Round 1 // Challenge 4 - Entries
Story Title: An Education
Character/Relationships: Elizabeth Weir
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Elizabeth was 10 years old when she learned to hate guns.
Guns took her Daddy away, guns made her Mom cry, guns made her go to bed without a hug, guns made her stand beside a grave, made her cry, made her hurt made her...
Guns have a lot to answer for
Even now that she is surrounded by guns, can see their necessity, can shoot a target at 30 yards, has ordered them used to defend her city, has used them to defend herself, she still hates them.
She’s just learned to live with them.
Story Title: Future Perfect
Character/Relationships: Lorne, various OFCs and OMCs / Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Nick tried his best not to stumble, hurrying down the street into town while clutching a crumpled ten dollar bill in his hand. He'd already slipped on his cheap thin-soled shoes and fallen, scraping an elbow. But it was really important that he get to the art store before it closed. If he was lucky, Gillian would be on duty. She usually dawdled on purpose, knowing he would be coming by every Saturday.
Nick knew he was lucky to have any kind of a part-time job at the age of ten. The fact that old man Gleason had offered him work - just nosing around at the junkyard - was something any curious kid would love. He got to search through abandoned cars, picking up loose change or other objects. Mr. Gleason had asked him to be very careful if he uncovered a knife or even a gun. So far, he'd found a couple of knives he'd handed over cautiously in plastic bags. Once he'd found a twenty and couldn't believe it when Mr. Gleason told him to keep the money. And he still got paid his usual ten!
The job was just a recent thing. He'd been hanging out with his two best friends, Mike and Jack, snooping around the junkyard when he'd found a large leather portfolio filled with paintings as well as blank canvasses. He couldn't understand why someone had thrown something like that out, but he lugged it home to show his mom who'd gotten this panicked look on her face after she'd glanced at a couple of paintings. So she'd made him march right back to show her where he'd found it.
Next thing Nick knew, she was knocking on Mr. Gleason's door asking if the portfolio belonged to him. Though he looked upset, he invited them in and offered Nick a glass of juice and a cup of coffee to his mom. Nick wasn't paying too much attention to what they were talking about until he heard his name ... the one he hated.
"So, young man, I hear you like to draw."
"Yes, sir," he replied eagerly. "It's fun and I can draw on anything." That certainly was true. If there was an empty cereal box, he'd draw on the inside. The backs of corrected tests. Even scraps of paper.
"Well, I would like you to have this portfolio so you can draw or paint on proper canvas." Mr. Gleason paused, drawing a shuddering breath, before he continued softly, "My son painted these. I hope you'll find some inspiration in them."
Wow! Nick couldn't believe he was being given the portfolio outright. He'd never had something this big or important before. He pulled himself out of his daydreams, because Mr. Gleason was speaking again.
"I'm sorry I can't give you his oil paints, but they dried out some time ago. Still ... I'd like to offer you a job, so you can buy your own set. How would you like to help me here every Saturday? I need someone responsible to go through the cars, just to make sure there's nothing valuable left in them. You know, like a wallet or cigarette lighter. I'll pay you ten dollars in cash at the end of the day. So, what do you say?"
Nick was speechless. He just grinned and nodded his head with enthusiasm. Mr. Gleason ruffled his hair and chuckled. After his mom had finished her coffee, she shook hands with Mr. Gleason and they walked back home, both in a much lighter mood.
He didn't understand why Mr. Gleason was so generous until he asked his mom. She just got this sad look on her face and mentioned he'd lost his only child, the son who'd painted, in the war. Nick could understand what it was like to lose someone since his dad was gone, leaving just him and his mom. And, yeah, his pesky kid sister who was five.
Nick was happy they lived near the water. He loved to paint the ocean. He already had all the right blue and green tints, but he needed some steel grey and camelia pink and those were the two tubes he purchased from Gillian.
Even though Nick didn't have a dad, he felt lucky living with his mom and sister. Mike and Jack often mentioned how their dads were threatening to send them to a military academy in the next couple of years, supposedly to put some discipline into them. Nick couldn't understand how parents could send their kids away, especially to become soldiers. Even pretend-soldiers.
He knew his mom would never do anything like that to him. She was happy he had a hobby like art, something he was passionate about. She didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble. And, even if his mom didn't say stupid stuff like, "You're the man of the house now," Nick felt it was important for them to stick together, the three of them.
Back up in his room after dinner, he lay down on his bed. It was too late to do any work in the waning evening light, but he could stare at the paintings Mr. Gleason's son had made, mostly of trees and sky. Nick's index finger traced the letters of the name in the lower corner. J-O-N-A-H. Huh. No last name. And then he wondered how he would sign his name, thinking of what it would feel like to be famous. His whole name was way too long. And "Lorne" didn't sound artistic anyway. But, maybe, he could use the first name he hated so much. It did sound fancy, after all. Too fancy for a kid, but maybe okay for a grownup.
Having mapped out his future with the clarity and certainty only a young boy could harness, he fell asleep whispering "Evan". And knew the first thing he would do Sunday morning was to paint his unique name on the canvas of the rest of his life.
Story Title: Above All
Character/Relationships: Todd
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
He knew he was different... superior. From the moment he became aware, he could sense his difference from others around him, and knew instinctively that it was significant. Even as he stood over his downed classmate, his innards roiling with fury, the clarity in his mind tempered his actions. He became as steel. Silently, couched in deep, inaccessible thoughts, he plotted his revenge.
"Get up," he rumbled, as best his youthful frame would allow. "Call yourself command material? I saw your gambit even before you came close to my group."
"And yet still I got a hand to you," the other spat, his tone resentful. "Were this more than an exercise you would be dead - the rest of your faecal-passing cronies too!"
"I allowed it," he virtually sang the words, dismissing the other's boast and turned his back on the slightly older youth, ignoring the insult that was meant, by extension, to apply to him as well as to those whom he knew sheltered behind his strength and cunning. "You were never any threat."
His muscles coiled in readiness of a resumption of the conflict as he heard the other begin to climb to his feet. Outwardly, however, he remained a vision of calm; made sure that the position of his body betrayed none of his preparedness. If the other wanted to press the issue, he would gladly end it, and consequences be damned. With measured steps he forced himself to walk away.
"This isn't over, Weanling," the other said, the anger in his voice turning the acrid distance between them to the likeness of space - frigid and lifeless. "We aren't done yet."
In spite of himself and his desire to rise above the taunting, he stopped walking, and turned slowly to face the other again. He tilted his head slowly as he met the other's narrowed eyes.
"Oh," he almost purred, the sound coming from beneath the fury that still sat hot and heavy in his gut, "we're done."
Then he forced himself to turn away again, and resume the passage of his steps toward the security of the Hold, though, he noted with a self conscious chuckle, it was not exactly any less dangerous within as it was without.
You should watch for that one. He is dangerous, and bears you ill will.
His hand flashed toward the hilt of the blade he carried concealed beneath his tunic, and barely halted as his sire peeled away from the shadows in the corner. He gave an exaggerated shrug to hide the motion.
"Challenge will come when it comes. I do not fear it," he said.
"Report to your barracks," the adult ordered. "Do not draw attention to yourself."
Already She is watching you.
"Nor do I fear the weight of Her regard," he answered, but none-the-less obeyed the command to return to his bunk.
**
He knew he was different… superior. From the moment he became aware of the other's presence, he could sense the weakness, and knew instinctively that victory would be his.
He struck hard and fast even as the attack came against him; caught the other's outstretched right hand even as his classmate reached for the centre of his chest.
His innards roiled with rekindled fury at the audacity of this one, but sensed the desperation, almost like the reek of fear from the older youth. His own mental clarity strengthened his resolve. He became as death, swift and merciless. Using the other's momentum against him, he threw him down and was upon him in an instant, his unsheathed blade against the underside of his chin.
"I may not yet be old enough to feed," he growled, and leaned in close, fixing the wide, fearful, catlike eyes of his victim with the fire in his own, even as he tilted his head one way and then another, his serpentine sway almost hypnotic. "But you… you are still weak enough to die."
Story Title: School Crossing
Character/Relationships: Sam, Atlantis ensemble. Gen. (Mentions of canon crushes... but they're 10.)
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU
Sam isn't quite sure why she always ends up starting these things, but somehow, it keeps happening.
She hasn't even lived here that long: Her dad just transferred from his old post in Supervisory Union 1 to a new one in Atlantis City. She really likes her new friends, though, and she gets into just as many shenanigans here as at SU-1.
She puts her hands together, and says, "Okay. Let's figure this out. Rodney, tell everyone else what you told me at lunch."
Rodney looks up from scowling at the football field, empty except for their little group now that school is over. "Jeannie says Henry Wallace has been bothering her. He stole some of her notes, and keeps trying to bully her into doing his programming. She's lots younger than him, but she's better at it." He sounds proud-- and unsurprised. He seems to fight with his sister constantly, but Sam thinks he’d do anything for her. "Henry says it's because he has to take care of his sick niece, but he punched Jeannie yesterday, and she hurt her wrist when she fell.”
Teyla suggests, "She should tell the principal," and Ronon nods. Sam also isn't sure why she's always great friends with the exchange students--first Teal'c, now Teyla and Ronon--but it's awesome.
"She tried that last week, but Henry got there first," Rodney grimaces. "Told everyone she had a crush, and that she was bugging him. Now no one believes her. It's not fair!"
"No," Sam agrees.
"Totally," says John, bouncing on his toes. He was probably ready to do something days ago. Then he seems to remember himself, and gestures to the boy behind him. "Sam, you know Todd? He's in Henry's class."
Sam doesn't know Todd, but she knows his younger brother Bob, and that's enough. Bob talks about food all the time, and she doesn't like how he looks at her. But John says Todd is different, and apparently they hang out sometimes, since that one time they fought off Acastus's bunch of bullies. "Hi," she says warily.
Todd holds out his hand to her, grinning. She rolls her eyes, though, because, come on-- She can see the buzzer in the palm of his hand! He smirks when she doesn’t fall for it, so she just makes a face and ignores him. John notices his hand a moment later, and kicks him in the shin. Todd snorts.
"So what're we gonna do about it?" Ronon demands.
They toss around ideas for a while, but nothing clicks until Teyla says, "We should expose his cheating."
Rodney snaps his fingers. "Jeannie probably still has his password. We could throw something together from a well-known source."
"I'm in the same class," Todd adds, "and could assist with code for Thursday's assignment."
"I could put it in his directory when I help the school secretary on Thursday morning," Sam volunteers. "We'd have to make sure he wasn't online at the same time, though."
"We can distract him," John says. He adds thoughtfully, "I might need a stethoscope."
"Jennifer probably has one of those," Rodney suggests shyly. Thank goodness for the school doctor's daughter, Sam thinks. Before Rodney had a crush on Jennifer, he had one on Sam, and Sam thought she was gonna have to kill him.
Teyla chimes in, "I could say I overheard him bragging about it." They all nod. Everyone believes Teyla.
"Alright!" Sam claps her hands.
John grins, "Operation 'This Might Not Be A Complete Disaster’ is a go!"
The hardest part turns out to be the suspense.
Rodney and Todd come up with some code, which they slip to Sam on a thumbdrive. She nods to John and Ronon as she heads to the office, and John nods back. They'd agreed on 10 o'clock, which should give the guys enough time for their little plan.
She can hear when it happens. At 9:50, there's a popping noise, and the principal and vice-principal dash off. Sam stays virtuously at her post, and then quickly hacks in to replace Henry's real files with the fakes. She sees Teyla speaking seriously with the principal as she's leaving, and forces herself to keep walking.
After that, it's all over but the waiting. Nothing's happened by lunch, so they don't dare talk about it, even though they're dying to. Just before her last class, she sees John with Todd. John grins and gives her a thumbs-up, so she thinks they've pulled it off.
The five of them meet up at their usual spot after school. Rodney is practically bouncing. "Did you hear? Jeannie told me before she went home! He was kicked out of the class!"
John nods. "Yeah! And did you see his locker?"
Ronon hands the stethoscope back to Rodney. "We broke in. Put some cans of expanding-foam inside."
John adds, "And it burst open later, when they just happened to leak."
"Nice!" Sam grins. She can't wait to tell Jack about this one.
"Jeannie said Henry was actually okay. Well, not about the locker, he was pissed about that," Rodney smirks. "But the class. He said he'd have more time for his niece. And Jeannie? Hasn't sounded this happy in weeks." He looks down. "I just wanted," he falters, "I mean, I, really--"
Teyla comes to his rescue. "Rodney, we were happy to help."
"Yeah," Sam continues. "I mean, the four of us all really like Jeannie. And Todd," she hesitates, then mutters to John, "Why was Todd doing this again?"
"Henry owed him lunch money."
"Right." She continues, "And Todd got revenge for missing lunch."
"Oh. Okay."
They shift, and start walking towards their development. Rodney continues, sounding more like himself, "Hey! Did I tell you guys about the awesome idea I had for the science fair?"
"Is it a nuclear bomb?" John asks, grinning.
Rodney goes quiet, but with a small smile on his face.
Sam stares at him, suspicious. "Rodney? It’s not a nuclear bomb. Is it?" Rodney looks away, evasive. "Rodney!"
Story Title: Recall
Character/Relationships: Michael Kenmore
Rating: G
Warnings: none.
They told him that it was going to take time, that his memories would probably come back eventually, but try as he might, Lieutenant Michael Kenmore couldn’t remember much of anything that happened before he woke up in the infirmary a week ago. It was frustrating, to say the least.
Michael sighed and rolled onto his side, grabbing the picture of his parents from the bedstand. They were a nice-looking couple, he decided as he traced his finger along the side of his mother’s face. They didn’t look familiar, not in the slightest.
Michael squinted at the picture, searching through his limited memories for something, anything that might spark recognition. He sifted through his mind, trying to recall his tenth birthday party. It must have been a big deal, turning ten. Ten, the year he’d need all of his fingers to show his age, the first year he’d be in double digits. Ten meant fifth grade and being the top dog of his grade school before moving up to junior high. Ten, according to the guard outside his door, had been a year of roughhousing with the neighborhood kids, of teasing the girls you suddenly found yourself liking without quite knowing why.
Michael focused on his father, wondering. When he was ten, had that when his Dad had given him the birds and the bees speech? What had he called his parents at ten? Had he clung to his childhood habits of calling them Momma and Daddy, or had he been too cool for that, slipping into Mom and Dad?
He hoped, for the sake of his parents, that he’d kept the first set. He couldn’t imagine hurting them, couldn’t imagine growing up too fast, making his Momma cry at night over her baby, or making his Daddy sigh and fret about him getting into trouble.
He couldn’t imagine it, not now, but he couldn’t remember it, either.
Michael sighed and put the picture back on the bedstand. Remembering ten would have to wait for another day.
Story Title: Somnambulist
Character/Relationships: Evan Lorne & his parents
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Honestly, I haven't had a sleepwalking incident since I was, like, ten. - Evan Lorne; SGA: Doppelganger
Midnight in San Francisco Bay. All Mark and Nicki Lorne wanted to do was go to bed and stay there. Both of them had to work in the morning and today had been a long day. They kissed, said goodnight, and turned over to sleep.
It seemed like only five minutes later that Mark felt a push against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked around for the source. Nicki was sitting up and staring at the door. "What?" Mark asked her groggily. "What's up?"
"Did we leave a light on?"
Mark glanced at the closed door; sure enough, there was light streaming in from underneath. He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep fuzz and remember. "No?"
"Go and see what it is," she prompted, pulling the covers up to her chin and hugging her knees to her chest. Mark sighed; Nicki was paranoid about people breaking into the house and taking the children. He patted her knee comfortingly and hauled himself out of bed. Better to just go and turn the light out than to argue with her at this hour of the night.
He shuffled out of their room and into the hallway. The light was coming from ten year old Evan's room. Mark peeked into the doorway and found his son busily dressing. "Ev? What are you doing?" the elder Lorne asked.
"Going to school. I'm gonna be late, Dad!" Evan flailed frantically at the alarm clock on his bedside table. The clock that said 12:15 AM.
Mark took a closer look at his son. The boy's eyes were open, but looked glassy. Mark rubbed a hand over his face. Okay, so it was one of those nights. Evan sleepwalked less these days, but when it did happen now that he was older, it was more likely that he'd actually get out of the house and go somewhere. Mark was just glad he'd caught him before Evan had bounded out the door on his way to school in the middle of the night.
He knew from experience that it was more trouble than it was worth to wake the boy up. Better to play along and guide him back to bed gently. Mark's brain was still waking up and it took him a few minutes to come up with a suitable excuse for Evan to go back to bed. "Um, Ev, we're... on Daylight Savings Time." His son stopped and stared at him quizzically. "Yeah, the time's changed. Guess we didn't get to your clock yet. You can go on back to bed for a little while, you're not late for school."
Evan stood still for a few minutes, so still that Mark started to think maybe he'd gone back to sleep standing up. But then he shrugged. "Okay. I guess you're right." Leaving his school clothes on, he climbed back into bed. "Wake me up at-" And just like that, he was asleep again.
Mark exhaled gratefully. Thank goodness it'd been that easy. In the past, Evan had refused all attempts to guide him back to bed and Mark and Nicki had just had to let him walk to his heart's content. He turned out Evan's light and pulled the door closed behind him as he left.
"What was it?" Nicki asked when Mark crawled back into their bed again.
"Nothing. Just Evan," Mark mumbled. "He's fine. Go back to sleep."
Story Title: Future Plans
Character/Relationships: Ronon Dex
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
The park playground looked as it habitually looked. Worn grass covered the field where they played ball everyday after school. The constant abuse from school children running over it, day after day, prevented the grass from growing. The twirl-around was spinning very slowly in the light wind. The swings swayed back and forth, as if someone had just risen from the seat and walked away.
They were huddled in a shelter, tucked underneath the building where the city kept maintenance equipment for the park. Shelters existed all over the city, providing a haven when they came. But the shelters were not foolproof. The monsters had discovered how to break through the barriers and cull the people inside. Still, the shelters provided the only protection those who lived in the city had.
He was peeking through the narrow air vent positioned slightly above the ground level, trying to determine how close the monsters were to the shelter. Two of the younger children had started crying, finding themselves separated from their parents during a culling. Carn, his best friend, was attempting to quiet them. He glanced away from the narrow opening for a second at Carn, who gave him a knowing look in exchange. The monsters would take them if they had the opportunity. He and Carn appeared much older than they actually were due to their size. They were taller and much stronger than the average ten year old. At least, the little ones would be spared for now, allowed to grow up to become a more substantial meal.
Slender, pointed ships crisscrossed the city; the air filled with a familiar whine. The monsters were on the ground feeding on the innocents. Their screams drowned out by the screams of those running from the shimmering beams. His father taught him to be brave in the face of the monsters, these Wraith, but all he felt at that moment was fear.
Carn slipped into the small open space beside him.
‘Ronon, can you see anything?”
“No, not yet, but I think they’re getting closer. Carn, the screams, they’re coming from the direction of the school.” He didn’t need to say any more; the look on Carn’s face told him enough. Carn knew their teachers could be dead or culled.
Ronon looked over his shoulder; there were six other kids with them, all younger, and all frightened. He pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, and ran his finger along the sharp blade. His grandfather’s knife, it would have to protect them.
Carn was watching him intently. He knew that Carn was scared, just like he was. He also knew that his friend was not prepared to fight if they had to. Now they waited, Ronon hoping that they would not be discovered. Only a few minutes passed before they were.
Several Wraith had broken through the outer door of the shelter, and were coming down the stairs. Ronon and Carn ran to the back of the shelter.
Ronon whispered. “Be quiet, we’ll…” He was interrupted by the inner door to the shelter, flying open.
He had seen Wraith before, but never so close. He recoiled at their ugliness, scared for his life. But he remembered his grandfather’s words, “Never show fear.” He took a step forward, as the tall, gaunt, pale Wraith in a long leather coat approached him.
Sneering the Wraith, spoke, “Ah, defiance in one so young; how impressive.” He turned to the enormous masked Wraith, “Bring them and the tiny ones they have hidden in the dark.”
The little ones were crying, and Carn was pale and shaking as they were brought outside. Ships were flying high overhead, but the playground was deserted. Ronon cradled the knife in his palm, waiting for a chance to kill one of the Wraith before he died.
The Wraith leader motioned to the others, “Take the young ones; we will put them in stasis where they will continue to grow before we feed on them. These two are mine.” He turned toward Ronon and Carn, a hiss escaping his mouth.
As the masked Wraith grabbed the younger children, Ronon lunged at the Wraith leader, managing to cut him on the arm. The leader laughed, “Oh, the brave child wants to play. I will be happy to play with you.”
The Wraith moved swiftly toward Ronon, who tried to remember the fighting techniques his father taught him. He realized that the masked Wraith were distracted by them and yelled, “Carn, kids, run!” As the others began to scatter, the Wraith leader sneered, “You will make a tasty snack.”
Ronon knew he would die, but he would not show fear. As the stronger Wraith grabbed him, raising his right hand to feed, Ronon plunged his knife into the Wraith. The monster staggered back, wounded. Ronon was so intent, that he did not hear the loud engines of a transport arriving. He continued to circle the Wraith, ready to attack.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a swift movement, and within seconds, Satedan soldiers were swarming over the Wraith. Tall, strong, their weapons and knives made short work of the Wraith. Ronon watched, fascinated at the power and skill displayed by the soldiers. He was in awe at the display of courage he was watching unfold before him.
One of the soldiers approached him, he was holding Ronon’s knife. “That was a very brave move, son. When you get a bit older, sign on, we could use a man like you. That was the last of them, the others have retreated. Come on; let’s get you and the others home.” He smiled, handed Ronon his knife, and motioned for him to follow.
As he helped put the little ones into the transport, Ronon studied the brave men who had come to rescue them. It was at that moment, ten year-old Ronon Dex decided his future. He would be a Satedan soldier.
Story Title: Circle of Fifths
Characters: Meredith Rodney McKay
Rating: G
Warnings: None
C Major
Meredith runs straight to the piano after school. Some days he'll go to the library to check out books for study, but most of the time he runs straight home and starts to practice first thing.
Scales, three octaves, major, pure minor, harmonic minor, melodic minor, then in thirds. Arpeggios, full range, no pedal.
He can hear the screen door squeak open and slam shut into its frame, a metallic crash that tells him mom is going outside to smoke, trying to avoid his warm-ups. She hates the monotony of scales and finger exercises, but Meredith knows he has to practice them. He knows why and he never skips them, even when he hears his mom sigh loudly as she leaves the house.
Anyway, he likes the structure of scales and arpeggios, the inherent building blocks of the music he loves to play. He can feel the way they twine around each other, in octaves then in thirds, the comforting sound of a framework wrapped in routine.
The exercises are different. They're boring because it's just the same pattern played over and over again in different keys. They were interesting at first, when he was practically a baby, before he could understand that the way the key they were played in colored the music. Still, he plows through the exercises dutifully, making sure his hand and finger position are exactly correct.
G Pure Minor
He's good at school, too, especially math and science, if he applies himself. He does; his mother doesn't let him practice if he has homework, so he's careful to finish it all at school so he can come home with no books (except the music theory and chemistry ones from the library).
He's not so good at making friends. The other kids are stupid anyway - they just want to play games and waste their time on nothing, chasing balls around or pulling girls' pigtails. He hates them and they hate him. He comes home right after school because he's a scrawny kid and being small and smart is a recipe for being a punching bag for the bullies. He'll show them when he's playing Carnegie Hall before he's eighteen. He's going to be a virtuoso. All he has to do is keep practicing and he'll get there.
Ab Major
His mother likes the Chopin, so he always finishes his warm-up with an étude. He knows her favorites by heart, and he waits to hear her come back into the house, signaled by the creak of the screen door, before he starts them.
Sometimes she will watch him play, and he can feel her smile all the way across the room. It makes the music clearer, the chords building architecture, a house for him and his mom to play in together.
She always applauds when he finishes his Chopin. He knows it's because he's her son, that she would clap even if he missed every single note and no idea who Chopin was, but he can hear the roaring crowd in it anyway. He'll make her proud, playing on the world stage with all her favorite orchestras. She likes Montréal and Philadelphia and Concertgebouw. He like Berlin and Chicago and London. He's going to play them all, someday.
B Melodic Minor
His father's contribution to Meredith's career is to find him a teacher, someone worthy of the prodigious talent of his son. He drags Meredith to one failed performer after the next, giving them one lesson to prove they have something to teach that Meredith doesn't already know.
He's taught himself almost everything; his very first teacher explained why things worked the way they did, the basic idea of how to do scales and arpeggios and finger exercises, why he should practice études and what composers were good for little hands. She lasted for three months before she had nothing more to give him.
He'd pocketed the piano lesson money after that, buying his own books and working out his own repertoire. He didn't like Mozart that much, but she had been right about little hands. He can't do Brahms or Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky yet. But he'll be ready when he can.
D# Harmonic Minor
His father settles on Mr. Wolff, a giant of a man who whacks a ruler against the piano to make sure Meredith is playing in time. Meredith hates playing with a metronome, but he hates that ruler more, so he starts to play with a metronome clicking along all the time during practice.
His mother doesn't come back inside when he plays Chopin any more.
G# Pure Minor
After two months of playing with the metronome constantly, the ruler-snapping desists. Mr. Wolff complains about Meredith's musicality, now, but Meredith doesn't understand what he means; he talks about leaves falling on the wind and dancing angels and other nonsense.
Meredith keeps practicing his scales and his exercises and his etudes, but they don't shine the way they used to. The books he brings home from the library are more and more about chemistry and physics and less and less about music. Carnegie Hall slips into his dreams, and in a few years, when his teacher will tell him he hasn't the soul to be a concert pianist, it will be a relief.
Character/Relationships: Elizabeth Weir
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Elizabeth was 10 years old when she learned to hate guns.
Guns took her Daddy away, guns made her Mom cry, guns made her go to bed without a hug, guns made her stand beside a grave, made her cry, made her hurt made her...
Guns have a lot to answer for
Even now that she is surrounded by guns, can see their necessity, can shoot a target at 30 yards, has ordered them used to defend her city, has used them to defend herself, she still hates them.
She’s just learned to live with them.
Story Title: Future Perfect
Character/Relationships: Lorne, various OFCs and OMCs / Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Nick tried his best not to stumble, hurrying down the street into town while clutching a crumpled ten dollar bill in his hand. He'd already slipped on his cheap thin-soled shoes and fallen, scraping an elbow. But it was really important that he get to the art store before it closed. If he was lucky, Gillian would be on duty. She usually dawdled on purpose, knowing he would be coming by every Saturday.
Nick knew he was lucky to have any kind of a part-time job at the age of ten. The fact that old man Gleason had offered him work - just nosing around at the junkyard - was something any curious kid would love. He got to search through abandoned cars, picking up loose change or other objects. Mr. Gleason had asked him to be very careful if he uncovered a knife or even a gun. So far, he'd found a couple of knives he'd handed over cautiously in plastic bags. Once he'd found a twenty and couldn't believe it when Mr. Gleason told him to keep the money. And he still got paid his usual ten!
The job was just a recent thing. He'd been hanging out with his two best friends, Mike and Jack, snooping around the junkyard when he'd found a large leather portfolio filled with paintings as well as blank canvasses. He couldn't understand why someone had thrown something like that out, but he lugged it home to show his mom who'd gotten this panicked look on her face after she'd glanced at a couple of paintings. So she'd made him march right back to show her where he'd found it.
Next thing Nick knew, she was knocking on Mr. Gleason's door asking if the portfolio belonged to him. Though he looked upset, he invited them in and offered Nick a glass of juice and a cup of coffee to his mom. Nick wasn't paying too much attention to what they were talking about until he heard his name ... the one he hated.
"So, young man, I hear you like to draw."
"Yes, sir," he replied eagerly. "It's fun and I can draw on anything." That certainly was true. If there was an empty cereal box, he'd draw on the inside. The backs of corrected tests. Even scraps of paper.
"Well, I would like you to have this portfolio so you can draw or paint on proper canvas." Mr. Gleason paused, drawing a shuddering breath, before he continued softly, "My son painted these. I hope you'll find some inspiration in them."
Wow! Nick couldn't believe he was being given the portfolio outright. He'd never had something this big or important before. He pulled himself out of his daydreams, because Mr. Gleason was speaking again.
"I'm sorry I can't give you his oil paints, but they dried out some time ago. Still ... I'd like to offer you a job, so you can buy your own set. How would you like to help me here every Saturday? I need someone responsible to go through the cars, just to make sure there's nothing valuable left in them. You know, like a wallet or cigarette lighter. I'll pay you ten dollars in cash at the end of the day. So, what do you say?"
Nick was speechless. He just grinned and nodded his head with enthusiasm. Mr. Gleason ruffled his hair and chuckled. After his mom had finished her coffee, she shook hands with Mr. Gleason and they walked back home, both in a much lighter mood.
He didn't understand why Mr. Gleason was so generous until he asked his mom. She just got this sad look on her face and mentioned he'd lost his only child, the son who'd painted, in the war. Nick could understand what it was like to lose someone since his dad was gone, leaving just him and his mom. And, yeah, his pesky kid sister who was five.
Nick was happy they lived near the water. He loved to paint the ocean. He already had all the right blue and green tints, but he needed some steel grey and camelia pink and those were the two tubes he purchased from Gillian.
Even though Nick didn't have a dad, he felt lucky living with his mom and sister. Mike and Jack often mentioned how their dads were threatening to send them to a military academy in the next couple of years, supposedly to put some discipline into them. Nick couldn't understand how parents could send their kids away, especially to become soldiers. Even pretend-soldiers.
He knew his mom would never do anything like that to him. She was happy he had a hobby like art, something he was passionate about. She didn't have to worry about him getting into trouble. And, even if his mom didn't say stupid stuff like, "You're the man of the house now," Nick felt it was important for them to stick together, the three of them.
Back up in his room after dinner, he lay down on his bed. It was too late to do any work in the waning evening light, but he could stare at the paintings Mr. Gleason's son had made, mostly of trees and sky. Nick's index finger traced the letters of the name in the lower corner. J-O-N-A-H. Huh. No last name. And then he wondered how he would sign his name, thinking of what it would feel like to be famous. His whole name was way too long. And "Lorne" didn't sound artistic anyway. But, maybe, he could use the first name he hated so much. It did sound fancy, after all. Too fancy for a kid, but maybe okay for a grownup.
Having mapped out his future with the clarity and certainty only a young boy could harness, he fell asleep whispering "Evan". And knew the first thing he would do Sunday morning was to paint his unique name on the canvas of the rest of his life.
Story Title: Above All
Character/Relationships: Todd
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
He knew he was different... superior. From the moment he became aware, he could sense his difference from others around him, and knew instinctively that it was significant. Even as he stood over his downed classmate, his innards roiling with fury, the clarity in his mind tempered his actions. He became as steel. Silently, couched in deep, inaccessible thoughts, he plotted his revenge.
"Get up," he rumbled, as best his youthful frame would allow. "Call yourself command material? I saw your gambit even before you came close to my group."
"And yet still I got a hand to you," the other spat, his tone resentful. "Were this more than an exercise you would be dead - the rest of your faecal-passing cronies too!"
"I allowed it," he virtually sang the words, dismissing the other's boast and turned his back on the slightly older youth, ignoring the insult that was meant, by extension, to apply to him as well as to those whom he knew sheltered behind his strength and cunning. "You were never any threat."
His muscles coiled in readiness of a resumption of the conflict as he heard the other begin to climb to his feet. Outwardly, however, he remained a vision of calm; made sure that the position of his body betrayed none of his preparedness. If the other wanted to press the issue, he would gladly end it, and consequences be damned. With measured steps he forced himself to walk away.
"This isn't over, Weanling," the other said, the anger in his voice turning the acrid distance between them to the likeness of space - frigid and lifeless. "We aren't done yet."
In spite of himself and his desire to rise above the taunting, he stopped walking, and turned slowly to face the other again. He tilted his head slowly as he met the other's narrowed eyes.
"Oh," he almost purred, the sound coming from beneath the fury that still sat hot and heavy in his gut, "we're done."
Then he forced himself to turn away again, and resume the passage of his steps toward the security of the Hold, though, he noted with a self conscious chuckle, it was not exactly any less dangerous within as it was without.
You should watch for that one. He is dangerous, and bears you ill will.
His hand flashed toward the hilt of the blade he carried concealed beneath his tunic, and barely halted as his sire peeled away from the shadows in the corner. He gave an exaggerated shrug to hide the motion.
"Challenge will come when it comes. I do not fear it," he said.
"Report to your barracks," the adult ordered. "Do not draw attention to yourself."
Already She is watching you.
"Nor do I fear the weight of Her regard," he answered, but none-the-less obeyed the command to return to his bunk.
**
He knew he was different… superior. From the moment he became aware of the other's presence, he could sense the weakness, and knew instinctively that victory would be his.
He struck hard and fast even as the attack came against him; caught the other's outstretched right hand even as his classmate reached for the centre of his chest.
His innards roiled with rekindled fury at the audacity of this one, but sensed the desperation, almost like the reek of fear from the older youth. His own mental clarity strengthened his resolve. He became as death, swift and merciless. Using the other's momentum against him, he threw him down and was upon him in an instant, his unsheathed blade against the underside of his chin.
"I may not yet be old enough to feed," he growled, and leaned in close, fixing the wide, fearful, catlike eyes of his victim with the fire in his own, even as he tilted his head one way and then another, his serpentine sway almost hypnotic. "But you… you are still weak enough to die."
Story Title: School Crossing
Character/Relationships: Sam, Atlantis ensemble. Gen. (Mentions of canon crushes... but they're 10.)
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU
Sam isn't quite sure why she always ends up starting these things, but somehow, it keeps happening.
She hasn't even lived here that long: Her dad just transferred from his old post in Supervisory Union 1 to a new one in Atlantis City. She really likes her new friends, though, and she gets into just as many shenanigans here as at SU-1.
She puts her hands together, and says, "Okay. Let's figure this out. Rodney, tell everyone else what you told me at lunch."
Rodney looks up from scowling at the football field, empty except for their little group now that school is over. "Jeannie says Henry Wallace has been bothering her. He stole some of her notes, and keeps trying to bully her into doing his programming. She's lots younger than him, but she's better at it." He sounds proud-- and unsurprised. He seems to fight with his sister constantly, but Sam thinks he’d do anything for her. "Henry says it's because he has to take care of his sick niece, but he punched Jeannie yesterday, and she hurt her wrist when she fell.”
Teyla suggests, "She should tell the principal," and Ronon nods. Sam also isn't sure why she's always great friends with the exchange students--first Teal'c, now Teyla and Ronon--but it's awesome.
"She tried that last week, but Henry got there first," Rodney grimaces. "Told everyone she had a crush, and that she was bugging him. Now no one believes her. It's not fair!"
"No," Sam agrees.
"Totally," says John, bouncing on his toes. He was probably ready to do something days ago. Then he seems to remember himself, and gestures to the boy behind him. "Sam, you know Todd? He's in Henry's class."
Sam doesn't know Todd, but she knows his younger brother Bob, and that's enough. Bob talks about food all the time, and she doesn't like how he looks at her. But John says Todd is different, and apparently they hang out sometimes, since that one time they fought off Acastus's bunch of bullies. "Hi," she says warily.
Todd holds out his hand to her, grinning. She rolls her eyes, though, because, come on-- She can see the buzzer in the palm of his hand! He smirks when she doesn’t fall for it, so she just makes a face and ignores him. John notices his hand a moment later, and kicks him in the shin. Todd snorts.
"So what're we gonna do about it?" Ronon demands.
They toss around ideas for a while, but nothing clicks until Teyla says, "We should expose his cheating."
Rodney snaps his fingers. "Jeannie probably still has his password. We could throw something together from a well-known source."
"I'm in the same class," Todd adds, "and could assist with code for Thursday's assignment."
"I could put it in his directory when I help the school secretary on Thursday morning," Sam volunteers. "We'd have to make sure he wasn't online at the same time, though."
"We can distract him," John says. He adds thoughtfully, "I might need a stethoscope."
"Jennifer probably has one of those," Rodney suggests shyly. Thank goodness for the school doctor's daughter, Sam thinks. Before Rodney had a crush on Jennifer, he had one on Sam, and Sam thought she was gonna have to kill him.
Teyla chimes in, "I could say I overheard him bragging about it." They all nod. Everyone believes Teyla.
"Alright!" Sam claps her hands.
John grins, "Operation 'This Might Not Be A Complete Disaster’ is a go!"
The hardest part turns out to be the suspense.
Rodney and Todd come up with some code, which they slip to Sam on a thumbdrive. She nods to John and Ronon as she heads to the office, and John nods back. They'd agreed on 10 o'clock, which should give the guys enough time for their little plan.
She can hear when it happens. At 9:50, there's a popping noise, and the principal and vice-principal dash off. Sam stays virtuously at her post, and then quickly hacks in to replace Henry's real files with the fakes. She sees Teyla speaking seriously with the principal as she's leaving, and forces herself to keep walking.
After that, it's all over but the waiting. Nothing's happened by lunch, so they don't dare talk about it, even though they're dying to. Just before her last class, she sees John with Todd. John grins and gives her a thumbs-up, so she thinks they've pulled it off.
The five of them meet up at their usual spot after school. Rodney is practically bouncing. "Did you hear? Jeannie told me before she went home! He was kicked out of the class!"
John nods. "Yeah! And did you see his locker?"
Ronon hands the stethoscope back to Rodney. "We broke in. Put some cans of expanding-foam inside."
John adds, "And it burst open later, when they just happened to leak."
"Nice!" Sam grins. She can't wait to tell Jack about this one.
"Jeannie said Henry was actually okay. Well, not about the locker, he was pissed about that," Rodney smirks. "But the class. He said he'd have more time for his niece. And Jeannie? Hasn't sounded this happy in weeks." He looks down. "I just wanted," he falters, "I mean, I, really--"
Teyla comes to his rescue. "Rodney, we were happy to help."
"Yeah," Sam continues. "I mean, the four of us all really like Jeannie. And Todd," she hesitates, then mutters to John, "Why was Todd doing this again?"
"Henry owed him lunch money."
"Right." She continues, "And Todd got revenge for missing lunch."
"Oh. Okay."
They shift, and start walking towards their development. Rodney continues, sounding more like himself, "Hey! Did I tell you guys about the awesome idea I had for the science fair?"
"Is it a nuclear bomb?" John asks, grinning.
Rodney goes quiet, but with a small smile on his face.
Sam stares at him, suspicious. "Rodney? It’s not a nuclear bomb. Is it?" Rodney looks away, evasive. "Rodney!"
Story Title: Recall
Character/Relationships: Michael Kenmore
Rating: G
Warnings: none.
They told him that it was going to take time, that his memories would probably come back eventually, but try as he might, Lieutenant Michael Kenmore couldn’t remember much of anything that happened before he woke up in the infirmary a week ago. It was frustrating, to say the least.
Michael sighed and rolled onto his side, grabbing the picture of his parents from the bedstand. They were a nice-looking couple, he decided as he traced his finger along the side of his mother’s face. They didn’t look familiar, not in the slightest.
Michael squinted at the picture, searching through his limited memories for something, anything that might spark recognition. He sifted through his mind, trying to recall his tenth birthday party. It must have been a big deal, turning ten. Ten, the year he’d need all of his fingers to show his age, the first year he’d be in double digits. Ten meant fifth grade and being the top dog of his grade school before moving up to junior high. Ten, according to the guard outside his door, had been a year of roughhousing with the neighborhood kids, of teasing the girls you suddenly found yourself liking without quite knowing why.
Michael focused on his father, wondering. When he was ten, had that when his Dad had given him the birds and the bees speech? What had he called his parents at ten? Had he clung to his childhood habits of calling them Momma and Daddy, or had he been too cool for that, slipping into Mom and Dad?
He hoped, for the sake of his parents, that he’d kept the first set. He couldn’t imagine hurting them, couldn’t imagine growing up too fast, making his Momma cry at night over her baby, or making his Daddy sigh and fret about him getting into trouble.
He couldn’t imagine it, not now, but he couldn’t remember it, either.
Michael sighed and put the picture back on the bedstand. Remembering ten would have to wait for another day.
Story Title: Somnambulist
Character/Relationships: Evan Lorne & his parents
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Honestly, I haven't had a sleepwalking incident since I was, like, ten. - Evan Lorne; SGA: Doppelganger
Midnight in San Francisco Bay. All Mark and Nicki Lorne wanted to do was go to bed and stay there. Both of them had to work in the morning and today had been a long day. They kissed, said goodnight, and turned over to sleep.
It seemed like only five minutes later that Mark felt a push against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked around for the source. Nicki was sitting up and staring at the door. "What?" Mark asked her groggily. "What's up?"
"Did we leave a light on?"
Mark glanced at the closed door; sure enough, there was light streaming in from underneath. He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep fuzz and remember. "No?"
"Go and see what it is," she prompted, pulling the covers up to her chin and hugging her knees to her chest. Mark sighed; Nicki was paranoid about people breaking into the house and taking the children. He patted her knee comfortingly and hauled himself out of bed. Better to just go and turn the light out than to argue with her at this hour of the night.
He shuffled out of their room and into the hallway. The light was coming from ten year old Evan's room. Mark peeked into the doorway and found his son busily dressing. "Ev? What are you doing?" the elder Lorne asked.
"Going to school. I'm gonna be late, Dad!" Evan flailed frantically at the alarm clock on his bedside table. The clock that said 12:15 AM.
Mark took a closer look at his son. The boy's eyes were open, but looked glassy. Mark rubbed a hand over his face. Okay, so it was one of those nights. Evan sleepwalked less these days, but when it did happen now that he was older, it was more likely that he'd actually get out of the house and go somewhere. Mark was just glad he'd caught him before Evan had bounded out the door on his way to school in the middle of the night.
He knew from experience that it was more trouble than it was worth to wake the boy up. Better to play along and guide him back to bed gently. Mark's brain was still waking up and it took him a few minutes to come up with a suitable excuse for Evan to go back to bed. "Um, Ev, we're... on Daylight Savings Time." His son stopped and stared at him quizzically. "Yeah, the time's changed. Guess we didn't get to your clock yet. You can go on back to bed for a little while, you're not late for school."
Evan stood still for a few minutes, so still that Mark started to think maybe he'd gone back to sleep standing up. But then he shrugged. "Okay. I guess you're right." Leaving his school clothes on, he climbed back into bed. "Wake me up at-" And just like that, he was asleep again.
Mark exhaled gratefully. Thank goodness it'd been that easy. In the past, Evan had refused all attempts to guide him back to bed and Mark and Nicki had just had to let him walk to his heart's content. He turned out Evan's light and pulled the door closed behind him as he left.
"What was it?" Nicki asked when Mark crawled back into their bed again.
"Nothing. Just Evan," Mark mumbled. "He's fine. Go back to sleep."
Story Title: Future Plans
Character/Relationships: Ronon Dex
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
The park playground looked as it habitually looked. Worn grass covered the field where they played ball everyday after school. The constant abuse from school children running over it, day after day, prevented the grass from growing. The twirl-around was spinning very slowly in the light wind. The swings swayed back and forth, as if someone had just risen from the seat and walked away.
They were huddled in a shelter, tucked underneath the building where the city kept maintenance equipment for the park. Shelters existed all over the city, providing a haven when they came. But the shelters were not foolproof. The monsters had discovered how to break through the barriers and cull the people inside. Still, the shelters provided the only protection those who lived in the city had.
He was peeking through the narrow air vent positioned slightly above the ground level, trying to determine how close the monsters were to the shelter. Two of the younger children had started crying, finding themselves separated from their parents during a culling. Carn, his best friend, was attempting to quiet them. He glanced away from the narrow opening for a second at Carn, who gave him a knowing look in exchange. The monsters would take them if they had the opportunity. He and Carn appeared much older than they actually were due to their size. They were taller and much stronger than the average ten year old. At least, the little ones would be spared for now, allowed to grow up to become a more substantial meal.
Slender, pointed ships crisscrossed the city; the air filled with a familiar whine. The monsters were on the ground feeding on the innocents. Their screams drowned out by the screams of those running from the shimmering beams. His father taught him to be brave in the face of the monsters, these Wraith, but all he felt at that moment was fear.
Carn slipped into the small open space beside him.
‘Ronon, can you see anything?”
“No, not yet, but I think they’re getting closer. Carn, the screams, they’re coming from the direction of the school.” He didn’t need to say any more; the look on Carn’s face told him enough. Carn knew their teachers could be dead or culled.
Ronon looked over his shoulder; there were six other kids with them, all younger, and all frightened. He pulled his hunting knife from its sheath, and ran his finger along the sharp blade. His grandfather’s knife, it would have to protect them.
Carn was watching him intently. He knew that Carn was scared, just like he was. He also knew that his friend was not prepared to fight if they had to. Now they waited, Ronon hoping that they would not be discovered. Only a few minutes passed before they were.
Several Wraith had broken through the outer door of the shelter, and were coming down the stairs. Ronon and Carn ran to the back of the shelter.
Ronon whispered. “Be quiet, we’ll…” He was interrupted by the inner door to the shelter, flying open.
He had seen Wraith before, but never so close. He recoiled at their ugliness, scared for his life. But he remembered his grandfather’s words, “Never show fear.” He took a step forward, as the tall, gaunt, pale Wraith in a long leather coat approached him.
Sneering the Wraith, spoke, “Ah, defiance in one so young; how impressive.” He turned to the enormous masked Wraith, “Bring them and the tiny ones they have hidden in the dark.”
The little ones were crying, and Carn was pale and shaking as they were brought outside. Ships were flying high overhead, but the playground was deserted. Ronon cradled the knife in his palm, waiting for a chance to kill one of the Wraith before he died.
The Wraith leader motioned to the others, “Take the young ones; we will put them in stasis where they will continue to grow before we feed on them. These two are mine.” He turned toward Ronon and Carn, a hiss escaping his mouth.
As the masked Wraith grabbed the younger children, Ronon lunged at the Wraith leader, managing to cut him on the arm. The leader laughed, “Oh, the brave child wants to play. I will be happy to play with you.”
The Wraith moved swiftly toward Ronon, who tried to remember the fighting techniques his father taught him. He realized that the masked Wraith were distracted by them and yelled, “Carn, kids, run!” As the others began to scatter, the Wraith leader sneered, “You will make a tasty snack.”
Ronon knew he would die, but he would not show fear. As the stronger Wraith grabbed him, raising his right hand to feed, Ronon plunged his knife into the Wraith. The monster staggered back, wounded. Ronon was so intent, that he did not hear the loud engines of a transport arriving. He continued to circle the Wraith, ready to attack.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a swift movement, and within seconds, Satedan soldiers were swarming over the Wraith. Tall, strong, their weapons and knives made short work of the Wraith. Ronon watched, fascinated at the power and skill displayed by the soldiers. He was in awe at the display of courage he was watching unfold before him.
One of the soldiers approached him, he was holding Ronon’s knife. “That was a very brave move, son. When you get a bit older, sign on, we could use a man like you. That was the last of them, the others have retreated. Come on; let’s get you and the others home.” He smiled, handed Ronon his knife, and motioned for him to follow.
As he helped put the little ones into the transport, Ronon studied the brave men who had come to rescue them. It was at that moment, ten year-old Ronon Dex decided his future. He would be a Satedan soldier.
Story Title: Circle of Fifths
Characters: Meredith Rodney McKay
Rating: G
Warnings: None
C Major
Meredith runs straight to the piano after school. Some days he'll go to the library to check out books for study, but most of the time he runs straight home and starts to practice first thing.
Scales, three octaves, major, pure minor, harmonic minor, melodic minor, then in thirds. Arpeggios, full range, no pedal.
He can hear the screen door squeak open and slam shut into its frame, a metallic crash that tells him mom is going outside to smoke, trying to avoid his warm-ups. She hates the monotony of scales and finger exercises, but Meredith knows he has to practice them. He knows why and he never skips them, even when he hears his mom sigh loudly as she leaves the house.
Anyway, he likes the structure of scales and arpeggios, the inherent building blocks of the music he loves to play. He can feel the way they twine around each other, in octaves then in thirds, the comforting sound of a framework wrapped in routine.
The exercises are different. They're boring because it's just the same pattern played over and over again in different keys. They were interesting at first, when he was practically a baby, before he could understand that the way the key they were played in colored the music. Still, he plows through the exercises dutifully, making sure his hand and finger position are exactly correct.
G Pure Minor
He's good at school, too, especially math and science, if he applies himself. He does; his mother doesn't let him practice if he has homework, so he's careful to finish it all at school so he can come home with no books (except the music theory and chemistry ones from the library).
He's not so good at making friends. The other kids are stupid anyway - they just want to play games and waste their time on nothing, chasing balls around or pulling girls' pigtails. He hates them and they hate him. He comes home right after school because he's a scrawny kid and being small and smart is a recipe for being a punching bag for the bullies. He'll show them when he's playing Carnegie Hall before he's eighteen. He's going to be a virtuoso. All he has to do is keep practicing and he'll get there.
Ab Major
His mother likes the Chopin, so he always finishes his warm-up with an étude. He knows her favorites by heart, and he waits to hear her come back into the house, signaled by the creak of the screen door, before he starts them.
Sometimes she will watch him play, and he can feel her smile all the way across the room. It makes the music clearer, the chords building architecture, a house for him and his mom to play in together.
She always applauds when he finishes his Chopin. He knows it's because he's her son, that she would clap even if he missed every single note and no idea who Chopin was, but he can hear the roaring crowd in it anyway. He'll make her proud, playing on the world stage with all her favorite orchestras. She likes Montréal and Philadelphia and Concertgebouw. He like Berlin and Chicago and London. He's going to play them all, someday.
B Melodic Minor
His father's contribution to Meredith's career is to find him a teacher, someone worthy of the prodigious talent of his son. He drags Meredith to one failed performer after the next, giving them one lesson to prove they have something to teach that Meredith doesn't already know.
He's taught himself almost everything; his very first teacher explained why things worked the way they did, the basic idea of how to do scales and arpeggios and finger exercises, why he should practice études and what composers were good for little hands. She lasted for three months before she had nothing more to give him.
He'd pocketed the piano lesson money after that, buying his own books and working out his own repertoire. He didn't like Mozart that much, but she had been right about little hands. He can't do Brahms or Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky yet. But he'll be ready when he can.
D# Harmonic Minor
His father settles on Mr. Wolff, a giant of a man who whacks a ruler against the piano to make sure Meredith is playing in time. Meredith hates playing with a metronome, but he hates that ruler more, so he starts to play with a metronome clicking along all the time during practice.
His mother doesn't come back inside when he plays Chopin any more.
G# Pure Minor
After two months of playing with the metronome constantly, the ruler-snapping desists. Mr. Wolff complains about Meredith's musicality, now, but Meredith doesn't understand what he means; he talks about leaves falling on the wind and dancing angels and other nonsense.
Meredith keeps practicing his scales and his exercises and his etudes, but they don't shine the way they used to. The books he brings home from the library are more and more about chemistry and physics and less and less about music. Carnegie Hall slips into his dreams, and in a few years, when his teacher will tell him he hasn't the soul to be a concert pianist, it will be a relief.