In Six-part Harmony
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In Six-part Harmony
A Scion fanfic by Keiichi-dono (asalight@sdf.lonestar.org)
Summary: On an average Thursday night, six men weave their own little spell over a Portland nightclub.
Scion is the property of White Wolf Game Studios. Believe me, if I owned it, I wouldn't be working weekends.
Galaxy Lounge, Portland, 7/24/08, 10:08 PM PST
Tracy had seen a lot of weirdoes come through those doors, but these six took the cake.
Oddly, it was the conservativeness of their attire that first caught the KJ's eye. Black suits, obviously expensive and of a slightly anachronistic cut. The other common trait between them was an air of weariness, as if each of them had borne the world's burdens on their shoulders for years. Tracy couldn't explain how, but she had a feeling that there was little exaggeration in the description.
That was where the similarities ended, though. Lord knew they certainly didn't look alike.
One was a tall, patrician-looking Middle Eastern man with a goatee. He carried himself as if he were royalty, and were accustomed to his word being law. He glanced at a gold pocketwatch; somehow, Tracy knew that it cost more than she made in a year.
Another was Asian, with a widow's peak and precisely-trimmed mustache. His features were distinguished-looking, but his expression was that of a kindly old grandfather who'd recently become a widower. He had a bleeding-edge cell phone, and would fiddle with it periodically – looking at his late wife's photos, perhaps?
The one who resembled a Nordic chieftain was the tallest and bulkiest. He also had the most distinctive feature: a black patch covering his left eye. His fiercely-bearded mien was stern and commanding, and he seemed as if he saw more with one eye than most did with two. His white necktie sported a pin in the shape of a raven.
The fourth man.... the best description she could find was “Sean Connery, but more so.” He radiated sheer vitality, almost seeming to crackle with electricity. There was also a randy twinkle in his eyes; he threw Tracy a wink, and she flushed. The AC must be up a bit too high. That's all.
The powerful-looking black man had something vaguely serpentine about him. Not evil, not dishonest, just.... snake-like. It had to be that knowing smile. Well, that and the obviously copperhead-skin boots.
The last member of the group somehow set her at ease. White-haired and -bearded, the Latino seemed to be almost wide-eyed with joy at being alive, and those wide baby-blues held a serenity his compatriots seemed to lack.
It was the last man who approached her booth with a request slip in hand.
“Okay, what'cha got?” she asked cheerfully.
“This,” he said with a smile.
Tracy took the slip, and did a double-take. “Um. Well. Really, 'the boys'?”
He shrugged. “It's an inside joke. I trust you have the song available?”
“Well, I'll need to ch - ” She blinked. “Huh. How 'bout that. Yeah, it looks like it came in the other night.”
“Lucky me.” He nodded at the slip. “How long, if I may ask?”
Tracy glanced at the list. “You'll be up after this guy.” She genstured behind her, to the overweight thirtysomething salaryman warbling his way through “St. Elmo's Fire.” “Y'know, you picked the right night. Any other time, you'd be waiting twenty, thirty minutes.”
“We lead charmed lives.” There was a twist of gentle sardony to his smile. He nodded his thanks and returned to his friends. Once again, Tracy got the feeling that something was hovering just beyond her understanding.
Presently the salaryman finished. The weak applause was more for the completion than the attempt, and this was not lost on the hapless singer, who slunk off the stage. The six men in black took his place. Tracy took quick stock of the crowd: typical for a Thursday night, slightly bored and a little tipsy. She leaned forward, her lips barely caressing the mike. “Yeah! Let's give Tony a hand. And next up.... the boys!”
In the smallish audience, eyebrows rose and fell. A couple of hipsters near the bar nudged each other, cracking jokes about the Blues Brothers. That was the extent of reaction. Tracy watched the six men, and keyed open the file when they seemed ready.
A string section started playing, their tone at once majestic and elegiac. The Latino led off, a beat or two before the bass drum started gently pounding:
I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
The Asian man chimed in, a wistfulness in his voice:
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
The crowd seemed to perk up slightly. Tracy could feel it, too; it was a slight tingle, like static electricity.
The Middle Easterner's voice entered next, with a grim certainty:
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Eyepatch-man raised his voice, with a sad nostalgia Tracy hadn't credited to his rough-hewn appearance:
Listen as the crowd would sing
Now the old king is dead, long live the king
The Black man joined in, clasping one hand to his heart as he did:
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
Sean Connery's twin completed the verse, his eyes glistening as he did so:
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand
A breath, and six voices braided again for the chorus. The static electricity in the air spiked. Everyone in the bar felt it, looking up, looking around.
I hear Jerusalem bells ringing
Roman cavalry choirs were singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once you'd gone it was never, never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
The instrumental took over for a moment, and Tracy had to catch her breath. For a moment, while they were singing, the air had shimmered, and she had seen.... no. That wasn't possible. She hadn't touched anything that would produce that effect in months.
On the other hand, every other face in the bar was rapt.
Maybe it wasn't just me...?
The singing resumed, the voices ringing out as one. She could feel the crowd sitting on the edges of their chairs, and it took a conscious effort to push herself back on her stool.
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become
Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh, who would ever want to be king?
Another breath, and the voices braided again for the chorus.
I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman cavalry choirs were singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
The voices spun into harmonizing.
There. Tracy was sure she was seeing it this time. The air was shimmering, and she could see the song's lyrics painted as pictures in her mind's eye, seen as clear as crystal.
Great empires rose and fell.
Pagodas and pyramids and great temples with thick columns were built and crumbled to dust.
Armies marched to doom and glory.
Grand and terrible deeds were done, heroes and kings were lauded for their adventures, maidens and princesses were loved and lost to war or old age.
And for a split-second, she saw the six men for the old, lonely kings they were.
Somehow, she knew everyone else in the Galaxy Lounge saw it too.
The final chorus came. The six men poured their love and loss and longing into every word.
I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman cavalry choirs were singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world....
The music died away, and the bar's population shook themselves, as if awakening from a dream. Tracy blinked once, twice, finding the vision fading away. In the space of a heartbeat it went from rock-solid to evaporating like mist in the morning sun.
A stunned silence pervaded the bar, finally broken by the overweight salaryman applauding slowly. One of the waitresses joined him, and it snowballed from there, everyone in the Galaxy Lounge shooting to their feet and pounding their hands together.
Tracy finally found her voice, fumbling for her mike. “Okay...!” Her voice cracked like thin ice, and she cleared her throat and spoke again. “Okay, wow! Give it up for the boys!”
On the stage, “the boys” actually looked embarrassed for a moment. Sean Connery shook it off first and shot the crowd a rakish grin; one of the waitresses actually fainted. They filed off the stage, all smiles and flushed with exaltation. One by one they stepped out the door, the Latino with a grateful nod to the bartender and Connery pausing to get the waitress's number.
For the rest of the evening, the air in the Galaxy Lounge was just a little bit more.... electric than usual.
Author's notes: The song, naturally, is "Viva la Vida" by Coldplay. In this fic, I tried to communicate the sensations and emotions that song stirs up in me - and frankly, the song does sound to me very much like an old, near-forgotten god's lament....
