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The Day The Music Died [IC]


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Sunday, February 16th, 2014

5:09 PM


His shift had wrapped a while ago, but Eric LaCroix was staying on at the Black Petal, playing amateur electrician. 


This was far from his usual purview, but it had officially gotten to the point where something had to be done. Most of the work day had been pretty good - regular flow of customers, good sales on coffee and pastries, and a musical sampler of some of the local acts playing over the speakers. Then, in the last hour, the audio had started going weird. It started small at first - the bass would drop out on one track for about thirty seconds, or the high notes of the octave would get a bit pitchy. But by the end of his shift, everything that came out of the speaker sounded more like noise rock being produced by rabid garbage disposals. The speakers had been shut off entirely, but attempts to play the music using just the computer had been just as disastrous. With few options, Eric was left to apply the magic touch.


And, cursing as the browser window on the computer clicked shut, it was getting to the point where that would have to be literal. He worked the utterance to the tip of his tongue - syllables learned at the throne of Hecate herself - and soon, he was speaking the language of the computer, sublime as radio waves. "So," he asked, "what's wrong?"


"Wrong?" the computer replied in booming bass. "Nothing's wrong! I'm playing everything that's there!"


"The files aren't corrupted?"


"Hmm... nope. They're right as rain."


That was weird. So, if the files weren't weird... Eric pulled out his iPhone on a whim, picked out Music, and played something by Tiger Army. What came out sounded like a tiger being fed into a woodchipper tail first. 


"Great. Something's wrong with the music." 

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Sunday, February 16th, 2014

5:33 PM

After several hours of flight, Jessica was finally home. She just got back from Sweden, where she was visiting her dad, and had no desire to do anything but rest. After so many trips she should be accustomed to jet lag but it's probably a thing that will never go away. Yet, Jessica enjoys those visits, those rare occassions to speak in person with one of the few people she cares about. Additionally, Sweden's climate is something that supposedly resembles her family's home planet.

Exhausted, she laid on the sofa and closed her eyes. Surely, the city can survive one more night without her?

Not five minutes after she began napping, someone rang the doorbell. Resigned, she went to the house's entrance muttering profanities against whoever came to visit her.

"Hey, Jess! How are you?" said a tall man in his early forties. Edward McKove. A fellow violinist, one of the few people that Jessica might call a friend.

"Hi, I'm fine" she answered trying to not sound too exhausted. "You?"

"Okay, I guess. Listen, can you do me a favor and borrow some CDs? I think my iPod broke and you know I can't function without Vivaldi in my ears. And you're one of the few people I know that still owns CDs."


"Sure, come in"[/i] Jessica closed the door behind her guest, and brought him to the living room. There laid her CD collection and a sound system that had way too many functions. "Be my guest, just don't take everything, okay? You want anything too drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee's fine, thanks" he answered while grubbing around CDs.

While making hot bevarages, a loud noise, as if someone was drilling a hole in the wall, struck Jessica's ears. She ran back to the living room.

[i]"Turn that off!" she shouted at Edward who looked perplexed but he just changed the track, which was even more noisy and just as awful. Frustrated with her guest's behavior, Jessica unplugged the damned contraption.

"That's queer, stuff on my iPod sounds almost the same." he said with a puzzling look on his face.


[i]"This can't be good."[/i]

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Eventually, it became clear that there was nothing to be done for the music. Eric turned off the speakers, leaving the Black Petal to settle with background noise for a rhythm. With his shift wrapped up, he took off into the streets, keeping both his eyes and his ears open. 


He didn't have to go far. Usually there was some sort of background music in this part of town - if not from some art gallery or nightclub gearing up for the evening, then from a passing car radio. But there was no music to be heard, anywhere. Every so often, there was a sharp, clashing din, lasting all of a few seconds before the person who'd turned the speaker on got the hint and turned it off. 


So it's not just the shop. All music in town seems to be screwed up. This is the kind of thing that implies heavy metaphysical dickery. Question is, where's it coming from? 


A few blocks down, the din picked up once more, louder than ever. At first, Eric thought it was just someone who hadn't gotten the message turning on a heavy speaker - at least, until the panicked cries broke through. Seeking the nearest shadow, he ducked into Osiris's chambers and retrieved his costume and makeup. Seconds later, Nick Cimitiere was rushing down the street, towards the signs of distress. 

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