It was the dead of winter. The skies were gray, the trees were bare, and the streets were wet from the night's rain. Up on the mountains, there was a new fall of snow.
The Adnawite School was empty; everyone was at home for the holidays. It was early morning and there was frost on the sparse grass on the field of Gnos. Upon this dreary scene, the four main trumpet gods arrived and looked with interest.
Two months ago, the color guard from this school had fought off spies from the neighboring land of Agnomacuc-Ohcnar. Most of the spies had been from the trumpet section, and those who weren't had been from other brass sections. Nine days later, both the Ohcnar and Adnawite bands had gone to a big city called Viva for an important competition, and Adnawite had won decisively. The prize: bragging rights, a trophy, and the privilege of going to the following year's national finals.
The trumpet gods entered the hallway of the building nearest the field of Gnos. In the middle of the hallway was a large, square indentation in the wall, crowded with plaques and trophies. They could see more trophies in a room at the opposite end of the hall. They are so much better than the Ohcnars!
Within the dark, silent band room were still more trophies and banners. After denting an alto saxophone just because it was there, they moved on into the true nerve center of the place - the office of the Music Master.
Like anyone else, they saw the wall of pictures, the computer, the desk, and the CD collection. Unlike anyone else, they perceived all the thoughts that had occurred recently in the room.
They stood there, sorting through them. There were many, many thoughts in the room, and Dumbusretardano's face twisted into an evil smile when he found the one he was looking for.
"Yes," he said to the others, "the Music Master has chosen the music for next year's show. He just sent it to the drill designer."
"Great," responded Felexatrumpetishyperia. "If we act now, we can mess up Adnawite's show so they won't win finals, and avenge our Ohcnar friends!"
Smirking, all of them demanifested out of the room. There was something to be done that would accomplish their ultimate purpose by making Adnawite's trumpets and alto saxes hate each other when marching season came again.
*******
They manifested far away from the land of Adnawite, in a small house where a strange, bearded man lived. The Music Master knew him; he was Jeff Roderic, designer of all the drills used in Adnawite.
He was just sitting down to his work when the trumpet gods came in. Silently, they moved forward and took control of his mind.
It seemed to Jeff that he was having one of those strange but pleasant moments of inspiration. His thoughts flowed: Hey, the last show was really great, and the trumpets and clarinets passed through. In fact, half the clarinet section had to pass through twice! I think I'll give the clarinets a break this year and have the trumpets and alto saxes pass through.
He made a note of this immediately, typing it into his computer. The gods quickly left him, remanifested in the field of Gnos, and began to laugh madly, gleefully. There was nothing they liked better than stirring up trouble!
*******
It was now the hottest part of summer. The drill had been written, the music sent to each and every band member. Those who had been in band before were practicing in earnest, because band camp began in just a few days.
The trumpet gods made their next move at this time. They tracked down everyone in their section and possessed them as they had Jeff, only in a deeper, longer-lasting way. 'They could control any of their actions at any time, but they concealed their presence from them. The kids had no idea something odd was going on.
The night before band camp was to start, all the trumpets fell asleep
thinking, We're going to see the alto sax section tomorrow, and we're
going to kick their wimpy woodwind butts! We're the best section
and we're going to rule the band!
Disclaimer: I don't own the setting or the characters (some are based
on real people, others are gyncks's, used by permission). I - er,
we
- write because it's fun. (Right, Galaxy Girl?)