fictober prompt 22: "No promises."
Circus Tunes
Morris considered him a musical connoisseur. At KLOB, every type of music was played. Indie rock, rhythm and blues, dance electronica, he'd never discriminate against any genre.
But when Raz lugged in what he deemed a contraption, Morris found himself in a pickle. He sat in his treehouse, the base of operations for KLOB, and watched with wide eyes as Raz telekinetically set down a monster of an instrument. He leaned forward, unresponsive as Raz threw out his arms to introduce the machine.
"I can't believe Mom let you borrow that," Queepie said, jumping on the chair.
"She didn't! What Mom doesn't know won't hurt her," Raz exclaimed, gripping his hips.
Queepie whistled and sat down, slowly shaking his head. "And that's why she doesn't worry about me. Even if I run off, I usually tell her where I'm going."
"You tell her, then you stay out way too late." Raz frowned at him, but he quickly turned his attention to Morris. "Well, I brought my old calliope. Can I play on the station now?" he asked, his smile bright.
Morris tugged at his collar. He hadn't expected Raz to take him up on his offer. After the Maligula incident, he had told Raz that if he wanted an unpaid job at KLOB, then he needed to bring over any instruments or records to play live on the station. Morris had been certain that would have been an impossibility for Raz, especially after he had learned the acrobat's specialty was playing the calliope, which, while Morris could respect under the right circumstances, didn't mesh well with his brand.
He took in the size of the garishly red instrument. It was like someone had cut off a fourth of a piano. Tall, thick, golden tubes stuck out from the top. The keys seemed worn, but the dust that also coated them had him wrinkling his nose. The paint was chipped in various places and showed signs of slightly rotted wood, its age concerning Morris.
"So, you're gonna play that," Morris said, resting his knuckles to his chin.
"Yep! You said I could," Raz chirped, brushing the dust off the instrument with a gloved hand.
The particles spilled into the air. Coughing, Morris immediately turned on a portable fan, its metallic humming clattering as it blew away the wind. Queepie giggled into his hands as Morris narrowed his eyes on Raz, the latter endeavoring with a sheepish smile.
"Next time, clean the instrument before you bring it in here. This place can get so congested when there's no wind blowing outside," Morris said, flicking the off switch on the fan. As it powered down, he stored it underneath his desk and moved aside. He pushed his hand forward, levitating a chair to Raz and setting it in front of the calliope. "Well, my friend, I'm a man of my word. You brought your tunes, and they will be played."
Morris levitated out of the way and pulled the table with him. He set it next to Raz, facing the coach's modified radio at him. Even if he wasn't sure how well Raz could play, he wanted to ensure that Raz was properly heard on his station. He adjusted the microphone, aiming it closer to the keys, and he leaned back, resting his hand on the switch to begin Raz' live show.
"And let me get this in my head," Morris said as Raz pulled the sheet music out of his bag.
"Shoot," he said, setting it on the calliope.
"Is this gonna sound good?"
Raz paused, pondering Morris' question, then he gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. "No promises."
"Jeez, I did set myself up for this," he muttered, pressing the red button on the radio. Clearing his throat as they went live, Morris grinned and announced, "You're listening to KLOB. On this fine afternoon, we have a real treat for you. Our very own superstar Junior Psychonaut, Razputin Aquato, is here to regale your ears with a jaunty song all the way from the circus."
"Which is still in town! Come see the Flying Aquatos!" Raz interjected, Morris rolling his eyes to himself, miffed at the interruption.
"You heard the man, listeners. I hope you like the calliope because, well, we here at KLOB just love to experiment with all manners of music." He snapped his fingers, levitating from the radio and taking his spot next to Queepie. "Hit it, Raz!"
"You bet!" Raz cracked his knuckles and held them over the keys. Taking a breath, he rolled his shoulders back, and he hit the keys with all his might.
Immediately, a merry tune sprung to life in the treehouse. Raz's fingers glided over the keys as he rocked in his seat. He hit them with practiced ease, his eyes following the notes. Bouncy, upbeat music filled the radio station and spread through the airwaves. It reminded Morris of a melodious locomotive, each tube puffing out a high-pitched, yet delightful sound that perfectly blended into a song.
Queepie danced in his chair. He bobbed his head from up and down, swaying his arms in the air. He peered down at Morris, whispering, "My dad told me this song's been passed down in the Aquato family for generations."
Morris strained his ear to hear what Queepie said. Despite the music's mirthful movement, it was boisterous. It rocketed off the oak walls and pounded in Morris' head. Queepie didn't seem to mind one bit, sashaying and dancing to his heart's content, and he even hummed along to Raz' song.
What Queepie said intrigued Morris. Most of his music was contemporary or at least had been played over the last thirty years. If Raz was playing a song that existed in previous generations of Aquatos, then he wondered what year it had originated. Satisfying his curiosity, he leaned forward and looked over Raz' shoulder.
He held his breath when he noticed a familiar name on the corner of the page. The music had been organized by a man named Gelsin Mux, the deceased husband of Lucrecia Mux, formerly known as Maligula. The title surprised him, as it didn't fit a circus performance.
Grulovian War March, he thought, grinning to himself, Ain't that something else?
Morris bobbed his head from side to side, Raz' palpable delight energizing the music, and clapped the loudest when Raz finished.