Regarding Our Previous Conversation...

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Okay, I'll go first.  And I'm not even sure this is the format to follow because we've not done it before.  I'd say that posting our unfinished stories as they currently exist is one way, and I'll do that here with this one that I've had taking up space for some time.  It has neighbors, I must confess, several more that need finishing along with some that require expansion beyond what was originally posted.
This is the follow up to Jazz at Nine, and I'm hoping that by giving up what I have of it will create the momentum to finish it.  Everyone is welcome to follow suit or refer back to something that you intend to follow up with a prequel or sequel.  I have another one started in that category that is the prequel to The Going Down of the Sun, cleverly tagged as Before the Going Down of the Sun.
What do you say?  Is this a workshop or a therapy encounter?  Do we make suggestions, ask questions and offer beta-like help?  Again, betas are available via mfuwss but we can always muster the ranks around here as well.
Like I said, I'll go first...

Jazz At Nine (from the beginning...)

The sounds coming through the radio were soothing to the man listening, his head nodding in rhythmic ascent to the music as it swirled through the air.  Illya tried to keep a date with this broadcast whenever he was home; whenever he was in New York.

It was still something of a self-indulgent or guilty pleasure to the Russian agent, listening without any fear of rebuke, or worse.  The radio station played a variety of music but on Saturday nights they had a solid four hours of jazz, some of it new to the man whose love of jazz had begun amidst secret rendezvous and hidden enclaves of music lovers.  Now it was nothing, not so much as a sideways glance when playing Coltrane or Parker on his record player.

Well, perhaps from Napoleon.

Of all the areas of interest they shared, and there were actually a few, the American had no love of jazz, and had in fact derided it rather too much unorganized noise early on; until he realized how much his new partner did in fact love that style of music.  To his credit, Napoleon decided to try and enjoy jazz, at least to the point of not insulting Illya over it.

No one else needed to like the music, not for Illya’s sake.  He didn’t think his American partner could truly grasp what it was about the genre that compelled him to listen, to hear ever nuance of phrasing as the notes slid effortlessly through a prism of aural lights.  Jazz was free, something that he had longed for when his life was little more than a series of forced acquiescence to powers he dared not refuse.  Jazz was part of his escape from that life, the jumping off point in his dreams.

Now it was not something he needed in order to feel free, it was the triumph of freedom over living beneath the thumb of tyranny.  Illya would never suggest that his country did not have the correct vision; he could not deny, however, that the men who controlled the vision were ... flawed.

As the last few songs played into the midnight hour, Illya Kuryakin drifted off to sleep with his head propped up against the pillow on his sofa.  His dreams would be colored with the imagery of a musical escapade, of a silky glissando as it apprehended an escaping quarter note.

The sunrise was accompanied by the trilling of his communicator.  Reaching for it, Illya overshot what should have been the nightstand beside his bed and rolled off of the sofa onto the floor.  A grunt punctuated the fall as he hit hard wood.  The communicator was still sounding...

‘‘Kuryakin here...”  He had left it on top of the radio which was now emitting a soft hum.  The station had yet to resume its schedule, and the silence had helped lull him into a deep sleep.

“Yes sir, I can be there, um... thirty minutes.”  The early morning call caught him with a deeper Russian inflection in his accent.  Alexander Waverly was unmoved, time was moving along and his men needed to join it.

“Yes sir... yes.  Right away, sir.”  The line was empty now.

Illya rushed through a shower and inside of that thirty minutes he was in front of Mr. Waverly, seated next to his partner.  Napoleon took a good look at his friend, recognized the signs of a rushed morning, possibly another night on the sofa.

“Another night in front of the radio?” Illya cut his eyes at the question, looking sideways at his partner.

“You think you know me so well...” That made Napoleon smile, his Russian friend thought himself to be, ahh... oh yeah, inscrutable.

“Yes, I do think I know you rather well, and I’m pretty sure you went to sleep in front of your radio while you were listening to that jazz station.  You, Illya Kuryakin, are a creature of habit where some things are concerned.”

Neither man was concerned about being observed by Alexander Waverly.  He let his men banter for a few minutes, waiting for them to remember why they were sitting in his office.  As he thought, the two suddenly came to attention and faced their Chief, forgetting for now the conversation.

“Gentlemen, we have a situation and it seems Mr. Kuryakin is particularly suited to enter into this, ahh, situation...' Waverly paused and looked up at the blond.

“It seems we are in need of a musician, Mr. Kuryakin.  You are, are you not?  Illya was taken by surprise but nodded in the affirmative.

“Yes sir, I play... What exactly, may I ask, does this entail?”

He caught Napoleon’s expression, each man wondering what was in store for them.

`````````````(the new part)

Freebody Park in Newport, Rhode Island, is flanked on the west by Freebody Street and to the east by Middleton Avenue.  Since 1955 it had been home to the famed Newport Jazz Festival, surviving imitators and a riot in 1960.

Illya was entranced by the venue, its list of past performers and the expectation of what he would hear as a spectator and a performer.  In a series of machinations that only Alexander Waverly could facilitate, Illya would be onstage with a group known as  Sempre; a musical term meaning throughout.  Playing English Horn, or Cor Anglais, he was one of a handful of Section II agents who had been considered for the assignment.  The fact that he spoke numerous languages might come into play, but the fact that he would actually look the part of a musician had been the deciding factor.

The group was a showcase for one musician in particular, the pianist and primary composer; a man named Derrick Stice.  If reports were accurate, THRUSH was courting the man, although for what reason the head of UNCLE Northwest was still ignorant.

"Gentlemen, you will need to proceed with caution and ingenuity.  This Stice fellow is brilliant, and his dealings with THRUSH have been difficult to prove.  Our only breakthrough came while he was performing.  Had we not been monitoring his shows we might have missed it entirely.' Waverly fidgeted with his pipe, a momentary lapse to the uninitiated.
"Our agent found something that was tucked into his music, it matched an odd bit that was inserted into a tune.  Our musicologist, Dr. Fairweather, confirmed it after listening to the recording and comparing it."

Illya looked at Napoleon as if to prod his partner into asking the obvious.  Solo shot his cuffs and obliged.

"And what exactly was it that tipped us off sir?"  Waverly huffed, his mind had wandered onto the next step already.

"Oh, yes… I um… He played a tune titled Birdsong, and one bizarre bit of phrasing… ahem, musically speaking, that is… were these notes, the ones found on a slip of paper; I mentioned that, did I not?"  He pushed a button that immediately cued an image on the screen behind him.

Illya got up from his chair and moved closer to the screen, removing his glasses as he examined the image more closely.

"What is it Illya?"  Napoleon had no real knowledge about musical notation, but from the look of this it was a roughly sketched bit of … not much.  Except for the words beneath the notes he didn't see how this could be a clue to anything.

......................................................

So there you go.  I do have a direction and a sly bit of musical cryptology that will come into play (no pun intended), and now I feel commited to finishing it in a timely manner.
So, who's next?

Comments

[threecee.livejournal.com]

Okay, I'm intrigued. Please finish this!

I like your description of jazz as Illya's "jumping off point of his dreams".

I don't see anything that needs fixing so far aside from a couple minor typos.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

It is an intriguing opening - I really love the musical setting, and I'm desperately looking at the piece of music trying to guess at the clue. Is it my imagination or do the bars and the time signature not match up - is that relevant? Also, I love the fact that they have a musicologist.

Do you know what problem you were having moving forwards with it?

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I'm a musician of sorts, piano, and I like to include that part of IK's talents in a story once in a while. My backstory for him is that his father was a member of the State Symphony but is caught up in the purge of the artistic communities during the 30's... This story has that bit of info...http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/175601.html
Anyway, to answer your question, I've just been a little overloaded with stuff, life... I have about four stories started that all need finishing, including this one. I think my attention is just scattered, and I need to concentrate on just one story. I have chosen this one.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Oh, that's cool....when you said that you had further bits coming into play I was wondering if you'd found yourself thinking of them all the time and so not writing the actual next section - that happens to me a lot.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Finally I'm catching up a wee bit at a time. This is off to an intriguing start! Definitely worth pursing to a conclusion. I can see where you have to fill in the gaps, but I noting in the way of suggestions for you piece. Not really sure what to offer here other than I like it.

Is this going to be a weekly offering now? I have so many fics that are underway, but not sure if I want to post any of them as I'm not ready to start another story, at least until I've finished my current WIP. Still have to write a Short Affair and PicFic for next week's challenges PLUS we have our new drabble Round Robin starting. So many stories, so little time. lol!

Please jump start this story if you can as it's really intriguing. I always love your use of the language as it has such a great flow and style.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I'm going to be working on this one. I have some other bit and pieces that just need to be tied together. What I hope is that it will prompt others to pull out the unfinished pieces, or the ones we've all begged to be enlarged upon. Lots of stories everywhere.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Sorry for my typos! Yikes.

So are we going to be doing this on Friday's...posting bits of unfinished stories for suggestions, or whatever?