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dannymayevent · 4 years

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Great work @paper-glasses completing the daily calendar! It was great seeing all of the different art works you came up with!

This fic was created by @phandom-phriend for your day 29 prompt Heat

*tw mentions of death, parental fights

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Ever since she saw those people on the TV screen with their loud instruments and voices, with their crazy hair colors and even wilder outfits, Ember knew she wanted, needed, to be part of that. Her parents were always quick to turn off the television when these bands came on, or change the radio station when something particularly loud or out of their comfort zones came on. But even at nine, that couldn’t stop Ember.

The second she had the chance, she found herself in the music room of her school. It wasn’t much, seeing as the school was for elementary students who couldn’t really grasp the idea of complexity quite yet, but she was desperate to get her small hands on something. Anything. The teacher was more than happy to help with her little hobby, taking the time to teach her things about rhythm and notes. Teaching her how each part worked to create the whole of what would later be heard on the radio by thousands.

Ember was entranced.

In middle school the very first thing she did was join the band. It wasn’t quite what she wanted, but even that tiny drum set served as the perfect outlet. Her parents had been fighting more and more lately, but because they were so absorbed in their own petty fights they didn’t even notice that she often returned home late from practice. It worked for her in that way, seeing as music still didn’t really seem to be their ‘thing’, but when she actually wanted for their eyes to look her way…

So Ember tried. She tried so hard to excel in all her classes, in her band performance, even in her chores to try and turn those angry glares into proud fondness like it used to be. Or maybe it was never like that and it was simply her child mind making the best of things. But it is a goal she strived to achieve in some sort of way from the moment she wakes up to the moment she goes to bed each night.

In the end, her grades slipped. Ember was still trying so hard, but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t bring herself to focus on her studies the same way that she focused on music. No matter what she tried, she just couldn’t get the same joy from reading or equations that she got from beats and lyrics. Sitting in a classroom could never have the same appeal as being on a stage, but it seems that kind of logic doesn't work on teachers or state tests. Who knew?

In eighth grade, a friend of hers introduced her to the guitar. It was something her dad kept propped up in the living room corner. The previous times she had been over, Ember had thought the item was merely a decoration to ‘tie the room together’. But when he found Ember staring at it and offered to teach her, that was a moment she could never forget for the rest of her life.

Feeling those strings under her fingertips. The way her heart beat with each sound that strummed from the instrument with only a slight movement of her hand. The way it sent shivers down her spine with the absolute feeling of power and pride dancing in her veins with every new note. This was her instrument. The guitar called to her in a way that drums and flutes and clarinets never had. She knew that from that moment on, she would do everything in her grasp to keep this feeling with her.

At sixteen she is no longer in band, but instead choir. They had recruited her during freshman year and she found that she enjoyed singing just as much as she enjoyed the guitar. The freedom and range it gave her, the chances for solos and the spotlight. For all those eyes on her. Her parents never came to a show, but when the stage lights flashed in her eyes so that the crowd became nothing but shadows, it was easy to pretend they approved. To pretend things were okay and that she would see them after the show. To prove her worth was more on the stage than it could ever be on paper.

Now she is also working part time at some stupid diner. It’s totally not her scene with the overly stressed coworkers and the customers that pretend to know their jobs better than they do. The grease from the food and the same six songs playing during her long shifts aren’t quite the excitement she’s looking for. Not to mention the tacky uniform that totally clashes with her bright red curls…

So if she keeps waiting for a Help Wanted sign to appear in the window of the record shop across the street, who really needs to know?

But it pays well. Well enough that she finally, finally, gets what she’s been wanting for so long. An electric guitar of her very own, colors customized to shine perfectly in the spotlights glow. Holding that gem in her hands for the first time nearly brought her to her knees. This, this right here in her thin hands, is her legacy. This shop in this small town is going to be the start of something great, it’s just that no one else knows it yet.

At eighteen it’s her senior year and she refuses to graduate without doing something she deems herself as great. So without a second thought she signs up for some talent show with a grand prize of $5,000 and a record deal. She has to drive three states away and skip a few school days to make the auditions, but school work and attendance has never stopped her before.

A week later, she got an email congratulating her on making it into the first round.

And just like that she began to shoot up to the top like a rocket going to the depths of space. Ember won round after round after round. Sure, seeing the crying faces of her competition that got sent home wasn’t a good feeling. But the feeling of being so close to stardom, being recognized as one of the best, let those negative feelings be drowned out. They all may have had dreams, but she did too. And she wasn’t going to give hers up for anything or anyone.

And then

She

Won

She won the competition, driving all over the country to different venues to perform her way to the top all by herself. All those hours practicing, all those moments where she chose not to give in when the rest of the world told her to, lead up to this moment. This very moment where the gold and silver confetti falls from the ceiling accompanied by matching balloons. This moment where the judges she's seen face to face countless times over the course of this journey walk up to her with a golden trophy. This moment where she gets to choose which record label she wants to sign to.

This moment where she is truly free.

Then came time for her first live performance. Her hair all tied up, makeup done in a way to leave an impression. Outfit displaying all the power and ferocity within. This would be her debut song to the world. The first pillar after a long string of stepping stones leading her to the fame she has desired since she was small. Her parents still aren’t in the crowd, but that’s okay now. Now she has fans that watched her journey cheering her name. And the only way she plans to go is up.

Except that didn’t happen. Halfway through her song there was an… accident. One of the stage crew members didn’t properly put out their cigarette backstage and started a small fire. It could have been easily handled, but the assistant who found it panicked and fanned it with the papers they had been holding, unintentionally making the flames bigger.

By the time Ember realized the heat wasn’t from her workout of working her stage magic, but from the hidden flames backstage, it was already too late. The rope they had used in place of the rusted metal beam that once held one of the spotlights burned.

The rope burned and the light came tumbling down, down, down. All she could do was look up into it as the bulb flickered out. Look up and hope against all hope that this wasn’t it. That there would be more to her story.

“... But I woke up in the ghost zone instead of some hospital bed. Years had already passed by the time I manifested and everyone… everyone had already forgotten about me. Just another news story. Well, they did change the safety measures for stage performances after that. So I guess that’s a win.” Ember sighed, looking out at the stars above them. Sometimes it hurt to look at them, all twinkling and bright above her.

Sometimes she worries that one might fall.

“I’m… sorry, Ember.” Danny said sadly. He knew that all ghosts had their story, a reason they remained. But hearing them never got easier. The pain of having lost everything just to be stuck in some kind of in-between is a burden that feels like it’s too much to bear, but there is no escaping it either.

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not, but you don’t have to be sorry.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“Well, you could let me perform my hypnotizing show without issues.”

Danny laughed and shook his head. “Fat chance. Unless you can do it without the whole mind control thing, I don’t think that can work.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” Ember laughed back before standing up “Well, maybe one tame show wouldn’t be so bad.”

The halfa stood up after her and smiled. “Then it’s a deal. The mayor owes me one, so I’m sure I can get you a great stadium attendance.”

“You know…. You’re not so bad, kid.”

“Neither are you.”

The two stayed silent for a moment, simply looking out to the stars, both of them thinking about their broken dreams caused by being a ghost. So many things were lost or taken from them. But that’s the funny thing about being broken, sometimes your edges line up with someone else's. Sometimes with someone you would never even expect.

#dannymay2020 #death mention #fic

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artoftamashi · 4 years

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Sunshine.

Chapter Name: HUH

Huh?

Whatever happened to privacy?

"Can you please knock before coming in?" My parents are not fans of knocking on our doors. They always say this is their house and that it doesn't matter how much we "fight them," our say will never be above theirs. I'm not saying they're wrong. But I'm already a freshman in high school and this girl is growing, if you know what I mean. I finally got my own room away from my little brother after my older brother finally moved away.

"Danielle! You're going to be late!" my mom yells.

"I'm right here," I say as I take a bite of the to-go breakfast she made us.

"Well, hurry on. You need to walk your brother to his stop too."

My little brother isn't so little now. He's 11 and he's very capable of going on his own. Of course, I'll probably be walking 10 feet behind him just to make sure he always makes it safely. And even then, he always bumps into his friends; mom and I really have nothing to worry about.

"Hey Jake, don't forget you have tryouts today after school, okay? Mom will be busy after work, so I'll be picking you up. Please just wait for me, alright?"

"I know, Nani," he says as he rolls his eyes.

I can't treat him like a child forever; mom will have to stop making me do that too. One day she'll see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm finally a freshman and I am not excited. I've never been part of the crowd so making new friends will be a little difficult. The only friends I have are those in band. I play the trombone; to make matters "worse" most of the people in my section are all male. I just couldn't fit in the crowd during summer practices; therefore, I don't really consider a lot of them my friends.

"...use me... um, excuse me?"

"oh, I'm sorry."

"Is this seat taken?" Huh? Who is this?

"No, go ahead." I moved my backpack to allow him to sit. He must be an upperclassman...or... from another middle school.

"Thanks....I'm Danny."

"Oh, um, I'm also Dani, but short for Danielle," I chuckle.

As he smiled he said, "Nice to meet you! Are you a freshman?"

Probably obvious to an upperclassman. "I am. What about you?" I swear that boy's eyes got 3 times bigger.

"Me too! Wow, maybe we will have classes together." His eyes sparkled and his smile shone through me.

"Yeah, maybe." What is this...?

After we got to school, we part ways without a word and I went to go find my friends.

"I have no classes with you guys?!" exclaimed Anthony. Trumpet. Silly. Class clown. Charming.

"Maybe if you studied harder you'd get into the advanced classes with us," Joey states. Clarinet. Smart. Popular.

"Do I have any with you guys?" I shyly interrupt.

"Let's see!" Excitedly, Leila takes my schedule and compares it to everyone else's.

"Hey, Nani, what lunch did you get?" asks Joey.

"She got it with the rest of us!" Leila answers for me. "Which, by the way, did you hear about the new boy joining band?"

We all look at her confused. "Joining now? At this point of the season?" Anthony couldn't process it.Technically the season hasn’t started since the first football game is this Friday. But we’ve been preparing since we graduated middle school. So we’re pretty much 3 months in to being ready.

"Yes! He's so cute!" I’m sure I saw some drool fall out of her mouth.

"Wait, Leila, how do you know this?" Even Joey is out of the loop.

"I got here pretty early so I can ask the directors if I can miss today's rehearsal, since I'm starting driving school. As I was approaching Mr. Jackson's office, he was standing there and Mr. Jackson was loaning him out an instrument."

"Oh, so what does he play?" curiously asks Joey.

"You're asking what he plays?! What's his name? Where did he come from? Why is he allowed to join now?" interrogates Anthony.

"Chill! I didn't ask," Leila says with rolling eyes. "But he's playing trombone! Can you believe it, Nani?! I can't believe it! You're so lucky..." she sighs. Leila is so pretty. She can get whatever guy she wants. I think Joey likes her but he’s not easy to read, so I’m not sure.

"Whaaaaaat...? So is he joining us this morning in class?" Anthony was really irritated. He's the kind of guy who doesn't want the attention taken away.

I wonder what kind of kid gets to join band after not going to the summer training camps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We all have band first period. After setting up, I see an extra chair next to me that I didn't set up.

"Hello." I hear a familiar voice. Surprised, too, Danny smiles and waves. "I guess we're sitting next to each other again. Haha."

............huh...?............ HUH?!

#huh #chapter one #chapter 1 #Sunshine #new fic #my fic #fic #school #romance #fluff #shoujo #comedy #school life

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coolpolarbear123 · 7 years

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BAND CAMP DAY 6

August 28th, 2017

Guys, I’m sorry for who I am

Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 7

This one will be long. Three hours worth

I’m Out of Shape:

So my brother had freshman orientation today. Do you know what this means?

It means that all of the 9th graders had freshman orientation.

At 7:58 AM

CST, for anyone who wants to know

It ended at 1:00 PM

Still CST, for anyone who’s having trouble keeping track

13:00 military time for any of you guys who use that system

Anyway, anyway. You know what started at 1:00? Band

Not “band” in general, though. Just the fish part. That’s right. The fish had their own band time from 1:00-2:30. Then the 10th, 11th, and 12th graders came in at 2:30 and we had practice until 4:00.

In case you’re wondering, this is a thing from every year (2 links)

And reading through, there was some sort of freshman thing that went on my 10th grade year, but I don’t know if it was the same thing? Maybe

Anyway, the freshman were at the school from 7:58 (I have a sneaking suspicion that this is to help the fish with our 7:55 starting time on normal school days) all the way until 4:00, and anyone with sports was there longer. Fun day

So going in, I knew that the fish might not be in the best mood

They weren’t as bad as last year’s fish, though, so it’s fine

It went fine, actually

I know a good chunk of the fish, so maybe that helped

Okay, anyway, due to the orientation, I had to bring my brother’s trumpet, but I was hanging out with a friend, so my mom had to grab me with the trumpet in the car, then drop me off with the trumpet

And so one of the F3 comes in, and she’s like “Do I need to get [your brother]” “Yes.” She grabbed him, I gave him the trumpet, and he gave me his nametag

I still have his nametag on

Y was wearing a red shirt, I’m wearing a red shirt (my HHS [the old school] wrapping booth one), and X comes in

AND HE’S WEARING BLUE

WHAT A DISGRACE

He’s not even wearing jeans like Y and me

The first half hour is spent with locker assignments. Basically, all the fish finally don’t have to lug their instruments home until the last day of senior year!

The locker combos got mixed up, so it took longer than normal. Like, the excel sheet got shifted somehow. It was a mess, and that’s why it took so long.

So, they didn’t need their instruments because first thing’s first: marching

“We’re going to learn how to march eight steps every five yards” --My band director

THAT’S RIGHT, INCOMING JUNIOR GIRL. IT’S NOT WHATEVER YOU SAID ABOUT EIGHT FEET OR WHATEVER THAT ONE OTHER TIME

DISCLAIMER: I COMPLAIN A LOT

The marching fundamentals

The six points of alignment

Toes up, heads up, chest out

At attention until told to relax

No banana backs

Remember, when you’re not holding your instrument, there are two places your hands could go

Not that any of this applies

Okay, so they form a block of six people per row, two rows of seven

Drum majors in the front

First we learn to mark time

Okay, okay, okay, I can do this. I’ve been here for two years. The only thing different about marking time is how our feet are placed and how the band director tells us to start

And, I mean, posture and attention and whatever

But that’s a whole category of wrong on it’s own

So we’re marking time

Now let’s take eight steps forward

There are multiple things wrong here

1) We went from marking time to marching eight steps. Forget taking one step for practice. Forget saying “Now look at that step. Would eight of those steps take you to the next yard line?” 2) Then the steps in general. Toes up, guys. We aren’t walking.

“Multiple” means “two” because I know how to paraphrase due to guilt

So our band director realizes that maybe fish that are just now learning to march can’t really go right into eight steps forward.

So we practice taking one step

And then we go into taking eight steps

Eight steps forward. Good. Another eight steps forward. Good. Turn around. Eight steps forward. Good. Another eight steps forward. Good. Turn around.

Also pictured: the drum majors running up and down because we need to be in the front every time

Eventually we use our brains and realize if we space ourselves out we don’t need to die

I mean run

I meant die

Okay, so now we know they can walk forward

March forward, sorry

walk forward

BUT NOW

THE TRUE TEST

OF GEOMETRY

TURNING

NINETY

DEGREE

ANGLES

All you have to do is kick the baby

Or, as they say here at the SS, “flip”

Okay, so I had to demonstrate this by marching in an 8x8 box doing right turns.

The band director went on about how good of a marcher I am (?)

*Award receiving voice* I’d like to thank HHS for making me who I am. Half of you guys--most of you guys--hate me, and I’m probably completely sloppy in HHS standards, but I spent my 9th grade year there and that’s how I know everything I do

Okay, so we start marching and turning right and stuff, We’re making 8x8 and 16x16 boxes

And then we start turning left

I know. It’s a huge milestone

Oh, by the way, at this point, us drum majors are just kinda moving around wherever we see fit.

Anyway, we make some more boxes

This is beginning to sound like a narrative of what’s in my sketchbook

And like, I’m a little ticked by posture and hand position and the idea of being at attention, but whatever. It’s whatever

It’s not something I should be annoyed at

This

is my band now

We do some weird things with those boxes, splitting them off and having them join up again

The fish are really into the idea of crashing into each other

At one point Y and I have some Kiss the Girl flashbacks. I don’t think I ever got the chance to tell any of you guys about that, so if you want to know, tell me

That was sophomore year. I’m sure I mentioned playing Kiss the Girl, but I didn’t go into anything beyond that because I only talk about band camp

Spoiler alert: I did not. Sophomore year, we had a Disney themed show where we played When You Wish Upon a Star, A Whole New World, Kiss the Girl, and Hakuna Matata.

ANYWAY

We get to do some backwards marching. What I learned was to never put your heal on the ground. You’re on your tiptoes the entire time

NOT HERE

We do that and I’m cringing

Oh, Y showed them how to do that

We get into halftime marching. Sophomore year, I really didn’t understand that we had a thing called “pregame” and you can see that in my posts. I didn’t mention the word “pregame,” but it’s there if you know where to look

The point of me saying that is that everything we did was pregame marching. Halftime marching includes facing the stands. It means everyone’s shoulders aren’t turned enough and the flutes make me want to die

and cry

And buy a new pack of pencils

So we get into lateral slides

Which they call “slides” here

Understandable--it’s an abbreviation

And I mean, technically the word “flip” is probably more accurate, but it’s harder for me than “kick the baby” so I’m going to complain for the sake of complaining

In which Y gave me a look when they heard me use that term

Anyway, halftime marching

X showed them how to do lateral slides

More marching, more marching

We’re marching in a terrible looking box

Everyone’s shoulders look really bad

Kill me now

And then two people come in

EXCUSE ME

Like, I’m sure you’re late for a reason

BUT NOW WE HAVE FISH WHO CAN’T MARCH DIVING RIGHT INTO THIS

Oh, dear gods

We position them

They’re stumbling

At this point I don’t even know how to help

THEN ANOTHER COMES IN

Kill me now pt. 2

We place her next to her best friend or something I don’t know what’s going on

AND WE’RE DONE

WE’RE DONE

Oh my gods

Please

So, as you guys know, I’m not fond of the marching fundamentals here. But also, I’m not allowed to complain

So, it’s 2:15, and the rest of the band is coming at 2:30

For anyone who is lost and/or has been forgotten, we’re still in CST. This is 14:15 and 14:30 military time

Y and I sit over by the lockers, talking

I feel really bad at this point for complaining

Like, the thing is, I’m definitely a top-tier complainer. Okay? It’s so bad.

And my 10th grade year, I was very secluded. It was really bad.

My 11th grade year was a testing-waters year. Like, I was more of myself, and I talked more about myself

Including my own past and my other friends and stuff

And I’ve been told time and time again that that isn’t stuff I should talk about

And I know that

But I’ve gotten really bad about it

And I think it’s time that I need to stop

Hopefully I can get back to my 10th grade self a bit

Suppress everything, right?

Anyway, while I’m feeling extremely guilty, a ton of fish come up to ask and ask what we’re doing/if they’ll need their instruments

And you know what? I have no idea

Y has no idea

This is probably something we should know?

Yeah, we don’t

Also, my brother is sitting with us. I love him. “Don’t you have friends?” “Yeah.” And yet he sits with us anyway? ♥

THE COMPLAINING ENDS HERE

It’s around 2:30 CST. 14:30 military time

So, I have two 12th grade friends here, one is Y, and I feel like I need a name for the other one, so I’m just going to take a moment to give people aliases

So, we have HDM and ODM from last year

The F3

X and Y from this year

And my other 12th grade friend (she plays French Horn and is loud) can be called FHF (French Horn Friend)

And I have that one friend who came with me to those two practices. She plays alto clarinet and I’ll call her Sidekick because people call her that sometimes online

And I have the flute mom friend from last year, and I’ll call her GFM (Graduated Flute Mom)

I JUST REALIZED I NEVER COUNTED THE FLUTES THIS YEAR

OH NO

I HAVE BROKEN TRADITION

Next time, if I remember and if I can

I’m getting so off-topic

Okay, hold on

Where was I

RIGHT

So FHF, Y, and I are talking and stuff

And it’s a little weird because they both read this (Hi, guys) and it came up

Only for a split second

But it was a strange moment for me

I mean, I’ll mention these posts to some of the Streamclan, but for the most part, I don’t talk about them a lot

And when I did--well, that was two years ago, and I was angry

But anyway, Y said something about being named “Y” but I don’t remember if that was now or at the beginning

You’re welcome

If you want me to use your actual name, let me know. This is all for privacy’s sake

So, everyone goes to their seat, and that means I’m sitting on the ground

One of the band directors pulled up a video at the beginning of the day, and we didn’t watch it before, so I thought maybe we were watching it now, but no. We never did

If I remember correctly, we played inside, went outside, then played inside some more

So, playing inside means conducting

And good news!

NONE OF THE DRUM MAJORS REMEMBER WHO IS CONDUCTING WHAT FOR PREGAME

“Did you bring your paper?” “No. I thought about it, but no.” “I didn’t.” “Neither did I.” “Uh, right. Okay.”

We remember halftime, just not pregame

So, there are eight pregame songs

X is fairly certain that he’s conducting the first two songs

I remember that I’m conducting the SSB, and I think maybe Mag 7

Y is thinking they conduct the opposing school’s song

That’s five out of eight

The other three? We have no idea

So, the first three songs we figured out (in which X and Y get to conduct), but we skip over Mag 7, right to a song that we didn’t know who conducted

So I conducted it, since I hadn’t conducted yet

And then I stayed up for the Star Spangled Banner

In which the band director told me that was my best time yet conducting it

And I was really proud of that

I have a really hard time with it

Things that happened while I was on the podium:

Me, mouthing to FHF, “WE HAVE NO IDEA WHO CONDUCTS THIS SONG”

Me: *raises eyebrows at my brother* My brother: *slightly raises eyebrows back*

I love my brother

*FHF points out my brother’s name tag with a questioning look*

And then we’re outside!

Guys, I know this is long. I started this when I got home (4:20?) and it’s 7:54. Trust me. I know. I’ve still got more.

I mean, I’ve taken small breaks

But, gods, today had a lot of content

And I’m so complain-y, and I’m pretty sure no one would want me to talk to them right now, so this is all I’ve got at the moment

So, we’re outside

And I do not want to march again

Luckily, we need to work on the salute

We set up the sound stuff and asked a band director if we could work on the salute (nose goes. I volunteered)

I keep misspelling “salute.” Guys, I’m exhausted

“Sure.” “Can we work inside?” “No. We might need you guys out here.”

They did not, in fact, need us out there

So, the salute

A 16-count thing we do before halftime. It shows the announcer that the band is ready

The last four counts are the actual salute

The first twelve? We get to make up that bit

Now, this year we’re doing a musical thing, so I wish we could do something musical themed, but there’s no way

First idea: Y takes four counts to die, I take four counts to die, X takes four counts to die, and we salute from the ground

Second idea: Do-si-do for twelve counts

Cupid shuffle?

Cha cha slide?

Harlem Shake?

Did you know the Macarena is twelve counts? Man, we almost considered that one

We kinda wanted to do a thing where we started on on side and went to the other

But we couldn’t think of anything

Anyway, we messed around like that until the end

And we have absolutely nothing

So, we go back in and take our seats. Time to play some more

We do some halftime

I’m off the podium for I Just Can’t Wait to be King

Which I only minorly mess up

And not much happens here.

The F3 are fortunate enough to hear me complain about I Dreamed a Dream

Gods, I hate conducting that song

At least, I think that’s when we did halftime

We also did a little bit of pregame

Meaning take two on the SSB

That one didn’t go as well

The fish percussion were struggling

BOOM CRASH sounded a little more like “??????”

Even with one of the band directors directing them from one foot away

It’s so strange to watch

But kinda funny

But yeah, the snares could have been louder

And that one didn’t go as well

Basically I can’t wait until the percussion have gotten down because that really confused me at first and I just had to keep going and pretend like I knew what I was doing and dear gods help me now

We reach the end

(FINALLY IT’S 8:15 AT NIGHT; I WANT TO ACTUALLY SCROLL THROUGH TUMBLR AT SOME POINT)

9:15 EST

FHF said that since reading these, she’s been keeping more of an eye on the drum majors, and she saw us do-si-do. That was fun to hear

And that was basically the end. I don’t think I forgot anything!

EDIT--I DID:

So, at the end, I get in the car, and my brother immediately is like “Oh. My. God. Guess what they made us do. It was terrible. I’m dead.”

He’s not that bad of a marcher, and he pays attention, but I almost laughed at that.

I offered to teach him how to march, though. Like, full on posture stuff. He said he’s up for it. I’m excited.

But yeah, no, I kept an eye on him the entire time. I’m so excited to have him in the band this year

DISCLAIMER: COMPLAINING

And mentions of the old school/band

I miss my old school. I miss my old band. I miss my old friends. That’s a fact. I did not come here on friendly terms. I’ve gone over this, but I was extremely angry coming here. Coming to the SS. It wasn’t a fun time for me, and it wasn’t a fun time for anyone I came across. And moving here shifted many of my friendships. I don’t know where I stand with practically everyone. And when I say I miss all of those things, my old town was band for me. I miss my old band. I miss what we did in marching band and concert band. I miss our tiny parade we did my freshman year. And there are so many thing I wish to say, so many things that once upon a time I would have. If certain things were different. Maybe I’d rant about the promises that were made, and whatever else that led to But, I can’t. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. I don’t know what my old band thinks of me. I don’t know what my old friends think of me. I barely know what my new friends think of me. They wouldn’t want me back. I’m stuck between a band that doesn’t want me and I band I don’t want to be in. But I’m not stuck, am I? Not really. Because sucking it up--that’s what I need to do. It’s been a couple years. And logically, of course it’s time for me to maybe, just maybe, suck it up and except what I’ve been given. The reason I go to the SS is because of the marching band, after all. I don’t know if I can express what I want to say, but basically, I have no right to complain, and I’m sorry I ever did. I’m sorry I’m that kind of person. I’ll work on it. I promise.

COMPLAINING HAS ENDED

Next day is Friday, September 1st (CST)

#Band Camp #Marching Band #Band #Drum Major #Rant #NSBC #cpb speaks #2k17 BC Adventures #IT'S 8:36 CST #AND I'M FINALLY FINISHED WITH THIS POST #THAT I STARTED MORE THAN FOUR HOURS AGO #I'M SO TIRED #AAAAA #Re: /exhausted/

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entry-number-two · 7 years

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What I think now, regarding music, by Hashimoto Eriko

[taken from Hashimoto Eriko Hatano Hatano Hirohumi’s ‘Season Correspondence Vol.1′]

My entrance to the music has always been “admiration”.

When I started learning piano at six-years-old, my admiration was towards A-chan, a neighborhood friend. She was cheerful and vigorous, with a long hair tied with pink ponpons; A-chan’s tiny hands fluttered delicately in the air and I can recall listening to the melody she played even now. So I started learning piano, thinking “I want to do that too, I want to play the piano too”.

Well, when I tried starting playing the piano, I would strike the keyboard strongly, frustrated that I couldn’t play it easily, I would go to the class not having practiced enough, so I wasn’t able of having the life of a pianist like I pictured. I’m glad that I could take piano lessons, since thanks to them I became able to read music scores, my music grades were great, and it’s useful to me at this moment of my life.

When I started learning clarinet at junior high school, my admiration was towards the performance of the Wind Instruments Club at my school’s Freshman Year Welcome Party. I sat at the pipe chair closest to the musical conductor and I became unable of taking my eyes off of the musical conductor. Off of the musical conductor strongly reliance eyes. So I started learning clarinet, thinking “I want to do that too, I want to play the clarinet too”.

Playing the clarinet was also fun. My forte was seeing the scores for the first time and quickly being able to matching the notes. When I was in my last year as a Junior High student, I was chosen as the leader for the clarinet team. Given that I didn’t have the character of being a leader, I think I was a leader that ends up allowing everybody to do whatever they like. Nearby the junior high graduation, I came to play an E-flat clarinet, which is four times higher in pitch that a regular clarinet. Since the pitch was higher, I made an effort so the notes sounded harmonious and not just loud. Each one of these three years in the Wind Instruments Club changed my school year, since I spent deeper times there than I did in regular classes.

When I started playing guitar and singing at the same time I joined high school, my admiration were far too many to be brought up. Since the day I went watch my older brother’s band’s gig, I, who had only performed music that exists thanks to a score, became lost in a trance with the world of free reverberations called “original songs” which don’t need a score. So I did a cover of one song by Hi-STANDARD and went right to writing original songs, thinking “I want to form a band too, I want to create original songs”.

My parents weren’t happy. Now I see it was obvious why. Because their daughter, who used to take really seriously her club activities so far, started leaving the house with a guitar and wouldn’t quite come back. Her grades also started to decrease quickly. Thanks to that sore fall of my grades, I was scolded at night in a family restaurant. Luckily, I didn’t have any interest whatsoever for cigarettes, blond hair or earrings, I would just write original songs in a studio close to home, play guitar and sing.

Given that I started playing guitar at such conditions, different from piano and clarinet, even now I don’t quite understand the instrument basics. There are also many chords I don’t know. Even my forte, reading music scores quickly, won’t work well with guitar. To me, the appeal from the guitar was its distorted sound. After that, if I had a bass and drums, I wouldn’t worry with nothing more.

In the world outside the school, I also made many acquaintances who had bands. People would take care of me just for being the frontwoman in a band – to the extent that could lead to misunderstandings regarding my own merits. Near my high school graduation, I told my parents I wanted to become a professional musician and my father said:

“You have been dealing with nothing but music until now, what else could you do?”.

In those days, I had the extremely wrong impression that there weren’t any songs better than the one I wrote. Thinking about it now, if I wasn’t convinced of that, I wouldn’t be able to live on music. This impression lasted until our debut as chatmonchy in 2005. I’m so glad it lasted until then.

Since our debut, I have improved in order to don’t dishonor the original songs in which we believed, and this improvement was also despite all the things we accepted that would later prove to be challenges to us. Hoping to not lose to the energy of our contemporary bands. While holding admiration towards old-timer bands.

If it wasn’t for the sake of our debut, I think I would never have came to Tokyo. After proceeding to Tokyo I moved a few times, however even if I left all my baggage behind, before long my new house would become mine. After the debut, as if I was getting closer to the confusion of Tokyo, I became busy all the time.

One way or another, I got used to chatmonchy’s name, to the character of Ecchan, and I got to comprehend them. The time when started little by little seeing things through an objective point of view, I got married and after a short time I gave birth to a child. I stopped music.

At that moment, I had anticipations towards my livelihood after that and, at the same time, I felt little differences between my life before and after my child was born, what made me impatient. I’d wonder if would it be possible to properly return being the Ecchan from before giving birth. I’d regularly watch videos from Ecchan before giving birth and study them. They way of singing, the way of playing, the way of smiling. I’d watch with admiration. But one day I thought, what am I doing? Who am I?

My child is wonderful. He’s having everything of me to himself. Starting with breast-feeding, the energy associated with nursing, the affection, the greed, up to all my time.

I won’t turn back to being the Ecchan from before giving birth. But this sounds like I’m moving forward, like something natural. However, shortly after giving birth, in an interview, I ended up lying that saying “Nothing has particularly changed”.

I will never forget that, when we performed Renai Spirits on our first ROCK IN JAPAN after my comeback, a person I know well since our debut said to me “the reality of that song disappeared”.

I will always keep admiring music.

Music allows me to think that even I can take a chance with something.

It has been a just bit more than 10 years since music became my occupation, but my heart wants to keep yearning and admiring music forever. I want my admiration itself to keep existing in music. Besides making me glad, in this world there are still music worlds that I don’t know of. I ought become able of seeing them through various angles.

Being able to sing in spite of noticing that means I’m a fortunate person.

#橋本絵莉子波多野裕文 #Hashimoto Eriko Hatano Hirohumi #橋本絵莉子 #Hashimoto Eriko #チャットモンチー #chatmonchy

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fifteenstrawberries · 7 years

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Surely Someday

So, once upon a time, I had an idea for a music au. and, well . . .

Also please please check out the song in the description, you will not regret it, I promise.

Surely Someday

Modern college/ jazz band au. Title and the lyrics at the end come from “Because” by Yoko Kanno. Which is emphatically Not Jazz, but it worked so well I couldn’t help it. The legendary jazz quintet, Voltron, of Altea University, started out as just Hunk and Lance jamming out in an empty music room. They would get back from their afternoon classes, grab Lance's trumpet and Hunk's bass from the orchestra room lockers, then find a good space and chill for an hour or so, unwinding from the stress of the day. They never set out to play anything specific-- Lance liked to improvise and Hunk was good at riffing off his notes, but by the time Pidge found them, they'd practiced enough songs for a pretty decent length set.

Pidge-- better known as Katie Holt to everyone but Hunk and Lance-- was one of those child musical genius prodigy types, who came to the university for classes and was on track to graduate early with a degree in music composition. She took lessons for five different instruments (only piano was required for her degree, the rest were just for fun) and had apparently never heard of improv jazz before in her life. She had burst into their practice room and demanded to know what exactly they were doing, that chord would work much better if you raised the bass line by a half step, and could they please decide whether they were playing in four/four time or not? Her brother had dragged her out, apologizing profusely, as Katie shouted back questions, wanting to know if they actually knew how to play their instruments because that would explain a lot, really.

Needless to say, they kept her.

It was just the three of them for the first few weeks. And that was good! Pidge kept bringing different instruments to their jam sessions and had a knack for harmonizing, and kept bringing new music for them to play, either her favorite songs arranged for trumpet, bass, and clarinet, or pieces that she'd written for her music composition class with Professor Coran. They even performed during the Homecoming concert as 'the Voltron Jazz trio.'

"Which is why," Lance argued, as Hunk stapled another 'looking for player' notice on the student board, "We don't need another player. Jazz trios are a thing, dude."

"Jazz quartets are also a thing," Hunk gave him an amused look, "It'll be nice to have another person to play with. Besides, we're getting to the point where we could really use a decent drummer."

"Oh no. The legendary Voltron jazz trio does not need a drummer."

"Do you want to give Pidge an excuse to bring her metronome again?"

Lance shuddered. That practice had been a nightmare and didn't bear remembering.

"Exactly," Hunk said grimly. "The only way we're going to keep her from bringing that monstrosity again is if we put someone on drums." He stapled the next flier to the cafeteria message board with unnecessary force, muttering to himself, "Bringing a metronome to jazz practice, honestly . . . ."

Lance patted his shoulder in silent, sympathetic commiseration.

In the end, only one person got in touch with them. Hunk refused to tell Lance who it was, and it wasn't until Lance saw a familiar mullet sitting at a table at the student café, waiting to meet them, that he understood why.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Lance hissed, clutching at Hunk's arm.

"Nope."

"Keith? Really? Keith?!"

"He's the only one that responded and he's good, Lance, don't you dare ruin this because of that one thing when you were a freshman."

"It was marching band! Do you know how cool I would've been if I'd gotten into marching band?"

Pidge rolled her eyes at their whispered argument, pulling the café door open, "Hey," she said, walking up to Keith, "Are you here for us?"

Keith blinked at her, "I think so. Are you guys the--" He consulted one of Hunk's fliers, now wrinkled almost beyond recognition, "Voltron jazz ensemble?"

"That's us," Hunk said agreeably, pulling up a chair.

Lance flung himself into the chair opposite Keith, who eyed him uncertainly. "So, Keith," Lance drawled, "Since when were you interested in jazz?"

"I'm not, really," Keith shrugged, "But I need another extracurricular if I'm going to keep my scholarship next semester and the rock band I was going to join fell through."

"Lucky for us then," Hunk noted, ignoring the strangled sound Lance was making, "You said you play drums, right?"

"For the past ten years."

"Cool. I play bass, Pidge here plays either clarinet or saxophone depending, and you know that Lance plays trumpet."

“Ummm . . . .”

Lance could actually see the moment where Keith failed to remember how he had ruined Lance's life.

No. No nononono no no nope, Lance refused to play with a guy who didn't even have the decency to remember his part in one of the more humiliating moments in Lance's life. Keith wasn't getting into Voltron. Period.

But Hunk might actually kill him if he just stood up and walked away, so Lance needed to figure out a way to dispose of Keith subtly . . . .

His eyes lit on Pidge.

Perfect.

"You the only person who replied to the flier," Hunk was saying.

"But we have a minor in our group," Lance interrupted, ignoring the strange looks all three were giving him, "So Pidge gets a final say in who joins."

There, Lance thought smugly. Keith looked nervous as Pidge inspected him over the top of her glasses. Hunk couldn't even give him a hard time about it, they'd already agreed that they would defer to Pidge's judgement since she was the closest thing they had to a conductor. And Pidge had ridiculously high standards when it came to the people she played with so there was no way she'd ever, ever--

"Keith can stay." Pidge said.

"Oh, cool," Hunk said, as Lance gaped, "Keith you heard her, you're in."

"Why?!" Lance exclaimed, staring at Pidge in betrayal.

Pidge pushed up her glasses, "He can play the percussion piece I composed."

Hunk and Lance paused.

"The one you brought in last week?" Hunk ventured.

"The one you wrote specifically to be physically impossible to play?" Lance yelped.

They both turned to Keith, who shrugged. "It was pretty challenging." He admitted.

Hunk and Lance exchanged long, speaking looks.

"Fine," Lance sighed, at the end of their silent conversation, "Keith," He paused, then said begrudgingly, "Welcome to Voltron."

Keith grinned.

"Do you have some time right now?" Hunk asked, as Pidge offered Keith a high five, "We're going to find a practice room to jam in. You can come and get a feel for how we play together."

"Yeah, sounds good." Keith nodded, still smiling faintly, and stood up.

"You're in charge of whatever sticks or tambourines or whatever you need to play." Lance told him, "Don't expect us to help you lug around your equipment. It's every man for himself."

Pidge cleared her throat pointedly.

"Every person for themselves." Lance amended.

"I . . . wasn't expecting you to?" Keith was frowning again, confused.

"Ignore him Keith, he's just mad that you don't remember him." Hunk said, holding the door open for everyone to walk outside.

"Oh," Keith gave Lance another confused look, "Sorry?"

Lance seethed.

Ten minutes later, walking through the halls toward the practice room, Keith stopped dead, "Wait, Lance, weren't you the guy who sent like five people to the hospital during marching band auditions?"

"Minor injuries, only three people, and it was your fault!"

"That's why you've been giving me a hard time? How was it my fault that you tripped over your own feet?!"

"I was distracted by your mullet!" _____________________________________________________________________________

Practices got a lot more . . . intense, after Keith joined--

("Keith, can you at least try to stay on the beat?"

"It's called syncopation, Lance, I know you know what that is.")

--But even Lance could admit that they were better with him than without.

Lance and Hunk finally got the paperwork together to get their little band registered as an official club so Keith could list it on his transcript. They played at the November Thanksgiving concert, the Christmas concert, the faculty holiday party . . . . Miss Allura, who planned college events on top of being Pidge's piano teacher, booked them for like three different alumni parties, telling them that since they were playing anyway, they might as well get paid for it. Things settled into a new kind of normal.

Until one day in early spring when Keith pulled Lance aside, and told him that his friend was joining their next practice. "So try not to be as much of an asshole as you usually are." He said, voice tight.

Lance bristled, "Excuse you, I am not--"

"You are," Keith interrupted, "And I'm warning you now, if you rag on him the way the way you do me, I'm going to melt down your trumpet and turn it into an asshole of the year trophy."

Lance gasped, clutching his trumpet protectively to his chest as Keith turned on his heel and left.

He spent the rest of the night complaining to Hunk. How dare Keith threaten his trumpet! Would Keith deny the world the sweet music Lance made, over perfectly valid criticisms of his hair, and fashion sense, and ability to stay on beat?

Then Keith's friend stepped into the music room with a shock of white hair and tired eyes, the lower half of his right sleeve hanging empty, and yeah, Lance could see how even the good-natured teasing he indulged in might be out of place here.

Takashi Shirogane. Piano virtuoso and Altea University alumnus extraordinaire. The gift shop still sold recordings of his Carnegie Hall piano concert.

While Lance was standing there tongue tied, Hunk set his bass on its stand and walked over, left hand extended, "You must be the friend Keith was telling us about." He grinned, "I'm Hunk."

"Takashi Shirogane. Call me Shiro, please." Shiro shook his hand with a warm flicker of a smile.

"Good to meet you," Hunk said easily, "The tiny one with three different instruments is Pidge—“

Pidge waved from where she was putting together her clarinet.

“—and the guy emptying his spit valve on the carpet like a heathen is my friend Lance. He's the one that got this whole crazy thing started."

"Glad you could join us," Lance said, trying for nonchalant because holy shit, was Takashi Shirogane really going to play with them?? "So do you wanna practice with us or . . . ?" Wait, missing arm, shit.

Hovering at his friend's elbow, Keith's expression went from resting bitch-face to murderous.

The quirk in Shiro's smile was the only indication that he'd noticed Lance's faux pas. "Nah. I don't want to mess you up. Keith tells me you do a lot of improv."

"Oh, improv's not hard," Lance assured him, "Lots of people think that it is, but really, just pick a chord and a key and go from there. You could probably do it with one hand tied behind--" God dammit, if Keith wanted to kick his ass later, Lance was going to let him.

After a long pause where Lance tried to ascend to the astral plane and Keith tried to kill Lance with his brain— Hunk was standing with his eyes raised to the ceiling, hands pressed together in front of his mouth like he was praying-- Pidge said, "You are the living embodiment of tact, Lance."

"Thanks for the salt Pidge, makes the shoe leather taste much better."

Shiro laughed. “It’s okay, really.”

Huh. Maybe Lance could hold off on suicide by Keith after all.

"Seriously though," Pidge added, glancing at Shiro, "You're just going to sit and listen to us?"

Shiro’s smile turned wry, and he shrugged. The movement made the empty part of his sleeve sway.

Keith hesitated, unhappy, "Shiro--"

"It's fine," Shiro interrupted. He nudged Keith in the direction of the drum set, pulling out a chair for himself at the edge of the room, "Do your thing. Just pretend I'm not here."

Lance caught a glimpse of Keith as he walked past . . . .

"Hey Shiro" Lance said suddenly, "Can you sing?"

Shiro paused with his hand on the back of the chair, taken by surprise, "What?"

"Pidge has been working on some stuff with vocals," Lance nodded at her, "Right Pidge?"

"Oh yeah!" Pidge dove for her backpack, pulling out a pile of sheet music, "It started out as an exercise for my music composition class, but it turned out to be really fun, so I kept going."

Shiro blinked at the music she shoved into his hands, "Fall Out Boy?"

"Arranged for jazz band." Pidge agreed, "Now come on, get over here so we can hear you."

"I'm not really a singer," Shiro protested, pulling his chair over slowly.

"Can you carry a tune in a bucket?" Lance asked, arranging his music on his stand.

"Yes?"

"Then you can sing. It's fine man, it's jazz," Lance flashed him a smile, then turned to the rest of the group, "Let's get started. Pidge, Hunk, you all tuned up?"

"Of course." Pidge sniffed at him, picking up her clarinet and playing a short C major. Hunk plucked his strings a couple more times, then gave Lance a thumbs up.

"Keith, we've actually got someone singing with us today. Try not to drown us out the way you usually do."

Keith rolled his eyes, "Right back at ya, buddy."

Lance sneered elegantly at him, then turned to Shiro, "If you get lost, just keep an eye on Hunk, he’ll cue you in. And remember, if you mess up, blame Pidge."

"Hey!" Pidge squawked.

"I can read this sheet music woman! When exactly am I supposed to breath?"

"You talk that long without breathing all the time, you'll be fine."

"Ha. Ha. Everyone all set?" Lance glanced around. Pidge was rolling her eyes at him, Hunk was snickering, Shiro was trying to hide a bemused smile, and Keith kept stealing glances at Shiro.

Lance had never seen that expression on Keith's face before.

"We're ready," Lance decided, "On my count. A-five six seven eight!" _____________________________________________________________________________

They had been good before. But after Shiro joined, something locked into place, and now they were on their way to becoming great.

Shiro had a beautiful, strong tenor, and was surprisingly good at singing the blues for someone who had never studied jazz before. (Which was Not To Be Commented On.)

It took them a while to convince him to come to practice. He kept trying to bow out, saying that he didn’t want to disrupt their practice, or that he wasn’t a good enough singer, or that he was too old, they couldn’t possibly want him around--

(Pidge rolled her eyes, “Dude, just shut up and sing with us.”

“It’s a little hard to do both.” Shiro said drily.)

But once they’d finally managed to convince him that they didn’t care, he was took to jazz like he’d been waiting for a way to let music back into his life after . . . after. He started taking singing lessons, he audited Lance and Hunk’s music history class, he started making requests and suggestions, looking for ways for all of them to improve—

Lance felt something warm and soft in his chest when Shiro launched into an impromptu lecture on the historical significance of Harlem jazz clubs, eyes no longer tired but shining with enthusiasm. He glanced at Keith, who was watching Shiro with the same warm, soft expression as Lance, and the two of them shared a smile.

Shiro took over as music director, with Lance’s blessing. They had a little ceremony to transfer the tuner and everything. It was just as well, really. Shiro was much better at keeping them all in line, and with him in charge Lance could goof off with his friends instead of pretending to be responsible.

Then Pidge set up a Youtube channel for them, they recorded a couple songs and put them up and . . . suddenly they were kinda sorta famous? People recognized them when they walked around campus now, and usually complemented them on their videos and asked when were they going to put up the next one. Miss Allura and Professor Coran helped them record their first album, carefully making no mention of the fact that this was Shiro’s second time doing this. After finals were over and school let out for the summer, they even got a couple gigs! Nothing too big, just a couple coffee shops in and around the tristate area and one wedding. But it was still enough to justify renting a van to take the Voltron band to their various locations.

They turned it into a proper road trip. Mr. and Mrs. Holt drove and chose various places for them to stop and have fun, museums and parks and farmers markets. Shiro divided his attention between helping them navigate and keeping peace in the back seat, which became essential when they were forbidden from practicing in the car.

It was different, more exciting and more stressful than anything Lance had ever done before, and he was sincerely grateful that Shiro was there to talk them down from their pre-concert jitters. Going out there, being on a stage and seeing a whole crowd of people watching . . . .

Lance never imagined that him and Hunk jamming out in a classroom together would lead to this.

Then it was over. They went their separate ways for the rest of the summer, promising to meet up when school started.

Now here they were again, after the first day of classes, Hunk, Lance and Pidge with instruments in hand, and Keith twirling his drumsticks like a cheerleader’s baton, heading for the auditorium where they’d agreed to meet. None of them had heard from Shiro in the past month, but Keith promised he’d be there for practice in a couple hours. In the meantime they had an after-class jam session to get to, which was a tradition dammit, and they weren’t going to let things like an impending concert and a growing case of fame get in the way.

Only it seemed like some one was already there. A slow melody plinked out from the baby grand on stage, and Lance craned his head to see who was playing . . . .

That was Shiro.

In the wings, Lance threw out a hand to stop the others, motioning for silence. Hunk clapped a hand over his mouth and Keith grabbed onto Lance’s shirt. Pidge rolled her eyes at them, but stayed quiet.

Shiro was frowning in concentration as he picked out the notes, his eyes as tired as they had been the first time he’d come to practice with them.

Lance couldn’t help but remember the two albums on his computer, played countless times. The piano on them had sung, the notes flowing like water, smooth and easy . . . .

This wasn’t that.

Stiff and clumsy, from lack of practice and the use of his non-dominant hand, the music bare without a second hand to play harmony, but he was still playing, and they would never ask for more than that—

One of Keith’s drumsticks dropped, clattering against the ground. Shiro’s gaze flew up, eyes widening when he saw them in the wings.

Lance tried for a grin as Hunk waved sheepishly behind him.

Shiro flushed and looked away, his hand falling from the keyboard.

No, dammit, that wasn’t—they hadn’t meant--

Lance, Hunk and Keith slunk on stage, setting up and tuning their instruments guiltily.

Pidge just stood there with her hands in her pockets, head tilted like a bird, “Why’d you stop?”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do before our first concert,” Shiro didn’t look up, his remaining hand curled loosely in his lap, “If you’re all here we should start practice.”

“You were already practicing though.” Pidge pointed out, frowning slightly.

Shiro didn’t reply.

Pidge slid onto the bench next to Shiro, picking up his hand and placing it on the keys when he didn’t move. “You take the top, I’ll take the bottom.” She told him, and started to play.

Hunk joined in next, drawing long, slow, easy notes from his bass. Then Keith, with a soft, rolling beat on the cymbals. Lance took the descant, playing as quietly as he could.

Then Shiro finally beginning to play again, the counterpoint to Pidge’s harmony, and all of them shifted to match.

They played their way through the opening one more time. Shiro was smiling now, as music echoed throughout the hall.

____________________________________________________________________________________

"Someday

Look back On a

Young day We shared

We learned We had

We lost Because

You know Tomorrow had another plan Because

We lose

The future is all we have left We have someday Surely someday Surely someday"

#strawberry writes #fanfic #voltron #music au #listening to the song is actually essential to this fic #so just put 'Because' on repeat until you finish reading #it's worth it

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