“No way,” Vic said. “He’ll never go for it.”
Bo frowned and tapped the tabletop with his fingers. “Sure he will. We’ve just got to pitch it right.”
“I’m telling you, Ricky will never in a million years try and book us a gig at the porn star convention.”
“Sure he will. We just need to accentuate the publicity benefits.” Bo reached for a notepad and pen. “For starters, we’ll be making new fans who know how to work the media. They have lots of money and like to party.”
Vic picked up the newspaper and read the article again. “Ricky will say we just want to glamour an easy meal.”
“So what if we do? It's an added benefit.”
“I like the idea,” Vic said, tossing the paper back onto the table, “But that kind of gig isn’t Ricky’s style. He’d rather book us for some wretched charity concert that’ll improve our karma.”
With a sigh, Bo conceded he had a point. “The human is kind of a prude in that regard.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Call them on our own and see if we can sell them on the idea without Ricky’s help?”
“Yeah, we could. Then again…”
Their eyes met, and Bo nodded understanding. “Agreed. It sounds too much like work.”
“What’s the date again?”
Bo reached for the newspaper. “Seventeenth and eighteenth.”
“They’ve probably already lined up their entertainment months ago.”
“But we’re not playing anywhere those nights.”
Bo flashed a wicked grin. “Crash the party?”
“Oh, hell, yes.” Vic stood up and smiled, flashing a bit of fang. “This might end up being the best gig we never booked.”
Maelstrom Extra: A Game of Scrabble
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
reviews (Comments): 9
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Maelstrom
Ricky knocked on the door and waited while the door opened of its own accord. Darkness. At the back of the room, a faint glow illuminated Kalila and Nevin at a table, hunched over something he couldn’t make out while Vic looked on.
“Ebazimt,” Kalila said. She selected the appropriate tiles and placed them on the board.
Vic wrote something on a piece of paper. “Two thousand and fifty-three points.”
“I object,” Nevin said. “Ebazim has two Zs.”
Ricky crossed the room while Kalila peered at the board in concern. “You’re right.” She waved a hand and a second Z appeared.
Vic gave a little nod of approval. “Three thousand and twelve points.”
“What the hell?” Ricky examined the board. It looked an ordinary Scrabble game, except that the words were ones he had never seen before. “Uptuu?”
“That was mine, Nevin said. “Quintuple word score.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is when we say there is. Placidly, he laid down his tiles, displacing three of Kalila’s in the process. “Bsaugxe.”
“You can’t move her tiles,” Ricky said. “That’s against the rules.”
Vic looked up from calculating Nevin’s score. “Rules are for mortals, although I realize it’s your human lack of imagination that makes you think otherwise.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Ricky said, as Kalila vanished one of Nevin’s tiles, changed the color of the board squares, and spelled the word, “Ghrtt.”
“Is that even a language?” Ricky asked, but she ignored him.
“What’s the score now?”
“You’re at two million, six hundred fifty-three thousand, eight hundred and fourteen,” Vic told her. “Nevin is at two million, nine hundred thousand and forty-one.”
“Damn.” She grabbed some new letters and pondered them while Nevin giggled and spelled “Szbeharr.” For good measure, he changed the numbers on Kalila’s tiles so that they all read zero.
Ricky opened his mouth to protest, but Kalila slapped him on the hand. “Will you just let us play our way? Everything doesn’t have to work by human rules, you know.”
He looked from her impassive face to the others and felt his sense of outrage weaken. What did it matter, really, if they spelled words like “eidhthrgt,” vanished each others’ tiles, and added 10,000-point bonus squares to the board? At least they weren’t up to any mayhem, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. He glanced at his watch. “Just remember you’ve got a gig tonight and you need to be on time.”
“Of course, Ricky.” Kalila dismissed him with a wave of her hand and bent back over her letters, frowning.
As he left the room, Vic called after him, “Next time, don’t be such a vundrandvl!” Ricky kept walking. He didn’t want to know what that meant, and he had a feeling it didn't mean anything at all.
“Ebazimt,” Kalila said. She selected the appropriate tiles and placed them on the board.
Vic wrote something on a piece of paper. “Two thousand and fifty-three points.”
“I object,” Nevin said. “Ebazim has two Zs.”
Ricky crossed the room while Kalila peered at the board in concern. “You’re right.” She waved a hand and a second Z appeared.
Vic gave a little nod of approval. “Three thousand and twelve points.”
“What the hell?” Ricky examined the board. It looked an ordinary Scrabble game, except that the words were ones he had never seen before. “Uptuu?”
“That was mine, Nevin said. “Quintuple word score.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is when we say there is. Placidly, he laid down his tiles, displacing three of Kalila’s in the process. “Bsaugxe.”
“You can’t move her tiles,” Ricky said. “That’s against the rules.”
Vic looked up from calculating Nevin’s score. “Rules are for mortals, although I realize it’s your human lack of imagination that makes you think otherwise.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Ricky said, as Kalila vanished one of Nevin’s tiles, changed the color of the board squares, and spelled the word, “Ghrtt.”
“Is that even a language?” Ricky asked, but she ignored him.
“What’s the score now?”
“You’re at two million, six hundred fifty-three thousand, eight hundred and fourteen,” Vic told her. “Nevin is at two million, nine hundred thousand and forty-one.”
“Damn.” She grabbed some new letters and pondered them while Nevin giggled and spelled “Szbeharr.” For good measure, he changed the numbers on Kalila’s tiles so that they all read zero.
Ricky opened his mouth to protest, but Kalila slapped him on the hand. “Will you just let us play our way? Everything doesn’t have to work by human rules, you know.”
He looked from her impassive face to the others and felt his sense of outrage weaken. What did it matter, really, if they spelled words like “eidhthrgt,” vanished each others’ tiles, and added 10,000-point bonus squares to the board? At least they weren’t up to any mayhem, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. He glanced at his watch. “Just remember you’ve got a gig tonight and you need to be on time.”
“Of course, Ricky.” Kalila dismissed him with a wave of her hand and bent back over her letters, frowning.
As he left the room, Vic called after him, “Next time, don’t be such a vundrandvl!” Ricky kept walking. He didn’t want to know what that meant, and he had a feeling it didn't mean anything at all.
Maelstrom Extra: Demon-Sitting
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
reviews (Comments): 4
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Maelstrom
Ricky sat at one of the lounge tables, his BlackBerry cradled in his hand as he fielded messages. He wouldn’t have bothered attending setup and rehearsal except that Vic was being surly, Bo was jonesing for an easy lay, and Kalila thought herself too good for this seedy venue perched atop an unfashionable hotel. Someone had to keep watch over them and remind them to do their job, or they’d wander off to do whatever demons did, and to hell with their contract.
He watched Lazaro adjust the angle of his snare and set the pedal for his hi-hat. So far, so good. Ricky huddled over his BlackBerry. Two new messages, and one was from a reporter friend he had contacted earlier in the day. Maybe things would get better, after all.
“Hey, primate!”
Ricky raised an eyebrow. “I have a name, Vic.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t we all? We’re out of electrical tape.”
“Supplies aren’t my responsibility.” He got up and approached the stage. “Can’t you make do with duct tape or something? It doesn’t have to be perfect for rehearsal.”
“If I said we need it, we need it.”
Bo quit adjusting knobs on his amp and grinned. “Maybe the manager has some. Want me go ask?”
Before Ricky could veto this suggestion, Kalila shook her head. “Forget it, sleazy.”
“You’d only use it for bondage games,” Vic added. “And then I’d never get any.”
“You’ll never get any, anyway, if Ricky doesn’t do something.” Bo gave Ricky a pointed look.
“I don’t understand why the urgency.” Ricky found the offending cord. It was nicked, but not enough to warrant shutting down rehearsal until they got tape. “You’re overreacting.”
Kalila folded her arms. “Just get us some more. There’s a place down the block from here. Surely you have a dollar.”
“It’s not the money, it’s—” he looked from one impassive face to the other. “Fine. I’ll go get the stupid tape. But while I’m gone, you guys better quit making excuses and start rehearsing.”
Ricky stomped across the club and out the door, cursing demons and their diva behavior. He was standing impatiently at the elevator, waiting for a car, when he remembered he had forgotten his BlackBerry. He went back into the club, grumbling, but paused just inside the door.
“…like we’re children that have to be watched.”
“That’s humans for you. Always thinking they’re the superior species.”
“Well, at least we’ve got…what, twenty minutes?”
Ricky edged back to the door and slipped out. At the elevator, he punched the call button and waited. He’d get the tape of course. But maybe while he was out, he’d get a cup of coffee, too, and perhaps a newspaper. After all, it was a pretty day and there was really no big rush.
He watched Lazaro adjust the angle of his snare and set the pedal for his hi-hat. So far, so good. Ricky huddled over his BlackBerry. Two new messages, and one was from a reporter friend he had contacted earlier in the day. Maybe things would get better, after all.
“Hey, primate!”
Ricky raised an eyebrow. “I have a name, Vic.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t we all? We’re out of electrical tape.”
“Supplies aren’t my responsibility.” He got up and approached the stage. “Can’t you make do with duct tape or something? It doesn’t have to be perfect for rehearsal.”
“If I said we need it, we need it.”
Bo quit adjusting knobs on his amp and grinned. “Maybe the manager has some. Want me go ask?”
Before Ricky could veto this suggestion, Kalila shook her head. “Forget it, sleazy.”
“You’d only use it for bondage games,” Vic added. “And then I’d never get any.”
“You’ll never get any, anyway, if Ricky doesn’t do something.” Bo gave Ricky a pointed look.
“I don’t understand why the urgency.” Ricky found the offending cord. It was nicked, but not enough to warrant shutting down rehearsal until they got tape. “You’re overreacting.”
Kalila folded her arms. “Just get us some more. There’s a place down the block from here. Surely you have a dollar.”
“It’s not the money, it’s—” he looked from one impassive face to the other. “Fine. I’ll go get the stupid tape. But while I’m gone, you guys better quit making excuses and start rehearsing.”
Ricky stomped across the club and out the door, cursing demons and their diva behavior. He was standing impatiently at the elevator, waiting for a car, when he remembered he had forgotten his BlackBerry. He went back into the club, grumbling, but paused just inside the door.
“…like we’re children that have to be watched.”
“That’s humans for you. Always thinking they’re the superior species.”
“Well, at least we’ve got…what, twenty minutes?”
Ricky edged back to the door and slipped out. At the elevator, he punched the call button and waited. He’d get the tape of course. But maybe while he was out, he’d get a cup of coffee, too, and perhaps a newspaper. After all, it was a pretty day and there was really no big rush.
