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indriSUMMARY: Giles and Ethan, the electric Kool-Aid funky Satan groove year, in the early seventies. Rated M. Spoilers to Band Candy. Acknowledgements and disclaimers.
14.
Ripper went for a walk around the neighbourhood the next day as it wasn't an area he knew well. Most of the streets were like Adrienne's, lined with terraces two or three stories high, each with steps down to a basement and steps up to the main door, with everything behind black metal railings. Other streets had newer blocks of flats. There was a busy main street running northish to southish and a canal running east-west to the north. He passed two or three tube stations and saw plenty of buses. He also passed by pubs and clubs with good reps for music. And he could walk to the park if he really wanted.
He found a spot near the busiest Tube station which looked good for busking, so he went home to fetch his guitar. That way he could get some practice in and maybe raise a couple of quid. He needed a bit of cash for that night, as he'd invited Adrienne out for a pub meal after work.
The weather wasn't too bad and he had a good collection of coins in his guitar case after a couple of hours. Things started to pick up as the rush hour came on, but he had to pack up then so he wouldn't be late to meet Adrienne at the pub.
She'd gone there straight after work and was still in her shop clothes when he met her. Her shop clothes turned out to be exactly the same as her weekend clothes.
"What sort of shop is it?" he asked, as they settled into a booth. The pub was fairly quiet this early on a week night.
"A bookshop," she said. "A radical political bookshop."
"Ethan said you were a communist."
Her nose wrinkled. "Ethan is sometimes wilfully ignorant. I'm a dialectal materialist." She sipped her beer. "Will that worry you?"
"No," he said, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what that meant.
"How'd you get into music anyway?" she asked him.
Ripper recalled his room back at Oxford, with its cluttered desk and heavy curtains. He remembered staring at the pages of a tome on well-documented sub-species of werewolf, which sat on top of other books on Byzantine despots and the politics of eighteenth century East Asia. After three fruitless hours, at five a.m., he'd packed his bags.
He said to Adrienne, "I thought it was something I might be good at."
"I don't play," she said, "but I really love it. I used to feel guilty about how much I loved it. I used to think that I had to spend every minute of the day working for a better world: at the bookshop, handing out leaflets, writing letters and, I don't know, arguing with random people on the street. Going on marches." She sighed. "But you can't live like that. There's got to be something outside of that which you love, to keep you going. For me, it's music.
"It's worthwhile," she said, "playing music. It's a good thing for you to do."
"Thanks," he said, but it wasn't heartfelt.
"Is there a band playing here tonight?" she asked.
"Don't think so."
"Then I'm going to put something on that jukebox over there. Be back in a sec."
Night had fallen and the pub was beginning to fill up. Ripper moved his hand so that the mirrored ring scanned across the room, and he immediately wished he hadn't. Sitting over on one of the other tables was a woman without a reflection. She was deep in conversation with a man in a suede jacket.
Ripper drank from his beer. What was he supposed to do? Confront her? Go up to the man and say, "Sir, I believe you may be drinking with a demon?" Go around behind her and hack at her head with a dinner knife?
Adrienne stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the other table. "Dance?" she said. She'd picked a song by The Who.
Dinner arrived as the song was ending. "How did things go last night?" she asked.
He told her and she seemed faintly interested. He asked, "But you don't do any magic?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?"
"I think it's a waste of time. You can't change the world with magic, can you? I mean, not the world's real problems, like poverty or prejudice. If you could, there'd be someone standing in Africa right now making loaves and fishes. It's small-scale. It doesn't change the system."
"It can be fun," Ripper said, thinking of the night before.
"Then it's like music. It's there to distract people long enough that they can hope. But some people think it's an end in itself."
Ripper wanted to say that some of the world's ills could only be fought with magic, but he didn't want to reveal quite how much he knew. He glanced over at the vampire woman, who was still deep in conversation.
"Could you excuse me a moment?" he asked Adrienne. "I think I see someone I know."
He got up and walked over to the vampire's table. She and the man she was talking to looked up as he approached.
Ripper looked at the vampire and swallowed. She would have superhuman speed and superhuman strength. She said, "Can I help you?" and Ripper heard the threat in it, the predator tone. Dear God, why did no-one else hear that?
She had only to casually reach out her hand to crush his windpipe. He had no stake, no holy water, and, he thought bitterly, no courage at all.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, "I thought you were somebody else."
The vampire resumed her conversation and Ripper went back to his seat, where he held his head in his hands.
"Not feeling well?" asked Adrienne.
"Tired," he said. "I really was up very late last night."
She touched his hand. "Then we'll go home soon, get an early night."
By the the time they left, there was no sign of either the vampire or her prey.
15.
Diedre had made them all something she called vegetable stew. Diedre was the least worst cook of all of them, but that wasn't saying much. Supposedly she excelled at jam. Ethan wondered if he ought to learn how to cook: it couldn't be that difficult.
They were all in the kitchen, sitting on chairs and eating from bowls in their laps. Tom was wolfing his down so that he could get back to his studies. Randall, Diedre, Stan and Ethan were chewing a little more slowly. It wasn't that it tasted bad, it was that it didn't taste of anything much at all. Ethan got up to find something to put through it.
"What's the best way for me to make some money?" Ethan asked. "I need about fifty quid."
Stan opened his mouth, so Ethan said, "I'm not working for you, Stan."
"I wasn't going to say that," Stan said. "I was going to suggest stealing cars. They're easy to nick and you can sell them off for spare parts if you know the right people."
"Then why don't people do that more often?"
Stan shrugged. "Beats me," he said.
"What do you want fifty pounds for?" asked Diedre. "Do you want to buy a car?"
"No," he said, finding some curry powder and spooning it through his stew. "It's Terry. He's selling proper magic books now."
"I could lend it to you, if you need it," said Diedre.
"No!" spluttered Tom. "Dee--"
"I don't want to borrow money, I want to make money," said Ethan. "In the longer term, I would like to buy more than one book."
"Expensive hobby, sounds like," said Stan.
"Couldn't you do, you know, something magic?" asked Diedre.
"Light shows at festivals," said Randall.
"You know how to unlock doors, don't you?" said Stan. "I've seen you do it. Cat burglar."
"Don't be silly," said Randall, "only demons buy cats."
"Demons buy cats?" asked Stan.
"They eat kittens," Ethan said. "Or some of them do."
Stan looked quite ill. "Kittens?"
"Yes," said Ethan, "little ickle kittens."
"Why don't they breed them then?" asked Diedre. "Why aren't there giant kitten farms run by demons?"
"I heard," said Randall, "it's because cats don't like demons. They don't breed anywhere near them."
"Then the demons should spend all their time at the Cat and Dog Home," said Diedre.
"Or hanging out by the canal looking for little mewling bags."
"Look," said Stan, "I can't eat while we're talking about this."
"I'm done," said Tom, standing. "I'll see you later, Dee."
"Don't work too hard," she said, leaning her head up so he could kiss her.
Adrienne and Ripper came back then. Adrienne said, "Ripper's not feeling well," and it was true, he did look a little green around the gills. "I'm going to make us some tea and then we're going straight to bed. Does anyone else want something while I'm boiling the kettle?"
"I'll have some tea," said Ethan. Ripper was pulling himself up to sit on the kitchen countertop, resting the back of his head against a cupboard and keeping his eyes closed.
"Ethan wants to know where he should steal fifty pounds from," said Diedre.
"The rich, obviously," said Adrienne.
"That's from whom, not from where," said Randall.
"Banks, then, and other usurers and parasites in the City."
"Ethan wants to steal what?" asked Ripper.
"Diedre, you are the opposite of helpful," Ethan said.
"Help-less?"
"Help-free. You are the Anti-Help."
"No, seriously," said Adrienne, as she came over with cups of tea for Ethan and Ripper, "do you need money, Ethan?"
"'Need' is too strong a term at the moment."
"Well, I know someone who might want your help. Shall I ask him?"
"What kind of help?" asked Ethan, warily.
"To unlock a few doors and thereby take up arms against tyranny," Adrienne said.
Ethan saw that Ripper laughed weakly around his tea-mug. That would be because he thought Adrienne was joking.
But Ethan knew her better than that.
14.
Ripper went for a walk around the neighbourhood the next day as it wasn't an area he knew well. Most of the streets were like Adrienne's, lined with terraces two or three stories high, each with steps down to a basement and steps up to the main door, with everything behind black metal railings. Other streets had newer blocks of flats. There was a busy main street running northish to southish and a canal running east-west to the north. He passed two or three tube stations and saw plenty of buses. He also passed by pubs and clubs with good reps for music. And he could walk to the park if he really wanted.
He found a spot near the busiest Tube station which looked good for busking, so he went home to fetch his guitar. That way he could get some practice in and maybe raise a couple of quid. He needed a bit of cash for that night, as he'd invited Adrienne out for a pub meal after work.
The weather wasn't too bad and he had a good collection of coins in his guitar case after a couple of hours. Things started to pick up as the rush hour came on, but he had to pack up then so he wouldn't be late to meet Adrienne at the pub.
She'd gone there straight after work and was still in her shop clothes when he met her. Her shop clothes turned out to be exactly the same as her weekend clothes.
"What sort of shop is it?" he asked, as they settled into a booth. The pub was fairly quiet this early on a week night.
"A bookshop," she said. "A radical political bookshop."
"Ethan said you were a communist."
Her nose wrinkled. "Ethan is sometimes wilfully ignorant. I'm a dialectal materialist." She sipped her beer. "Will that worry you?"
"No," he said, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what that meant.
"How'd you get into music anyway?" she asked him.
Ripper recalled his room back at Oxford, with its cluttered desk and heavy curtains. He remembered staring at the pages of a tome on well-documented sub-species of werewolf, which sat on top of other books on Byzantine despots and the politics of eighteenth century East Asia. After three fruitless hours, at five a.m., he'd packed his bags.
He said to Adrienne, "I thought it was something I might be good at."
"I don't play," she said, "but I really love it. I used to feel guilty about how much I loved it. I used to think that I had to spend every minute of the day working for a better world: at the bookshop, handing out leaflets, writing letters and, I don't know, arguing with random people on the street. Going on marches." She sighed. "But you can't live like that. There's got to be something outside of that which you love, to keep you going. For me, it's music.
"It's worthwhile," she said, "playing music. It's a good thing for you to do."
"Thanks," he said, but it wasn't heartfelt.
"Is there a band playing here tonight?" she asked.
"Don't think so."
"Then I'm going to put something on that jukebox over there. Be back in a sec."
Night had fallen and the pub was beginning to fill up. Ripper moved his hand so that the mirrored ring scanned across the room, and he immediately wished he hadn't. Sitting over on one of the other tables was a woman without a reflection. She was deep in conversation with a man in a suede jacket.
Ripper drank from his beer. What was he supposed to do? Confront her? Go up to the man and say, "Sir, I believe you may be drinking with a demon?" Go around behind her and hack at her head with a dinner knife?
Adrienne stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the other table. "Dance?" she said. She'd picked a song by The Who.
Dinner arrived as the song was ending. "How did things go last night?" she asked.
He told her and she seemed faintly interested. He asked, "But you don't do any magic?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?"
"I think it's a waste of time. You can't change the world with magic, can you? I mean, not the world's real problems, like poverty or prejudice. If you could, there'd be someone standing in Africa right now making loaves and fishes. It's small-scale. It doesn't change the system."
"It can be fun," Ripper said, thinking of the night before.
"Then it's like music. It's there to distract people long enough that they can hope. But some people think it's an end in itself."
Ripper wanted to say that some of the world's ills could only be fought with magic, but he didn't want to reveal quite how much he knew. He glanced over at the vampire woman, who was still deep in conversation.
"Could you excuse me a moment?" he asked Adrienne. "I think I see someone I know."
He got up and walked over to the vampire's table. She and the man she was talking to looked up as he approached.
Ripper looked at the vampire and swallowed. She would have superhuman speed and superhuman strength. She said, "Can I help you?" and Ripper heard the threat in it, the predator tone. Dear God, why did no-one else hear that?
She had only to casually reach out her hand to crush his windpipe. He had no stake, no holy water, and, he thought bitterly, no courage at all.
"I'm sorry," he stammered, "I thought you were somebody else."
The vampire resumed her conversation and Ripper went back to his seat, where he held his head in his hands.
"Not feeling well?" asked Adrienne.
"Tired," he said. "I really was up very late last night."
She touched his hand. "Then we'll go home soon, get an early night."
By the the time they left, there was no sign of either the vampire or her prey.
15.
Diedre had made them all something she called vegetable stew. Diedre was the least worst cook of all of them, but that wasn't saying much. Supposedly she excelled at jam. Ethan wondered if he ought to learn how to cook: it couldn't be that difficult.
They were all in the kitchen, sitting on chairs and eating from bowls in their laps. Tom was wolfing his down so that he could get back to his studies. Randall, Diedre, Stan and Ethan were chewing a little more slowly. It wasn't that it tasted bad, it was that it didn't taste of anything much at all. Ethan got up to find something to put through it.
"What's the best way for me to make some money?" Ethan asked. "I need about fifty quid."
Stan opened his mouth, so Ethan said, "I'm not working for you, Stan."
"I wasn't going to say that," Stan said. "I was going to suggest stealing cars. They're easy to nick and you can sell them off for spare parts if you know the right people."
"Then why don't people do that more often?"
Stan shrugged. "Beats me," he said.
"What do you want fifty pounds for?" asked Diedre. "Do you want to buy a car?"
"No," he said, finding some curry powder and spooning it through his stew. "It's Terry. He's selling proper magic books now."
"I could lend it to you, if you need it," said Diedre.
"No!" spluttered Tom. "Dee--"
"I don't want to borrow money, I want to make money," said Ethan. "In the longer term, I would like to buy more than one book."
"Expensive hobby, sounds like," said Stan.
"Couldn't you do, you know, something magic?" asked Diedre.
"Light shows at festivals," said Randall.
"You know how to unlock doors, don't you?" said Stan. "I've seen you do it. Cat burglar."
"Don't be silly," said Randall, "only demons buy cats."
"Demons buy cats?" asked Stan.
"They eat kittens," Ethan said. "Or some of them do."
Stan looked quite ill. "Kittens?"
"Yes," said Ethan, "little ickle kittens."
"Why don't they breed them then?" asked Diedre. "Why aren't there giant kitten farms run by demons?"
"I heard," said Randall, "it's because cats don't like demons. They don't breed anywhere near them."
"Then the demons should spend all their time at the Cat and Dog Home," said Diedre.
"Or hanging out by the canal looking for little mewling bags."
"Look," said Stan, "I can't eat while we're talking about this."
"I'm done," said Tom, standing. "I'll see you later, Dee."
"Don't work too hard," she said, leaning her head up so he could kiss her.
Adrienne and Ripper came back then. Adrienne said, "Ripper's not feeling well," and it was true, he did look a little green around the gills. "I'm going to make us some tea and then we're going straight to bed. Does anyone else want something while I'm boiling the kettle?"
"I'll have some tea," said Ethan. Ripper was pulling himself up to sit on the kitchen countertop, resting the back of his head against a cupboard and keeping his eyes closed.
"Ethan wants to know where he should steal fifty pounds from," said Diedre.
"The rich, obviously," said Adrienne.
"That's from whom, not from where," said Randall.
"Banks, then, and other usurers and parasites in the City."
"Ethan wants to steal what?" asked Ripper.
"Diedre, you are the opposite of helpful," Ethan said.
"Help-less?"
"Help-free. You are the Anti-Help."
"No, seriously," said Adrienne, as she came over with cups of tea for Ethan and Ripper, "do you need money, Ethan?"
"'Need' is too strong a term at the moment."
"Well, I know someone who might want your help. Shall I ask him?"
"What kind of help?" asked Ethan, warily.
"To unlock a few doors and thereby take up arms against tyranny," Adrienne said.
Ethan saw that Ripper laughed weakly around his tea-mug. That would be because he thought Adrienne was joking.
But Ethan knew her better than that.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-07 08:15 pm (UTC)This was another terrific chapter. I loved Ripper's helplessness in face of the vampire. It's true. What could he do without getting himself killed? And the banter between the housemates in the second half is great. Have to say, I don't find any of them very likeable. I adore Ethan, though.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 12:37 pm (UTC)I confess it took me longer to warm to some of my characters than others.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-08 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-16 02:13 am (UTC)"I heard," said Randall, "it's because cats don't like demons. They don't breed anywhere near them."
Oh, clever!