From: sri4495@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Subject: Battle of the Bands [Intro: Anthony]
Reply-To: sri4495@ritvax.isc.rit.edu
Organization: Rochester Institute of Technology
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1992 03:28:37 GMT

[ADMIN:  This occurs before, during, and after the entire band sequence
begins.]

	Anthony moved into the bar, waiting for the stares.  He always got
them.  Not because he was a troll.  Trolls were common enough.  (Though,
admittedly, mostly as bouncers.)  Nor was the datajack too uncommon.  Heck,
with all the things you can do with a jack, you'd be stupid not to have one.
It's the fact that there's a cyberboard attached to said datajack that bothered
everyone.  Ah well.  Let'em wonder.
	Anthony stomped his way to the bar, shouldering some away.  Most of the
others looked at him, and decided they could sit somewhere else very happily.
	"ME CRUSH WANT DRINK!"  Anthony began pounding his fist on the bar,
making the drinks bounce.  The bar itself stayed intact, a testimony to its
maker. (Who actually might have expected this to happen someday.)  
	Anthony hated doing this, but it got service quicker.  For some reason,
people served those who threatened to destroy the bar.  Too bad a simple
'please' never worked.  Then you also get some drunk moron who thinks he's
funny claiming "You ain't a troll!"  Then you need to prove it, and find a new
bar to frequent.
	True to normal form, Mas came quickly to the troll's service.  "Um,
anything I can get you, sir?"
	"ME CRUSH WANT THIS!"  Anthony handed a small peice of paper to Mas.
	Mas' eyes went wide as he read the paper.  "Uh, I don't think we have
this ready, but it will be in just a minute... You sure you want THIS?"
	Anthony almost sighed, wrecking the image he had gone through so much
to create.  "YES!  ME CRUSH WANT!  GET FOR CRUSH NOW!"  He punctuated the last
word with a pounding of a huge troll fist on the bar, spilling many drinks.
	Mas decided not to question the troll's judgement, and moved off to
prepare his order.  Meanwhile, Anthony watched the stage.

>Unslinging his guitar, a custom black, seven-string Supernova Banshee, the
>man leapt up to the stage and hooked up to the sound system with the skill of
>someone who had done it many times before.  Walking up to the mike, he said,
>"Hi there, I'm Malachi Armageddon.  Let's jam."
>
>Without another word, he launched into a masterful medley of wild music, 
>seeming to be a blend between sixties Earth music, tek-thrash, and something
>else which no one in the bar could quite place.  His seven-fingered hands
>danced across the strings, striking chords which the most skillful human
>musician would have found impossible to duplicate.  His voice was the perfect
>compliment to his playing, gliding smooth, then rocketing up to a screech, then
>dropping down low, in perfect if somewhat funky harmony with the guitar.

	Anthony sighed.  Quickly, he took a musicchip player out, and put the
headphones on his ears.  Turning from the stage, he attempted to get some
programing done, dispite the racket.

>Before Mas could answer, the bar was suddenly hit by a wall of sound
>so powerful that it literally made people's lungs shake in their
>ribcages. Tongith's exoskeleton began to resonate in sympathy with the
>compelling sound. All eyes turned to the front of the stage, where the
>pimply, skinny young teenager was drawing a bow across a violin that 
>looked like it'd been designed by Alexander Calder: a wire frame suggesting
>the outline of a violin, on a clear plexiglass neck. The instrument was
>hooked into the sound system, and the sound was unbelievable.

	Anthony whiped his head around, cursing himself.  He had let down his
guard, and now it felt like a bomb had just gone off.  He instictively removed
his headphones in a quick move, and prepared to duck, when he realized that it
was just some fools idea of music.
	Then he saw the source.

>For the next few minutes, the audience was held spellbound as this
>tiny girl, barely into puberty, transformed herself into a vibrantly
>beautiful woman by the mere sound of the violin. Her body arched and
>swayed with the music, suggesting ecstasy, enlightment, sexual
>tension, exaltation, joy, misery, anger, and infinite loss, by turns
>Earth Mother, Angel, Goddess, Whore, Avenging Spirit. Tears streamed
>down her face, only to be replaced by a smile of almost religious calm.

	A trollish jaw dropped.
	Slowly, a single huge tear formed from one big misshaped eye, and
creeped its way down Anthony's face, avoiding the lumps and divits
characteristic of a troll, until it slowly dropped off a huge, twisted nose.

[description of concert here]

	Anthony watched the concert raptly, dispite the horrendous volume. 
Then, when he had decided that the only thing to be said for them was they had
a very good violinist, they ended with "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square."
Anthony watched in awe.
	Immediatly after the band walked off the stage, Anthony made a bee-line
right for them, and aiming at the violinist in particular.  Many people got out
of his way, seeing as he looked very determined, and a determined looking troll
is not a very pretty sight.  He stomped his way right up to the teenaged
virtuoso, and stuck out a huge, meaty hand.  "I must say, that was beautiful!  I
particularly liked the acapella work at the end!  Simply amazing! Though, I
would have preferd the music at a lower volume myself... Not that I minded you
drounding out what I _was_ listening to!"  He displace the musicchip, with
"Bolaro" writen on the label.
	"Oh!  Uh, barkeep, is my drink ready?"
	Mas looked very confused.  "Uh, sure, here you go.  Iced tea, with
lemon."