G Minor 7 (Mythklok Interstitial)
Oct. 13th, 2011 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: G Minor 7 (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lessons
Warnings: Weird Scandawhovian pronunciations
Notes: Just something my brain came up with. It tends to do that.
“C'mon! It's just G Minor 7!”
Ganesh grinned from the doorway. “Is he, perhaps, a bit small?”
Both Charles and Elias looked up to the sound of the voice. Charles was sitting on the bed, and had his son as well as his newly made guitar in his lap, and was pressing very small fingers to the fretboard.
“But Skwisgaar is teaching Liam!” Charles told him.
“I believe he has a special, small sized guitar for that.”
“Dada!” Charles looked back down at Elias, who now had both hands gripped around the neck, successfully pressing in the G Minor 7 chord.
“Well, yeah, Boon, but then how you gonna strum?” asked Charles.
Elias grinned like a Jack O'Lantern and brought out an extra set of arms.
“Oh, hey, yeah!”
“Sariel....” Ganesh laughed.
“C'mon Ganesh! I need someone to jam with! Someone who won't call me lame!”
“Why don't you ever ask me?” asked Ganesh, sounding hurt.
“Well, dear, as a guitarist.... You are really, really good looking.”
“This is all my parents' fault!” sighed Ganesh, throwing up several hands in despair.
“That you're fantastically good looking?” asked Charles, sitting down Elias.
“All those years of sitar lessons have RUINED me!”
“Wait, you play sitar?” gasped Charles.
“Well of course I play sitar! For centuries. It is soooo boring.”
“No! That's really cool actually!”
“There is absolutely nothing cool about a sitar!” Ganesh scolded.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Sariel, would you EVER even attempt to pick up a cute man by saying, 'Hey, baby, I play sitar?' Of course not!”
“Well, I dunno,” mused Charles. “I would probably have tried. If I'd've played sitar.”
“You would not! Guitarists are cool and sexy! On the other hand, the sitar: your mother forces you to take sitar lessons from your boring uncle who smells like goat curry.”
“I never knew this. You don't have any sitars at your place.”
“Well, of course not! I wouldn't have those horrible out of tune sounding things in my residence. They make a racket!”
“But you really play?”
Ganesh sighed very deeply. “Come on. I think I espied one of them inside Skwisgaar's guitar refrigeration unit.”
“Uh, you gonna ask him first?” asked Charles as they swept out of the suite and down the corridor.
“Of course not! It is just a sitar! If we should harm it, the world would be better off!”
“Maybe we should....”
“He shall never notice,” scoffed Ganesh.
“Uh, Ganesh, I think he knows everything that happens in this room,” warned Charles. “It's like he has guitar-dar.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said Ganesh, throwing open the door to Skwisgaar's elaborate, temperature and humidity-regulated guitar storage facility. “Ah, here we are,” he said, spying the large sitar sitting off in a corner.
“What ams happenings dudes?” asked Skwisgaar suspiciously. He had shown up approximately 30 milliseconds after they had entered the room.
“Uhhhh,” explained Charles.
“I am just fetching out this thing,” said Ganesh. Charles cringed as Ganesh kicked off his shoes and casually flopped down into a cross-legged position on the floor holding one of Skwisgaar's prized stringed instruments.
Charles turned to Skwisgaar, expecting a Scandanavian thunderstorm. To his astonishment, Skwisgaar too seated himself on the floor, in front of Ganesh, like some kind of acolyte.
Ganesh had two sets of arms out, and was twanging on strings and twisting pegs like a fury.
“Dat ams amazingles!” breathed Skwisgaar.
“Oh, if you like tuning up so much, maybe you'll enjoy my playing as well,” huffed Ganesh, who seemed as moody as Charles had ever seen him. Apparently satisfied with the tuning, Ganesh began playing a little raga.
“Tells me when you ams dones tunesing!” enthused Skwisgaar.
Ganesh stopped dead, glowering at Skwisgaar. He removed all but one set of hands from the instrument, and began irritably plucking out George Harrison's memorable if somewhat clumsy run from Norwegian Wood.
“HOLY SHITS HE AMS PLAYS SITARS!” exclaimed Skwisgaar.
Elias looked up at Charles in utter confusion. Charles shrugged down at him.
“Dudes,” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh. “You must ams teaches me to play dat tings!”
“Why the hell would you want to play sitar?” asked Ganesh.
“Because I ams becomes ones wit da univoises!”
“WHAT? You are a nihilist! Why would you even think that?”
“You gots to teaches me!” urged Skwisgaaar. “Ams mystacockle!”
Ganesh glanced up at Charles, as if appealing for reason, but was alarmed to see Charles nodding. He sighed. “All right. All right. I suppose a few lessons won't hurt.” Ganesh stood and handed the instrument back to Skwisgaar, who cradled the bulky, awkward instrument like a precious thing.
“I really appreciate this,” said Charles once he and Ganesh were out of hearing distance along the corridor. “If it's any consolation, he'll probably lose interest after a couple sessions.”
“He is a rock star! Why would he even give a hang regarding that old fart instrument?” groused Ganesh.
“Ganesh, you grew up in India, where you're used to old farts playing it. Here, it's rock stars!”
“Really?”
“Really! And rock stars can make ANYTHING cool.”
“I suppose you're right,” allowed Ganesh.
“I mean, rock stars can make ukuleles cool!”
Ganesh turned back. Charles had just stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.
“What is it?” asked Ganesh.
Charles was looking down at Elias. “I just hadda idea. Lemme call your Uncle Phanuel!” he told Elias.
“Unkyfan!” agreed the boy.
“G,” said Charles.
“Djee,” repeated Elias, glaring furiously at the small stringed instrument in his lap. He strummed experimentally.
“Very good!” said Charles.
“What is that WEIRD LITTLE GUITAR?” demanded Nathan, who had just shown up in the living room. “Because, IT'S WEIRD.”
“Dat ams yooklelabia!” sputtered Skwisgaar.
“Ukulele,” Charles whispered to Elias, who looked sweetly baffled.
“You're playing UKULELES?” asked Nathan.
“Yes, it is a Kamaka, like the one favored by George Harrison and Eddie Vedder,” noted Charles. “Who are cool rock stars,” he added to Elias.
“Wok stahs!” agreed the boy.
“Can I ams plays too?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Well, Skwisgaar, that is a good question,” stated Charles.
“Whats?”
“May I inquire, what is your experience playing the ukulele?”
“What ams he talksing abouts?” Skwisgaar asked of Nathan, who merely shrugged and plopped down on the couch to concentrate on his bowl of chips.
“I am assessing your qualifications for our ukulele club!” Charles told Skwisgaar.
“Yours-?” began Skwisgaar.
“Ams you playsing da cockoleles?” inquired Toki, who had just entered.
“Ukulele,” Charles whispered to Elias.
Toki, who happened to be carrying his own Kamaka uke, sat down on the couch next to Elias.
“How ams Tokis in da clubs an' not me?” cried Skwisgaar. Toki grinned and rattled off a rousing round of Tiptoe through the Tulips.
“Huh. Sounds pretty convincing to me,” muttered Nathan.
“Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh, who had also just entered the room, “it is time for your sitar lesson.”
“I ams wants to play da fockolele!” protested Skwisgaar.
“Ookooledee,” Elias whispered to his father, who nodded.
“Oh, they let me play the ukulele!” grinned Ganesh.
“Why ams hims plays?” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Well,” said Charles, “he's actually not great, but he's really good-looking.”
“Pffff. I ams good-looksing too,” Skwisgaar muttered as he walked off with Ganesh.
“That is all right, my friend,” Ganesh told him. “One is always at least fifty percent better looking when one is holding a sitar!”
“Ams dat true?”
“You dudes gonna play something METAL?” asked Nathan around a mouthful of Doritos.
Charles and Toki began to play the riff from Iron Man.
“Huh,” said Nathan. “Well, it's not actually cool. But it's kind of cool anyway. Like being uncool for being cool. Or something like that. Maybe you guys should play some more. And STOP MY BRAIN FROM THINKING.”
And so they did.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lessons
Warnings: Weird Scandawhovian pronunciations
Notes: Just something my brain came up with. It tends to do that.
“C'mon! It's just G Minor 7!”
Ganesh grinned from the doorway. “Is he, perhaps, a bit small?”
Both Charles and Elias looked up to the sound of the voice. Charles was sitting on the bed, and had his son as well as his newly made guitar in his lap, and was pressing very small fingers to the fretboard.
“But Skwisgaar is teaching Liam!” Charles told him.
“I believe he has a special, small sized guitar for that.”
“Dada!” Charles looked back down at Elias, who now had both hands gripped around the neck, successfully pressing in the G Minor 7 chord.
“Well, yeah, Boon, but then how you gonna strum?” asked Charles.
Elias grinned like a Jack O'Lantern and brought out an extra set of arms.
“Oh, hey, yeah!”
“Sariel....” Ganesh laughed.
“C'mon Ganesh! I need someone to jam with! Someone who won't call me lame!”
“Why don't you ever ask me?” asked Ganesh, sounding hurt.
“Well, dear, as a guitarist.... You are really, really good looking.”
“This is all my parents' fault!” sighed Ganesh, throwing up several hands in despair.
“That you're fantastically good looking?” asked Charles, sitting down Elias.
“All those years of sitar lessons have RUINED me!”
“Wait, you play sitar?” gasped Charles.
“Well of course I play sitar! For centuries. It is soooo boring.”
“No! That's really cool actually!”
“There is absolutely nothing cool about a sitar!” Ganesh scolded.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Sariel, would you EVER even attempt to pick up a cute man by saying, 'Hey, baby, I play sitar?' Of course not!”
“Well, I dunno,” mused Charles. “I would probably have tried. If I'd've played sitar.”
“You would not! Guitarists are cool and sexy! On the other hand, the sitar: your mother forces you to take sitar lessons from your boring uncle who smells like goat curry.”
“I never knew this. You don't have any sitars at your place.”
“Well, of course not! I wouldn't have those horrible out of tune sounding things in my residence. They make a racket!”
“But you really play?”
Ganesh sighed very deeply. “Come on. I think I espied one of them inside Skwisgaar's guitar refrigeration unit.”
“Uh, you gonna ask him first?” asked Charles as they swept out of the suite and down the corridor.
“Of course not! It is just a sitar! If we should harm it, the world would be better off!”
“Maybe we should....”
“He shall never notice,” scoffed Ganesh.
“Uh, Ganesh, I think he knows everything that happens in this room,” warned Charles. “It's like he has guitar-dar.”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” said Ganesh, throwing open the door to Skwisgaar's elaborate, temperature and humidity-regulated guitar storage facility. “Ah, here we are,” he said, spying the large sitar sitting off in a corner.
“What ams happenings dudes?” asked Skwisgaar suspiciously. He had shown up approximately 30 milliseconds after they had entered the room.
“Uhhhh,” explained Charles.
“I am just fetching out this thing,” said Ganesh. Charles cringed as Ganesh kicked off his shoes and casually flopped down into a cross-legged position on the floor holding one of Skwisgaar's prized stringed instruments.
Charles turned to Skwisgaar, expecting a Scandanavian thunderstorm. To his astonishment, Skwisgaar too seated himself on the floor, in front of Ganesh, like some kind of acolyte.
Ganesh had two sets of arms out, and was twanging on strings and twisting pegs like a fury.
“Dat ams amazingles!” breathed Skwisgaar.
“Oh, if you like tuning up so much, maybe you'll enjoy my playing as well,” huffed Ganesh, who seemed as moody as Charles had ever seen him. Apparently satisfied with the tuning, Ganesh began playing a little raga.
“Tells me when you ams dones tunesing!” enthused Skwisgaar.
Ganesh stopped dead, glowering at Skwisgaar. He removed all but one set of hands from the instrument, and began irritably plucking out George Harrison's memorable if somewhat clumsy run from Norwegian Wood.
“HOLY SHITS HE AMS PLAYS SITARS!” exclaimed Skwisgaar.
Elias looked up at Charles in utter confusion. Charles shrugged down at him.
“Dudes,” Skwisgaar whispered to Ganesh. “You must ams teaches me to play dat tings!”
“Why the hell would you want to play sitar?” asked Ganesh.
“Because I ams becomes ones wit da univoises!”
“WHAT? You are a nihilist! Why would you even think that?”
“You gots to teaches me!” urged Skwisgaaar. “Ams mystacockle!”
Ganesh glanced up at Charles, as if appealing for reason, but was alarmed to see Charles nodding. He sighed. “All right. All right. I suppose a few lessons won't hurt.” Ganesh stood and handed the instrument back to Skwisgaar, who cradled the bulky, awkward instrument like a precious thing.
“I really appreciate this,” said Charles once he and Ganesh were out of hearing distance along the corridor. “If it's any consolation, he'll probably lose interest after a couple sessions.”
“He is a rock star! Why would he even give a hang regarding that old fart instrument?” groused Ganesh.
“Ganesh, you grew up in India, where you're used to old farts playing it. Here, it's rock stars!”
“Really?”
“Really! And rock stars can make ANYTHING cool.”
“I suppose you're right,” allowed Ganesh.
“I mean, rock stars can make ukuleles cool!”
Ganesh turned back. Charles had just stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.
“What is it?” asked Ganesh.
Charles was looking down at Elias. “I just hadda idea. Lemme call your Uncle Phanuel!” he told Elias.
“Unkyfan!” agreed the boy.
“G,” said Charles.
“Djee,” repeated Elias, glaring furiously at the small stringed instrument in his lap. He strummed experimentally.
“Very good!” said Charles.
“What is that WEIRD LITTLE GUITAR?” demanded Nathan, who had just shown up in the living room. “Because, IT'S WEIRD.”
“Dat ams yooklelabia!” sputtered Skwisgaar.
“Ukulele,” Charles whispered to Elias, who looked sweetly baffled.
“You're playing UKULELES?” asked Nathan.
“Yes, it is a Kamaka, like the one favored by George Harrison and Eddie Vedder,” noted Charles. “Who are cool rock stars,” he added to Elias.
“Wok stahs!” agreed the boy.
“Can I ams plays too?” asked Skwisgaar.
“Well, Skwisgaar, that is a good question,” stated Charles.
“Whats?”
“May I inquire, what is your experience playing the ukulele?”
“What ams he talksing abouts?” Skwisgaar asked of Nathan, who merely shrugged and plopped down on the couch to concentrate on his bowl of chips.
“I am assessing your qualifications for our ukulele club!” Charles told Skwisgaar.
“Yours-?” began Skwisgaar.
“Ams you playsing da cockoleles?” inquired Toki, who had just entered.
“Ukulele,” Charles whispered to Elias.
Toki, who happened to be carrying his own Kamaka uke, sat down on the couch next to Elias.
“How ams Tokis in da clubs an' not me?” cried Skwisgaar. Toki grinned and rattled off a rousing round of Tiptoe through the Tulips.
“Huh. Sounds pretty convincing to me,” muttered Nathan.
“Skwisgaar,” said Ganesh, who had also just entered the room, “it is time for your sitar lesson.”
“I ams wants to play da fockolele!” protested Skwisgaar.
“Ookooledee,” Elias whispered to his father, who nodded.
“Oh, they let me play the ukulele!” grinned Ganesh.
“Why ams hims plays?” grumbled Skwisgaar.
“Well,” said Charles, “he's actually not great, but he's really good-looking.”
“Pffff. I ams good-looksing too,” Skwisgaar muttered as he walked off with Ganesh.
“That is all right, my friend,” Ganesh told him. “One is always at least fifty percent better looking when one is holding a sitar!”
“Ams dat true?”
“You dudes gonna play something METAL?” asked Nathan around a mouthful of Doritos.
Charles and Toki began to play the riff from Iron Man.
“Huh,” said Nathan. “Well, it's not actually cool. But it's kind of cool anyway. Like being uncool for being cool. Or something like that. Maybe you guys should play some more. And STOP MY BRAIN FROM THINKING.”
And so they did.
