Sonata 6
The Composer flashed a thumbs-up up at the DJ duo in the rafters as she made her way through the thriving masses, grateful for their hard work.
'Well, the message is out and the choice is made.' She thought definitively, 'Now it's time to wrap it up.'
The Composer worked her way up to the stage. As she started to work her way up, A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and helped her up. Looking up, she nodded thankfully at Grunge. The massive Reaper rolled his eyes in response, but a grin was clear through his mask.
Standing up on the stage, she slowly turned her head and took in everyone.
Parian was still on her feet at the back of the throng, applauding vigorously alongside Chanson.
Hip and Hop weren't so much crowd 'surfing' as they were crowd 'hopping', jumping from shoulder to shoulder gleefully like a pair of mad rabbits.
DJ Chiptune and DJ Synth were fiddling at their sound boards, expertly controlling the dizzying array of entertainment systems to pump the celebration to its maximum as lights flashed and music started to pump, turning the room into a technicolor thrum of sound and movement as Reapers talked and mingled and yelled and cheered, the polar opposite of the silent audience just moments before.
Southern tipped his hat at the person he called his boss, nodding proudly.
Chicago Blues simply brought his arm up and gave a lazy salute, a lax grin on his face.
And Gangsta...
The Composer walked right up to the youngest Reaper, standing before her and staring down at her.
Gangsta swallowed heavily, running her hand over her beanie. "S-s-so... what'd you think, boss? Did you li-?!"
The Composer interrupted her by clapping her hands on her shoulders, "You did good, Gangsta," She stated proudly. "You did good."
The teenage girl perked up almost instantly. "Seriously!?" She pumped her fists triumphantly. "HELL YEAH! WOO! HAHAHA!" Her wings materialized in a flash and she began zipping around the room like a deranged hummingbird.
Grunge huffed petulantly, crossing his arms, "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Damn brat..."
ZIP!
"GYAH!" Grunge brought his hands up reactively when the ballistic Reaper buzzed him. Feeling something wet on him, he looked his arms over. He blinked in surprise before groaning in frustration. "Oh, yeah, right!" He held his arms up, displaying the twin middle fingers spraypainted on them. "Real mature!"
The girl just cackled as she took to weaving in and out and among the rafters, slipping between the old rails, bits of chain, and lights and electronics that were housed there.
The Composer allowed herself a moment to let the persona drop and smiled, shifting back into Taylor for a moment as a pair of perching Reapers squawked and dove to the side to make room for the giddy pre-teen and thought to herself in an amused tone. "Aisha...don't you dare change. Not ever." She took a moment to breath in, and adjusted the mask over her face. The feel of the paint, held solid beneath her fingers thanks to her power was comforting.
That done she let out her breath, and slipped back to her other self. Back into the Composer. As it was, she didn't have long before the stage itself would be taken by the crowd. Something she had come to intimately know early on as the Reapers grew was that with a propensity towards creativity came a proclivity to follow the old adage about hard work.
That being, gathering Reapers in one place with easy access to music, lights, and a stage tended to evolve into a party. She could already see select Reapers hitting a row of lockers to the side and pulling out instrument cases. She gave herself maybe fifteen minutes before the stage would be confiscated for an impromptu show. There was even another group moving through the milling mass gathering up and counting dollar bills and writing down on scraps of paper, likely funds to pay for a snack run. The Gallery was in full-on celebration mode.
However, before things could truly get into swing, she brought her hands up and hit her mic, drawing attention to herself. "Alright, alright. Now, I know that this is a time for celebrations, but before we do, there's just one thing we have to do first."
The milling crowd stopped as they turned towards her, and the music lowered to a dull roar. She gestured with her finger at the DJs in the rafters, indicating them to redirect the spotlights. The salvaged lights purred on well-oiled bearings, turning themselves around to illuminate a part of the crowd.
To illuminate Parian.
The Composer smiled beneath her mask. "We have to extend a formal invitation to our newest prospective member."
The other Reapers instantly cheered their approval.
Parian, on the other hand, was frozen where she stood. "Wait, wha-WOAH!" Before she could react, the crowd surged around her, pushing her towards the stage while Chanson followed close by, gracefully parting the crowd around her as she headed for the stage behind her friend.. Grunge helped lift the both of them up before moving back, grumbling idly to himself as he fished around for a can of Sound in order to edit Aisha's work to something more tolerable.
The Parahuman seamstress blinked in shock for a second before coming to her senses. "Wh- a Reaper!? Y-You want me to become a Reaper!?" She sputtered in disbelief.
The Composer felt her eyebrow twitch in irritation before sighing and nodding definitively. "Indeed. That's the reason why you were brought here, to be evaluated. Normally, senior Reapers are told before someone is invited, not to mention the invitee..." She shot a glare at Chanson, who had the sense to look sheepish. The Composer held her glare for a second before sighing and shaking her head. "But I suppose that what's done is done. We aren't that big on most rules anyways. So anyways, yes, you have the chance to become a Reaper."
Parian swallowed heavily, shifting her gaze back and forth nervously. "B-But why me!? I mean... you're all artists, and I'm..."
"Simply fabulous!"
She jumped in surprise when Chanson spoke up. The elegant Reaper crossed her arms and nodded definitively. "My dear, you deserve to be here just as much as anyone else! The day, the day I walked into your studio and saw you working on that dress, I thought for certain that you were a Reaper already! The way you handle fabric, your designs, the colors..." She sighed wistfully, bringing her hand up to her forehead. "I know for a fact that you hold no equal in the world of tailoring. I know I flaunted the rules a bit, but I had no other choice! It would be a crime for you not to get the chance!"
Parian stared in shock for a second before a small detail registered. "Wait, a chance? You mean... there's no guarantee?"
"Yes and no..." The Composer said. "There's a minor test. Nothing too serious, nothing dangerous, and if you don't pass you'll be allowed to leave, though again I'll have to ask for you to be discrete with some of the things you know. Other than that though, if you pass, then you'll be well within your rights to accept our offer and become a full-fledged Reaper. So, what do you say, Parian?" She held her hand out invitingly. "Are you willing to give it a shot?"
Parian wrung her hands nervously, wracking her thoughts thoroughly before nodding definitively. "I'm in. Let's do it."
The crowd roared approvingly once anew.
The Composer nodded happily. "Glad to hear it."
Parian swallowed nervously, scratching the back of her neck. "R-right. So... what's the test?"
The Reaper founder shrugged casually. "It's simple enough."
She gestured at Grunge. Almost instantly, the Reaper whipped a spray can off his toolbelt and tossed it at Parian. The girl fumbled with the metal cylinder for a moment before finally getting a grip on it. She stared at the gears and music symbols engraved upon it in confusion.
"Impress us."
Her head snapped up almost instantly. "Wait, what!?"
"You heard me," The Composer repeated patiently. "We're artists, and I just handed you the mother of all paintbrushes. Impress us."
Despite her mouth being hidden the fact that Parian's jaw had dropped open in shock was clearly evident. "Wh- I- b-b-but how!? I mean, h-how do I use the paint? I mean... I don't know how to do what you do, how to make your kind of art, I-I just d-!"
"Shhhhh!" She was cut off by the Composer placing her hands on both of her shoulders reassuringly. "Shh shh shh shhh... there there... I'll tell you. It's easy. Now..."
The Composer leaned in close, her voice dropping to a quiet, kind whisper.
"I want you to close your eyes... and listen. Not to me, not to everything outside... but listen within. I want you to look... for your own Sound."
"M-my Sound?"
"Yes. Everyone has one. It defines a person, defines who they are, their very being. Some can be violent, others gentle, and everything in between. But it's there. The Sound…. is you. It's the breath you breathe, the thump of your heart, the echo of each step you take or word you say. It is something part of you deeper than anything else that comes together almost like a song. Listen to it, find that center and the part of you that is alive when you do something you love more than anything else. Your Sound is you and everything you do. I know this may come off strange, or like some zen-crap people try to sell you on TV. But what I am saying is to use the paint, you have to tap into that. Like Chanson said, it's alive in it's own way. It responds to us, and that is how we create. That part of us that comes to life when we do something we enjoy, something we are passionate about more than anything, the expression of self above anything else. We find that, and bring it out. That's the secret."
"H-How do you know this?"
"Because that's my power. I can hear the things around me in a way that would make your head spin." The Composer smiled, moving to stand beside her instead of in front. "And I can help you let it out. The paint in your hands, it's a part of my Sound, a tiny part, clean and untainted that I take out and put in cans. Some I alter, just a bit, so that it becomes Noise, or the Melodies that the others put on their bodies... but this isn't that. This is Sound, pure and untainted. The raw material, devoid of anything but what you put in it, a blank slate. All you need to do is let your own Sound out, let it move what's in the can, and it will interact with the world. Show us a bit of your world, something that is nothing but you."
"How do I do it?"
"First you find your Sound. Just listen to yourself, and you'll where it is, find it, listen to it, let it guide you. And when you know the time is right... let it out. Just like when you sew and design. It's the same principle, the same concept. It's the raw act of creation. You know where it is. You've always known. You've heard bits and pieces of it whenever you create something. It's why you create. Because everyone is so busy not listening to it half the time, and you want them to get a glimpse, an iota of the beauty you see and hear inside you. This is your chance. Find your Sound... and let it go."
Parian held her breath, searching herself thoroughly. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. And then...
Something.
Parian's eyes snapped open, her stance shifting to become more confident, more self-assured.
"I need some cloth, some wire, and some metal bars." She commanded.
The Composer snapped her fingers. Barely a minute passed before several bolts of cloth, a spool of wire and a pile of bars were tossed onto the stage.
The crowd had fallen silent, watching, waiting with baited breath for the spectacle to come.
They weren't disappointed.
Almost instantly, the cloth and wire snapped to life, unwinding from their containers and lifting into the air. The wire wrapped itself around the bars, lifting them up into the air and binding them together in a sort of metal skeleton. The cloth streamed around the haphazard framework like a liquid, clothing it and giving it phantasmal form as the ribbons of cloth wrapped and curled around the frame. Parian reached into a hidden pocket in her dress, and withdrew a needle and thread that came to life, threading itself and snaking through the air as it dove into the folds with a silvery flash glinting off the metal.
Slowly, she brought her hand up, shook the paint can, and depressed the nozzle.
Pure color flowed out of the can in a mist, hitting the cloth and instantly flowing up along the entire thing, the cloth shifting around so that every inch of the fabric was touched by the spray. In turn, the paint seemed to sink into the cloth, dying it even as it moved and swirled, lending an unearthly life to the construct.
Finally, the entire thing came to a halt.
Standing tall in the atrium was the form of a woman. She was tall and lithe, with both her upturned hands extended over the crowd. The cloth had wrapped around it in such a way as to form a sort of skin and gown. The gown itself, despite being just long strips of cloth pulled and sewn together was radiant and flowing, almost gossamer in the way it presented an array of ghostly colors, ever-changing in the light. The cloth even hung down from the head of the statuesque being, forming a cascading sort of hair.
Slowly, the being began to move, sweeping it's arms out and then leaning forwards into a curtsy.
Parian stared up at the being in a state of shock, awe even, as she took in her creation, hardly even daring to believe that she was responsible for its existence.
Suddenly, she was snapped out of her shock by a hand falling on her shoulder. Turning around, she stared up at the Composer, whose stance all but radiated pride.
"So, Parian..." She asked gently. "What do you say? Would you honor us by becoming a Reaper?"
The Reapers were deathly silent, awaiting her answer with baited breath.
Parian didn't say a word. She turned her head, looked up at what she had done. At her masterpiece.
Finally...
She nodded, a smile obvious despite her mask.
"Yes."
"HELL YEAH!"
Parian jumped in shock when Gangsta landed right next to her, grabbed her arm, and wrenched it into the air.
"THREE CHEERS FOR THE NEW ROOKIE!" She shouted exuberantly.
The crowd erupted in a singular bellow of joy and approval.
Parian reeled back in shock from the wall of noise hitting her, jumping in surprise when Chanson darted up to her and engulfed her in a hug.
"Oh, I'm so proud of you!" She squealed. "I knew you could do it, I just knew it!"
The seamstress blinked bemusedly. "Uh... right... wow... this is just-"
"Overwhelming, I know. You'll get used to it." Chanson glanced upwards before suddenly releasing Parian and taking a big step back from her. "Eventually. Starting right now."
"Wait, wha-?"
SPLASH!
Before Parian could react, a torrent of multi-colored water cascaded over her. Looking up, she saw a pair of chortling Reapers holding onto a newly emptied oil drum.
"Sorry dear," Chanson apologized as she tried in vain to hide her snickering. "But it happened to me, and now it happens to you. A tradition for introducing neophytes if you will."
"HAHAHAHAHA-Wait a second!" Gangsta cut her cackling off midway when a realization struck her. "You guys never did that to me!"
"Good point..."
Gangsta reacted almost instantly to the growling voice, materializing her wings and attempting to take off. But before she could, she was wrapped in a pair of massive, bear-like arms. Unfortunately for her, despite her struggling, Grunge wasn't about to let her go anytime soon.
"I'd say you're long overdue!" Despite his tone being partly menacing, it was obvious that he had a shit-eating grin on behind his mask. "HIP! HOP!"
"HERE!" The two chorused simultaneously. The two were flying above the crowd on a pair of newly acquired wings, a fresh barrel held between them. They were smiling madly as they landed on the stage and deposited it before Grunge.
"In case you're searching your memories for any point where you wronged us..."
"Don't! We're just doing this for the hell of it!"
"Now then..." Grunge flipped Gangsta upside down in his grip, holding her by her ankles. "Time for you to take a dip!"
"DON'T EVE-BLRGH!" Gangsta's protests were cut off by her captor dunking her in the multi-colored liquid and drawing her out.
"So, enjoy your swim?"
The teenage Reaper displayed her creativity by releasing a veritable slew and combination of cusses.
Both Hip and Hop gasped, slapping their hands on their ears.
"Such a filthy mouth!"
"You'll corrupt our poor, innocent ears!"
"SCREW YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARDS! YOUR 'INNOCENCE' IS WORTH JACK SHIT!"
Grunge tsked in disappointment, shaking his head mockingly. "Case in point. Well, only one thing to do: wash your tongue!"
"DON'T-BLARGH!"
The Composer chuckled lightheartedly for a moment before her laughter slowly trailed off. She watched the group for a second before turning around and walking away, jumping off the stage and skirting the crowd as she headed for a side door and out of the gallery.
"Where ya goin' Boss?"
"The pig-farmer's right. The party's just getting started."
Or at least she was, until she was stopped by Southern and Chicago as they jogged up calling out to her.
Slowly, she turned around to face them. The three of them were alone, tucked away in a back corner while the rest of the Reapers were at the front of the room, laughing at the spectacle Grunge was putting on.
The Comp... Taylor stared at them for a moment before turning away and bowing her head. There was a sort of silence, a stiffness to her. "What if this is all false?" She asked quietly. "All of this... you saw Parian. She changed, drastically, after I spoke to her. She managed to do that... What if... what if I caused that?"
South stepped up to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Boss..."
Taylor shrugged his arm off, stepping away and looking up at him miserably. "I'm serious! You know it's possible! Master effects can be completely unnoticeable! It's why Sadboy was free for so long! Nobody noticed how everyone around him got more and more depressed, not even him! Not until... until they..." She choked off a sob.
"Boss!"
She was shocked out of her morbid thoughts by Chicago of all people grabbing her by her shoulders and flipping her around.
"Watch." He commanded firmly.
And Taylor did.
She watched as the Reapers cheered on Grunge as he dunked Gangsta in the water.
Watched as Gangsta suddenly slipped from Grunge's grip and took to the air.
Watched as Gangsta circled around Grunge, took ahold of his head, and dunked him in the barrel before he had time to react.
Watched as Hip and Hop cackled wildly, squawking in shock when the barrel was suddenly tipped on its side and dumped on them.
Watched as Parian all but doubled over in laughter, Chanson in the same situation at her side.
Watched as DJ Chiptune and DJ Synth started raising the volume on the music, restarting the party.
"See that?" Chicago asked. "They're happy. They're really happy. It's not some fake happy, like the kind you get from a Master, or from drugs, I've seen that kind of happy before, that's a forced happy. This? They're really, truly, genuinely happy. I don't doubt it. If you do have Master powers, then you're not using them on us. And even if you were... would it be that big of a deal? I reiterate, they're happy. Hell, I'm happy, and that never happened before I came here."
"The kid's right, Boss." South concurred. "Fact is, you've done good. We've had this out how many times before? And the same answer each time? Now, wipe that sad look on your face before I slap it off. This here's a party! Act like it, consarnit!"
Taylor stared at them in surprise for a moment before slowly bowing her head.
And then...
The Composer looked up confidently. She almost instantly tapped and activated her microphone. "Chiptune! Synth! Are you two mocking me? I can still hear my own heartbeat! Pump the music up! We're trying to celebrate!"
Almost instantly the speakers arrayed throughout the gallery began thumping out a deep bass, sending the Reapers into a frenzy and kicking the party into high gear.
The Composer took a moment to nod gratefully at Chicago and Southern. "Thank you. Both of you."
The red-hooded Reaper gave her a thumbs-up. "Hey, no matter what you say, you're our Boss, and that's a fact."
South nodded definitively. "That means we'll always look out for you, end of discussion."
"Well in that case, as your Boss... I order you to party!"
All of the Reapers were happy to comply all night long.