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Curtains Ch.04 - Shell Games
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<blockquote data-quote="Rybaer" data-source="post: 2842587" data-attributes="member: 118"><p><strong>Introducing Soundtrack</strong></p><p></p><p>June 17, 20:14</p><p>Dave's Steakhouse, Downtown Coast City</p><p></p><p></p><p>“Just give me the bottom line,” Ben said. He looked across the table at the unreadable studio executive. </p><p></p><p>“Very well,” the man said. “We’ve listened to your demo tracks and, frankly, they’re pretty okay.”</p><p></p><p>Ben tried to match the movie executive’s poker face. Belying his emotions, however, he could hear his own personal soundtrack introduce a few dissonant tones of frustration. With a conscious effort, he forced his musical aura to blend back into the restaurant’s quiet muzak.</p><p></p><p>When Ben said nothing, the man continued on. “There’s a good chance we can sign you for some freelance composing, probably a few small television show gigs, just to see how things work out. The fact that you’re, well, a super, might be to your advantage in time. At least for the novelty. What we’ve heard so far, though, just doesn’t quite reach the critical levels needed to sustain a motion picture.”</p><p></p><p>Throughout the rest of dinner, Ben tried to placate himself. He knew the market for major composers was a tough one to crack. Even his super-powered advantages failed to provide the edge to push him to the inside.</p><p></p><p>As the plates were cleared, he noticed an abrupt change in his personal soundtrack. The perpetual music that surrounded him would occasionally signal changes in his environment even before his conscious mind had become aware of them. There was a building tension in tone and pitch. Something was about to happen - something bad.</p><p></p><p>While the exec regaled Ben with an amusing anecdote about Danny Elfman’s early career, Ben was busy searching the other tables for signs of trouble. Halfway across the room, a man forcefully stood from his table, knocking over his chair in the process. He drew a pistol from his jacket and leveled it at the man sitting across from him – Big Bling, a local rap star that Ben recognized from his work in radio.</p><p></p><p>Big Bling held his hands up defensively, trying to placate the gunman who was going off about “respect.” The rest of the patrons began to duck beneath tables or scramble for the exits.</p><p>On impulse, Ben decided to take it upon himself to try to diffuse the situation. Using his ability to create sound, he generated the sound of a pistol cocking right behind the gunman’s head. Then, in a menacing projected voice, he “whispered” into the guy’s ear. </p><p></p><p>“Ever hear of the Invisible Man?”</p><p></p><p>The thug with the gun tensed up and nodded curtly. </p><p></p><p>“Well, I’m the Invisible Man with the invisible gun,” Ben continued to project. His own musical aura dramatically highlighted the tension in the room. “If you do anything other than carefully place your piece on the table, I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head.”</p><p></p><p>Ben sensed another increase in the tension of his soundtrack. Following its cues, he glanced across the room. There he found another man coming from the direction of the restrooms who was drawing a handgun of his own and taking aim at the gunman. Unsure of the newcomer’s intent (probably Big Bling’s bodyguard), Ben decided to act fast. He projected a concussive blast of focused sonic energy at the second gunman. The blast distorted the air in a column across the restaurant, sending napkins flying and glasses shattering. It struck the man full in the chest, knocking him unconscious against a wall.</p><p></p><p>The first gunman flinched at the echoing boom from Ben’s blast. He couldn’t seem to grasp what had just happened and clearly hadn’t realized Ben’s role in the attack.</p><p></p><p>“Gun on table,” Ben reminded him through the projected voice in his ear. “Slowly.”</p><p></p><p>The man followed orders, placing his handgun on the table. Big Bling, across the table, heaved a sigh of relief and wisely made no move for the gun sitting on the table.</p><p>After instructing the man to lie on the floor, Ben finally rose from his own seat. He confidently strode over to Big Bling’s table and unloaded the gun. Big Bling mouth full of gold-capped teeth grinned widely at him.</p><p></p><p>“You da guy responsible for all this?” he said.</p><p></p><p>“Something like that,” Ben said.</p><p></p><p>“Then I owe you some thanks,” Bling said. “I knew this guy would be nothing but trouble. Looks like he proved me right. And don’t worry ‘bout putting my own protection on his ass. He might have become trigger happy, so you probably saved him a world of trouble down the road.”</p><p></p><p>The cops arrived a few minutes later, cuffing the perp and taking statements. After Ben’s rather lengthy statement, the movie studio exec cornered him again.</p><p></p><p>“You know, Mr. Harmon,” he said, “I heard the music you were making while that all went down. That was real, intense. It was amazing. Much better than the demo you sent us earlier. If you can figure out how to score music like that to order, then your future in the industry will be assured. Give me a call when you figure it out.” </p><p></p><p>Ben sighed. The exec was right; his subconscious music always seemed to fit the situation better than anything he could consciously score. </p><p></p><p>A young woman approached Ben moments after the exec departed. “Excuse me,” she said, offering her hand. “My name’s Sandra Poynter. I run the Coast City Metahuman Rights organization. That was quite an impressive and creative display of powers, there. If you’re into that sort of thing…you know, hero work…then I think I should introduce you to an acquaintance of mine.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>(...more to come...)</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rybaer, post: 2842587, member: 118"] [b]Introducing Soundtrack[/b] June 17, 20:14 Dave's Steakhouse, Downtown Coast City “Just give me the bottom line,” Ben said. He looked across the table at the unreadable studio executive. “Very well,” the man said. “We’ve listened to your demo tracks and, frankly, they’re pretty okay.” Ben tried to match the movie executive’s poker face. Belying his emotions, however, he could hear his own personal soundtrack introduce a few dissonant tones of frustration. With a conscious effort, he forced his musical aura to blend back into the restaurant’s quiet muzak. When Ben said nothing, the man continued on. “There’s a good chance we can sign you for some freelance composing, probably a few small television show gigs, just to see how things work out. The fact that you’re, well, a super, might be to your advantage in time. At least for the novelty. What we’ve heard so far, though, just doesn’t quite reach the critical levels needed to sustain a motion picture.” Throughout the rest of dinner, Ben tried to placate himself. He knew the market for major composers was a tough one to crack. Even his super-powered advantages failed to provide the edge to push him to the inside. As the plates were cleared, he noticed an abrupt change in his personal soundtrack. The perpetual music that surrounded him would occasionally signal changes in his environment even before his conscious mind had become aware of them. There was a building tension in tone and pitch. Something was about to happen - something bad. While the exec regaled Ben with an amusing anecdote about Danny Elfman’s early career, Ben was busy searching the other tables for signs of trouble. Halfway across the room, a man forcefully stood from his table, knocking over his chair in the process. He drew a pistol from his jacket and leveled it at the man sitting across from him – Big Bling, a local rap star that Ben recognized from his work in radio. Big Bling held his hands up defensively, trying to placate the gunman who was going off about “respect.” The rest of the patrons began to duck beneath tables or scramble for the exits. On impulse, Ben decided to take it upon himself to try to diffuse the situation. Using his ability to create sound, he generated the sound of a pistol cocking right behind the gunman’s head. Then, in a menacing projected voice, he “whispered” into the guy’s ear. “Ever hear of the Invisible Man?” The thug with the gun tensed up and nodded curtly. “Well, I’m the Invisible Man with the invisible gun,” Ben continued to project. His own musical aura dramatically highlighted the tension in the room. “If you do anything other than carefully place your piece on the table, I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head.” Ben sensed another increase in the tension of his soundtrack. Following its cues, he glanced across the room. There he found another man coming from the direction of the restrooms who was drawing a handgun of his own and taking aim at the gunman. Unsure of the newcomer’s intent (probably Big Bling’s bodyguard), Ben decided to act fast. He projected a concussive blast of focused sonic energy at the second gunman. The blast distorted the air in a column across the restaurant, sending napkins flying and glasses shattering. It struck the man full in the chest, knocking him unconscious against a wall. The first gunman flinched at the echoing boom from Ben’s blast. He couldn’t seem to grasp what had just happened and clearly hadn’t realized Ben’s role in the attack. “Gun on table,” Ben reminded him through the projected voice in his ear. “Slowly.” The man followed orders, placing his handgun on the table. Big Bling, across the table, heaved a sigh of relief and wisely made no move for the gun sitting on the table. After instructing the man to lie on the floor, Ben finally rose from his own seat. He confidently strode over to Big Bling’s table and unloaded the gun. Big Bling mouth full of gold-capped teeth grinned widely at him. “You da guy responsible for all this?” he said. “Something like that,” Ben said. “Then I owe you some thanks,” Bling said. “I knew this guy would be nothing but trouble. Looks like he proved me right. And don’t worry ‘bout putting my own protection on his ass. He might have become trigger happy, so you probably saved him a world of trouble down the road.” The cops arrived a few minutes later, cuffing the perp and taking statements. After Ben’s rather lengthy statement, the movie studio exec cornered him again. “You know, Mr. Harmon,” he said, “I heard the music you were making while that all went down. That was real, intense. It was amazing. Much better than the demo you sent us earlier. If you can figure out how to score music like that to order, then your future in the industry will be assured. Give me a call when you figure it out.” Ben sighed. The exec was right; his subconscious music always seemed to fit the situation better than anything he could consciously score. A young woman approached Ben moments after the exec departed. “Excuse me,” she said, offering her hand. “My name’s Sandra Poynter. I run the Coast City Metahuman Rights organization. That was quite an impressive and creative display of powers, there. If you’re into that sort of thing…you know, hero work…then I think I should introduce you to an acquaintance of mine.” (...more to come...) [/QUOTE]
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