"Doc" Emmett L. Brown (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
4thdimensional) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
interstellar55552016-04-24 01:08 am
4thdimensional) wrote in interstellar55552016-04-24 01:08 am
Entry tags:
come sail away
Who: Doc Brown Will Brandt and you! Especially if you play music.
What: Failures of scientific studies about music and the strange phenomena surrounding it.
When: Late April, various afternoons
Where: Around Vista City
Warnings: Weird old man singing. Be warned.
aural experiment #1: morning
[Doc's finally earned enough money to cobble together a few small devices. The one he sets on the outdoor café table at breakfast looks oddly like a classic record player. It plays a soft classical tune, all while the man sitting behind it appears to be absorbed in his newspaper.
The inside of said newspaper is actually covered in scribbled notes. Nothing interesting is happening yet, but he remains optimistic.
...at least, until the record makes a horrible screeching noise for some reason. Doc slams down the newspaper to hurriedly turn it off.]
I'm not sure the classics agree with me anymore. My apologies.
aural experiment #2: afternoon
[Undeterred by his earlier failure with the record-er, Doc wanders the streets in the afternoon with some strange-looking headphones attached to his ears. They cover the back half of the ear and curve outward, and he hides it, but there's a thin microphone-like device in his hands too.
Should anyone look too closely at him, he immediately picks up the 'mic' and begins to sing in a weathered and untrained voice, waving an arm like he's conducting an invisible orchestra:]
I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea...
[Those in the vicinity may want to leave it.]
aural experiment #3: night
[Doc saves his best attempt for last: a last-ditch device more compact than the previous ones. There's a lot of musical activity at night---sound pouring out of each club, each concert hall, the headquarters...he strolls around each of these places, humming quietly to himself.
He occasionally scribbles in a notebook, but his findings will have to be analyzed later. That odd thing in the air that he can't name...it bothers him deeply, and the mystery continues to taunt him. Solve this and they can free the others. Or can they?
As he strolls back to his too-small apartment, he finds himself singing once more, though this time in a more subdued manner.]
Come sail away with me, come sail away...
What: Failures of scientific studies about music and the strange phenomena surrounding it.
When: Late April, various afternoons
Where: Around Vista City
Warnings: Weird old man singing. Be warned.
aural experiment #1: morning
[Doc's finally earned enough money to cobble together a few small devices. The one he sets on the outdoor café table at breakfast looks oddly like a classic record player. It plays a soft classical tune, all while the man sitting behind it appears to be absorbed in his newspaper.
The inside of said newspaper is actually covered in scribbled notes. Nothing interesting is happening yet, but he remains optimistic.
...at least, until the record makes a horrible screeching noise for some reason. Doc slams down the newspaper to hurriedly turn it off.]
I'm not sure the classics agree with me anymore. My apologies.
aural experiment #2: afternoon
[Undeterred by his earlier failure with the record-er, Doc wanders the streets in the afternoon with some strange-looking headphones attached to his ears. They cover the back half of the ear and curve outward, and he hides it, but there's a thin microphone-like device in his hands too.
Should anyone look too closely at him, he immediately picks up the 'mic' and begins to sing in a weathered and untrained voice, waving an arm like he's conducting an invisible orchestra:]
I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea...
[Those in the vicinity may want to leave it.]
aural experiment #3: night
[Doc saves his best attempt for last: a last-ditch device more compact than the previous ones. There's a lot of musical activity at night---sound pouring out of each club, each concert hall, the headquarters...he strolls around each of these places, humming quietly to himself.
He occasionally scribbles in a notebook, but his findings will have to be analyzed later. That odd thing in the air that he can't name...it bothers him deeply, and the mystery continues to taunt him. Solve this and they can free the others. Or can they?
As he strolls back to his too-small apartment, he finds himself singing once more, though this time in a more subdued manner.]
Come sail away with me, come sail away...
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We'll search for tomorrow on every shore
And I'll try, oh Lord, I'll try...
[C'mon, random crazy hair dude, belt it with her!]
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I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory
Some happy, some sad
I think of old friends and the dreams we had
[He hasn't had a lick of musical training in his life, yet he seems to be in harmony with this familiar young woman. Her energy's infectious, and he's soon making sweeping gestures as he sings.]
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It's nice to see anybody having fun with music.]
We live happily forever, so the story goes
But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold
But we'll try best that we can to caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarry on!
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A gathering of angels appeared above my head
They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said
They said come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
[He looks to her at those next few lines, accidentally attempting something that a more talented musician would make into a harmony.]
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Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
[Pinkie joins in the harmony as well as she can - it's harder with someone who's not a trained singer, but certainly far from impossible. It's not like she was always trained either, but she sang anyway. Are ponies just naturally good at that?
She's aware of the crowd gathering, and knows it's probably mostly for her. She thinks about the things the press says about her own peers, and wonders what more they might venture about a strange, wild-haired man on the streets. Moving closer, she goes to link arms with him. She can't stop anyone being cruel later, but she can be nice now.]
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Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
[He's surprised by the gesture but accepts, his voice lowering and allowing hers to take the lead. He doesn't really pay mind to bad press---he'll just change his disguise next time if he must.
As it ends, he gives her a sheepish smile.]
Beautiful as always, miss Pie.
[That was her name, right?]
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[He tips his hat.]
...as I'm sure you're aware, I don't normally do this sort of thing. The mood struck.
[And he reaches to click something in his pocket. That'll be some interesting data.]
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Yeah, but it was fun, right? It's probably a lot MORE fun if you just do it for fun! [Instead of, you know, Pride. She probably shouldn't be saying things like that out in public, but the crowds are already wandering off now that the singing is done. Besides, Garnet's off doing her solo thing and she hasn't heard from Greg in a while...all Pinkie's adult friends keep vanishing.]
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Hitting the big time is different, of course.
[He looks sad. It's especially different here, with the whole involuntary brainwashing issue.]
I'm just another wrench-master from the garage..though I'm sure I won't be starting a garage band any time soon. It's not every day that superstars visit us.
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[Well, let's not talk about sad things. It makes her ears move, and though she's shored up the headscarf pretty well, she's paranoid that you can still see the movement under there.]
I guess not. Most of us don't even really have cars, unless we're into like...sports ones or something? I've never driven anywhere before. [for multiple reasons, really, she's not sure she knows how. Do ponies have cars?] I mean, that doesn't sound prissy, does it? I just don't know how.
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Did you have roller skates or a bicycle when you were younger? Or a skateboard? It's not quite the same, but there's a simple feeling of freedom worth experiencing.
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[It would be a lot simpler to just make something up. Her memory of her supposed human childhood is vague at best, and her fillyhood is patchy. But she thinks she remembers skating...?]
Oh - no no, wait! They might've been ice skates.
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Is there anyone among your friends who takes joyrides regularly? Even if driving's out of reach for now, riding is a pleasure all its own.
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I dunno, most of them don't drive either. Maybe Artolo. He owns lions, did you know that?
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But lions? Are they part of the act?
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[He worries. Pets are often a substitute when warm human contact is inaccessible, and are their lives lacking in that respect?]
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[She trails off semi-awkwardly, because her business in the city is mostly trying and largely failing to keep Steven safe.]
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[He suspects he already knows the answer.]
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[Pinkie seems to understand how that sounds, and looks faintly apologetic.]
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No one can be worked at such a frantic pace for months at a time with no relief if perfection's still expected...
I doubt I can do anything to relieve the pressure, but if you ever have a moment you happen to stumble into the garage, I'll keep a break room clear for you.
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I'll see you around.
[And he tips that hat.]