The Music Meister (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hypnotic_patter) wrote2013-05-22 09:28 am
hypnotic_patter) wrote2013-05-22 09:28 am
Master Key (for raggedy_doll)
Given the nature of his business Ragdoll had a habit of going off the radar for days or weeks at a time. Billy was generally all right with it. Plenty of people had long-distance relationships where their first conversation in a month involved giddy Skype calls from remote South American dictatorships that had recently had a major administration shift.
Still, he kept tabs in the best way he could. When his Google Alerts notified him that "Peter Merkel Jr." had made the news again he abandoned his half-finished sonic gun and ran to see what his dancing doll had done to make the world more interesting. The scene of a smoking building half-submerged in the river made him smile. Meister popped open a soda and stretched out to watch the news report.
The costume worn by one combatant was identified as that of Peter Merkel Jr., better known as Ragdoll, while the identity of his attackers was unclear. Their brutal battle spanned several city blocks, ending at a fuel station used for local barges. It's unclear exactly how the fire started but the blaze quickly led to a massive explosion that demolished several nearby buildings. Witnesses report that Merkel's injuries during the battle were quite severe, indicating he most likely died in the explosion. The only bodies identified so far were those of local dock workers, and two others were burned beyond recognition. So far no one knows the motives behind--
Some part of him had always assumed Ragdoll was invincible. Rubbery, able to bounce back from any catastrophe with a smile and a bizarre quip. In some ways he had seemed more force of nature than mortal human. Billy left increasingly desperate messages on Peter's voice mail, but after a few days of silence denial seemed impossible. He huddled in his dressing room trying to write some appropriate requiem in Peter's honor. Nothing he could create seemed grand enough to encompass the beautiful kaleidoscope chaos that was Ragdoll. He spent hours staring at the ceiling with the RENT soundtrack playing in the background, devoid of inspiration or the will to create.
At the end of the week a knock on the back door roused him from restless drowsing. He leapt from his bed and ran to the door, still in t-shirt and boxers, hoping against hope that--
Who the heck were these dorks?
A group of one man and two women were gathered in his back alley. Their clothes were loose white muslin with embroidered red coats. All of them wore elaborate jewelry and golden bangles around their wrists, as well as beads threaded into their long braids. "Music Meister." The group bowed low to him, as if he were some pope of weird people. "It is an honor, a privilege, to finally be in your presence."
"Eh?" He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Who exactly are you?"
"We are the Acolytes of the Celestial Echo." Possibly they could sense how close he was to ordering them to pile themselves in the nearby dumpster, so the explanation was extremely rushed. "We believe that the universe was created by a single song, and that this song was then taught by the gods to the first humans. All songs thereafter are humanity's feeble attempts to recreate that which they once knew, buried deep within our ancestral memory. No living person can repeat it, for time has withered our voices."
"I see. You're crazy people." When he found who gave them his address he was going to beat them with a stick. Billy frowned. "I'm really not in the mood for creepy cults right now."
Again the low bows, their jewelry clinking. "We are sorry for your loss. We know how it must pain you."
"You know nothing about it." He had the door slammed in their faces before the implications of their words fully sunk in. The door opened a crack. "...what do you know about it?" Few people knew he was connected to Peter, let alone dating him. It wasn't their business.
"We have been following you for some time. You have a voice like no other, something precious beyond measure, and we believe it may accomplish what no other voice can. You alone, Music Meister, could bring the first song back into the world."
"So basically you're saying you're my stalkers." He leaned on the door, arms folded. This was not garbage he needed to be dealing with before coffee and a shower. "I appreciate the sentiment, I just don't care. There won't be any performances for a while, and you should understand why."
"Fully." The lead man reached into the ragged bag hanging at his side and produced a familiar mask. It had obviously been cleaned, but traces of dried blood and dirt lingered where the false hair met the pale face. Billy gaped.
"Why do you..."
"It was pulled from the rubble by the police. We recovered it by--"
"Give it to me!" Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Billy snatched it out of the acolyte's thin fingers, hugging it tightly to his chest. His fingers ran fondly through the red mass of yarn. To Billy the mask was Peter's face as much as the scarred flesh beneath it.
"If you will come with us you may get back the rest of him...and more besides. The song created the world. Bringing one soul back from the dead would be a minor affair by comparison. Come with us and we shall teach you the song that meager mortals cannot sing. You will be worshiped as a new Apollo with we your willing servants, and your dancer shall return to your side."
Billy tongued the gap between his teeth. In his thoughtfulness he did not hear the soft humming by the acolyte in the back or see the way her fingers moved in arcane patterns across the symbol held in his first two fingers. The merest nudge, though even that took a great deal of their power. They appealed to the Songbringer's grief and his pride in unison, and this was only the final push to tip him over the edge of the cliff. The mask of the fallen dancer would bring his lover under their sway.
"Keep talking."
Still, he kept tabs in the best way he could. When his Google Alerts notified him that "Peter Merkel Jr." had made the news again he abandoned his half-finished sonic gun and ran to see what his dancing doll had done to make the world more interesting. The scene of a smoking building half-submerged in the river made him smile. Meister popped open a soda and stretched out to watch the news report.
The costume worn by one combatant was identified as that of Peter Merkel Jr., better known as Ragdoll, while the identity of his attackers was unclear. Their brutal battle spanned several city blocks, ending at a fuel station used for local barges. It's unclear exactly how the fire started but the blaze quickly led to a massive explosion that demolished several nearby buildings. Witnesses report that Merkel's injuries during the battle were quite severe, indicating he most likely died in the explosion. The only bodies identified so far were those of local dock workers, and two others were burned beyond recognition. So far no one knows the motives behind--
Some part of him had always assumed Ragdoll was invincible. Rubbery, able to bounce back from any catastrophe with a smile and a bizarre quip. In some ways he had seemed more force of nature than mortal human. Billy left increasingly desperate messages on Peter's voice mail, but after a few days of silence denial seemed impossible. He huddled in his dressing room trying to write some appropriate requiem in Peter's honor. Nothing he could create seemed grand enough to encompass the beautiful kaleidoscope chaos that was Ragdoll. He spent hours staring at the ceiling with the RENT soundtrack playing in the background, devoid of inspiration or the will to create.
At the end of the week a knock on the back door roused him from restless drowsing. He leapt from his bed and ran to the door, still in t-shirt and boxers, hoping against hope that--
Who the heck were these dorks?
A group of one man and two women were gathered in his back alley. Their clothes were loose white muslin with embroidered red coats. All of them wore elaborate jewelry and golden bangles around their wrists, as well as beads threaded into their long braids. "Music Meister." The group bowed low to him, as if he were some pope of weird people. "It is an honor, a privilege, to finally be in your presence."
"Eh?" He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Who exactly are you?"
"We are the Acolytes of the Celestial Echo." Possibly they could sense how close he was to ordering them to pile themselves in the nearby dumpster, so the explanation was extremely rushed. "We believe that the universe was created by a single song, and that this song was then taught by the gods to the first humans. All songs thereafter are humanity's feeble attempts to recreate that which they once knew, buried deep within our ancestral memory. No living person can repeat it, for time has withered our voices."
"I see. You're crazy people." When he found who gave them his address he was going to beat them with a stick. Billy frowned. "I'm really not in the mood for creepy cults right now."
Again the low bows, their jewelry clinking. "We are sorry for your loss. We know how it must pain you."
"You know nothing about it." He had the door slammed in their faces before the implications of their words fully sunk in. The door opened a crack. "...what do you know about it?" Few people knew he was connected to Peter, let alone dating him. It wasn't their business.
"We have been following you for some time. You have a voice like no other, something precious beyond measure, and we believe it may accomplish what no other voice can. You alone, Music Meister, could bring the first song back into the world."
"So basically you're saying you're my stalkers." He leaned on the door, arms folded. This was not garbage he needed to be dealing with before coffee and a shower. "I appreciate the sentiment, I just don't care. There won't be any performances for a while, and you should understand why."
"Fully." The lead man reached into the ragged bag hanging at his side and produced a familiar mask. It had obviously been cleaned, but traces of dried blood and dirt lingered where the false hair met the pale face. Billy gaped.
"Why do you..."
"It was pulled from the rubble by the police. We recovered it by--"
"Give it to me!" Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Billy snatched it out of the acolyte's thin fingers, hugging it tightly to his chest. His fingers ran fondly through the red mass of yarn. To Billy the mask was Peter's face as much as the scarred flesh beneath it.
"If you will come with us you may get back the rest of him...and more besides. The song created the world. Bringing one soul back from the dead would be a minor affair by comparison. Come with us and we shall teach you the song that meager mortals cannot sing. You will be worshiped as a new Apollo with we your willing servants, and your dancer shall return to your side."
Billy tongued the gap between his teeth. In his thoughtfulness he did not hear the soft humming by the acolyte in the back or see the way her fingers moved in arcane patterns across the symbol held in his first two fingers. The merest nudge, though even that took a great deal of their power. They appealed to the Songbringer's grief and his pride in unison, and this was only the final push to tip him over the edge of the cliff. The mask of the fallen dancer would bring his lover under their sway.
"Keep talking."
no subject
He listened to Meister's one-sided enthusiastic rambling... It wasn't difficult to figure out what that fake Doll was "saying," actually. And what the cult must be offering. That should have been enough to put William in this state, though, surely...?
"You know, perhaps I have been somewhat unfair, since they have been so accomadating. If you tell me all about this performance once again, sweet William, I promise I will listen oh-so-nicely this time. You seem all a-twitter over it! Why, I haven't seen you this nervous in months!"
no subject
"The first song," he said, with the irritation of someone repeating information that should already be known. "The song that created the world and inspired all music thereafter. The Acolytes of the Celestial Echo discovered its lost melody but only I have the power to sing it properly. The first time I used it I had enough power to bring you back from the land of the dead, though apparently your attention span took a bit longer to follow your soul."
His fingers trailed over the table, just beneath the long scroll. "With the Echo's rites and my voice, we will recreate that perfect moment when the divine song was first heard upon this imperfect Earth. I will have the power to remake the world as I please it, and my worshipers will spread my voice to the furthest corners of the globe." With the help of a little modern technology. "It will make everything I have done up until this point seem paltry."
He turned on Peter with a wide, heartfelt smile. His hand pressed to his chest. "It will be so beautiful," he promised. "No pain, no Arkham, no vigilantes to nip at our heels. All your twisted heart desires will be yours." And he knew that was quite a lot of twisted things.
no subject
The fake kept looking at him, but didn't seem inclined to attack, or to sound the alarm. He'd leave it be for now, and trust that it would be at least slightly cooperative.
"I can't say I dislike the sound of that." Though it was very unlike Meister's usual schemes, which didn't come anywhere near "reshape the entire world in my image and take everything over and be worshipped as a god" territory. He did dislike how drastic a shift it was, or at least the fact that Billy had been manipulated into it. "And I know it will be beautiful, William. With you performing, how could it be otherwise? But are you really certain they are entirely loyal to you?"
no subject
The double's arm wrapped like a python around Billy's leg, which seemed to bring him down from his ire. "I know, I know," he muttered. "But they would never do anything to harm us. I am the Songbringer and they are my devotees."
no subject
Peter could only hope that Billy could be made to see that, and they hadn't addled his brain permanently. This fervor over someone else's songs and ideas didn't suit him.
"Hmmm. Refresh my memory one last time, will you? When is this performance, again? I want to be certain I'm prepared."
no subject
Billy kept wandering the length of the scroll. A watchful eye might notice that his robe was decorated in cuneiform, much like the stolen tablets. "And oh, how you will dance..."
He began to sing softly to himself in the same strange language he'd used before. The words seemed crude, like the utterances of a child first learning to speak, but the song was pure as water. The double froze with its head tilted ninety degrees.
It was hard to lay one's finger on exactly what changed when Billy sang. Perhaps the room was warmer, or perhaps it was just one's skin felt warmer, or the lamps flared up brighter.
no subject
Two nights. Well, he certainly wasn't going to wait around that long. Perhaps there was a way to speed things up...
Before he could ask, Billy started to sing again. Quietly, but the effect was instantaneous and notable, even to him. It was a little warmer, a little brighter, the world almost seemed to be wavering in the corners of his eyes, and of course there was the fact that his double froze in place and listened as if spellbound.
It wasn't actually hypnotic. Meister wasn't using that special pitch of his. But there was something about the song that was... not quite appealing. But it made his head itch. On the inside, not the outside.
He realized he was listening with his own head cocked slightly to one side, though not a full ninety degrees. Hmph. "There's no chance of an early dress rehearsal, I suppose?"
no subject
The false Doll stroked his leg. "As if you're the poster child for good sleep habits," Billy mumbled. "I will, don't fuss." When Billy looked back at the scroll the false Doll twisted its neck around and stared directly at Peter. No words, but all the same there seemed to be some meaning in its dull gaze.