He did not know how well he sang; it just made him whole.
The thing to do while everyone was waiting and saying their "maybe this is goodbyes" was to check his equipment. Make sure everything was there, everything in its place and in working order.
The body armor was solid. Explosives were satisfactory. The guns were good--actions smooth, sights zeroed. Every single round from every single magazine fit in the chamber. He'd checked.
"Miss, may I introduce another of our local residents of note. This is Mr. Tanner O'Neil, of the Carthians."
"Oh, Mr. Tanner, I've heard your name before."
"No," he said, forcing a polite smile. "It's Tanner. Or Mr. O'Neil if you prefer. 'Mr. Tanner' is a very sad Harry Chapin song about a man whose talents don't match his passions."
Eduardo blinked, seemingly surprised to hear that from the other man. "Well," he thought aloud, "That's a... very eloquent way of putting it," he said.
He moved on to the medical bag. Chances were, reminded most of the vampires, that he'd have little use for it. Discipline and hard-won experience taught him it was better to be safe than sorry.
Compress bandages, to staunch the bleeding if he couldn't get right to work.
Shears, for cutting away the torn and bloody clothing around a wound.
Scalpels and surgical knives to get at the wound.
Hemostats, to clamp a severed artery.
Forceps, for pulling out bullets and shrapnel.
Triangle bandages. Chest tubes. Sutures. Syringes filled with drugs... including extra morphine, for when nothing else could be done.
In high school, he had planned on becoming a roadie for rock bands.
Mister Tanner was a cleaner from a town in the Midwest.
And of all the cleaning shops around he'd made his the best.
But he also was a baritone who sang while hanging clothes.
He practiced scales while pressing tails and sang at local shows.
His friends and neighbors praised the voice that poured out from his throat.
They said that he should use his gift instead of cleaning coats.
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.
His friends kept working on him to try music out full time.
A big debut and rave reviews, a great career to climb.
Finally they got to him, he would take the fling.
A concert agent in New York agreed to have him sing.
And there were plane tickets, phone calls, money spent to rent the hall.
It took most of his savings but he gladly used them all.
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.
The evening came, he took the stage, his face set in a smile.
And in the half filled hall the critics sat watching on the aisle.
But the concert was a blur to him, spatters of applause.
He did not know how well he sang, he only heard the flaws.
But the critics were concise, it only took four lines.
But no one could accuse them of being over kind.
(spoken)
Mr. Martin Tanner, Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his
Town Hall debut last night. He came well prepared, but unfortunately
his presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards.
His voice lacks the range of tonal color necessary to make it
consistently interesting.
Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order.
(sung)
He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends.
Then he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again,
excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed.
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes.
Music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
(And) he did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.
The body armor was solid. Explosives were satisfactory. The guns were good--actions smooth, sights zeroed. Every single round from every single magazine fit in the chamber. He'd checked.
"Miss, may I introduce another of our local residents of note. This is Mr. Tanner O'Neil, of the Carthians."
"Oh, Mr. Tanner, I've heard your name before."
"No," he said, forcing a polite smile. "It's Tanner. Or Mr. O'Neil if you prefer. 'Mr. Tanner' is a very sad Harry Chapin song about a man whose talents don't match his passions."
Eduardo blinked, seemingly surprised to hear that from the other man. "Well," he thought aloud, "That's a... very eloquent way of putting it," he said.
He moved on to the medical bag. Chances were, reminded most of the vampires, that he'd have little use for it. Discipline and hard-won experience taught him it was better to be safe than sorry.
Compress bandages, to staunch the bleeding if he couldn't get right to work.
Shears, for cutting away the torn and bloody clothing around a wound.
Scalpels and surgical knives to get at the wound.
Hemostats, to clamp a severed artery.
Forceps, for pulling out bullets and shrapnel.
Triangle bandages. Chest tubes. Sutures. Syringes filled with drugs... including extra morphine, for when nothing else could be done.
In high school, he had planned on becoming a roadie for rock bands.
Mister Tanner was a cleaner from a town in the Midwest.
And of all the cleaning shops around he'd made his the best.
But he also was a baritone who sang while hanging clothes.
He practiced scales while pressing tails and sang at local shows.
His friends and neighbors praised the voice that poured out from his throat.
They said that he should use his gift instead of cleaning coats.
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.
His friends kept working on him to try music out full time.
A big debut and rave reviews, a great career to climb.
Finally they got to him, he would take the fling.
A concert agent in New York agreed to have him sing.
And there were plane tickets, phone calls, money spent to rent the hall.
It took most of his savings but he gladly used them all.
But music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.
The evening came, he took the stage, his face set in a smile.
And in the half filled hall the critics sat watching on the aisle.
But the concert was a blur to him, spatters of applause.
He did not know how well he sang, he only heard the flaws.
But the critics were concise, it only took four lines.
But no one could accuse them of being over kind.
(spoken)
Mr. Martin Tanner, Baritone, of Dayton, Ohio made his
Town Hall debut last night. He came well prepared, but unfortunately
his presentation was not up to contemporary professional standards.
His voice lacks the range of tonal color necessary to make it
consistently interesting.
Full time consideration of another endeavor might be in order.
(sung)
He came home to Dayton and was questioned by his friends.
Then he smiled and just said nothing and he never sang again,
excepting very late at night when the shop was dark and closed.
He sang softly to himself as he sorted through the clothes.
Music was his life, it was not his livelihood,
and it made him feel so happy and it made him feel so good.
And he sang from his heart and he sang from his soul.
(And) he did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.