Karin Fan Fiction ❯ Karin: The Inquisition ❯ Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

Anjou was doing her best to make the adjustments that she had to make, considering that she was still in mourning for Francois. It had indeed been a few months, but it has been said that the loss of a spouse is the hardest loss that a human being can face at times of death. However, Anjou normally was a brooding girl, and it was hard to tell what her given mood was from time to time. The only ones that would truly know would have been those that had lived with her for any length of time, and only if she let them get close. This would only consist of her family, and that would have included Jean-Claude as well. Yet, it was interesting for her classmates, considering that she was using old tactics to keep them from getting close as she had in elementary school. If anyone got close, she would be the one to determine who that would be. She had not had as much problem in Paris, because Francois help her to come out of her shell somewhat. Now, she was right back in it. The problem was, in some of the classes, she had to be involved, and she began to gain a reputation with the girls of being stuck up. What made matters worse was the fact that she seemed have a better handle on the subject matter than the other students. Thus, their anger was mixed with jealousy. None of this, however, mattered to her anyway. If push came to shove, she could always make a meal out of them and gain some peace from that one for about a month. Besides, outside of her brother-in-law and Hondo, she was merely tolerating human presence at that time. She knew what big brother wanted, but at that moment, she just did not feel up to being with humans, considering what happened to her dear Francois. However, she also knew that she had to learn how to get over being around them, considering that, when this all blew over, she was either going to stay in Orono, or go back to Paris, and finish her degree. The one thing she had going for her was that first experience she had in prayer, and her working through Psalms. She had reached Psalm 119, and noticed how long it was. At the same time, she was in a composition class, and she knew by the class synopsis that she would have to compose something to pass the course. She decided, at that point, to do an oratorio for that psalm. She figured that, if Carl Orff could do one for Carmina Burana, she could do one off this psalm. With that, she began to sink all her efforts into her classes, and in her ninja training, so that she could tap into the—for the lack of a better term—divine power that big brother seemed to have, and be able to set her soul, and the soul of Francois, at peace. In the process, she hoped to find what it was that big brother had with the Almighty, considering her experience not too long ago.

 

During that class, the professor wanted to see if anyone had some kind of a framework started for their end of year composition. Anjou raised her hand, and the professor said, “Okay, Miss Marker, what do you have?”

“I am doing an oratorio of the 119th Psalm,” said Anjou.

“Interesting,” said the professor, “And do you have a styling in mind?”

“Yes,” she said stoically and matter-of-factly, “I plan to have it in a polyphonic baroque concept, but mixed in with the contemporary classical style.”

Everyone in the room was now looking at her, as was the professor. He said, “Well, Miss Marker, that's sounds like quite an ambitious project! You know, at this stage, we would not expect that grand a work out of you, but if you can at least produce a good chunk of…”

“I plan to finish it,” she said, cutting off the professor. That drew even more shocked looks from the room, but a couple of the snooty girls murmured, “Look who thinks she's Mozart!” unaware of the fact that she could hear them, due to her vampiric hearing. She gave them only about a half-second's worth of a sideward glance, and she said, “In truth, there would not be as much to it, because each section of that psalm is eight lines each in English, or six lines each in the Hebrew. However, I wish to put it in English, because, as it was with Handel, I wish people who hear it would have more of a chance to understand the language. Considering the way music is structured, using the eight line structure would be better, because I could start each line in a different note of the scale, and 16 of the 22 sections in one of the major or minor chords, and the remainder in some augmented chord that would best fit the section. It can be done.”

The professor was impressed, and he said, “Okay, I can see then what you are doing. You are right, musically, the structure of the piece would work, and I can almost hear the structure now. Do you have anything written yet?”

“In fact, I have the first section, and the framework for the overture done to this 12 string guitar, but nothing else yet,” she said, holding up her case, “In addition, this shall be played with the 12 string as the lead instrument with at least a chamber sized orchestra and chorus.”

With that, she began. She first gave a sketch on the overture, and then began to sing the first song. It opened with the first for lines in a slower, recitative form, and then picked up the pace for the last four, set in aria. It was indeed polyphonic, as she was able to convey it through her 12 string, but there was a modern feel to it as well. If one could call it modern baroque, then that would be the best way to describe it. She then began to play and sing. Whatever doubts some had were being dispelled quickly, because she was showing that it could be done! The professor was impressed. He said, “Now this is a fine example of when imagination and discipline mix. I cannot wait to see how far you can go with this. Moreover, even if you may not finish this by the end of the year, I would encourage you to finish the peace.”

Some were applauding as she gave a humble “thank you,” and returned to her seat. Now, there was wonderment from the boys, and resentment from some of the girls, mainly from some of the richer, snooty sorority girls. All those girls saw was a challenge to whatever it was they thought themselves to be. After the class, some of the boys were beginning to be forward with her, and they were hoping to make some headway with her. She knew by this point how to politely refuse them without making them angry or offended, but despite that, some of those catty girls were having a problem.

 

She had a couple of hours before her next class, and she was finished with her assignments from the night before, so she wandered a bit. She was partway across the mall, heading for the student union when she encountered a couple of those girls from that class. They came alongside her, and started making comments about class, veiling insults within the statements. All this was in an attempt to get some kind of an emotional rise out of them. Anjou took it all in stride, knowing that all they were doing was stirring her appetite for jealousy, because she was hungry, and one of them would make for a great meal! When what they were doing didn't work, they started becoming more direct, saying things about her hair, saying that it was too long, that all her hair was in split ends. They then went after her attire, saying that it was out of date, and that she needed to get with the times. As she approached the student union, she walked around a corner into a dark, hidden corner, hoping to lure them in. As she did, she said, “My, my, my: and I thought all that kind of behavior went out with grade school—how immature!”

The two girls were looking for something like that, and they were getting ready to pounce. However when they rounded the corner into that hidden spot, they found Anjou standing there, fully vamped out, saying, “And now, it is time to tend to your jealous spirits!”

She reached out and paralyzed their voice boxes so they could not scream, and she locked the legs of one so she could not run. She stood in mute horror as she watched Anjou feed on her sorority sister. Anjou only took about half of what she normally would, and laid her down, quickly erasing her memory. She then approached the other, and said, “Maybe I should pledge to your sisterhood. I wonder if your other sorority sisters are just as tasty.”

She smiled gently as she said this and approached her. The young woman was in tears and trembling like a leaf, praying that she could run, but knowing she could not. Anjou embraced her, sniffed her neck, and moaned in ecstasy. She then stroked her head and kissed her cheek, saying, “Fear not, because you shall remember none of this, but just enjoy for now.”

With that, she bit, and drank deeply and contentedly. The other girl stiffened briefly, and then relaxed as if she were experiencing something very pleasurable. After that, Anjou erased her memory, and laid her down. She was about to leave, but she always remembered how Jean-Claude dealt with situations like this. She then went back and decided to implant something. It would not be pain, but it would be something to gain their attention. She implanted this: “Whenever you think of yourselves better than someone else, or act jealous, all you will be able to think of are those far less fortunate than you, that cannot even do a quarter of what you can do, but wish to, and beg for someone like you to help them. With that, you shall also recall of times when you wished someone could help you be as good as they were, and refused to help you, they thinking you were below them, and how it felt to be treated like that.”

With that, she went back around and into the student union.

 

She went in and saw that they café offered malted milkshakes. She ordered a vanilla malted, not that she could taste it all that much, but that she liked the texture on her tongue. It was then she bumped into Jean-Claude in line, getting a slice of pizza and a Coke. “Hey Muff, (which he now used mostly, considering that she had pretty much outgrown “Corn Muffin” by this point, and she was more receptive to “Muff,”) what are you doing here?”

“I…had some time between classes,” she said, “so I…stopped in for a `chaser.'”

Jean-Claude looked at her oddly for a moment, but then smiled knowingly, as he reached out to scrape off a blood trail from the corner of her mouth. “You have to make sure you clean up after yourself, Muff,” he said, and she blushed slightly.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I have a little time before my last class for the night, so I came in for a snack,” he said.

They went into the Bear's Den area of the café and sat at a booth. Jean-Claude figured that it would be a good time to take her temperature. “Well, I know it's only been a few days, but how's classes been?” he asked.

“They've been okay,” she said, “It isn't Paris, but it is sufficient.”

“How has getting along with people been?” he then asked.

“It has been interesting,” she said, “I never met so many jealous girls in my life.”

“Considering your tastes,” said Jean-Claude, “I don't think you're complaining too much!”

She could not help betraying a smile, and he said, “Don't worry about those catty girls. All it means is that you have more talent in your pinky than they have in their entire body, and they lack the discipline to learn how to be what you are.”

He munched, and she drank, and he then asked, “How has the psalms been going?”

“I cannot say that it has been boring,” she answered.

“How so?” he then asked.

“I…” she trailed off, looked away in thought for a moment, and then said, “How do I put this in words?”

“You don't have to,” he said, “I think I have a feeling where you are going. Just stick with it, and I guarantee you, whatever it is that you cannot find words for will increase and you WILL find the words!”

“I can say one thing,” she said, “At the very least; I would shake up our vampire side, because I could no longer be an atheist after what I have seen.”

Jean-Claude smiled and said, “You're getting warmer.”

They were both getting up to go when they ran into Maki and Wiener entering the building. They had just finished the last class of the evening, and they were exchanging pleasantries right outside the game room when they began to hear the sounds of things falling to the floor violently. While Jean-Claude was familiar with the sound, they were not. He then said, “Muff, how much time do you have?”

“About an hour and a half,” she said, “Why do you ask?”

He smiled, and said, “Come and see!”

 

When they went in, they saw someone sitting in a small room with a half-door and Plexiglas windows all around to their left that overlooked the arcade. There were bowling trophies inside glass cases, and other such things, and they heard the sounds much better. “What's that?” asked Maki.

“That, my dear friends, is a New England marker, and tradition: Candlepin bowling,” he said proudly.

“Candlepin?” they exclaimed, “What's that?”

“Come and take a look,” he then said, and led them to the alleys.

There were six lanes in the place, and it looked like the ancient of days. It had the old flavor to it, but it was nonetheless a well-functioning facility. Wiener said, “I would say, it is indeed a different look to Kegel than I've ever seen.”

“The lanes are the same as tenpin,” said Jean-Claude, “and the pins are the same height and weight as tenpin, but are that slender shape that you see. They are also set the same distance apart, and the balls are smaller, as you can see. Thus, the difficulty level is increased. However, in this game, you get three shots per frame, and you can use the fallen pins. I brought you here, because, if you come to New England, you have to try this at least once!”

They all looked at each other and said, “Why not?”

With that, they got a lane, the shoes, and began to receive an education. It became obvious quickly that this was not standard bowling. The first string was used to get the feel for the game, and after some frustrating moments, they were getting the feel for it. Maki and Wiener were starting to bowl in the 80 and 90 pin range, (which is average for this game,) and just having fun, not really caring if they won or not. However, Anjou was really beginning to pick up on things. On their third and final string, it was a clear competition between Jean-Claude and Anjou. They had both put a series of marks together, and were running neck and neck up to the tenth frame. Finally Jean-Claude came up and finished with a spare and a good fill. Anjou was down 19 pins, and she was up against it. However, by this point, people were watching the high strings going down, and they wanted to see how this one would end. They all knew that it would take at least a strike and ten on two balls. Yet, when Anjou picked up on something, she normally became quickly and deadly proficient. Still, people were wondering how she was doing that in the curious dress that she was wearing. She lined up, aimed, and used the whole approach. She had a “down-and-in” approach to the pins, and it was working for her. She found the 1-3 pocket, kicked the outer pins around hard, as the headpin came off the sidewall and cut out the kingpin: textbook strike for candlepin. The small crowd applauded, and Anjou turned around with a small curtsey and her gentle smile. She reset the rack as she got ready to fill it. She had two balls to get ten, and she hoped for a good first ball. She lined up again, and let it go. However, she came in too high, and punched out everything but the 2-3-4-6-7-10—called the Spread Eagle. Everyone moaned as they realized what that meant. If this had not been the 10th frame, she could have used that to cut it out. However, she only had one ball to take out at least nine, and in this game, this was an almost impossible task. “Spread Eagle,” said Jean-Claude, “Bad luck, Muff. Just get what you can.”

She stood for a few moments, thinking about how to play the shot. She figured that, if she missed, she lost anyway, so it was okay at this point to take a chance. She figured that if she could just clip the three pin she could get the 6-10, and maybe hope that the three could cause a chain reaction on the other side. She aimed carefully, and used the whole approach again, but she stepped up a touch slower. This time, however, she lined up near the edge of the lane, cupping the ball underneath, and then twisting her hand as to where she would release the ball with her hand in the nine o'clock position. She also whipped the ball hard, knowing that, if it were too soft, the ball would hook to the other side of the lane and end up in the channel. She landed the ball just to the fair side of the lob line, and down it went. About