Midsummer Amnesty 2010
Jul. 18th, 2010 06:08 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mizface.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionTitle: Sound Sport
Author: mizface
Pairing: Fraser/RayK established relationship, well post-CotW
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5870 (word limit? What’s that?)
A/N: An enormous THANK YOU to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lucifuge_5 for First Read/beta duties. And to the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ficfinishing comm, for support. This was written for the self-insertion challenge, which I never thought I’d do. Proving once again, that saying “never” makes my muse giggle and jump and look for a story-stick to hit me with.
I’m in for it the minute I hear the “Ah.” Ben and me, we’ve been together long enough, sometimes we don’t need a whole lot of conversation to know what’s what. Which is good, since there’s times that he doesn’t give me much more than that. But I’ve had years of “ahs” and ‘hmms” and “understoods” to work with, and they all have more meanings than Inuit have words for snow. For a wordy guy, Ben can be a close-mouthed son of a bitch.
So when I hear this one, soft and wistful, it’s a sure thing that sometime soon I’m gonna be doing something I never thought I’d be doing, just to make him happy. And that’s good, that’s fine. I just hope it isn’t anything too dangerous.
“So what’s the news from up North, Ben?” I ask, drying my hands as I leave the kitchen, clean-up duty done for the night. He’s at the computer, checking email. It’s Tuesday, so he’s due a letter from Maggie, and I wonder if this is going to involve travel.
He covers the hand I’ve placed on his shoulder with his. His “Hmm?” is distracted, and looking down I see not email, but a website.
“Maggie send you that?”
“Yes, actually. It seems that one of her friends has some pieces that will part of an exhibit coming to the states, and she wanted to let me know.”
“At the Institute?”
He shakes his head. “The Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art, in Indianapolis.”
Indianapolis. Okay, so travel, but nothing too major. I haven’t been there in years, and far as I know Ben’s never been. We could make a long weekend of it. It’s not as big as Chicago, but it’s different, and we haven’t been anywhere new for awhile.
I squeeze his shoulder and smile as I answer. “Cool. When’s it there?”
He leans his head back to smile up at me, pleased by my quick acceptance, and I lean down for a quick kiss.
“The exhibit starts November 15th, and runs through February 19th. If we can get the time, I’d like to go when it first opens.”
“Weather’d be less iffy in November, that’s for sure,” I agree. “And getting a day around then should be a piece of cake. Unless you were thinking longer.”
“No, a long weekend should be sufficient.”
“So it’s settled. I’ll put in for the time tomorrow.” He smiles again, and I’m glad I didn’t make any kind of fuss about this. We don’t get back to the Territories as often as either of us would like, so if a little bit of home can come to Ben, I’m all for it.
“Hey, what kind of exhibit is this, anyhow? Canada and Western art don’t really go together that easy.”
“No, but the Inuit are in essence American Indian. There is more to the Americas than the United States, you know.”
I gesture in a get-on-with-it kind of way, not wanting to get into a verbal sparring match. He arches an eyebrow, but goes on.
“It’s contemporary Inuit art, spanning the last fifty years,” he reads, sparing me a trip to find my glasses, “ reflecting family, community and worldview expressed by Inuit Qaujimajatuqanjit.” I glare, and he goes on, pretending to ignore the look. “Inuit Traditional Knowledge, Ray.”
“Okay, sounds interesting enough. I haven’t seen much of the Thingamajigit worldview lately.” His turn to glare; mine to cheerfully ignore. “And Maggie knows the artist,” I add, just to keep the conversation going.
Ben gives a little shake to his head as he answers. “One of them, a fiber artist, I believe. It should be a fascinating exhibit. I think it’s wonderful to see that the Inuit culture is being shown this kind of interest.” He leans back in the chair, and I start rubbing his neck, which triggers a kind of half-moan that has me thinking about things other than Inuit culture, or museums, or anything involving more than him and me and narrowing things down to our own worldview, our own chosen family.
We get the time off, no problem. Kind of short notice, just a couple of weeks, but we only asked for a couple of days off, since we decided to leave Thursday after work, and use Monday to do all the weekend errands we normally do. Plus, it factored in for any weird weather stuff, which this time of year is just the smart thing to do.
Ben’s all excited about the trip, which means I am too. I mean, like I said, Indianapolis isn’t a big city or anything, but somehow he can make it seem like it’ll be the best place ever. And who knows, maybe it will be.
Because he’s Benton Fraser, he makes sure to do plenty of research before we go. Which means he’s the one who finds us a place to stay; nice little B&B downtown. And of course, he figures out where all the parks are, and anything historic we might want to take a look at, time and weather permitting. Also (no surprise), he reads up on the museum and the exhibit.
“Ray,” he begins one night, eyes glued to the monitor, “do you have anything against choral music? Women’s choral music, to be precise?”
Okay, so that’s a new one. “Not my favorite. Usually screechy, all about God, and no beat to dance to. Why?”
“No reason.” Which of course means just the opposite. That kind of question had to come from somewhere. It can’t just have occurred to him. So I turn off the news, which I didn’t really want to watch anyhow, snag my glasses off the end table and go over to see what prompted the question.
He has the museum website up, which kind of surprises me. I lean in over his shoulder and see it’s a list of opening weekend events for the Our Land exhibit we’re going to. And there’s my answer. One of the events is a concert by, you guessed it, the Indianapolis Women’s Chorus. I nudge Ben and he scoots over so I can kneel down and read.
Okay, Sound Sport. Catchy title. Family-friendly, which could go either way. Boomwhackers, which sound kind of fun, in a weird way. But I’m not sold. Again, screechy is not my thing. Plus it’s part of something called the Spirit and Place festival, which makes me think it’ll be all full of God music. The fact that it’s a Sunday show just reinforces the idea.
As I read on, I see why he wants to go to this. There’re going to be throat singers, straight from Nunavut, as featured guests at this concert. I sigh inwardly; we’re going to this thing, it’s a done deal.
I see a link on the site and point it out. “Click on that, willya? If we’re going to sit through one of their shows, I want to know more about them.”
So Ben smiles and clicks and we’re on a MySpace page that actually looks kind of cool. It has a list of gigs, including one at a women’s prison, and some basic information – hey, if this is a church group I want to know where they worship, because they are apparently cool with any and all “gender expressions” and ”sexual orientations.”
There’s even cuts off of their CDs to listen to. We look over the tracks, and Ben immediately clicks on Ave Maria which turns out to be a really sad version I’ve never heard before. We listen to a few more, and they aren’t bad. Not all screechy like I’d been worried about – some of the notes they hit are pretty far in the basement. And a variety of styles, so not all churchy.
“So,” I say, just to confirm what we both already know, “I guess we’re going to a concert while we’re in Indy.”
Mid-November comes around, and we’re on our way. Weather turned out nice, so the drive’s an easy one. It’s plenty dark by the time we get into the city proper, but Ben’s directions are, no shocker, spot on, and we get checked in at the Nestle Inn and settled without any fuss. It’s a nice place, two-story Victorian that has, thank God, private bathrooms. Queen–sized bed looks like heaven after the day and the drive, so I hit the bathroom and set out our toiletries while I’m there, while Ben unpacks our clothes. We trade rooms once I’m done, and he’s in a t-shirt and boxers pretty quick, looking as ready for some shut-eye as I feel.
Morning comes soon enough, and after a leisurely, shared, and mutually satisfying shower, we head down to sample the second part of this B&B. And here is where I find out just what sold Ben on this place in particular – the food is fantastic. I get waffles with fruit that are to die for, and some of the best coffee I’ve ever had. Ben gets an omelet that melts in your mouth (which I know, because he let me have one, and only one, bite). There are scones, and toast and other fresh-baked goods that make me sorry I only have the one stomach to put it all in.
“Ray, we are here for more than one night,” Ben says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll have your chance to sample quite a few of the Inn’s delicacies before we have to return home.”
So we have pretty much two days before the show to just wander around and take in any of the sights Ben’s found for us. Weather turned out real nice, and a little warmer than Chicago, but then without the wind blowing off the lake they call Michigan, it should be.
We walk, of course, to see downtown itself, scope out the area a little. Mostly it’s just to enjoy the time off together, without worrying about being on call. It amazes me how much more relaxed I feel knowing that. Didn’t realize I’d been carrying that kind of tension around. Considering how relaxed Ben’s looking, I’m not the only one who’s been doing it, and I’m even gladder we’re here.
The B&B is near an area called Mass Ave, with some specialty shops, a few restaurants, and even a small theater. I spy a poster in the window and drag Ben over to get a closer look, laughing when I see that I did read it right.
“There you go, Ben,” I laugh, pointing at it. “Now that’s my kind of theater.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Evil Dead: The Musical? Surely this must be some kind of joke – perhaps leftover from Halloween?”
I put on my specs and read the fine print. “Nope. It’s for real, all right. And look – it’s on an extended run.” I grin. “Come on, what d’you say? I think it’d be a gas.”
Ben looks leery of the whole thing, but it doesn’t feel serious, so I push a little. “Come on. At least it’s not real bodies on exhibit. Which I did go see in Chicago. With you. Because you wanted to see it. Even though that kind of stuff gives me the creepy crawlies. Plus, we see enough bodies for real I still don’t get why you wanted to go to it.”
“It was highly educational, Ray. And yes you went, but not without protest, as I recall. A lot of protest, actually, some quite loud.”
“Yeah, so I’m a pain in the ass.” I shrug. “What’s new? I still think this could be fun.”
He sighs, all put upon, but I know it’s just an act. And he knows I know, so it’s all just part of the game, which is good. Another sign he’s stress-free. “Far be it from me to refuse a cultural event. Though I really do find the level of culture this represents to be suspect.”
“Cool!” And I don’t know exactly why I’m so jazzed about this, but I am. I open the door for Ben – some of his courtesy had to rub off after all this time – and we go in to buy tickets for tonight’s show.
We get tickets from the guy, who has apparently seen this about 10 times, and tells us we won’t be sorry we’re seeing it. Ben doesn’t look like he’s buying it, but he’s too polite to say anything. We walk back out into the sunshine and I stretch out my arms and lean my head back, eyes closed, just feeling the sun on my face.
When I straighten back out I see Ben leaning on the wall of the theater, watching me with a combination of amusement, patience and affection that makes me want to plant one on him right here. Or better yet, go back to our B&B and take advantage of the first B for more than sleep. I settle for a grin that I’m sure tells him all that stuff and more.
“So, Ben, I have our night planned – what are we gonna do until the big show?”
He quirks an eyebrow – oh yeah, he knows where my head is at for sure. “Well, I’d hate to waste such good weather on being indoors. I thought perhaps a walk toward the heart of downtown – the monument there is supposed to be quite interesting.”
Now normally I’d argue this with him, just a little, just for fun. But the tickets in my wallet are making me feel generous, so I just wave an arm in front of me. “Lead on, Macbeth.”
“That’s Macduff, Ray.”
“Macbeth, Macduff, McDonalds – whatever. Just show me which way we’re headed.”
It is a gorgeous day, and we both enjoy just tooling around downtown, no hurry, no destination, just a couple of gawkers. Ben’s done his research, as usual, and tells me more about the sights than most of the locals probably could. And even though I still tease him about his ability to tell a story at the drop of a hat, he’s good at them, so it’s fun for us both.
We end up eating lunch at a local place – that’s one of our travel rules, no chains if we can help it. Nothing fancy, but decent enough. A slow walk takes us back to the B&B to get ready – Ben may not want to call it high class, but it’s still going out, so that means cleaning off the dust of the day at the very least. I decide to change shirts, and yeah, I have ulterior motives, and yeah, he sees right through them. But they work, so we end up needing to eat after the show since we are now, I am happy to say, pressed for time.
The theater is small, and packed. It’s festival seating, and we end up in the back, which is fine by me, since the front row is pretty much on stage. We actually had to walk onstage to get to the seats. There’s mood music, and everyone’s gabbing and having fun. I lean back, an arm around the back of Ben’s chair, and just take it all in, relaxed and happy. Ben leans back too, which surprises me a little, but not as much as the hand on my knee that follows. I turn my head, look down and then back up, meet his eyes with a smile. Yeah, I’m not the only one enjoying our vacation.
The manager of the place comes out and makes a few announcements, one of which has me glad we’re in the back – apparently the front section has been renamed “The Splatter Zone” for the run of the show. And even though he swears the stuff will wash out, I see enough real blood on my clothes to not want the reminder.
As it turns out, the show is pretty okay, not great, but not bad. The actors are real enthusiastic, which helps, and there’s plenty of in jokes for those of us who loved the movies. I’ve definitely heard better singing, but again, everyone was obviously having a great time, and that kind of energy is pretty contagious. Ben barely winces at the language, and I even catch him smiling a time or two at the really bad jokes. And we both have to laugh with relief when we see just how big that splatter zone is – the actors aren’t even trying to hide that they’re aiming at the audience, and at the end blood packs are bursting all over the place.
It’s a short walk to Yat’s for dinner, and I’m glad we chose it – lots of food, hot, spiced just right, and decent prices. Nothing fancy, and the tracks they play are awesome – late fifties, early rock and roll, stuff, Sun session Elvis and Orbison and Lewis kind of thing. Doesn’t stop me from humming snatches of the show as we walk back to the B&B of course. Stupid as some of it was, the songs were pretty catchy.
The next morning looks to be another gorgeous day, so we check over the possibilities Ben had come up with for things to do, and cross off any that mean too much time indoors. It would have been a perfect day for the Zoo, but neither of us really like to see animals all caged up, no matter how nice the cage might be.
So we basically spend another day as tourists, bopping around the city’s different districts. Once we end up closer to downtown again we discover Atomic Bowl. If you’ve never been duckpin bowling, you’re missing out, is all I can say. It’s like the rules of physics just don’t apply, and you can throw anything you know about regular bowling right out the window, ‘cause it is of no help. I have no idea why shrinking the pins and bowling balls would make that much of a difference, and apparently neither does Ben, since we both suck at the game.
“I cannot believe this! No strikes, and barely a spare between us, even with three balls to throw instead of two.” I hang my head in mock-shame. “We are a disgrace to the proud name of bowling.”
“Well, to be accurate, ‘Big Lenny’ and ‘Java Joe’ are a disgrace, though I’m still not sure why we had to adopt aliases to play.”
I grin and slap him on the back. “Bowling names are part of the rules. And I, for one, am glad we used them, since we’re sure to go down in history as the worst duckpin bowlers ever.”
Ben smiles as he answers. “Well then, I’m glad you were so forward thinking – it wouldn’t do for our reputations to have such a stain.”
Sunday morning we sleep late, but not so late that we miss our last breakfast here. I just know that even with all the walking we’ve been doing, after this weekend Ben was going to put us on one of his ‘exercise regimens.’ For meals like this, it’s totally worth it.
After breakfast we check out, pack up the car and make our way to the Museum. Parking looks to be steep, but once we say we’re here for the museum and not the football game, we get in free, which is cool. Even better, we find out that since we’re buying tickets to the concert, museum admission is included.
There’s lots of different galleries, but the one we want is the first one we get to. We can hear singing from down the way, even though it isn’t time for a show yet.
“Must be what do you call it – warming up,” I say as we go into the gallery.
Ben cocks his head to listen for a few seconds, then nods and follows me in. “It should be an interesting performance,” he says, but won’t tell me what he means by that. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
‘Soon enough’ rolls around faster than I thought it would, and we make our way down to get tickets and find seats. I hear voices again, this time from downstairs. I can almost make out the words, so I give Ben a look, and he nods. I figured he’d be able to make it out.
“Apparently, they’ve “got the power, alleluia,” whatever that may mean.”
The guy selling us tickets just shrugs, but a woman near the table smiles and explains, “We sing that song as a kind of ritual before a performance.”
Ben gives her an interested look. “Are you a part of this chorus, ma’am?”
She smiles. “Yes indeed I am. I’d be singing today if I could, but it didn’t work out this time, so here I am, helping out where I can.” I have the tickets and my change by that time, so she leads us over to the performance space. I’m kind of surprised – it isn’t a regular theater. Something must’ve shown on my face; the lady grins as she hands me a program.
“This must be your first time to see us perform.”
“Yeah, we’re not from around here.”
“We’ve come down from Chicago for the Inuit exhibit,” Ben explains. “And the throat singing. Ray’s never gotten to experience it, and this seemed an opportune time.”
She picks up on what Ben didn’t say pretty quick. “But you’ve heard it before?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m from the Northwest Territories, originally, so I grew up experiencing facets of Inuit culture.”
Her smile widens, which I didn’t think was possible. “Oh, how wonderful! Well, you’re in for a treat – I heard the girls at rehearsal, and they’re amazing.” She pauses, I’m pretty sure for effect. “And IWC is sure to amaze you as well.” She sees someone else needing help, and nods to us as she starts off. “Enjoy the show, and thank you again for coming!”
I look around, trying to figure out if there’s a best place to sit. There’s a circular stage in the center of the room, and the seats are all placed around it. The front row is real close, closer than I want to be, but even the back row isn’t very far away. I nudge Ben’s shoulder with mine and nod toward the opposite side of the room – if nothing else, it’ll put our backs to the big window, so no glare. We get settled, and watch the rest of the crowd wind its way in. Place is packed – it’s a good thing we were here early.
At two on the button a woman walks onto the stage, thanks us for coming, and introduces the chorus. A kicky drumbeat starts, and here they come, snapping their fingers and taking the stage. Looks like an all-ages group, and some even come in on scooters instead of walking. The first number turns out to be a spoken piece, not sung, with a jazzy drum part behind it. I settle in, thinking this may not be such a hard show to sit through after all.
The next two numbers are done for laughs, though sung well, from what I can tell. Then the woman who introduced the show comes back out, and says something about how the next song is from Shakespeare, and I groan inside, figuring it’ll be slow and boring.
“Wake me when this one’s over,” I whisper to Ben, who just raises an eyebrow and smirks at me like he knows something I don’t. Then there’s a sound like a crash of thunder that surprises the hell out of me, and before I can settle back, the song begins and I’m on a musical ride. It’s not just any Shakespeare – it’s the whole witch speech from one of his plays, all ‘double double boil and bubble’ and ‘eye of newt’ and like that. Everyone’s getting into it – the singers, all of whom looked nice and friendly before, are glaring and cackling and giving the audience the evil eye and generally having a ball.
During one part, one of the women gives Ben a look-see while naming “ingredients,” and moves forward like she’s gonna take a sample. I glare at her, which makes Ben shake his head and pat my knee. Don’t know if it works or not, but she switches her focus to some kid in the row in front of us, who looks pretty tickled to be getting the attention. The whole thing ends with a shriek that makes almost everyone jump.
“You heard this earlier, didn’t you?” I accuse during the applause.
Ben just smiles and shushes me so we can hear the next song.
Most of the group has moved off to the side, leaving just a dozen behind, including the one I glared at. The song they do is weird, but okay.
Then there’s more talk and more re-arranging, and we’re asked to look in our programs for flags. Because this kind of thing just happens to us, mine turns out to be Canadian, and Ben’s is the US variety. He grins at me like it’s some kind of private joke, and I nudge him and roll my eyes at his goofiness. Sounds like this next song has “audience participation” – we’re supposed to hold these things up when we hear our country named. Sounds easy enough, but then it turns out the song is all layers like a round, and near impossible to hear. But it’s fun to try, and Ben’s definitely getting a kick out of it.
The rest of the act is standard stuff, and pretty soon it’s intermission. The blond I gave the eyeball to has looked our way a couple of times with a huge smile that I don’t understand, and throws another one at us as she leaves. I’d glare again, but if one didn’t work, why bother? Besides, it’s not like it’s a new reaction.
A lot of people have gotten up, leaving Ben and I in relative privacy.
“Are you enjoying the show so far, Ray?”
I think about it a second, then nod. “Actually, yeah. Got a lot of variety to it. How about you?”
“Very much so. They’re quite good. And according to the program, the throat singers start the second act.”
I open my program and look at it a minute. “Yeah, and then that small group sings a bunch. That one lady keeps giving you the eye, did you notice?”
He rolls his eyes as he answers. “I’m sure that isn’t the case, Ray. But thank you for thinking so, I suppose.”
“Yeah, well, just calling it like I see it.”
So the show starts back up, and when the two girls doing the throat singing come in, totally decked out in native garb, Ben is just hooked, and I’m glad all over again that we made the trip down.
It’s real interesting stuff, low and guttural and just plain different. Hard to tell which one’s making which sounds, and every song ends in laughter, so it’s impossible not to like. Plus they give some history of Inuit culture and throat singing between pieces, which makes Ben even happier - he’s nodding throughout their speeches.
After they leave the chorus does some nonsense word thing, then the small group does a couple. One is really strange but kind of cool. The title says it has to do with vacuuming, which I don’t get, but I still like it.
Then the director gets up and says they’re gonna improvise, and it’s my turn to sit up and take notice. She goes around and lets people pick names and parts. The chick that’s been watching us says something about Ben – actually says his name, and I nearly jump. Then the director goes to the kid in front of us, and the lady just beams, and I feel pretty silly. Looks like he’s her son, and his name is Ben, and that’s who she’s been grinning at all along. I don’t even look at my Ben, but I know he’s figured it out too and thinks it’s pretty funny.
Pretty soon all the picking is done and six women get up and just go. It’s kind of amazing – no notice, just get in place and make it up. And the trippiest part is that it works. It doesn’t sound made up or anything. And then they sit down and the other six get up and do it too – totally different song, same idea. After that the director gets the audience to play along, making up toy sounds and singing along. It’s pretty fun, surprisingly enough.
The last piece however just freaking blows me away. It’s these things called boomwhackers, which it turns out are pretty much just plastic tubes tuned to specific notes. The whole chorus plays them and sings kids songs and it’s just loud and bright and great.
After the show there’s a lot of mixing and mingling. Ben tracks down the Inuit girls pretty fast and has them smiling and talking up a blue streak in no time. I’m too far away to hear, but I’m betting it’s not English they’re speaking, based on the looks around them.
I hear a loud “Ben!” and look up just in time to see the kid I’d been sitting behind running toward me. He’s just about past me when he stumbles, and I catch him before he hits the ground. “Excuse me!” he says real loud, then he’s off again toward the stage. Once there he stops and just looks around from the top.
“Sorry about that,” says the woman I figured for the kid’s mom as she catches up. “I promised him he could be on stage, and he just got excited.” She looks over at him and smiles, then back at me, more serious. “And thank you for catching him – he doesn’t watch where he’s going most of the time.”
I shrug and smile. “Not a problem. Must be pretty cool for him, getting to stand where his mom was. Cool show, by the way. Lots of interesting stuff.”
She smiles again. “Thank you – it was a total blast to sing. And to hear the throat singers. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I hear “Mom!” yelled, and she shakes her head. “Sounds like I’m keeping him waiting. Thank you again for coming!” And she’s on her way to the stage.
I watch them for a minute, her kneeling next to the kid, pointing out stuff, and him nodding, wide-eyed. I feel Ben settle in next to me, and lean in, letting him know I know he’s there.
“That was a nice save,” he says with a nod toward the singer and her son.
I turn toward him. “You saw that? I thought you were in pretty deep with those girls, catching up on Inuit stuff.”
“The young ladies and I,” he says, emphasizing young ladies in a way that makes me grin. Sometimes he’s so easy. “were talking, yes, but I looked up when I heard my name. Or rather, his name, it seems.” He looks back at them a little wistful. "I didn’t want to monopolize any more of their time.”
I’m betting they were loving it, but I know he means what he’s saying. “Yeah, I can see that. So you got anything else you wanna see while we’re here, or are we ready to blow this popsicle stand and head home?”
He hesitates and his eyes dart back toward the exhibit. He wants to go back in, but knows I’m getting antsy. I make it easy on him. “How about you go look at the art again while I hit the can? I can find you in there once I’m done, okay?”
The compromise makes him grin at me in that way that makes me want to kiss him, so I do, loving that with this crowd it won’t seem out of place. He kisses me back, and I give him a playful shove. “Go on, before they lock us this place down with us inside it.”
Before I go back in to the gallery, I make a quick side trip back to the tables by the concert area to pick up the group’s CDs. One of them has that Ave Maria I know Ben likes, and the other, a World War Two-themed CD, has stuff I recognize on it. I figure they’ll make nice reminders of our trip. Plus, Ben’s a lot more likely to want to hear these than the Evil Dead cast CD I picked up.
After stowing them safely in my jacket pocket, I wander back to the exhibit. I see Ben before he sees me, so I get to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes – watching him. He’s totally caught up in the exhibit, reading all the placards (again) and leaning in to look at all the detail work. There’s no trace of that homesick look he sometimes gets, but I make a mental note to email Maggie when we get home anyhow, see when a good time to plan a visit might be. I can’t see it happening before the year’s out, but next spring might be good.
I move just as he turns in my direction, and he walks over to meet me. “You want to keep looking?” I ask with a nod toward the room. We’re not in any big rush.”
“I think I’ve seen enough.” He smiles and it’s real, relaxed, so I know he’s being straight with me. “Besides, I’m sure the people working here want to get home to their families.”
I look at my watch and he’s right – it’s about closing time. “Okay, then,” I say, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “How about we head out of town, maybe find somewhere to stop on the way home and grab some food?”
“A greasy spoon, no doubt. You know how bad that is for you.”
“I’m sure you can make sure I get enough exercise to work it off.” I try for an innocent look, but he’s not buying it. Still, it makes him laugh, which was all I really wanted anyhow.
He leans into me, bumping hips as we walk toward the door. “Lead on, MacBeth,” he says, and I kiss him, then kiss him again for good measure as we head out into the cool November air.
Author’s Additional Notes: Based on actual events as much as possible. So yes, I am in IWC, Sound Sport and the Our Land exhibit are real (the exhibit was here 11/08-2/09), thereis an Evil Dead: The Musical (of which details were accurate, if biased), and all places mentioned really exist. However, I’ve never actually been to the Nestle Inn, and I fudged the weather by about a week, because they deserved 70 degrees and sunshine, not rain and temps in the 40s, for their vacation. And yet, despite that courtesy, I got mostly glares from Ray, and nothing at all from Fraser. Ah well.
Author: mizface
Pairing: Fraser/RayK established relationship, well post-CotW
Rating: PG
Word Count: 5870 (word limit? What’s that?)
A/N: An enormous THANK YOU to
lucifuge_5 for First Read/beta duties. And to the ficfinishing comm, for support. This was written for the self-insertion challenge, which I never thought I’d do. Proving once again, that saying “never” makes my muse giggle and jump and look for a story-stick to hit me with.I’m in for it the minute I hear the “Ah.” Ben and me, we’ve been together long enough, sometimes we don’t need a whole lot of conversation to know what’s what. Which is good, since there’s times that he doesn’t give me much more than that. But I’ve had years of “ahs” and ‘hmms” and “understoods” to work with, and they all have more meanings than Inuit have words for snow. For a wordy guy, Ben can be a close-mouthed son of a bitch.
So when I hear this one, soft and wistful, it’s a sure thing that sometime soon I’m gonna be doing something I never thought I’d be doing, just to make him happy. And that’s good, that’s fine. I just hope it isn’t anything too dangerous.
“So what’s the news from up North, Ben?” I ask, drying my hands as I leave the kitchen, clean-up duty done for the night. He’s at the computer, checking email. It’s Tuesday, so he’s due a letter from Maggie, and I wonder if this is going to involve travel.
He covers the hand I’ve placed on his shoulder with his. His “Hmm?” is distracted, and looking down I see not email, but a website.
“Maggie send you that?”
“Yes, actually. It seems that one of her friends has some pieces that will part of an exhibit coming to the states, and she wanted to let me know.”
“At the Institute?”
He shakes his head. “The Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art, in Indianapolis.”
Indianapolis. Okay, so travel, but nothing too major. I haven’t been there in years, and far as I know Ben’s never been. We could make a long weekend of it. It’s not as big as Chicago, but it’s different, and we haven’t been anywhere new for awhile.
I squeeze his shoulder and smile as I answer. “Cool. When’s it there?”
He leans his head back to smile up at me, pleased by my quick acceptance, and I lean down for a quick kiss.
“The exhibit starts November 15th, and runs through February 19th. If we can get the time, I’d like to go when it first opens.”
“Weather’d be less iffy in November, that’s for sure,” I agree. “And getting a day around then should be a piece of cake. Unless you were thinking longer.”
“No, a long weekend should be sufficient.”
“So it’s settled. I’ll put in for the time tomorrow.” He smiles again, and I’m glad I didn’t make any kind of fuss about this. We don’t get back to the Territories as often as either of us would like, so if a little bit of home can come to Ben, I’m all for it.
“Hey, what kind of exhibit is this, anyhow? Canada and Western art don’t really go together that easy.”
“No, but the Inuit are in essence American Indian. There is more to the Americas than the United States, you know.”
I gesture in a get-on-with-it kind of way, not wanting to get into a verbal sparring match. He arches an eyebrow, but goes on.
“It’s contemporary Inuit art, spanning the last fifty years,” he reads, sparing me a trip to find my glasses, “ reflecting family, community and worldview expressed by Inuit Qaujimajatuqanjit.” I glare, and he goes on, pretending to ignore the look. “Inuit Traditional Knowledge, Ray.”
“Okay, sounds interesting enough. I haven’t seen much of the Thingamajigit worldview lately.” His turn to glare; mine to cheerfully ignore. “And Maggie knows the artist,” I add, just to keep the conversation going.
Ben gives a little shake to his head as he answers. “One of them, a fiber artist, I believe. It should be a fascinating exhibit. I think it’s wonderful to see that the Inuit culture is being shown this kind of interest.” He leans back in the chair, and I start rubbing his neck, which triggers a kind of half-moan that has me thinking about things other than Inuit culture, or museums, or anything involving more than him and me and narrowing things down to our own worldview, our own chosen family.
We get the time off, no problem. Kind of short notice, just a couple of weeks, but we only asked for a couple of days off, since we decided to leave Thursday after work, and use Monday to do all the weekend errands we normally do. Plus, it factored in for any weird weather stuff, which this time of year is just the smart thing to do.
Ben’s all excited about the trip, which means I am too. I mean, like I said, Indianapolis isn’t a big city or anything, but somehow he can make it seem like it’ll be the best place ever. And who knows, maybe it will be.
Because he’s Benton Fraser, he makes sure to do plenty of research before we go. Which means he’s the one who finds us a place to stay; nice little B&B downtown. And of course, he figures out where all the parks are, and anything historic we might want to take a look at, time and weather permitting. Also (no surprise), he reads up on the museum and the exhibit.
“Ray,” he begins one night, eyes glued to the monitor, “do you have anything against choral music? Women’s choral music, to be precise?”
Okay, so that’s a new one. “Not my favorite. Usually screechy, all about God, and no beat to dance to. Why?”
“No reason.” Which of course means just the opposite. That kind of question had to come from somewhere. It can’t just have occurred to him. So I turn off the news, which I didn’t really want to watch anyhow, snag my glasses off the end table and go over to see what prompted the question.
He has the museum website up, which kind of surprises me. I lean in over his shoulder and see it’s a list of opening weekend events for the Our Land exhibit we’re going to. And there’s my answer. One of the events is a concert by, you guessed it, the Indianapolis Women’s Chorus. I nudge Ben and he scoots over so I can kneel down and read.
Okay, Sound Sport. Catchy title. Family-friendly, which could go either way. Boomwhackers, which sound kind of fun, in a weird way. But I’m not sold. Again, screechy is not my thing. Plus it’s part of something called the Spirit and Place festival, which makes me think it’ll be all full of God music. The fact that it’s a Sunday show just reinforces the idea.
As I read on, I see why he wants to go to this. There’re going to be throat singers, straight from Nunavut, as featured guests at this concert. I sigh inwardly; we’re going to this thing, it’s a done deal.
I see a link on the site and point it out. “Click on that, willya? If we’re going to sit through one of their shows, I want to know more about them.”
So Ben smiles and clicks and we’re on a MySpace page that actually looks kind of cool. It has a list of gigs, including one at a women’s prison, and some basic information – hey, if this is a church group I want to know where they worship, because they are apparently cool with any and all “gender expressions” and ”sexual orientations.”
There’s even cuts off of their CDs to listen to. We look over the tracks, and Ben immediately clicks on Ave Maria which turns out to be a really sad version I’ve never heard before. We listen to a few more, and they aren’t bad. Not all screechy like I’d been worried about – some of the notes they hit are pretty far in the basement. And a variety of styles, so not all churchy.
“So,” I say, just to confirm what we both already know, “I guess we’re going to a concert while we’re in Indy.”
Mid-November comes around, and we’re on our way. Weather turned out nice, so the drive’s an easy one. It’s plenty dark by the time we get into the city proper, but Ben’s directions are, no shocker, spot on, and we get checked in at the Nestle Inn and settled without any fuss. It’s a nice place, two-story Victorian that has, thank God, private bathrooms. Queen–sized bed looks like heaven after the day and the drive, so I hit the bathroom and set out our toiletries while I’m there, while Ben unpacks our clothes. We trade rooms once I’m done, and he’s in a t-shirt and boxers pretty quick, looking as ready for some shut-eye as I feel.
Morning comes soon enough, and after a leisurely, shared, and mutually satisfying shower, we head down to sample the second part of this B&B. And here is where I find out just what sold Ben on this place in particular – the food is fantastic. I get waffles with fruit that are to die for, and some of the best coffee I’ve ever had. Ben gets an omelet that melts in your mouth (which I know, because he let me have one, and only one, bite). There are scones, and toast and other fresh-baked goods that make me sorry I only have the one stomach to put it all in.
“Ray, we are here for more than one night,” Ben says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll have your chance to sample quite a few of the Inn’s delicacies before we have to return home.”
So we have pretty much two days before the show to just wander around and take in any of the sights Ben’s found for us. Weather turned out real nice, and a little warmer than Chicago, but then without the wind blowing off the lake they call Michigan, it should be.
We walk, of course, to see downtown itself, scope out the area a little. Mostly it’s just to enjoy the time off together, without worrying about being on call. It amazes me how much more relaxed I feel knowing that. Didn’t realize I’d been carrying that kind of tension around. Considering how relaxed Ben’s looking, I’m not the only one who’s been doing it, and I’m even gladder we’re here.
The B&B is near an area called Mass Ave, with some specialty shops, a few restaurants, and even a small theater. I spy a poster in the window and drag Ben over to get a closer look, laughing when I see that I did read it right.
“There you go, Ben,” I laugh, pointing at it. “Now that’s my kind of theater.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Evil Dead: The Musical? Surely this must be some kind of joke – perhaps leftover from Halloween?”
I put on my specs and read the fine print. “Nope. It’s for real, all right. And look – it’s on an extended run.” I grin. “Come on, what d’you say? I think it’d be a gas.”
Ben looks leery of the whole thing, but it doesn’t feel serious, so I push a little. “Come on. At least it’s not real bodies on exhibit. Which I did go see in Chicago. With you. Because you wanted to see it. Even though that kind of stuff gives me the creepy crawlies. Plus, we see enough bodies for real I still don’t get why you wanted to go to it.”
“It was highly educational, Ray. And yes you went, but not without protest, as I recall. A lot of protest, actually, some quite loud.”
“Yeah, so I’m a pain in the ass.” I shrug. “What’s new? I still think this could be fun.”
He sighs, all put upon, but I know it’s just an act. And he knows I know, so it’s all just part of the game, which is good. Another sign he’s stress-free. “Far be it from me to refuse a cultural event. Though I really do find the level of culture this represents to be suspect.”
“Cool!” And I don’t know exactly why I’m so jazzed about this, but I am. I open the door for Ben – some of his courtesy had to rub off after all this time – and we go in to buy tickets for tonight’s show.
We get tickets from the guy, who has apparently seen this about 10 times, and tells us we won’t be sorry we’re seeing it. Ben doesn’t look like he’s buying it, but he’s too polite to say anything. We walk back out into the sunshine and I stretch out my arms and lean my head back, eyes closed, just feeling the sun on my face.
When I straighten back out I see Ben leaning on the wall of the theater, watching me with a combination of amusement, patience and affection that makes me want to plant one on him right here. Or better yet, go back to our B&B and take advantage of the first B for more than sleep. I settle for a grin that I’m sure tells him all that stuff and more.
“So, Ben, I have our night planned – what are we gonna do until the big show?”
He quirks an eyebrow – oh yeah, he knows where my head is at for sure. “Well, I’d hate to waste such good weather on being indoors. I thought perhaps a walk toward the heart of downtown – the monument there is supposed to be quite interesting.”
Now normally I’d argue this with him, just a little, just for fun. But the tickets in my wallet are making me feel generous, so I just wave an arm in front of me. “Lead on, Macbeth.”
“That’s Macduff, Ray.”
“Macbeth, Macduff, McDonalds – whatever. Just show me which way we’re headed.”
It is a gorgeous day, and we both enjoy just tooling around downtown, no hurry, no destination, just a couple of gawkers. Ben’s done his research, as usual, and tells me more about the sights than most of the locals probably could. And even though I still tease him about his ability to tell a story at the drop of a hat, he’s good at them, so it’s fun for us both.
We end up eating lunch at a local place – that’s one of our travel rules, no chains if we can help it. Nothing fancy, but decent enough. A slow walk takes us back to the B&B to get ready – Ben may not want to call it high class, but it’s still going out, so that means cleaning off the dust of the day at the very least. I decide to change shirts, and yeah, I have ulterior motives, and yeah, he sees right through them. But they work, so we end up needing to eat after the show since we are now, I am happy to say, pressed for time.
The theater is small, and packed. It’s festival seating, and we end up in the back, which is fine by me, since the front row is pretty much on stage. We actually had to walk onstage to get to the seats. There’s mood music, and everyone’s gabbing and having fun. I lean back, an arm around the back of Ben’s chair, and just take it all in, relaxed and happy. Ben leans back too, which surprises me a little, but not as much as the hand on my knee that follows. I turn my head, look down and then back up, meet his eyes with a smile. Yeah, I’m not the only one enjoying our vacation.
The manager of the place comes out and makes a few announcements, one of which has me glad we’re in the back – apparently the front section has been renamed “The Splatter Zone” for the run of the show. And even though he swears the stuff will wash out, I see enough real blood on my clothes to not want the reminder.
As it turns out, the show is pretty okay, not great, but not bad. The actors are real enthusiastic, which helps, and there’s plenty of in jokes for those of us who loved the movies. I’ve definitely heard better singing, but again, everyone was obviously having a great time, and that kind of energy is pretty contagious. Ben barely winces at the language, and I even catch him smiling a time or two at the really bad jokes. And we both have to laugh with relief when we see just how big that splatter zone is – the actors aren’t even trying to hide that they’re aiming at the audience, and at the end blood packs are bursting all over the place.
It’s a short walk to Yat’s for dinner, and I’m glad we chose it – lots of food, hot, spiced just right, and decent prices. Nothing fancy, and the tracks they play are awesome – late fifties, early rock and roll, stuff, Sun session Elvis and Orbison and Lewis kind of thing. Doesn’t stop me from humming snatches of the show as we walk back to the B&B of course. Stupid as some of it was, the songs were pretty catchy.
The next morning looks to be another gorgeous day, so we check over the possibilities Ben had come up with for things to do, and cross off any that mean too much time indoors. It would have been a perfect day for the Zoo, but neither of us really like to see animals all caged up, no matter how nice the cage might be.
So we basically spend another day as tourists, bopping around the city’s different districts. Once we end up closer to downtown again we discover Atomic Bowl. If you’ve never been duckpin bowling, you’re missing out, is all I can say. It’s like the rules of physics just don’t apply, and you can throw anything you know about regular bowling right out the window, ‘cause it is of no help. I have no idea why shrinking the pins and bowling balls would make that much of a difference, and apparently neither does Ben, since we both suck at the game.
“I cannot believe this! No strikes, and barely a spare between us, even with three balls to throw instead of two.” I hang my head in mock-shame. “We are a disgrace to the proud name of bowling.”
“Well, to be accurate, ‘Big Lenny’ and ‘Java Joe’ are a disgrace, though I’m still not sure why we had to adopt aliases to play.”
I grin and slap him on the back. “Bowling names are part of the rules. And I, for one, am glad we used them, since we’re sure to go down in history as the worst duckpin bowlers ever.”
Ben smiles as he answers. “Well then, I’m glad you were so forward thinking – it wouldn’t do for our reputations to have such a stain.”
Sunday morning we sleep late, but not so late that we miss our last breakfast here. I just know that even with all the walking we’ve been doing, after this weekend Ben was going to put us on one of his ‘exercise regimens.’ For meals like this, it’s totally worth it.
After breakfast we check out, pack up the car and make our way to the Museum. Parking looks to be steep, but once we say we’re here for the museum and not the football game, we get in free, which is cool. Even better, we find out that since we’re buying tickets to the concert, museum admission is included.
There’s lots of different galleries, but the one we want is the first one we get to. We can hear singing from down the way, even though it isn’t time for a show yet.
“Must be what do you call it – warming up,” I say as we go into the gallery.
Ben cocks his head to listen for a few seconds, then nods and follows me in. “It should be an interesting performance,” he says, but won’t tell me what he means by that. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
‘Soon enough’ rolls around faster than I thought it would, and we make our way down to get tickets and find seats. I hear voices again, this time from downstairs. I can almost make out the words, so I give Ben a look, and he nods. I figured he’d be able to make it out.
“Apparently, they’ve “got the power, alleluia,” whatever that may mean.”
The guy selling us tickets just shrugs, but a woman near the table smiles and explains, “We sing that song as a kind of ritual before a performance.”
Ben gives her an interested look. “Are you a part of this chorus, ma’am?”
She smiles. “Yes indeed I am. I’d be singing today if I could, but it didn’t work out this time, so here I am, helping out where I can.” I have the tickets and my change by that time, so she leads us over to the performance space. I’m kind of surprised – it isn’t a regular theater. Something must’ve shown on my face; the lady grins as she hands me a program.
“This must be your first time to see us perform.”
“Yeah, we’re not from around here.”
“We’ve come down from Chicago for the Inuit exhibit,” Ben explains. “And the throat singing. Ray’s never gotten to experience it, and this seemed an opportune time.”
She picks up on what Ben didn’t say pretty quick. “But you’ve heard it before?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m from the Northwest Territories, originally, so I grew up experiencing facets of Inuit culture.”
Her smile widens, which I didn’t think was possible. “Oh, how wonderful! Well, you’re in for a treat – I heard the girls at rehearsal, and they’re amazing.” She pauses, I’m pretty sure for effect. “And IWC is sure to amaze you as well.” She sees someone else needing help, and nods to us as she starts off. “Enjoy the show, and thank you again for coming!”
I look around, trying to figure out if there’s a best place to sit. There’s a circular stage in the center of the room, and the seats are all placed around it. The front row is real close, closer than I want to be, but even the back row isn’t very far away. I nudge Ben’s shoulder with mine and nod toward the opposite side of the room – if nothing else, it’ll put our backs to the big window, so no glare. We get settled, and watch the rest of the crowd wind its way in. Place is packed – it’s a good thing we were here early.
At two on the button a woman walks onto the stage, thanks us for coming, and introduces the chorus. A kicky drumbeat starts, and here they come, snapping their fingers and taking the stage. Looks like an all-ages group, and some even come in on scooters instead of walking. The first number turns out to be a spoken piece, not sung, with a jazzy drum part behind it. I settle in, thinking this may not be such a hard show to sit through after all.
The next two numbers are done for laughs, though sung well, from what I can tell. Then the woman who introduced the show comes back out, and says something about how the next song is from Shakespeare, and I groan inside, figuring it’ll be slow and boring.
“Wake me when this one’s over,” I whisper to Ben, who just raises an eyebrow and smirks at me like he knows something I don’t. Then there’s a sound like a crash of thunder that surprises the hell out of me, and before I can settle back, the song begins and I’m on a musical ride. It’s not just any Shakespeare – it’s the whole witch speech from one of his plays, all ‘double double boil and bubble’ and ‘eye of newt’ and like that. Everyone’s getting into it – the singers, all of whom looked nice and friendly before, are glaring and cackling and giving the audience the evil eye and generally having a ball.
During one part, one of the women gives Ben a look-see while naming “ingredients,” and moves forward like she’s gonna take a sample. I glare at her, which makes Ben shake his head and pat my knee. Don’t know if it works or not, but she switches her focus to some kid in the row in front of us, who looks pretty tickled to be getting the attention. The whole thing ends with a shriek that makes almost everyone jump.
“You heard this earlier, didn’t you?” I accuse during the applause.
Ben just smiles and shushes me so we can hear the next song.
Most of the group has moved off to the side, leaving just a dozen behind, including the one I glared at. The song they do is weird, but okay.
Then there’s more talk and more re-arranging, and we’re asked to look in our programs for flags. Because this kind of thing just happens to us, mine turns out to be Canadian, and Ben’s is the US variety. He grins at me like it’s some kind of private joke, and I nudge him and roll my eyes at his goofiness. Sounds like this next song has “audience participation” – we’re supposed to hold these things up when we hear our country named. Sounds easy enough, but then it turns out the song is all layers like a round, and near impossible to hear. But it’s fun to try, and Ben’s definitely getting a kick out of it.
The rest of the act is standard stuff, and pretty soon it’s intermission. The blond I gave the eyeball to has looked our way a couple of times with a huge smile that I don’t understand, and throws another one at us as she leaves. I’d glare again, but if one didn’t work, why bother? Besides, it’s not like it’s a new reaction.
A lot of people have gotten up, leaving Ben and I in relative privacy.
“Are you enjoying the show so far, Ray?”
I think about it a second, then nod. “Actually, yeah. Got a lot of variety to it. How about you?”
“Very much so. They’re quite good. And according to the program, the throat singers start the second act.”
I open my program and look at it a minute. “Yeah, and then that small group sings a bunch. That one lady keeps giving you the eye, did you notice?”
He rolls his eyes as he answers. “I’m sure that isn’t the case, Ray. But thank you for thinking so, I suppose.”
“Yeah, well, just calling it like I see it.”
So the show starts back up, and when the two girls doing the throat singing come in, totally decked out in native garb, Ben is just hooked, and I’m glad all over again that we made the trip down.
It’s real interesting stuff, low and guttural and just plain different. Hard to tell which one’s making which sounds, and every song ends in laughter, so it’s impossible not to like. Plus they give some history of Inuit culture and throat singing between pieces, which makes Ben even happier - he’s nodding throughout their speeches.
After they leave the chorus does some nonsense word thing, then the small group does a couple. One is really strange but kind of cool. The title says it has to do with vacuuming, which I don’t get, but I still like it.
Then the director gets up and says they’re gonna improvise, and it’s my turn to sit up and take notice. She goes around and lets people pick names and parts. The chick that’s been watching us says something about Ben – actually says his name, and I nearly jump. Then the director goes to the kid in front of us, and the lady just beams, and I feel pretty silly. Looks like he’s her son, and his name is Ben, and that’s who she’s been grinning at all along. I don’t even look at my Ben, but I know he’s figured it out too and thinks it’s pretty funny.
Pretty soon all the picking is done and six women get up and just go. It’s kind of amazing – no notice, just get in place and make it up. And the trippiest part is that it works. It doesn’t sound made up or anything. And then they sit down and the other six get up and do it too – totally different song, same idea. After that the director gets the audience to play along, making up toy sounds and singing along. It’s pretty fun, surprisingly enough.
The last piece however just freaking blows me away. It’s these things called boomwhackers, which it turns out are pretty much just plastic tubes tuned to specific notes. The whole chorus plays them and sings kids songs and it’s just loud and bright and great.
After the show there’s a lot of mixing and mingling. Ben tracks down the Inuit girls pretty fast and has them smiling and talking up a blue streak in no time. I’m too far away to hear, but I’m betting it’s not English they’re speaking, based on the looks around them.
I hear a loud “Ben!” and look up just in time to see the kid I’d been sitting behind running toward me. He’s just about past me when he stumbles, and I catch him before he hits the ground. “Excuse me!” he says real loud, then he’s off again toward the stage. Once there he stops and just looks around from the top.
“Sorry about that,” says the woman I figured for the kid’s mom as she catches up. “I promised him he could be on stage, and he just got excited.” She looks over at him and smiles, then back at me, more serious. “And thank you for catching him – he doesn’t watch where he’s going most of the time.”
I shrug and smile. “Not a problem. Must be pretty cool for him, getting to stand where his mom was. Cool show, by the way. Lots of interesting stuff.”
She smiles again. “Thank you – it was a total blast to sing. And to hear the throat singers. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I hear “Mom!” yelled, and she shakes her head. “Sounds like I’m keeping him waiting. Thank you again for coming!” And she’s on her way to the stage.
I watch them for a minute, her kneeling next to the kid, pointing out stuff, and him nodding, wide-eyed. I feel Ben settle in next to me, and lean in, letting him know I know he’s there.
“That was a nice save,” he says with a nod toward the singer and her son.
I turn toward him. “You saw that? I thought you were in pretty deep with those girls, catching up on Inuit stuff.”
“The young ladies and I,” he says, emphasizing young ladies in a way that makes me grin. Sometimes he’s so easy. “were talking, yes, but I looked up when I heard my name. Or rather, his name, it seems.” He looks back at them a little wistful. "I didn’t want to monopolize any more of their time.”
I’m betting they were loving it, but I know he means what he’s saying. “Yeah, I can see that. So you got anything else you wanna see while we’re here, or are we ready to blow this popsicle stand and head home?”
He hesitates and his eyes dart back toward the exhibit. He wants to go back in, but knows I’m getting antsy. I make it easy on him. “How about you go look at the art again while I hit the can? I can find you in there once I’m done, okay?”
The compromise makes him grin at me in that way that makes me want to kiss him, so I do, loving that with this crowd it won’t seem out of place. He kisses me back, and I give him a playful shove. “Go on, before they lock us this place down with us inside it.”
Before I go back in to the gallery, I make a quick side trip back to the tables by the concert area to pick up the group’s CDs. One of them has that Ave Maria I know Ben likes, and the other, a World War Two-themed CD, has stuff I recognize on it. I figure they’ll make nice reminders of our trip. Plus, Ben’s a lot more likely to want to hear these than the Evil Dead cast CD I picked up.
After stowing them safely in my jacket pocket, I wander back to the exhibit. I see Ben before he sees me, so I get to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes – watching him. He’s totally caught up in the exhibit, reading all the placards (again) and leaning in to look at all the detail work. There’s no trace of that homesick look he sometimes gets, but I make a mental note to email Maggie when we get home anyhow, see when a good time to plan a visit might be. I can’t see it happening before the year’s out, but next spring might be good.
I move just as he turns in my direction, and he walks over to meet me. “You want to keep looking?” I ask with a nod toward the room. We’re not in any big rush.”
“I think I’ve seen enough.” He smiles and it’s real, relaxed, so I know he’s being straight with me. “Besides, I’m sure the people working here want to get home to their families.”
I look at my watch and he’s right – it’s about closing time. “Okay, then,” I say, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “How about we head out of town, maybe find somewhere to stop on the way home and grab some food?”
“A greasy spoon, no doubt. You know how bad that is for you.”
“I’m sure you can make sure I get enough exercise to work it off.” I try for an innocent look, but he’s not buying it. Still, it makes him laugh, which was all I really wanted anyhow.
He leans into me, bumping hips as we walk toward the door. “Lead on, MacBeth,” he says, and I kiss him, then kiss him again for good measure as we head out into the cool November air.
Author’s Additional Notes: Based on actual events as much as possible. So yes, I am in IWC, Sound Sport and the Our Land exhibit are real (the exhibit was here 11/08-2/09), thereis an Evil Dead: The Musical (of which details were accurate, if biased), and all places mentioned really exist. However, I’ve never actually been to the Nestle Inn, and I fudged the weather by about a week, because they deserved 70 degrees and sunshine, not rain and temps in the 40s, for their vacation. And yet, despite that courtesy, I got mostly glares from Ray, and nothing at all from Fraser. Ah well.
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Date: 2010-07-19 12:14 am (UTC)ETA: I'd love to see one of your shows.
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Date: 2010-07-19 12:31 am (UTC)(if you're serious about the shows? www.indychoruses.org has the info. The myspace page is real, too)
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Date: 2010-07-19 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 12:34 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2010-07-19 12:41 am (UTC)My favourite quote:
“There you go, Ben,” I laugh, pointing at it. “Now that’s my kind of theater.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Evil Dead: The Musical? Surely this must be some kind of joke – perhaps leftover from Halloween?”
I put on my specs and read the fine print. “Nope. It’s for real, all right. And look – it’s on an extended run.” I grin. “Come on, what d’you say? I think it’d be a gas.”
Ben looks leery of the whole thing, but it doesn’t feel serious, so I push a little. “Come on. At least it’s not real bodies on exhibit. Which I did go see in Chicago. With you. Because you wanted to see it. Even though that kind of stuff gives me the creepy crawlies. Plus, we see enough bodies for real I still don’t get why you wanted to go to it.”
“It was highly educational, Ray. And yes you went, but not without protest, as I recall. A lot of protest, actually, some quite loud.”
“Yeah, so I’m a pain in the ass.” I shrug. “What’s new? I still think this could be fun.”
He sighs, all put upon, but I know it’s just an act. And he knows I know, so it’s all just part of the game, which is good. Another sign he’s stress-free. “Far be it from me to refuse a cultural event. Though I really do find the level of culture this represents to be suspect.”
“Cool!”
RayK: showing a fun side of culture to Fraser circa the late 90s. *g*
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Date: 2010-07-19 04:25 am (UTC)Thank you SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much for that, and the lovely comments!
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Date: 2010-07-19 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-20 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-20 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 12:36 am (UTC)So glad you enjoyed this!
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Date: 2010-07-22 02:29 am (UTC)This was lovely. We get to see not just a slice of Ray and Ben's life, but also of yours.
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Date: 2010-07-22 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 05:07 pm (UTC)Also, fascinating slice-of-life. \o/
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Date: 2010-07-25 08:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading, and glad you enjoyed it!
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Date: 2010-08-24 09:50 am (UTC)I really like the affection that comes through in the story between Fraser and Ray.
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Date: 2010-08-24 07:58 pm (UTC)And no, I don't think we ever did any singing at BP (other than shouting along with songs at the dance party).
I'm glad you enjoyed this, and very much appreciate the comments!
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Date: 2010-10-28 05:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-28 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-16 05:04 am (UTC)2) If the due South panel I'm going to offer to mod at the next BP gets voted in, I want to include a dS singalong. *smiles at you invitingly*
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Date: 2013-06-24 12:58 am (UTC)And depending on who goes to BP, you might get a fair number of singers to take you up on that sing-a-long!