hands_of_blu | (no subject)

(no subject)

Western Canada in the late 1960s is a fine, upstanding part of the country. The cities aren't gigantic, glittering megalopoli by any stretch of the imagination, but they're modern, civil places to live, and they've got plenty of excellent cultural institutions. They're just miles and miles and miles from anything else whatsoever- including, in some parts of the Prairies, carefully concealed, hotly contested war zones.

The BLU sniper is not happy that he had to drive six and a half hours to get a decent drink*, but he intends to make up for lost time at the first bar he sees. His companion on the way into town will be doing the driving on the way back. For now, however, they've parted ways, which makes getting to Milliways and bringing Cata back without attracting attention so much easier.

*The driving is not a problem. The fact that his alcohol supply ran out because his teammates kept taking his stuff, thus necessitating wasting most of his down-time on driving to replace it? That's another story.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Through zat door over zere-" He nods towards one of the doors. "We give our tickets to ze gentleman in ze vest und proceed to a pair of seats in Row H, chust on ze aisle, as I mentioned before. Not ze best seats in ze house, but it provides a good view of ze orchestra und allows for spotting trouble a long way off."

"Both of which are very good things."
It's like seeing a play, after a fashion. If you can't see the stage, there not much point.

The Medic nods, and fishes their tickets out of a well-concealed pocket. (Of course he has concealed pockets when he goes out in public. Don't all the sensible people?) "All ze main exits are marked in red, und ze emergency exits haf smaller green signs," he says. "I brought a miniature radio in case of needing emergency pickup. However, for now..."

He's just going to hand over the tickets to the older woman at the door and lead the way into the concert hall proper.

"I sink we can relax for at least a few minutes, hmm?"

This sensible person added the pockets herself!
"One would hope we can."
And she certainly intends to give it her best shot.

They're actually pretty close to the start of the concert; other people are filing into the seats around them even as they settle down. Fortunately, no one within line-of-sight appears to set off any more of the Medic's warning bells. That's a start, if nothing else.

"I don't know how many instruments you'll recognise tonight," the Medic notes as he hands over a playbill, "but here; ze players und zeir positions are marked on a map of ze stage..."

She examines the playbill for a few minutes, and asks questions where she sees fit. The idea of stringed instruments, at least, isn't far removed from what she knows; most minstrels at home tend to have harps.

There'll probably be a harp tonight, too, although perhaps bigger than she's used to seeing. The piano might take some explanation, though, not to mention the woodwinds.

They're about halfway through the question roster when the sound of half a dozen instruments trying to settle on various notes goes up. "Ah," says the Medic, "tuning. Ze concert's going to start in a minute or two..."

Cata watches the process, with no small amount of interest.
"Some of those things look... impractically big."

"Ja, well, zey don't much move about vith zem," the Medic admits. "Und zey usually travel mit cases to protect zem from banging up und ozzer forms of damage."

"Ah. I admit I'm far more used to wandering minstrels. Some of those wouldn't exactly lend themselves to wandering."
To put it mildly, if one has to sit down to play it...

"Ze violins und some of ze ozzer strings, maybe," the Medic concedes. "Und perhaps some of ze brass und woodwinds. But overall, orchestra instruments are for playing in vun place und transporting with great care, not for life on ze road."

It's getting to be a positive cacophony down in the orchestra pit. At least until the first oboist lets out a long A note and all of the other instruments suddenly move to match it in the definitive act of tuning.

The music itself will start a moment later, just as soon as the conductor lowers his wand.

Cata was beginning to wonder if all that noise was actually going to amount to something. Wandering minstrels usually wander by themselves, so tuning wouldn't be anywhere near as hectic.
At this point, she finds it best to wait and take her cues from the people who actually know what's going on.

The concert program tonight was 'The Glory Of The Baroque: Bach, Handel and More'. Possibly not what the Medic would have selected to start with, but beggars can't be choosers, and the orchestra really is pretty good.

He'll do his best to point out particularly impressive moments silently, or answer questions as need be, assuming he can do so without disturbing the neighbors.

It's certainly interesting, she can say that much. Whether it's interesting in a good way remains to be seen.
She saves her questions for the quieter spots, where she can.

As far as Medic is concerned, they're doing a fantastic job with music he wouldn't have expected. Then again, he's been on the road long enough to be willing to listen to a small child with a xylophone as long as the child had some basic idea of how to play Bach.

Eventually the intermission rolls around, and he glances enquiringly over at Cata.

"It's very interesting, I can say that much." She las a look at the program, and says, "So they did change composers part of the way through. I thought it sounded a bit different."
Of course, that could have been the same composer trying something different. That would be why she checked the program.

"Ja. Ze same approximate time period und school of style, but two very different men," the Medic says. "I haf some recordings of anozzer orchestra playing more of each of ze composers at home, if you ever vonted to hear more of it."

"I may take you up on that."
The concept of recorded music isn't completely beyond her reach, thanks to Milliways.

The Medic nods. "Vun of zese days I'm going to see about taking up ze violin again myself. It's been a good few years since I last practised."

"I can certainly see where you might not have the time."
Or where he might not want to have it in the vicinity of his workplaces.

"It does tend to eat up one's-"

He pauses; there was something about the voice of a fellow in the aisle on the way up to the restrooms that struck the wrong note.

"... it would be useless to ask you if zat man sounded French, wouldn't it."

"A bit, yes. Do you think he's trouble?"
She doubts he would bring it up if he didn't, but it's worth a confirmation.

"Possibly," says the Medic. "Haf you ever recognised someone by ze vay he moves? I'm almost certain I've seen our Frenchman slipping around a corner und out of sight before..."

"I'll keep my eyes open, in that case."
And her ears. The accent may not mean much to her, but she's very familiar with the sound of someone trying to be very, very quiet.

"Sank you," says the Medic.

The auditorium lights flicker.

"Hmf. Zat vos our two-minute warning. I sink perhaps it might not be such a bad idea to stay for a bit more und zen leave ze hall early, for safety's sake..."