Originally posted May 10, 2010
((Chance's sister comforts him in the loss of his fiancee. Another story bit inspired by what popped up on my iPod on the walk to work.))
She held her brother in her arms, feeling the soft tremors in his chest, the wetness of his tears on her shoulder.
He had stopped by to check on her, he had said. They talked about small things as he walked around her studio, touching instruments, recording devices, speakers. Yukiko listened and talked about comings and goings, new students at her school, new wards at the Haven. Time eventually found him standing next to her, behind her keyboards.
"Play it, Yukiko." She breathed in through her teeth and tilted her head. They had been working on it for a few weeks, a future present. That was the way Chance's mind worked; picking out songs to use in a few month at special events or just that right moment or when sitting around a camp fire. It helped make him a great street performer. He could make that moment for someone and they would take it with them forever.
Yukiko didn't protest. She loaded the program into the PowerBook and leaned into the keys of her Roland. They sang it, together.
The Book of Love
The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures
and instructions for dancing
But I
I love it when you read to me
And you
You can read me anything
The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb
But I
I love it when you sing to me
And you
You can sing me anything
The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
And things we're all too young to know
But I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me wedding rings
And I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me wedding rings
And I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me wedding rings
You ought to give me wedding rings
Chance made it all the way to the end before turning to her. He tried to mutter something, a thanks perhaps. The words didn't make it. She reached out to wrap him in her arms, feeling the soft tremors in his chest, the wetness of his tears on her shoulder.
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