BagsNPockets

[joegoda]

There was a man sized butterfly standing in front of a blackboard, writing equations and drawing diagrams. It appeared to be humming to itself, something very melodical and multivoiced. Pockets could hear a fiddle, a horn, possibly harp or some other tinkly note maker in the humming.

The equations were nonsense to Pockets, though there was something about them that drew his eye. Numbers and lines and letters. He knew that's what he was looking at, but couldn't understand them. "Reading would be very useful here." he thought. "Pity it never interested me before."

He sat or floated, he couldn't decide which, not having a body. How he knew he didn't have a body was not more than a minor curiosity, and his attention was more drawn to the humming butterfly than the corporeality of his own existence.

The numbers changed as he watched, the tone of the humming turned to match it. The horn disappeared from the music, the numbers seemed to merge and melt and fade and the area on the blackboard cleared away as the harp went quiet. The remaining instrument, the fiddle, was playing low notes, quite and vibrous.

The butterfly turned towards where Pockets was ... existing. The Humming stopped and the butterfly spoke. "Ah! There you are! Do you understand anything I'm doing here?"

Pocket's voice, disembodied, replied. "No... well, maybe. I don't read, but I'm starting to understand. It's about vibration, isn't it?"

"Yes! It's about harmonics and discordance. Very good. Let's continue, shall we?" and the butterfly turned back to the blackboard. It started to hum another pattern, a note, low and woody, that seemed to cause the whole place to vibrate in slow undulations. The number on the blackboard slide across the board, leaving a trail behind it. The trail changed into squiggles and formed numbers of itself.

"Notice," came a voice next to Pocket, "that all vibrations leave a signature of itself behind. And if we introduce the opposing discordance...".

Another note appeared in the hum, something not quite shrill, not quite too high to hear, but edging on the side of not being there. On the blackboard appeared a new symbol, underneath the numbers already there. It drew itself across the board, leaving a trail behind it. These squiggles were different from the previous, and became numbers as well. It slid upwards to merge with the other set, and one by one, they started to pop away from the board, drift in the air and sift to the ground like sawdust.

When the show was done, the final number on the board was a zero, with two wavy lines under it.

"As you can see, the remaining effect is approximately zero, as it's nearly impossible to get two completely and exactly opposite frequencies with out extreme instrumentation."

"Yes", interjected Pockets. "I can see that. But, what if we did this." and a sound emerged from nowhere. Low and sharp, containing bits of both woodwinds and violins, brass and percussion. The blackboard started to fill up with squiggles, dancing and merging and creating numbers and canceling out. The sound became complex, dropped to a simple note, which contained all the elements of the previous sounds. The image on the blackboard drew itself down to a simple equation, containing only five symbols.

"Interesting." said the butterfly, flitting it's wings just a bit. "But this is a known thing. All you did was to take previously known functions and condense them to a simpler form."

"But," said Pockets. "If we place a single vibration into the mix..." a note, crystal clear, high and light, emerged from the same nowhere and seemed to hover, on it's own, separate and distinct from the note already there.

The blackboard added one more number, simple and away from the existing equation. The number on the blackboard appeared to vibrate with the same tiny frequency as did the note, and then seemed to spiral in to join the five symbols.

The blackboard was suddenly and explosion of activity, lines and numbers and arcane symbols covering every inch of it, collapsing and growing, snowing on the the board till it was entirely white.

The music in the place rose in pitch and volume, and sounds could be heard that were not music and were not voices, but more a combination of both.

The Butterfly flapped his wings in excitement and leaped into the air, circling round and round.

"Of course! It's all so incredibly simple once you put it that way. It explains...," there was a pause, then, in hushed tones, "It explains everything."

"And," added Pockets "if you notice, I didn't even have to read"

Suddenly the world went white, then black again, then very painful. There was a sound here, but it was the steady ploiting of a drip. There were voices here as well, one of them Chibi. The voices were in the middle of an argument.

"...so hard, we could have simply asked him." Chibi was saying.

"Look," came another, deeper voice. "You just said we was to conk this feller on the noggin, then you was gonna rob him of somethin or other. That's all you said to us, so how was we to know that he'd take a crack to the head so personal and pass out like he did? You never said to take it easy on the guy."

"Now what am I going to do. He doesn't have the thing on him." Chibi's voice came back with a bit of disgust.

"I dunno bout you lady, but if it was me, I'd be getting the hell out of town, if you take my meaning. I dunno if this gent has friends in high places, but he probably won't be too friendly once he wakes up."

There was a rustle, approaching feet, then Pockets could feel his head being turned, first one way, then another. He lay there as one dead, limp as a worm, quiet as death.

"He sure did take that knock pretty hard." came the man's voice. "If he wasn't breathin, I'd swear he was dead."

"Dead is the last thing I need him to be right now." Chibi sighed. "Nothing for it, but to get a bit more instructions. Sorry boys, playtime is over. I've got work to do. You know where the door is."

Feet came past and receded into the distance. Chibi's voice called out again, "Hey!" Another voice came back "Wot?"

"Do you remember where I left my pants?" The answer came back in the form of fading laughter. There was the sound of a door closing, then nothing except the sound of clothing being put on, laces being laced, boots being pulled on.

A heavy sigh was heard, followed by the slow boot steps approaching where Pockets lie. The creak of leathered knees nearby indicated someone was kneeling down. "Sorry, honey. You really are a sweet lad. I'm going to have to tie you up a bit, but I'll be back soon, I promise."

Chibi turned Pockets onto his belly and tied his hands together then tied them to his boots, effectively hogtieing him so that he couldn't move. She rolled him onto his side again, and Pockets felt a soft pair of lips touch his cheek.

"It's a pity you got wrapped in this. Maybe you'll even live through it." She kissed his lips, and footsteps were heard fading away. Then a distant door opened, and then closed with a heavy thud.

Pockets opened his eyes. The place he was at was a bit damp, very large, and from his vantage point on the floor had high walls that were built of massive grey stones. He estimated that the walls may have been as much as a foot thick. His eyes traveled up the walls to see small windows high up. He assumed he was in some sort of cellar, from the dripping water and the thick lime deposits. He could see barrels stacked around him, and though he couldn't read what what written on them, he made the guess that they contained wine or ale.

His jacket had been removed and was thrown over a barrel in one of the corners of the room. More than likely, Chibi had gone through the pockets looking for his windup toy. What the toy was for, and why it was so important spent a brief flicker in his mind, but was pushed back because he knew that he would find out what it was for when it came time to find out what it was for.

Pockets rolled onto his back, feeling extremely uncomfortable with his hands and feet tied together, but he was able to get his balance and examine the ceiling. It was flat, wooden, and he could see the boards shift as if objects were being rolled across or it was a floor that was being walked on. Dust sprinkled down on to his face, so he opened his mouth.

Salt, but no wood dust. Some odd flavors, but nothing immediately identifiable.. How curious, he thought. Must be a wealthy home or a resturant. He looked between his feet and noted stairs going up and away that confirmed it was a wine cellar of some sort.

He rolled onto his other side looking for another way out. He saw a drain grate in the far corner above his head. It might be big enough to fit into it, and if so, it would not be the first time he was thankful he was born short and bright, rather than tall and handsome.

Now, to get out of this mess.

Comments

[journiey.livejournal.com]

Grrrrrrrr, First Off There Is One BITCH That Needs An Ass Kickin! 2nd Of All We Got Ta Get Our BOY Out Of This Mess!!!

[journiey.livejournal.com]

From Which You May Surmise I'm VERY Into The Story lol

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

Well, thank you, m'dear! Pockets, by the way, is very deft at getting out of tight situations.

[rowangolightly.livejournal.com]

*chuckle* You know, he somehow reminds me very much of you...funny, huh?

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

I tend to believe that Pockets is the side of me that is unrestrained from having to be an adult. Someday remind me to tell you the story of how these characters were born. Or.. ask Sherry..it's her fault.

[rowangolightly.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I picked that one up right away.

And I'll remind you to tell me that story when Sherry is around too....