Glieuaeiel's DJ

Professional Violinist

The results of my friend's audition are not what I had hoped. He was beaten out by an older, long-haired man; a violinist. But today when I come to the meeting, the group leader tells me that he has a special announcement about that violinist. He won't tell me what, but he tries to get me to guess. I can't imagine what it would be; the only thing I remember about the man was that at a previous meeting he played a very legato piece that just kept going and going without giving the player much of a break.

Once everyone gets there, the group leader makes the announcement. It's come to light that this violinist is actually a professional, and therefore disqualified for the competition. Hmmm. Maybe I could have guessed that if I'd realized that the legato piece was too difficult for anyone but a professional to prepare. It's confusing, though, to try and fit together all of the clues, so I give up. I wonder if the violinist feels angry about this disqualification, but no--it looks like he's just glad to be back on solid moral ground.

Leafblighter

It's time for break, so the group disperses throughout the city park to find a good place for lunch. I see a group of four of them heading over to the opposite side of the park, which seems like a good idea. I hurry after them, even though I'm a bit nervous because they're all a couple years older than I am. When I get there, they've set up a blanket on the ground to lay on, and there's a tennis match going on in the nearby courts. I wave and say "Hi!" as jovially as I can, and they're very polite about letting me join them. Only, when I try to lay down near this one guy, he grabs my shoulder, pulls me back, then sits me down in a nearby chair instead. The problem (although he never explained himself explicitly) was that I was going to block his view of the tennis match. I wonder whether the chair is his, or if he just took it from one of the nearby families who are also having lunch in the park.

Later, a bunch of us have gone inside for a while, and now people are starting to leave again. There's something on the wall, a machine about the size of a paper towel dispenser, and we're supposed to use it on the way out. One person seems very nervous about this, looking over the machine very, very carefully before using it. But there aren't any apparent problems, and before long there are just two of us left: me and one other guy. Suddenly, a green bug with a body roughly the size and shape of a leaf comes crawling out of the cracks in the machine. That must have been what the guy was worried about. "Is that Leafblighter?" I ask. The bug crawls back in the machine, and we start hearing screams from a room beyond the wall and above us, which we know is a kitchen. (Not death screams, just I'm-afraid-of-bugs screams.)

I try to continue as I was, but eventually I give up and announce, "You know what? I'm just going to finish my lunch outside." I walk over to the machine, but of course the bug is currently crawling around on it. I take my towel and swing it at the bug. It misses, but the bug does start running away, which means it's not on the machine any more. I use the machine, but then I look back at my towel to check for bug guts. I think I see a pair of antennae, but the towel's wrapped around my waist and I can't twist enough to see for sure. I take off the towel to get a closer look, and sure enough, there's an entire bug stuck to it. Suddenly, from the direction of the machine, a low, threatening voice shouts "Iba flogor!" and something heavy collides with the right side of my head.

Group Project

My group has to put together a project to present to the class. The project consists of two lessons. We have the first one more or less done, except that we still need to buy a few of the supplies, such as blue skin dye. But I'm having the hardest time getting my group to buckle down and choose what our second lesson will be. The presentation is coming up and we really ought to have decided by now.

Compliments

A spy has been caught by the bad guys. He takes out his pistol and tries to shoot one of them in the chest, but the bullets--all four of them--just flatten into metal splotches on his jacket. Obviously he's wearing a bulletproof vest. I have to wonder, though--doesn't he worry about getting shot in the head? He's wearing no protection for his face, so I guess he's banking on the spy being a bad enough shot (even from this ten-foot range) that none of the bullets will go that way.

At this point, one of the bad guys in the room delivers a one-liner, something along the lines of "You'd best start thinking of compliments, because you're not in any position to be making threats."