( Just for closure, because I like closure. )

( OOC: I guess this is goodbye )

There I was, sitting on the most uncomfortable folding chair in existence, right smack in the middle of a sea of folding chairs. We were early, and Viola'd run off to talk to someone she knew (she's my sister -- drop the woman in the middle of the Sahara and she'd run into someone she knew, much less a theatre of any kind -- even one like this, made from a few platforms and some chairs in a cafeteria).

I was reading the program, and behind me, a bloke with a voice like a mouthful of gravel was talking to a woman with a voice like a squeaky door about "Harriet's little May". Turns out May (not so very little) was living with the director of the musical, they'd bought a house together, and what they (the people behind me, not Harriet or May) wanted to know was what would happen to the house when they broke up?

It was the Lower Greensley Amateur Dramatic Society production of The Fiddler on the Roof. Just goes to show, my sister can find a damned good production of anything, if you give her a month or two, and it'll probably be somewhere unlikely, and you'd swear it'll be rubbish -- but it's not. Sure, the chairs were bloody uncomfortable, but the singing (and the acting) was bloody amazing for a little group like that.

As for the rest:

1) Can't say I'm going to take up drumming on the roof (even if I have a marching strap ... somewhere ... don't know if it'd fit any of my drums, think it went with one I got rid of), but if I was a fiddler, I'd try it. I'd find a good slanted roof, too. No fun, otherwise. Don't think that's the point of the metaphor, though.

2) It'd be easier to sympathize with the father if his "tradition" wasn't so fucking strange. Matchmaker? How'd that ever get started? Who'd put up with it?

3) The girl playing the third sister was taller than the older sisters. Don't see that much in imaginary families on the stage. She was fit, too. And she could sing.

4) Bloody hell, they just pack up and leave at the end? Don't even try to do anything? Merlin!

5) Musical music is bloody...traditional, isn't it? Not bad, so long as you're braced and expecting it to be like that, but. It's like church music. Moment in time, preserved forever. You can hear the year it was written every time they play it, you'd think someone'd get bored and do something amazing and new with it. Maybe they do, and I just haven't heard it, I'll ask Viola.


ALSO. Who took the vanilla beans out of the vanilla sugar, and what did you do with them? Gave them to Ada to chew on is not the right answer.

And while I'm on the subject, what happened to the bloody awful plant I left on top of the piano the other day? Decided to get an early start on packing and put it in a box is not the right answer. Tossed it out the window because it looked like it had mange is also not the right answer.

Some days, you have to wish you had a bloody cursed drum around. Then you could blame everything on it.

[private - friends can read]
Not that fighting with Dad or Kirsty is odd. Usually not both on the same day.

Bloody hell, usually not both in the same month.

Almost enough to make me wonder

( private - Gideon can read )

That reminds me -- I got the cursed drum back from the cursebreaker the other day. Turns out it wasn't a curse, it was a poltergeist manifestation. She said it was probably caused by someone with latent magical ability, the sort of person who'd never get a Hogwarts letter, doesn't know how to do magic or control it, but has the most amazing luck, good or bad, from almost having magic.

Probably the person who made the drum, and it's a good drum. Probably no older than twenty. Probably died while near the drum. Or playing the drum. In Tibet or Mongolia or wherever the hell the thing was from. No way of knowing how they died, or why, but it was probably sudden.

She fixed the drum. Erased the energy. It's just a drum now.

This is called perspective. I'd rather it'd been cursed.

Anyone know a good cursebreaker?

I think I bought a cursed drum.

It's a good drum, but bloody hell, it's wreaking havoc. Might have been a coincidence, that the first drum I left near the new drum went out of tune. Then the tension rods broke when I tried to tune it. The next one, I don't have a clue what's wrong with it, but the sound's gone dull. Then just now, there's another drum with the shell cracked. It's fucking infuriating, that was a good drum, the one that cracked. Guess it has it in for the good drums, and it sits there looking neat and pristine and bloody glowing with self-righteousness.

Funny thing is, I bought it in a muggle shop, one of those posh importers of only the best quality knickknacks (or do I mean objet d'art?) They thought it was an amusing cultural trinket (it's from Tibet, maybe Mongolia, someplace like that) but it's a good working drum, perfect for small spaces. The sound's a bit thin, not much resonance, but it's focused. The way it cuts through other sounds is amazing. And if you hit it just right, near the edge, it makes a completely different sound, hollow, with a bit of a rattle to it.

Too bad it's bloody cursed. Don't think the muggles'll take it back because of the curse, they don't pay any attention to magic, do they? And I want it, I don't have anything else that sounds anything like it.

So. Cursebreakers?

( Application )

I went Christmas shopping today, and I bought:

1. Small double boiler, the perfect size for making one serving of fudge. For all those times I want exactly one serving of fudge, what was I thinking? But it's small.

2. Hat, because I had one last year and now I don't have one. Must have got rid of it with the other junk. Doesn't matter, last year's hat was ugly.

3. Set of handbells. Handbells are brilliant, they make such a clear sound! And the resonance, especially the low notes! Only problem is you can really only play a couple at a time, properly. But they're dead easy to play, so you should all join my handbell choir.

4. Frying pan, about the same size as the rubbish one with the loose handle I've been wanting to get rid of for ages. But I kept it till now because I need one that size. The new one's sturdy and heavier.

5. Paper rose. I didn't buy it, but have you ever watched them wrap gifts in a shop? I bought ... something, and had it wrapped because I thought the person I was getting it for would appreciate a tidy parcel. The girl wrapped it in five seconds flat, neat as you please, not a single bloody fold out of place, and not a single motion wasted. Then she takes a bit of paper (it's a bit thicker than tissue paper, not as thick as ordinary paper) and twists it this way and that and next thing you know she has a perfect rose to attach among the ribbons. I wouldn't be surprised if it has thorns. Amazing.

6. Decoration of Santa playing the drums.

7. Decoration of Santa playing the bagpipes. I had to make them fetch it from the back and it's not the right size, but what the hell. Merton has too many of his decorations about the place, have to claim some territory.

8. Decorations of Santa playing the cello, and so on for the rest of the band. I even found one with a lute, though by that time the shop assistant thought I was a bit crazy, or at least over particular. In for a penny, in for a pound.

9-1000 or so. Gifts. And I'm not telling you what, because I'm giving them to you lot and you want to be surprised, don't you?

And that is how to do Christmas shopping. I started today with no presents for anyone and now I'm done. Almost done, I still need something for my Dad, damn the man. He's bloody impossible to shop for, he doesn't want anything and he's not even polite enough to pretend he wants anything. Next year I'll save up and buy him a holiday villa in Spain (at least Mum'd enjoy it), but I'm a little short of ready cash this year. And I want one for me first.

( Private - Gideon can read )

[Private to Weird Sisters]
Oi, you lot! I have a question for you. Does anyone want to still be angry at anyone else? Has everyone made up and forgot to tell me? Is everyone waiting for everyone else to make the first move? Or is everyone but me and Gid sitting around hoping the band will break up but doesn't want to be the one to do it?

Because truthfully? If this indeterminate who-knows-what-the-bloody-hell-is-going-on shit lasts much longer, I'm going to have to leave the band, just to get it over with.

Alternately, anyone want to get together again, maybe play some music, eat some food, maybe talk? I think it's about time.

What's bloody brilliant about going out with a dancer is that when you get her out at night and there's music and you want to move, she can dance. And she'll want to, especially if she's currently teaching (listen to her brag about the prestige and what it'll do for her career to have worked with these people at this school, listen to her complain about the ruddy eight year olds who wouldn't stay still if you nailed their shoes to the floor), because she doesn't get her dose of dancing by day.

It doesn't matter how crowded the floor is, feel the energy, feel her energy, try to keep up. Nothing like it.

The flip side is once she starts dancing, she'll never want to stop. Don't get me wrong, I get it, I'm the same fucking way about music, but

I see someone I know, someone I've played with more than a few times, I want to stop for half a bloody moment between songs and say hello. She wants to dance. She's pulling me away, I don't yield to her, and then it's an impatient shake of her head, a push instead of a pull, I'm off balance for a second and she's gone. She does have a temper, that girl.

Of course she's somewhere in the crowd, and of course I go after her. I don't catch her, but that's all part of the dance. And damn, can she dance. Every time I stop I see her. Dancing with a fresh faced young kid, slipping away leaving him staring (poor kid, out of his league). Dancing fast, dancing slow. Sitting at a table, head to head with a bear of a bloke, shouting above the music and the noise of the crowd. Seems like amiable argument (but damn, don't argue with Kirsty, if you start, you've lost). Her hair's starting to fall out of that dancer's bun of hers, little tendrils curling against the curve of her neck. Her expression is fierce.

And every time I make a move, she's gone.

You have to admit she's good. She got her way after all: we danced together all night, with her always right there in front of me, always just out of reach.

You know how it has to end. Every beginning contains its ending, and we started out dancing together. The only question is, has the dance outgrown its beginning? When we finally catch each other, will the forces we built up dancing fling us apart, or can we contain the tensions, make them part of a dance that draws us together?

The dance doesn't care. By the end I don't care either, I'd be angry, but bloody hell! She's too good, how can you be angry with that? Even when it's being used against you.

And her? She's dancing. Moving too fast, too wild, flirting with distance, but I swear she doesn't know she's as close as she is when I reach out and grab her and pull her close.

This time, the grip holds. We dance together until that dance ends, and then we go home and dance some more.

[private]
Why's the flat more empty when everyone's gone because they want to be somewhere else? Even practicing doesn't fill the silence. If Kirsty doesn't want to go out later, I'm going to

[private to Merton]
Gid at least said he was going. Planning on coming back eventually?

Remember when I said I was going to keep this journal? What I meant was that I was going to keep this journal until I got back from New York, and then I was going to be so bloody exhausted from all the traveling that I'd leave everything packed and just pull stuff out as I wanted it. I forgot I had this, so I never pulled it out till now, because I decided to put the case away. Luckily I remembered to check inside for all the stuff I'd forgot to pull out.

That reminds me, does anyone know a good place to buy an alarm clock that makes a sound, not a noise? I'm all for a good lie-in most days, but some times you have to get up, and I'd rather wake up to something that doesn't sound like the fucking end of the world, complete with the sky cracking in two once every half second and demonic cowbells (cracked, so they don't resonate properly) all tuned an eighth of a step from each other, being hit with broken bits of glass by insane imps with no sense of rhythm at all.

The alarm clock I bought was clearly designed with the idea of driving poor defenseless sleepers to fury, because if you throw it out the window, you'll have to buy another one the next time you need to get up in the morning.

[private]
Speaking of      -- bloody hell, being around the band today was like lying in bed half awake waiting for that damned alarm to go off. I don't get it. Too bad we weren't playing, with that much energy, who cares why if it's music --
[/private]

And today hasn't had enough music. Yet.

Hello Gid and Merton--

Some friendly advice: I forgot to leave a note before I left, but I'd stay out of my room while I'm gone. It's only till Tuesday. And if you don't, mind the boxes. They're full of crap I'm getting rid of, they seemed a bit unstable when I left, but Kirsty was in a rush and it's just crap I don't want any more. Let it all collapse. I'll deal with it Tuesday.

Of course, if you need anything that might be in there (and I don't guarantee anything short of an elephant not being in there somewhere), have at it, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, and when I get back, someone remind me I don't really want to get rid of that alarm clock, so I can fish it out again.


AND Normandy's bloody gorgeous, all wind and distance, too bad we're only here for a few days. I still can't speak a word without them looking at me like I'm mad (as they say, can't get the ruddy French to understand their own language). But Kirsty's bewitching with French on her tongue and the wind in her hair.

The wind's amazing so we're going sand sailing after all. Ever seen a sand sailing ... thing? Bloody brilliant contraptions, they're all over the beach here like gulls at a picnic. Just a thing with wheels and a sail, but they go faster than the wind, and that's fast. The beach here's perfect for it, there must be half a mile of sand between the road and the water (the tide comes in like an express train).

She's back, gotta go. Oh, did I mention? I've decided to keep this journal.

I have too much crap.

This journal, for example. I was looking for a quill in the junk drawer (I'd already looked everywhere else) and I found one -- stuck inside this. Can't remember why I ever wanted

No wait, I do. Gid gave it to me a few years ago. Guess that means I ought to use it.

Right. SO. In honour of Gid and that amazing head of hair of his, here's something that would never happen to him, ever. It's also the story of why my hair isn't the same colour it used to be.


It was while I was living with Viola (do you have any idea how many of my weirder stories start out that way? Not to worry, this isn't one of those stories...) I got a part -- no, we got parts in an experimental play, it was a package deal for siblings (not twins, don't go there) and me and Viola can pass for sibs even when we're not squabbling. Viola got the better end of that deal, she was a main character, but my character was more talked about than talking. All I got to say was "She's my sister, not my mother," which is not a bad line if you're only going to have the one.

Fair enough, she's the actress. Long story short, I had to dye my hair to look more like her, because she was the star. Cue Viola being very sweet about it in a triumphant way of a sister who's got her little brother to do things her way. She got me some potion that she said would work bettter than a charm, and I left it dark the whole time of the play for the fun of people not recognizing me for half a second when I walked up.

About half way through the run, I said something about something and Viola, being the show-off that she is, hexed my hair pale green (why? this part is a long story and it doesn't matter, maybe some other time). I've never been any good at undoing anything Viola did, so I just dyed it dark again with the potion instead of messing with the hex. So she hexed it blue, and it was a running joke up until she hexed it hot pink with yellow sparkles, and I couldn't get rid of it for anything, and she couldn't remove the hex either. Too many spells atop each other, synergistic resonance, whatever that means. But eventually I finally found some stuff that turned it dark again, and it hasn't worn off yet.

Drives Viola mad at holidays, when I point out how much alike we look. She still hasn't figured out if I'm keeping it up or if she managed to permanently hex my hair. Because you'd think it'd have grown out, even if it wouldn't come off.

[private to Weird Sisters]
Hey Gid. Is your child minder a journalist?
[/private]