Sound of Music [Lancaster]

[Meara]

Meara was practically counting the minutes until she could clock out on break.

On her way in this evening, she had gandered around the shipping center that QCC was located in. There were all sorts of other interesting businesses and offices in there, and even a small park. There was one spot, however, that got the redhead extremely excited. Curlew Music Supplies. Her portable amp had been damaged by the rain in Toronto, so she had sold it to a shop there rather than haul around a busted piece of junk. She was down to her last set of strings, and almost out of rosin. So to Meara, this was a stroke of pure luck.

Her feet swung impatiently as she sat on a stool, waiting for the top of the hour. When the clock finally chimed, she pocketed her phone and card holder and scampered out the door of the shop. She walked back past the escalators, around the fountain before stopping at the door to the music store. She peered inside a moment before pulling the door open and slipping inside. Her hand grabbed one of the little shopping baskets as she veered off towards the accessories. Meara weaved her way through the racks, picking out her usual brands for strings and rosin before disappearing into the music racks. She hadn’t learned a new piece in a while and she was far too brain burned to compose yet. Perhaps something might catch her eye in the shops selection, which appeared to be pretty expansive.

Sheet music was far more interesting than the amps or percussion anyways.

[Lancaster]

It was a quiet night. Lancaster was spending less time at the pub, now, and more time at the mall. It was a different atmosphere. It was different. It was the difference that mattered. Routine had become standard, and Lancaster hated routine. Loathed it. Depression was an old friend, one that came and went. A friend Lancaster didn’t like so much. One that he’d prefer to stay away. And he could see it, lingering on the borders of his sanity. He had to do whatever he could to avoid the company of his old friend.

And if that meant hanging out at the mall and meeting a different crowd, then so be it.

Lancaster was sitting on the low stool, his feet up on the counter, his old guitar comfortably in his grasp. On the counter was sprawled some sheet music. The melody would flow for a good minute before it would halt, and Lancaster would lurch forward to scribble a bit. For a moment he completely forgot where he was, his voice pushing the limits of its boundaries. It stumbled and ceased as soon as he heard the door open. He cleared his throat and dropped his feet, putting the guitar aside so that he shuffle the sheets of music back into some kind of order.

He didn’t get up. The girl seemed to know what she was looking for; she wasn’t hanging around the instruments and probably didn’t need advice. If she was after a specific piece of music, she could come and ask.

But Lancaster did stand. At least, he tried to look a little more professional. A little more like the boss and owner he was supposed to be.

[Meara]

While she was face first in the music racks, Meara noticed the soft sounds of someone over at the counter. She leaned up on her toes to glance over at the other person in the shop. Tall, almost bookish looking. Kind of reminded her of the Doctor for some reason. She went back to browsing the sheet music before settling on a couple compilation books for musicals. She gently placed them into the basket, and then added a packet of composition paper. Best she could tell, Meara had left all her writing supplies back in Asheville. Least she still had Finale on her laptop; not all was lost.

Once she was finished browsing, Meara meandered her way back over to the cash register and gave the gentleman there a smile as she tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ear. “What a cool little shop this is.” Meara commented cheerily to the man as she unloaded the strings, rosin, composition paper, and music booklet onto the register counter from the basket. “M’name’s Meara. I work just across the way.” She paused as she looked over her purchase on the counter.

“And, uh, do you have any small portable amps that can accept a violin pick up?” She gave her best smile to the man behind the counter, hoping he would assist her in selecting a suitable replacement.

[Lancaster]

Lancaster peered ‘across the way’, squinting at the shop he thought Meara had pointed to. If he was not mistaken, it was one of the ones that Alexandrea owned. Or if she didn’t own it, it was one that she was associated with.

”Sure,” he said, sliding out from behind the counter to meander toward the corner of the store where all the amps were kept. Most of the amps he kept in stock were new ones, though there were a few that had been traded. Lancaster liked to barter sometimes. There was one that he’d used himself – a newer version, but it was the same thing. He put his hand on top of the small item.

”I used to use one just like this. The Roland AC60. I’d recommend either this one or the Fishman Soundbox,” he said, keeping his speech slow enough so his broad Australian accent was understood. He’d gestured to another of the smaller amps nearby. The latter had a more classical look to it, like it was something out of the 50s. Lancaster had a soft spot for both.

”You work for Alexandrea, yeah? I can give you a mall staff discount,” he said. It was a thing that was instigated by… someone. Maybe it was even him. But he figured if everyone who worked in the mall had incentive to buy from everyone else in the mall, it’d be good for business.

[Meara]

Meara followed along behind the gentleman, who she now realized was tall. Extremely tall, relative to Meara’s meager 5’5’’ frame. Her eyes followed the man’s hand between the two amplifiers. Her attention, at least aesthetically, was drawn to the retro looking one. It spoke to her inner artist and fashionista. Gears were already turning about how she could alter her costumes to make that blend right in.

She was snapped out of her daydream like state by the manager telling her that he was willing to give her a discount for working in the shopping complex. “Really? That’s so nice of you. I’ll be sure to do the same if you come into the shop.” Meara gave the kind man a smile that seemed to reach up to her ears. She wasn’t expecting to find generosity in this city that seemed to be teeming with the roughest individuals.

“So what do you use now then?” She inquired as she moved the two amps next to each other while she compared the ports, pick-ups, and general design. Meara was pretty much sold on the Fishman, but had to be sure it wasn’t missing anything.

[Lancaster]

Lancaster laughed.

”I use those,” he said, pointing to the display of bigger amps at the back. ”I also own a pub. Lancaster’s? Just at the edge of Redwood, closer to Stag Heath,” he said. He didn’t know how well this girl knew the city; whether she kept to her own little part of it or whether she travelled widely. She may never have heard of the place. But now she would know.

”It has a stage. I’ve upgraded. I don’t do street corners much anymore,” he said with a frown. He didn’t even do the stage much anymore. Truth be told, a lot of his inspiration had been sapped and the urge to play in front of live crowds had dwindled. Sooner or later he might get it back, but with each day that passed, the more he wondered whether Pi was ever coming back. He still wore the wedding ring on his finger; still told anyone who inquired that he was taken. How long would he be able to keep up the charade, before it started to feel too much like a lie and the sentence wouldn’t be able to pass his lips?

”We do open mic nights, too. If you’re interested. Violin, I’m assuming – what kind of music though?” he asked after clearing his throat. It was far easier to focus on the things at hand rather than on his own woes and disappointments. He’d never been the kind to miss people, but the partings had always been mutual. These days, the partings were too much of a surprise, and too much they made no sense. They were partings not accompanied by bittersweet sadness, but by concern and choking anxiety.

No, best to just focus on the things that he could control, rather than the things that he could not.

[Meara]

Meara’s eyes followed the man’s hand to look at the big amps, before looking back up at him as he described a bar he owned that she didn’t think was too far from here. In fact she had just walked past the other night, but didn’t go in. Lancaster’s? Must be the name of the man she was speaking to.

She was about to make a comment on something about the big amps, when he mentioned upgrading from street corners. Meara seemed to notably brighten as she realized she wasn’t alone in her profession. She had never gotten a stage all to herself before, mainly because she envisioned stage shows needing a vocalist. That however didn’t mean she wasn’t interested. Afterall, Meara lived to perform; there was something invigorating about captivating a whole room of people. “Of course I’m interested.” She blurted out, much like a teapot that can’t contain its steam. “I am more comfortable with street corners myself, but I think it would be fun to try.”

The redhead composed herself as she debated how best to describe her music. “Hmm. I like to think of it as a fusion between classical and electronic music.” As she said this her blue eyes glanced around for the instruments. She spied a display violin, and walked over to retrieve it. On her way back to where the proprietor stood, Meara tucked the instrument into the crook between her chin and left shoulder. She checked the tuning as she glanced back to the man. “It might be easier to demonstrate.”

And so Meara closed her eyes started to perform a piece she had composed from memory, letting her body sway naturally with the ebb and flow of the music. While it was hard for her to contain herself from twirling and dancing as she normally did, she felt obligated because of the space. After about ninety seconds she slowed down and brought the mini performance to a stop then smiled at the gentleman. While she wanted to convey the style through music, she didn’t want to impose on the shop owner.

[click me for audio]

[Lancaster]

Lancaster made no move to stop Meara from taking one of the violins and using it. As most instruments were second-hand, they were there to be played. There was nothing he liked more when customers came in and tested the instruments; he was always curious to see and hear their talent. He leaned idly against the edge of one of the displays, arms loosely crossed over his chest.

As she played, he couldn’t help but smile. The music was so energetic, and there was something so Irish about it, too. Regardless of whether it had any singing to accompany it, he thought the music would go well on open mic night. Even beyond that, he might even give her a set all to herself, once a week. If she were so inclined to accept. He had a feeling his customer base wouldn’t mind. It would be something different.

When she stopped, Lancaster knew that the song wasn’t that short. He knew she could have kept going – and he wanted her to. But he figured he’d hear more from her in the future. Instead of telling her to continue, he was struck with an idea.

”If we’re playing show and tell…” he said, striding back over to the counter and leaning over to pick up his acoustic from the other side. ”I’ve been working on something new,” he said, pulling the strap over his shoulder so the guitar fit against his chest like a limb that had always belonged there.

”Tell me what you think?” he said, before he launched into the song. Not just a ninety second snippet, but the whole damned thing. Elliot Lancaster had never been shy.

[Strange Loop]

[Meara]

Meara held the instrument and bow in her right hand after she had finished her excerpt before giving a little curtsy of appreciation for being able to share her music with a fellow musician. Before she could comment further, blue eyes followed the tall man as he walked across the room. Her pink lips upturned into a smile as Meara saw the man pick up a guitar from behind the counter. She assumed it was his personal instrument and probably played when he wasn’t busy in the music shop.

Meara was taken aback when he asked for her input on a piece he had created. While she was mostly self-taught in music theory, Meara was skilled enough to do most of her own arranging. She gave a nod as she stood there closing her eyes so she could listen intently and focus on the piece being presented.

As he played, Meara swayed in place and tapped her toes inside her ankle boots. She always had enjoyed the sound of an acoustic guitar. Perhaps it was because Meara was simply terrible at trying to get the cords with her small fingers, or perhaps it was due to her many collaborations with other buskers. It always felt like home, much like a cozy blanket. Furthermore, the man playing was quite talented and had a voice that warmed her heart much like the sun.

When he finished, Meara clapped excitedly in response. “The melody is quite delightful, and the tempo is perfect to capture the emotion of the lyrics. I really like it ...” It then dawned on Meara that she didn’t catch the name of the shop owner during their discussion.“Erm. You didn’t tell me your name.” She murmured as she looked up at the man.

[Lancaster]

Lancaster laughed as the guitar was put aside. It was just like him to be distracted, the kind of distracted where he assumed giving the name of a pub was the same as giving his own name. But not everyone knew that the pub was named after him; for all the girl knew, he had inherited the pub. For all she knew, he was from a place called ‘Lancaster’, or maybe it was someone he knew and respected, someone he missed.

”Thank you! And sorry, yes. My name is Lancaster. Elliot, really, but people call me Lancaster,” he said. Pi was the one who’d broken the trend; she was the one who’d started calling him Elliot. But Pi was gone. He didn’t know whether she was coming back – and the musician was retracing his steps, backtracking, falling back into old habits.

”You play really well yourself. You sure you’re just a busker?” he asked. The music was good enough to be played on the world stage, recorded and sold en masse. Not many people bought the instrumental stuff, these days – it wouldn’t be played on mainstream radio. But there would be a following, for sure. All he knew was that this was what he needed – a distraction. Someone with whom he could talk, someone with similar interests. Even if their style of music was different, it was all still music.