A/N Well, my band went to Regionals, but got Silver and isn't going to state… (we got Gold the last 3 contests, and I thought the band performed amazingly, so I don't know what happened…) But yeah, that would explain a note of sadness in my writing for this chapter. But hey! New chapter:D
(Treading the Threaded Needle)
Blayde watched with a note of panic in his chest, his heart beating the tattoo of a frantic drummer. The head of the Great Ones stepped out of rank with the other two, and looked directly at the saxophone girl, named Riffa. "Tell me the story." His voice was low, confident and calm. This seemed to quell the girl a bit from her former anxiety, and she began to speak.
"I went to go get a new reed, because mine had shattered from an accident earlier." She neglected to mention what accident. "I left my saxophone on the stump because I didn't want to drop it in the undergrowth and get her dirty." People often referred to their instruments with genders, names, and the like, to make the bond closer. However, this bond turned on the player when such occurrences as this happened, and the bond was broken in tragedy.
"I came back with some new reeds twenty minutes later when I saw it there- just- there-" and with that, Riffa began to cry, gripping the instrument, tears staining the lovely, horrible, twisted brass. "How?" she whispered.
The Great One then turned to the trumpet section leader who had declared the wound a sabre's work. "I heard you have an idea of how this happened?" He knew exactly what Drillen had said, but was clarifying for everybody.
"Look at how much that's twisted, the puncture, the sharp edges- it's not hard," snarled Drillen. "All I need to hear is a motive and we're finished on this!"
"Let me see her," gently said the Head Great One, and Riffa, still weeping, handed her over, a saxophone friend sliding up and putting a comforting arm around her.
"I agree. This was done by a sabre," said the Head Great One after a short contemplation. "But we cannot accuse anybody until there has been a fair investigation."
"Easy, pick out the sabres and question them," Drillen said, his eyes boring into Blayde's, who gripped his weapon tightly and looked down. Bolt, who had worked her way to her brother during this time, came up to him and glared at Drillen, matching fiery gazes.
"None of our sabres would have done that," protested Rifley, feeling fearful for Blayde, but maintaining a serene, strong face. That is part of performing- not showing what's really going on in your mind whilst outside, you show them what they want.
"Prove it. Let's see his sabre." Drillen shot the words out across the field in a challenge.
Blayde stepped back. "You can't take it from me," he said, stammering a bit but taking a leaf out of Rifley's book and adding a confident tone to his voice.
Maelt, Taen, and Shaine had watched this battle of words, a bit nervous for their friend, eyes trailing the various players in this drama.
"Blayde doesn't seem like the kind of person to do that," murmured Shaine to Taen and Maelt.
"I agree," said Taen softly, and Maelt nodded in agreement. But they had no say in this, and continued to watch and silently hope things ended soon. Although the bonds between the marchers was newly formed, it solidified quickly.
A rumble of anger had spread throughout the band, new marchers and old, parents and children. Caeytch and Slyde had worked their way to the front, but could do nothing to help their son.
"We can decide nothing now," said Head Drum Major, who then turned away. "It is almost time to leave for the day anyhow. Return tomorrow an hour after sunrise- it is our first practice!"
A cheer, despite the mood, had risen up in the crowd, and Riffa's friend had managed to cheer her up a bit with a promise of a new saxophone by tomorrow, and a proper funeral for her ruined one. However, there were still some harsh glares thrown Blayde's way, but after Sabe returned the dirty looks with well-placed ones of her own.
"Ignore them," she murmured lowly to Blayde. "We never have and never will be on good terms with them, and it's best we're left on our own. Our only connection is the music- remember the music." With that, she gave him a quick shoulder hug and left to speak to Rifley, who now the 'performance' was over, had a troubled and slightly mournful look on her face.
Bolt went up to Blayde and in a hushed but furor-filled murmur, said, "I know you didn't do it."
And for that moment, to Blayde, that was the only opinion that mattered.
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The next day was perfect for marching- a bit overcast, not cold but not burning hot either. The marchers arrived in their sections, warming up, joking, and generally enjoying the much happier atmosphere than yesterday.
Shaine was talking to Brazen about fingering, when she said out of nowhere, "What do you think of the whole saxophone scandal?"
Shaine abruptly stopped trying to figure out a particularly difficult trill, confused. "What?"
"Well, you were with the culprit yesterday," lazily said Brazen, scrubbing a bit of dirt off the bell of her baritone.
"He is not guilty," snapped Shaine, and then realized how harsh he sounded. "Sorry, but-"
"It's fine, I just said that to get you a bit riled," admitted Brazen, grinning a bit around her mouthpiece that she was trying out. "Hm, this tastes funny. Odd."
"Why get me riled?" asked Shaine, not mad but curious.
"Part of performing is emotion- you're ecstatic about your show, or you're mourning for your show. Whatever the music is, you are, alright?" she said. "Right now, the music is mystery, anger, injustice- watch me go on." She tilted her baritone and inspected inside the bell while Shaine pondered this.
Marching band wasn't just learning about stepping in time, was it?
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Maelt was catching on quickly to how to back march and touch-stop-go, much faster than the other newbies, and quickly became bored, instead making up tunes in his mind and wondering how his family was doing- no. Don't think about that. Just march.
It wasn't until lunch break, and the group- Bolt, Blayde, Shaine, Taen, and himself met and sat down did they finally take a breather. Sweaty, thinking about all they had learned, and musing on the come-what-may, it was silent for a while.
"The music this year is interesting," Taen said after finishing her sandwich and apple. "A lot faster and… angrier, it seems."
"That's just how it's going to start off. It's supposed to be about a tornado- the coming storm, the actual event, the horror afterwards, and then the recovery," explained Shaine. "Brazen told me earlier. Evidently it was written during an actual twister that happened to one of the musicians, so it's kind of cool."
"The work to it's pretty fast too- lots of furious movements and the like," mused Blayde. "But it's really fun."
"The rifle work is amazing, although the ballad is going to be all flag," added in Bolt. "So I won't get as much time on rifle."
"Isn't Rifley your teacher?" asked Taen, who knew a little bit more about the guard since she had made friends with the twins.
"Yeah, but sometimes, I catch her looking at the band and getting kind of sad. Especially the clarinets."
Maelt looked troubled for a minute, but said nothing. It wasn't until about fifteen minutes later after chitchat and marching advice to the others ("It's easier if you flex your feet every few minutes after a lot of marching" or "look up, it makes the section leaders think you know what you're doing").
But then something split the breezy chatter, and Reid Junior, a clarinet, ran up to the Head Great One, and whispered something. Bolt heard a bit of it- something about "music" and "shadows" and "gone".
But she was sure she'd find out later. But little did she know, perhaps it was better if she didn't.
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A/N I've got a mini-plot going, but add in your stuff too. As always, review please! I like hearing about my story and marching band!