MERRY CHOTTER AND THE DRUM MAJOR'S STONE
By Kate
Chapter Ten
Rating: PG
Summary: Meet the ghosts, see the school, maybe even go to a class with the evil Snare, Compositions Master.
A/N: Sorry this has taken so long, but I've been hard at work on my poor webpage. Yes, I am trying to be ironic by making Snare compositions master; I know most percussionists can't compose worth crap (there ARE some exceptions . . . ) and that everyone but percussionists will probably agree with me. Oh, yeah, and I'm through about 100 pages of the book! (At least in the British version, which is the one I have. It has 223 pages total. I don't know about the American version. I could go check the French one, which I also have, but I'm too lazy.)
Disclaimer: Let's make this simple. Me = mindless pawn who owns nothing. JKR/Warner Brothers/UIL = Big people with big ownership who can make big lawsuit for big money. Me = Doesn't have big money. JKR/WB/UIL = Already have big money. Don't need mine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At last, the stress of the Sorting Ceremony was over. Everyone was in their rightful house and Merry wasn't in Drumline. Yes, all was happy and peaceful once again at Smog-Hurts.
At least, it was until things that looked like people made out of big pieces of Scotch tape came floating through the Commons. Merry was amazed. She had never seen or heard of anything like this before.
"Rynn, what ARE those?" she asked her red-headed friend.
"They're ghosts, Merry. Don't tell me you haven't heard of them in the Buggle world!" Merry shook her head. "Are you sure? I have a book of Buggle ghost stories . . ."
"Well, Uncle Harnon and Aunt Melunia had a mortal fear of anything relating to music or magic. Maybe normal Buggles have heard of ghosts. Ask Aldridge; he'd know."
Rynn made a face. "Right. Like I'm going to voluntarily talk to HIM."
Just as Merry was about to stand up for Aldridge, one of the Scotch-tape people --- uh, ghosts --- appeared right in front of her. She (the ghost) gazed longingly at Merry's split-pea soup. "Oh, but that does look good."
"I'm sorry," Merry replied. "I wasn't aware that you could . . ."
"Talk?" the ghost replied. Merry nodded shyly. "Well, yes, I can. Pity, too, that I can talk and yet I haven't been able to eat for the past 400 years. Not that I get hungry, but one does miss Oatmeal Crème Pies late on Friday nights. Oh, how rude. Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lady Nicolette de Flimsy-Pompandcircumstance. I am the resident ghost of Brasschoir House."
Rynn grinned, her mouth still full of garlic bread. "I know you! You're Nearly-Neckless Nicky!"
"Please, I prefer Lady Nicolet" the ghost started as Sheamore Spinagain, the first Brasschoir in a long line of Guardos, interrupted.
"Nearly Neckless? How do you manage being NEARLY Neckless?"
"Like this," Lady Nicolette de Flimsy-Pompandcircumstance said plainly. She gripped her hair and pulled her head back to at LEAST a 60-degree angle. The base of her neck, flesh and blood alike, was fully exposed. "They won't let me join the Headless Hunt, but it sure does help in keeping your horn up at a good angle!"
Brasschoir House laughed heartily; this was a fate they all fell pawn to eventually. Many a lap had been run over low horn angles. (A/N: I had to run one after practice today. I'm still bitter . . . or not. I'm not the only one in my section who can't run.)
As Merry and Rynn were talking to Nearly Neckless Nicky, they were also watching and discussing the other House Ghosts. Drumline had the Bloody Bass Captain (no one knew why he was bloody, though there were more than enough theories). Meanwhile, the rest of the table had gotten on the topic of everyone's heritage. Merry was relieved to find out that she wasn't the only one of pure, unquestionable bloodline in Brasschoir House as she felt she probably would be in Drumline.
In the middle of loud conversation and eating, Stumblemore announced the singing of the school song. Pearcy quickly gave Merry a sheet with the words and told her to sing to whatever tune she wanted.
Stumblemore conducted the beginning of the song and everyone started to sing. "Oh say can you seeee."
"STOP! STOP! STOP!" Stumblemore cried, cutting them off with a dramatic gesture of his arms. "THOU SHALT NOT SING THY STAR-SPANGLED BANNER WHEN THY SCHOOL SONG IS REQUESTED OF THEE!" (A/N: That happened at my school last year at the Homecoming Community Pep Rally. Some of us haven't lived it down yet.)
After a few muttered apologies, the students started up again, this time singing the right song. Some students, sure that they were tone-deaf, sang softly and slowly. Others chose their favourite songs or familiar old tunes.
"Smog-Hurts, Smog-Hurts, yes it really does hurt,
March that set, oh please
Whether we are seniors wise
Or first-years with disease
Our horns could use some filling
With some sound that's not just noise
Our heads are bare and full of air
Math and English are such joys!
So teach us things worth knowing
And put shakos 'sur les tetes'
Do great - not good - it's understood
And we'll always be the best."
Merry finished somewhere in the middle of the group. Freida and Georgia Feasibly, always two for attention, finished last. They had chosen the theme to "Enigma Variations" to sing to, which can be worse than a funeral march. (A/N: That's our show this year. It does sound like a funeral. Our colorguard are dressed in black with gray, all velvet, which doesn't really help.)
Everyone applauded the boisterous twins, and Stumblemore sent everyone off to bed. Pearcy, glad to finally be in a leadership position, led all of the new Brasschoir members off to their dormitory. It was guarded by a picture of a heavy All-Stater in a shockingly pink dress.
"Password?" she requested.
"Cap it, grey cone us." Pearcy spouted off, trying to make it sound all fancy and Latin. "Remember that," she told all of the new-first years as the portrait swung open.
Inside was a nice, cosy, circular room full of posture chairs and squishy couches. "Welcome to the Brasschoir Room. We got this room because Guardo House always had The Guard Room and they had to make everything equal." (A/N: Why does guard get a nice room with couches and all and we get SQUAT? Is anyone else's school like that?) "Now, you'll find boys' dormitories in the tower to the left - tubas on the bottom level, trombones and baritones in the middle, and trumpets and horns on the top. Girls are the same to the right. If you're found in the opposite sex's room after curfew, there WILL be consequences. And don't forget the cardinal rule of band: you can date within your choir. That's fine. You can date Guardos. You can date Woodwinds. You can even date Drumline if you enjoy taking your life and your health into your own hands. But never, ever, EVER date within your own section. That's just plain incestuous. Well, except for trumpets. No one really cares what you do."
Merry sighed. It had been a long day, but at least she and Rynn would be in the same dorm. They plodded up the stairs to the second floor of the Brasschoir girls' tower, finding that their luggage had already been delivered. All it took was pajamas and a nice, warm shower for Merry to be ready to plop into bed and fall straight asleep.
A/N: Sorry about all the author's notes sprinkled throughout the chapter. I just had to comment. I didn't leave one about in-section dating, though, so here's my question for everyone who doesn't go to school with me: is it like that for YOU? I mean, it's just wrong to date within your section, but trumpets do it anyway. Are all trumpets like that, or is it just because ours had a section leader who could've been from Arkansas last year? Just wondering.
I'm sorry it took me so long to post this. I'm not going to post again until FFN is done with the big move and all just so that nothing gets lost.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed:
Jakob der Ludner, Rosaline, SilverSerpent, DancingSilhouette (Michelle), lori, Mellie, adulaith, Lnzy, and Clarinetgirl.
Rannchan: I'm not structured enough for a schedule, sorry. Hope you got my email about this one!
I Can Get A Mini Cooper For Free And With Caramel At That: Sorry. She's just so trombone-ish. Poor Rebecca. Gold as in the pretty gold medals we get if we win state, duh.
A woodwind player: I'm brass. I don't have to be mean to my family and the rest of the people you can actually HEAR on the marching field. So there.
The Miserable: It's a word if I say it's a word. But hey, I love Les Miserables too, so I'm not gonna argue.
By Kate
Chapter Ten
Rating: PG
Summary: Meet the ghosts, see the school, maybe even go to a class with the evil Snare, Compositions Master.
A/N: Sorry this has taken so long, but I've been hard at work on my poor webpage. Yes, I am trying to be ironic by making Snare compositions master; I know most percussionists can't compose worth crap (there ARE some exceptions . . . ) and that everyone but percussionists will probably agree with me. Oh, yeah, and I'm through about 100 pages of the book! (At least in the British version, which is the one I have. It has 223 pages total. I don't know about the American version. I could go check the French one, which I also have, but I'm too lazy.)
Disclaimer: Let's make this simple. Me = mindless pawn who owns nothing. JKR/Warner Brothers/UIL = Big people with big ownership who can make big lawsuit for big money. Me = Doesn't have big money. JKR/WB/UIL = Already have big money. Don't need mine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At last, the stress of the Sorting Ceremony was over. Everyone was in their rightful house and Merry wasn't in Drumline. Yes, all was happy and peaceful once again at Smog-Hurts.
At least, it was until things that looked like people made out of big pieces of Scotch tape came floating through the Commons. Merry was amazed. She had never seen or heard of anything like this before.
"Rynn, what ARE those?" she asked her red-headed friend.
"They're ghosts, Merry. Don't tell me you haven't heard of them in the Buggle world!" Merry shook her head. "Are you sure? I have a book of Buggle ghost stories . . ."
"Well, Uncle Harnon and Aunt Melunia had a mortal fear of anything relating to music or magic. Maybe normal Buggles have heard of ghosts. Ask Aldridge; he'd know."
Rynn made a face. "Right. Like I'm going to voluntarily talk to HIM."
Just as Merry was about to stand up for Aldridge, one of the Scotch-tape people --- uh, ghosts --- appeared right in front of her. She (the ghost) gazed longingly at Merry's split-pea soup. "Oh, but that does look good."
"I'm sorry," Merry replied. "I wasn't aware that you could . . ."
"Talk?" the ghost replied. Merry nodded shyly. "Well, yes, I can. Pity, too, that I can talk and yet I haven't been able to eat for the past 400 years. Not that I get hungry, but one does miss Oatmeal Crème Pies late on Friday nights. Oh, how rude. Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lady Nicolette de Flimsy-Pompandcircumstance. I am the resident ghost of Brasschoir House."
Rynn grinned, her mouth still full of garlic bread. "I know you! You're Nearly-Neckless Nicky!"
"Please, I prefer Lady Nicolet" the ghost started as Sheamore Spinagain, the first Brasschoir in a long line of Guardos, interrupted.
"Nearly Neckless? How do you manage being NEARLY Neckless?"
"Like this," Lady Nicolette de Flimsy-Pompandcircumstance said plainly. She gripped her hair and pulled her head back to at LEAST a 60-degree angle. The base of her neck, flesh and blood alike, was fully exposed. "They won't let me join the Headless Hunt, but it sure does help in keeping your horn up at a good angle!"
Brasschoir House laughed heartily; this was a fate they all fell pawn to eventually. Many a lap had been run over low horn angles. (A/N: I had to run one after practice today. I'm still bitter . . . or not. I'm not the only one in my section who can't run.)
As Merry and Rynn were talking to Nearly Neckless Nicky, they were also watching and discussing the other House Ghosts. Drumline had the Bloody Bass Captain (no one knew why he was bloody, though there were more than enough theories). Meanwhile, the rest of the table had gotten on the topic of everyone's heritage. Merry was relieved to find out that she wasn't the only one of pure, unquestionable bloodline in Brasschoir House as she felt she probably would be in Drumline.
In the middle of loud conversation and eating, Stumblemore announced the singing of the school song. Pearcy quickly gave Merry a sheet with the words and told her to sing to whatever tune she wanted.
Stumblemore conducted the beginning of the song and everyone started to sing. "Oh say can you seeee."
"STOP! STOP! STOP!" Stumblemore cried, cutting them off with a dramatic gesture of his arms. "THOU SHALT NOT SING THY STAR-SPANGLED BANNER WHEN THY SCHOOL SONG IS REQUESTED OF THEE!" (A/N: That happened at my school last year at the Homecoming Community Pep Rally. Some of us haven't lived it down yet.)
After a few muttered apologies, the students started up again, this time singing the right song. Some students, sure that they were tone-deaf, sang softly and slowly. Others chose their favourite songs or familiar old tunes.
"Smog-Hurts, Smog-Hurts, yes it really does hurt,
March that set, oh please
Whether we are seniors wise
Or first-years with disease
Our horns could use some filling
With some sound that's not just noise
Our heads are bare and full of air
Math and English are such joys!
So teach us things worth knowing
And put shakos 'sur les tetes'
Do great - not good - it's understood
And we'll always be the best."
Merry finished somewhere in the middle of the group. Freida and Georgia Feasibly, always two for attention, finished last. They had chosen the theme to "Enigma Variations" to sing to, which can be worse than a funeral march. (A/N: That's our show this year. It does sound like a funeral. Our colorguard are dressed in black with gray, all velvet, which doesn't really help.)
Everyone applauded the boisterous twins, and Stumblemore sent everyone off to bed. Pearcy, glad to finally be in a leadership position, led all of the new Brasschoir members off to their dormitory. It was guarded by a picture of a heavy All-Stater in a shockingly pink dress.
"Password?" she requested.
"Cap it, grey cone us." Pearcy spouted off, trying to make it sound all fancy and Latin. "Remember that," she told all of the new-first years as the portrait swung open.
Inside was a nice, cosy, circular room full of posture chairs and squishy couches. "Welcome to the Brasschoir Room. We got this room because Guardo House always had The Guard Room and they had to make everything equal." (A/N: Why does guard get a nice room with couches and all and we get SQUAT? Is anyone else's school like that?) "Now, you'll find boys' dormitories in the tower to the left - tubas on the bottom level, trombones and baritones in the middle, and trumpets and horns on the top. Girls are the same to the right. If you're found in the opposite sex's room after curfew, there WILL be consequences. And don't forget the cardinal rule of band: you can date within your choir. That's fine. You can date Guardos. You can date Woodwinds. You can even date Drumline if you enjoy taking your life and your health into your own hands. But never, ever, EVER date within your own section. That's just plain incestuous. Well, except for trumpets. No one really cares what you do."
Merry sighed. It had been a long day, but at least she and Rynn would be in the same dorm. They plodded up the stairs to the second floor of the Brasschoir girls' tower, finding that their luggage had already been delivered. All it took was pajamas and a nice, warm shower for Merry to be ready to plop into bed and fall straight asleep.
A/N: Sorry about all the author's notes sprinkled throughout the chapter. I just had to comment. I didn't leave one about in-section dating, though, so here's my question for everyone who doesn't go to school with me: is it like that for YOU? I mean, it's just wrong to date within your section, but trumpets do it anyway. Are all trumpets like that, or is it just because ours had a section leader who could've been from Arkansas last year? Just wondering.
I'm sorry it took me so long to post this. I'm not going to post again until FFN is done with the big move and all just so that nothing gets lost.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed:
Jakob der Ludner, Rosaline, SilverSerpent, DancingSilhouette (Michelle), lori, Mellie, adulaith, Lnzy, and Clarinetgirl.
Rannchan: I'm not structured enough for a schedule, sorry. Hope you got my email about this one!
I Can Get A Mini Cooper For Free And With Caramel At That: Sorry. She's just so trombone-ish. Poor Rebecca. Gold as in the pretty gold medals we get if we win state, duh.
A woodwind player: I'm brass. I don't have to be mean to my family and the rest of the people you can actually HEAR on the marching field. So there.
The Miserable: It's a word if I say it's a word. But hey, I love Les Miserables too, so I'm not gonna argue.