's Thunder And Lightning by We Were Promised Jetpacks (Glaswegian)
He can't sleep; of course not. His Da died yesterday and the corpse has not been found yet. Charred too badly, and tossed out of the city. As if his father was cremated by some god. Not his God. His God, from church and Ma's bible, would not do such terrible things.
No. There is some other god, an evil one who snapped his fingers in the envelope of the balloon, causing a spark.
Lightning streaks somewhere, illuminating the room for a second. Then a riotous peal of thunder, just loud enough to mask a sob. But not long enough to hide the one that follows. And the one after that. Soon, they are tearing out of his throat, poking his eyes with peppery fingers, and pounding on his skull.
Jaspert opens his bedroom, and is met with a roar of wind and rain. The street is a river, two storeys below. Maybe this is what the explosion sounded like. He screams into it. He screams his father's name. He screams every prayer he knows. He screams all the profanity he knows. He screams at both of his gods.
His throat and eyes burn, and his face is cold and wet with the storm outside. It is not enough. Nothing will be enough.

Leviathan Home by The Finches
There is a peace to being with her. A happiness he has not found in a long time has turned up in her embrace. Like watching the waves lazily dance beneath the ship, or the sun shimmering on the horizon. He does not panic about destiny and fate anymore. He's just grateful to be with Deryn. He does not worry about emperors and their courts. They can do what they like, wasting away in their courts. Meanwhile, a penniless Austrian orphan and a Scottish midship(wo)man are on the greatest warship ever created. And they are happy.
He will propose to her someday.
They ride the Leviathan home.

On Battleship Hill by P.J. Harvey (About WW1)
There is always a moment when she watches the Germans beneath and feels dead terrible. There are brothers, sons, and fathers on the ships, and she's been readying the bombs that explode around them, or preparing the beasties to go and slaughter. The specks below have wives and children back home. It feels like there could be someone's Jaspert, Alek, or Da down there. Maybe even a lass or two.
It's awful of her to think this way, but one of the benefits to using the beasties is that she feels, on some level, it isn't exactly her fault.
It's the fault of the krakens, the kappas, or the hawks. It's nature that's being so cruel to the Clankers below. Or the boffins who fabricate the beasties. Or the captain, and the Admiralty.
Anyone but her.

Chelsea Dagger by The Fratellis (Glaswegian)
She's been meaning to crack down on her assistants one of these days. At first, she thought that she could afford to give them a degree of freedom. Call her sentimental.
But it quickly turns out that Miss Sharp is not to be trusted with Aleksandar. At all.
At this point, she's gotten in the habit of kicking every door before opening, because it's getting rather annoying to open a supply closet and have two teenagers tumble out, straightening their ties and mumbling something about looking for the microscope slides, or the test tube brushes.
She's put them through several lectures about their relationship, and how she will only tolerate it if it doesn't interfere with their work.
"It hasn't!" Miss Sharp once protested.
"Well, it takes you two a remarkably long time to get anything out of the supply closet."
Sharp bit back a laugh, and Aleksandar looked like to die of embarrassment.
How do they expect to be proper agents if they can't even sneak around properly in the laboratory?

Dark of The Matinee by Franz Ferdinand
Deryn likes going to the pictures, not necessary for the reasons Alek expected. She enjoys them well enough, and Charlie Chaplin always makes her laugh.
But the real reason is- how can he put this diplomatically? It's dark in the theater. Dark, as in, no one can see them kissing in the back row dark.