'She's Eclectic'
Personally, I blame samvimes for this. His version of 'Every Little Thing' inspired me to put this down in writing. It has actually been brewing in my head for several months now. That is, literally, how sad I am.
Aaanyways, this is a version of an Oasis song. If you don't know who Oasis are, then… well, they're a band from Manchester who were the spearhead of the 'Britpop' movement in the UK in the Nineties. To show how big they were, some of their better-known songs even became known to me, who as a chorister for six years of my pre-adolescent life had about as much contact with the outside world as the average mouldy, unmatchable black and pink leopardskin-print sock. I didn't hear 'She's Electric', the song this filk is based on until several years later, when I gained a copy of one of their albums. Of course, the Discworld doesn't have electricity, so 'Electric' became 'Eclectic'. Other than that, I found this song (with a few lyrics changed) fitted Angua perfectly. And personally, anyone from an aristocratic background whose friends include a reformist female dwarf, a troll who carries a weapon more destructive than a good portion of the US Army, a Duke, a humble Watch sergeant, a human raised as a dwarf and Nobby Nobbs could most certainly be described as 'eclectic' in my opinion.
Oh, and for a bit of fun, I've built a kind of story around it. Well, I say 'a bit'. It actually ended up taking about five pages of Microsoft Word.
Sorry.
So, here it is, Blank Ned's first filk. I'd use the exits about now…
Warning: This is nowhere near as good as my previous effort, 'No Wonder'. Please don't hate me for it. Also I plan to write at least one more filk. You probably will hate me for that. And for the creation of Perry Trapchett.
Disclaimer: This is just a stop gap while I write some proper stuff/await the contractor's estimates on that temple. The character Edward Blankwall is mine, as are Perry Trapchett, McLiverstockworth, the Mizzendens and Insle. Everyone and everything else belongs to the Great Prophet Pratchett. 'She's Electric' belongs to Oasis and the Gallagher brothers.
SHE'S ECLECTIC
Constable Edward Blankwall strummed his guitar aimlessly. Once again, he'd got a good tune. He just couldn't write any words for it. He stared at the chord sheet in front of him. It had all the chords, but the space for the words was blank – pun not intended.
Now, if only he had some inspiration…
He was so lost in thought that he was only aware of anything else when a hand waved in front of his unfocused eyes. He shook himself back to awareness and looked up at Sergeant Angua, standing over him and carrying a pile of books similar in size to the one he himself hauled round in his free time.
"Hey, Angua."
Angua dumped the books on the canteen table and smiled. "Evening, Edward. D'you mind if I sit in here?"
Edward shrugged. "Fine by me. You'll have to put up with my yodelling and rather awful guitar-playing, mind."
"Oh, come off it, Edward," said Angua, half-seriously. "You're possibly the best singer in the Watch."
"No," said Edward, grinning mischievously, "I'm the loudest singer in the Watch. There's a difference."
"Edward, hardly anyone else can hold a tune. There's Lance-Constable McLiverstockworth – he's okay – and the Mizzendens and Constable Insle are quite decent, but you're more experienced than them." Angua sat back in her chair.
"Not the same as being better than them, is it?" said Edward.
"Oh, now that's a watchman's answer if ever I heard one."
Edward was silent for a few seconds. "Was that intended as a compliment?" he replied, grinning still wider.
"Oh, do shut up Edward."
"Yes sarge," said Edward in a voice about as serious as a Fool was funny. He took a glance at the pile of books Angua had put on the desk in front of her. He picked up one from the top of the pile, and whistled.
"Terra Menisca?" he said. "I didn't know you liked Perry Trapchett, Angua."
"Edward," sighed Angua, "you spent so long either rabitting on about him or with your nose in one or other of his books or writing fanfiction-" she spoke the word like some kind of disease "-that I thought I might as well see what all the fuss was about."
Edward declined to comment, instead reaching over to look at the book underneath. "Catch-24?" He sounded surprised. "And an autobiography of the composer Mozeley?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Rather eclectic tastes, if you don't mind me saying so."
"And?" said Angua, a shade coldly.
Edward didn't seem to hear her. "Eclectic…" he muttered. "Yeah, that might work…" He started strumming the guitar, singing loudly and tunefully over it.
"Sheeeeeeeeee's eclectic," he sang,
"She's in a wa-atch-house full of eccentrics,
She's done thing I never expected,
Dum de dum dum dum."
He stopped playing, and beamed at her. "Well, what do you think?" he said. "You don't mind that it's about you, do you?" he added cautiously.
"Edward," said Angua, "When you're a werewolf, you feel any song that doesn't boil down to 'let's marinade them in molten silver!' has to be a favourite."
Edward suppressed a laugh.
"Here," said Angua, taking the sheet of paper from in front of him. "Hmmm… I think it'd sound a bit better if you changed 'watch-house' to 'family'. It goes a bit better with the tune if you use three syllables for three notes than if you split two syllables over three."
"Really?" said Edward, a note of surprise in his voice. "You sure you don't mind my saying that about your family?"
"Edward," said Angua, "My family are werewolves. We can see smells! We give them colours, for pity's sake! Those of us that don't go insane in one way or another are those who renounce the wolf as fully as possible, and even then it gets to us in its own little ways. In those circumstances, 'eccentric' is practically a compliment."
"Ri-ight," said Edward, in a voice that meant 'Okay, moving very swiftly on no don't turn around and look nothing to see here'. He crossed out 'watch-house' and pencilled in 'family' under it. "Now for the next bit…"
He stared at the page for a while, muttering under his breath and tapping the pencil on his chin, before throwing it down in disgust and slouching back in the chair.
"Writer's block?" said Angua half-interestedly from behind her copy of Terra Menisca: Evening Patrol.
"No," said Edward. "I always have writer's block when it comes to writing lyrics. This is sheer embarrassment at writing lyrics in front of someone else."
"Even the person the song is about?"
"Especially the person the song's about." Edward grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, but it's just the way I am, I'm afraid…"
"Look, would you like me to give you a hand?" said Angua, not unkindly, setting the book aside. "I wouldn't mind – I mean, I only bought Evening Patrol today, and I need something to read during the journey to Borogravia tomorrow."
"Why don't you try putting it down?" said Edward, in the tone of someone who is asking the question of someone who has asked it of him umpteen times before.
"Well, I've tried that, but when I do it calls to me and forces me to pick it up and carry on reading," replied Angua, in the tone of someone giving an answer they've heard several times before.
Edward grinned again. Then he sighed. "I wish I could play guitar better," he muttered.
"You're not too bad."
"Oh, I'm not a bad guitarist," said Edward, "but I'm horrendously unskilled. I mean, compared to some of the great Music With Rocks In guitarists like Imp y Celyn or Johni Handtrix or Jack Coakston or even Tim Carter or Jimmy Blurr, I don't play the guitar, I just bash it against a table and try and get sound out of it."
Angua hid a smirk.
"Aaanyways," said Edward, "any more ideas for lyrics?"
"Hmmm." Angua clicked her tongue between her teeth. "Well… we could always continue the family theme – say, the next verse could be about my sister, for example."
Edward's face contorted in an expression of worry, concern and trying to step nervously around a subject he had long regarded as taboo.
"Are you sure?" he said. "I mean, your sister… she's… she's-"
"Yes, Edward, she's dead," said Angua. "But then, so's her killer, so I personally think that my wounds will have healed by now."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"You're really sure?"
"Yes!"
"You're really really re-"
"Edward, if you ask me again I swear I will lose my temper."
"Yes sarge."
Carrot poked his head around the door.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked, in his big, honest manner.
"No," sighed Edward. "Just writer's block."
"Well, I could give you a hand if you like," said Carrot.
Edward brightened. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Sure. What're you writing?"
"Er… can we go somewhere private?" said Edward.
"I suppose," replied Carrot uncertainly.
"Good. Good." Edward beckoned to a corner. "Just over there, I think."
There followed a whispered conversation between the two men, of which Angua caught only snatches, like "-are you sure she's going to be-" and "-underestimate her too much-". Eventually, they stood up, and Carrot turned and left, pausing only to bend and kiss Angua on the cheek. When he had gone, she turned to Edward and said "What was that about?"
"Oh, nothing," he replied, grinning cheekily. "Carrot's just agreed to write some lyrics for me, is all."
"And?" snapped Angua, feeling the irritation build.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, Angua, I can't really tell you. Carrot wants it to be a surprise."
"But I'm leaving for Borogravia tomorrow!"
Edward shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "That's just the way it goes. Anyway, it should be finished by the time you get back. Think of it as something to look forward to."
Angua stretched, and took a deep breath. It was good to be back, even if it was Ankh-Morpork. It was early evening, and the late summer sunset turned the sky shades of pink and gold and orange against the blue dome and the white clouds. The Watch House was deserted – everyone was either on patrol or in the Bucket, where Edward had seemed to have organised a 'Welcome Back Having Safely Stopped The Borogravians And Zlobenians Massacring Each Other' gig by some of the various music-with-rocks-in bands that had started up in the Watch, most of which he seemed to be a member of anyway. She desperately tried to hold off the urge to go and watch, but eventually she had to give in and go down there.
She slid in the door of the Bucket just as one of the bands were finishing their set. Andre was playing a piano that, by the look of it, had had the hell bashed out of it, probably by him. Ping was thrashing a drumkit. Corporal Keenside – new dentures firmly in place – was warbling a pleasant, if high, vocal melody. Angua bought a beer and sat at the back. The pub was surprisingly full – even Mister Vimes and his family were there, sat at the front, in what must have been a celebratory family outing.
Edward – in the role of compere for the night – stepped up to the front of the stage. "Okay, thanks for that guys. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for – Eagre!" As the thunderous applause died away, he spoke again. "And now, we have a very special performance for you – tonight, for the first time, here in this bar, Palms are going to perform their newest hit – with a drummer on lead vocals for a change. So without further ado, ladies and gentle men, put your hands together for – Palms!"
The band filed out onto the stage, carrying their instruments. Carrot was last on, but instead of his drumsticks, he carried a guitar. He strode up to the front of the stage and cleared his throat. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, dwarfs and trolls, I'd like to dedicate this next song to the safe and successful return of Mister Vimes and his entourage from Borogravia. This is a new song, written by Constable Blankwall and myself, and it's called 'She's Eclectic'.
The band launched into a bewildering sequence of arpeggios, then a thumping riff kicked in. Angua was mildly surprised to find herself enjoying it. Edward sat himself down in the seat next to her, and she had just enough time to give him a short wave and a half-smile before Carrot started singing. He didn't have a brilliant singing voice – even Edward had to admit he was better than Carrot – but he could carry a tune, and with a good enough tune that was all he really needed to do.
"She's Eclectic,
She's in a family full of eccentrics,
She's done things I never expected,
And I need more time.
She had a sister,
And there's a good reason I missed her,
And on the palm of her hand there's a blister,
And I need more time.
And I want you to know,
Got my mind made up now,
But I need more time,
And I want you to say,
'D'you know what I'm saying?',
But I need more,
'Cos I'll be you and you'll be me,
There's lots and lots for us to see,
Lots and lots for us to do,
She is eclectic,
I'm eclectic too!
She had a brother,
They didn't get on with each other,
I don't fancy her mother,
And I'm sure she don't like me!
She's got a cousin,
In fact she's got 'bout a dozen,
She's no good with an oven,
But it's nothing to do with me.
And I want you to know,
Got my mind made up now,
But I need more time,
And I want you to say,
'D'you know what I'm saying?',
But I need more,
'Cos I'll be you and you'll be me,
There's lots and lots for us to see,
Lots and lots for us to do,
She is eclectic,
I'm eclectic too,
I'm eclectic too,
I'm eclectic too,
I'm eclectic too!"
As the applause grew to a storm, Angua raised an eyebrow and stared at Edward, who flinched and said "Sorry".
"Why are you apologising, Edward?" she said.
Edward was clearly unbalanced by such a suggestion. "Er… erm… uh…" he stuttered.
Angua smiled. "The only thing I'm worried about," she said, "is when you're going to write me a song about Carrot."
Edward grinned, relieved. Both of them turned back to the front and added their own applause to the storm that surrounded them.
Well, that's one filk for you. If enough people don't feel it's too awful (and how will I know this? Why, through reviews, dear readers!), there are a few other filks I've got lined up, plus some possible original songs. They won't all have such a ponderous story surrounding them, I assure you. As always, don't hesitate to tell me where you think I'm going wrong. Personally, I'm not too happy with this mess of a fanfic, but it's taken me several weeks to get this far and I'm not going back now.