FIC: "En Jouant Au Jazz" (M) - (3 Parts)

[March Hare]

Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby proudly present to you, a Funkelnagelneue, completely original (but influenced by many others) Fandom: the Sakura Jazz!

It is a creation by the joint venture of my sister and me and we plan to eventually bully somebody into converting the stories to anime. We’ve NO idea how we’re going to do that, but in the meantime inventing the story lines, character developments, quotes lists even, as well as drawing the characters (TRYING to draw in my case!) is an immense amount of fun.

My sister, though she knows about the fetish, does not share it and I haven’t told her I made a little sneeze-fic just because the Jazzists, well, lent themselves for it, so to speak I don’t know whether she’d like it very much. The sneezefic I mean. But hey, I HAD to do it….

Anywhy – there’s a lot to the story, but all that the readers of this drabble need to know at present is: a jazz band consisting of five eccentric young amateur musicians, who will be properly introduced in the story. The title, for those of you who don't like French, means 'Playing The Jazz'. And now the preface is getting WAY too long – are you bored out of your skull yet? - so well, yeah, here you go: Meet the Sakura Jazz!

(One more thing: no, it is NOT a coincidence that the bass player is called Sanne. )

------

“Mouton, t’es fou!” The words were hissed out fiercely around the mouthpiece of a tenor saxophone. “Can you not pick up the rhythm properly instead of jamming about, wasting my time?”

The speaker of these words was a tall, slender but well-curved girl, standing stiff and upright in the middle of the room. Her eyes blazed like aqua fire in her heart-shaped catlike face and her rousse, wavy hair hung loosely almost to the ground. She was gripping her saxophone with both hands so tightly her knuckles were white. ‘Aku’ Lola was one of those people whose nickname fitted them so well people knew it without knowing it, so to speak.

The one whom these words of wrath were aimed at, however, remained singularly unimpressed. Well over six feet tall and broad in the shoulders, he sat back leisurely behind a drum kit that seemed to look smaller because of his grand appearance. His light auburn hair must be as long as Lola’s, except he had it tied up about his head with a lot of ribbons, in a way that would not interfere with his expert handling of the drumsticks.

He was holding two jazz-brushes in his hands; twirling one of them between his fingers in a lazy manner, he now turned inscrutable coffee-brown eyes on the fuming saxophone player. “Chillez-vous, chérie. Let us start again, and I will not jam about, but follow your rhythm properly.”

There were three other people in the room: a green-red-and-purple-haired girl with tattoos all over her bare arms holding a double bass, a tall long-haired young man with a violin and a lanky gamin at the piano who looked a lot like him except for having a head of multi-coloured spikes. They uttered a small unison sigh of relief at this unusually peaceful closing of the matter.

Lola obviously did not care much for the drummer’s tone, but decided to leave it for the moment. “Good, let us start from the intro.” She closed her lips lovingly around the reed-and-ebony and blew an elongated, wistful note with a trill. Deep, suave bass tones merged with the saxophone in a slow and swinging rhythm. The drums joined in, with occasional brushings of the high-hat, then the piano, then the violin. It was a well-balanced piece, catchy and sophisticated at the same time.

“Haahh-CHIIHH!”

It was the young boy at the piano who’d sneezed, impressively without ceasing to play. He merely turned his head, aiming the sneeze over his shoulder, and after a delicate sniff he turned his eyes to the keys once more as if nothing had happened.

None of the other players seemed to be disturbed by the sound; only did Lola’s eyebrows contract just a little, but for a mere moment. And the girl playing bass suddenly fixed alert, interested eyes on the pianist. But that was all. The jazz warbled on, weaving its invisible web of beauty through the interior of the small studio.

After a few minutes the rhythm shifted, subtly, from mellow to a slightly more frenzied free-jazz motion. The tattooed girl closed her eyes and directed the fingers of her left hand up and down the bass’ neck with supple wrist, strumming the strings with a strong right forefinger. This was her solo, and she enjoyed it immensely. Tattoo Sanne had very definite basic talents.

Mouton carried her low-growling improvisation on a steady base-drum accompaniment; the piano boy leaned back leisurely, his hands finding the chords with no visible effort whatsoever. Lola and the long-haired violinist made their instruments sing along over it in subdued, perfect unison.

“Haaht-SSCHIHH! HehhTSCHH!”

This time, the young pianist was definitely more overcome by the sudden release of irritation; his right hand shot up to his face compulsively, leaving the left hand to do the work. It did not matter much; an average listener would not have heard it. But nevertheless it earned him a scowl from Lola and a gasp from Sanne, whose improvisation came to a rather abrupt end a few beats later.

Not that she would ever allow her solo to be spoilt by unexpected sounds. Ever. She was too professional a musician for that. The impro was exactly as well-finished as it should be. It was not going to be her Aku Wench would have to scowl at.

She just hoped he would not do that again. There was his own solo yet to come. And Valentine’s. The violin player with his ridiculously long tresses would certainly not accept anybody sneezing through his intricate melodies, not even his own cousin.

Meanwhile, Aku Lola’s thoughts were running along a comparable line, only coloured with dire consequences for the denial of her hopes. Why didn’t that foolish young whipper-snapper bloody well sneeze in his own time?

A short, clever deviation from the drums was the cue for the piano solo. Simon launched into improvisation, closing his eyes as Sanne had done – he needed no eyesight to find the right keys. Oh, the enjoyment of being the sovereign of the song! He had a free hand indeed; Sanne, Lola and Valentine always seemed to know where he was going, catching his sophisticated modulations without ever allowing for unpurposeful dissonance. Yes, this was it, this really was the thing.

His hands, too, seemed to have seized temporary autonomy over his whole body – meaning that the inconvenient tickle that had been festering in his sinuses was now completely under control. For the time being, yes – he was a little apprehensive of what would occur after the end of his solo, but didn’t allow his mind to wander on it. Music was now.

Eh bien, he was good, that boy. Lola hated to admit it – who, after all, was really worthy of the epithet but her? – but as long as the admission kept confined to the depths of her mind, she need not hesitate to make it: Simon was a good player.

Of course, he wouldn’t be in Sakura Jazz if he were anything but.

The piano solo ended with a low, forte chord, Lola quickly tuned in for the bridge and after a few bars gave the floor to Valentine. The rhythm shifted again. Sanne’s brum-brum-brumming became more scarce and subdued and the piano was silent. Mouton minimalized his sounds. Valentine’s solo was something special.

Jazz violin wasn’t a thing you’d see every day as it was; and Valentine wasn’t anything like an ‘ordinary’ jazz player. Despite furious conflicts with Aku Lola, who was a self-proclaimed jazz purist, he improvised fully in his every solo, playing with the rhythm and the melody as if he wanted to give the others a headache from trying to keep up.

Sanne was usually the one who could follow him best; she was familiar with most string instruments and knew very well the properties of the violin. During one or two of their gigs she had played the accompaniment to Valentine’s solos arco instead of pizzicato, which had earned them bonus points for originality from the entire Montmartre audience and made them rise even higher on the scales of local popularity. Even though it had thrown Lola in a fit from hell. The girl just couldn’t approve of anything outside her initiative.

Valentine played really divinely, Sanne thought dreamily as she kept her eyes fixed on the agile long fingers, the smoothly gliding bow, the supple wrist providing faultless vibratos. Vraiment magnifique!

Had her eyes been wandering instead of glued to the violin, she might have seen Simon lift a stealthy hand to his nose, the brief, hard rub he gave it, and the creasing of his brows as he wrinkled his nose a few times as if to get the remainder of a tickle under control.

But she saw nothing of that. And perhaps it was a good thing. A mistake was so easily made.

“All right, everyone. That wasn’t bad at all,” Lola said gruffly, still talking around the mouthpiece of her sax. “You can take five for coffee if you like.” If, her tone very clearly implied, you are such worldly creatures that the joy of music is not enough for you to go on.

Mouton wiped the sweat off his brow. He’d given it all during the finale of the number. Lola had too, although she looked singularly unaffected. The girl just never ever sweated. Mouton secretly suspected her of losing her superfluous warmth by breathing fire through her nostrils when nobody was looking.

“Yes. Coffee.” Simon spun around on the little piano stool. Without so much as glancing at the others, he leapt up and rushed towards the door. Before anybody could move, he’d disappeared. Sanne and Valentine exchanged looks of surprise. Surely that was very unlike Simon…

And then a faraway, muffled but still quite audible sound came from the corridor: “Haah-ITSSHU!”

Valentine shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Sanne, who felt the blood shoot up to her cheeks, bent down to place her bass in a horizontal position on the floor, handling the instrument with the infinite care and complete attention it deserved.

----

TBC!

t'es fou = you're mad

arco = played with a bow (on a violin or other string instrument)

pizzicato = strummed

[Kitty]

YUM! I love it - more about Simon's the look of him mmm and the tattooed bassist I could very well be gay for her alone! mm but the drummer now rythym is everything...

Kitty

[VoOs]

Absolutely wonderful! I love it! I want more!

[threedaysofrain]

Absolutely wonderful! I love it! I want more!

ME too!!!!! Sanne and Simon are both and the plot is beautiful! I <3 jazz....

I'll be awaiting this one...

[katia]

yay! I love this! Sneezing while playing music is my thing totally! more more more????

[whymilk]

ah!! ce sont les frenchies!!

HE HE loved the story!!!

[SnowSprite]

Aw... that was certainly adorable. Having played both jazz bass and jazz piano, I can testify that sneezy jazzcats are mmmmmm.

[(hippo)]

yaay!!! that is awesome!!! one of the first male fics i have really, really enjoyed. thankyou!!

[tma]

oooo!!! sneezy, and jazz, and piano. And I like the way that you descibe things too. I can't wait to read more!!

[March Hare]

Meh... It has been far too long, but today I managed to battle the writer's block and actually come out the victor... with a little help from my friends!

So have a bit more of Sanne/Simon action. No, it doesn't get anywhere near 18+ - yet. But, who knows?

THANK YOU all for your lovely compliments, by the way! hippo, you make me a very HAPPY Sanne indeed I'll try and make it even more enjoyable for you! and tma, it is largely owed to you that I even got this out today. Hurray for you! and for Twilight the jazzcat and whymilk and nifflerbite and Kitty and VoOs and threedaysofrain, you are all DARLINGS!

Now Silly Sanne will give the floor to Tattoo Sanne and her bandmates

---

“Simon?”

“Ouais.”

The kitchen door went open and in walked the tattooed girl, sans bass. Her hair was tousled, as if she had ran ten restless fingers through it; the green, red and purple of her locks had mingled in a clashing way.

Simon, the pianist and youngest member of Sakura Jazz, sat at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee with both hands. He looked up as the girl came in, and smiled. “Hi, Sanne.”

“Hello.” She smiled back, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite. “You okay, Simon?”

“Of course I am.” He raised a pair of scarlet eyebrows, gazing at her with innocent slate-grey eyes. “Why?”

“Well…” Sanne hesitated. “It’s just that I’d never heard you sneeze before. Let alone four times within fifteen minutes.”

“The piano has been sneezing,” Simon grinned goofily. “Not me.”

Sanne laughed, a deep throaty laugh that she’d copied most shamelessly from Lola. “Yes, naturellement, Monsieur Waits.”

Simon shrugged, his grin easing into a placating smile. “Do not worry about me, Sanne. It was only a tickle.” He stood up, stretching his skinny body. “Do you want some coffee?”

It was a kind offer, typical of Simon Lemaire, but it was also a dismissal. Sanne nodded, resigning. “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of coffee.”

He got it for her, and sat down again, and they drank their coffee in companionable silence.

Sanne, however, could not help looking at Simon now and then. Though his appearance didn’t betray any signs of ailment, he did look just a little bit… off. He was much more of a yapper usually. His face was always rather pale, complementing his hair’s bright blues and reds and greens and everythings. But he did not always have these shadowy blue circles around his eyes, did he?

“The rehearsal went well,” she stated plainly, making conversation. “We will make a fine appearance tomorrow.”

“Of course we will. When have we ever made a less than fine appearance?”

Sanne laughed. Simon really was a multi-talented boy. One of his specialties was imitation – and he was doing a perfect Valentine here. The violin player had an ego as long as his tresses, and he was generally known as the Proud and Arrogant Bastard of the band. Nobody did love him any the less for it, of course – but it was a fact of life.

“You sound very much like your cousin,” she murmured. “Does over-grown ego run in your family?”

Simon smiled at her. Enchantingly. “Superior blood, chérie.”

“Oh, évidemment.” She was going to say more, but Simon’s hand stealing to his nose and touching it gingerly, forestalled her. She wanted to ask him if he was okay, but thought better of it. She knew his answer.

“We should play more classic swing stuff,” she stated, out of the blue. “With vocals maybe. Eartha Kitt and Caroline Henderson. That kind of thing.”

“Dinah Washington… Nina Simone…” the young pianist provided glibly, as if wanting to prove that he knew his canon as well as the next person, thank you very much. “Assuredly it is an idea. But you, chérie,do not exactly have the voice of Mesdemoiselles Kitt and Simone.”

“Oh, please.” She tossed her head in mock indignation. “What a boy you are for stating the obvious. Besides, would you rather have Lola sing then?”

It was a rhetorical question, naturally. Nobody could hold a candle to Lola when it came to playing the tenor saxophone and she had quite a wonderful hand at improvising, but singing was completely and utterly beyond the likes of her. Sanne had always found this curious – that a person so very skilled in performing jazz music would be so persistently incapable of carrying a tune with her voice. A voice, too, that had a very pleasant, dark timbre of its own. Sanne smiled inadvertently at her coffee mug, thinking of Lola’s voice.

Simon smiled as well. “Oh, ma foi! That would be an outrage if ever there was one.” Again that hand crept to his nose. That handsome little nose, now wriggling a little. Sanne watched, fascinated, until he caught her gaze. “Chérie, what are you looking at?”

“You…” she replied, startled into honesty by his sudden question.

His smile broadened. “My, my… am I that interesting a sight?”

The tattooed girl merely grunted in contempt. “Definitely it is a case of over-ego running in your family.”

“What about his family? Our family, for that matter?” came a haughty voice from the doorway. Sanne turned sharply on her chair, coming face to face with the tall, absurdly long-haired violinist of the band, who was giving her a trademark, brow-arched stare down his straight nose. Another handsome Lemaire nose.

“Oh, bonjour, Valentine,” she said in a saccharine tone of voice, jumping up from her chair into a rigid salute pose. “Would you like a cup of coffee perhaps?”

“Of course I would,” he condescended to answer. “But I do not like quips about my family behind my back, Tattoo Sanne.”

“It is also Simon’s family,” the short-haired bass player pointed out superfluously. “And I did not make these ‘quips’ behind his back…”

Valentine shrugged elegantly, a smile creasing the corners of his light brown eyes. “Eh bien, it is of no importance. Could I have that coffee to go? I have business with Jojo…”

Sanne handed him the mug with a good-humoured nod. “Do try not to have him raise his rent again.” It was a joke, of course – they would have to go through Paris with a tooth-comb to find a cheaper studio, for one. And then Valentine was an excellent financial manager. According to his style, and her expectations, he completely disregarded her remark and after exchanging a few friendly words with his cousin, left with an airy swish of light-blonde tresses.

“I love him,” Sanne sighed moonishly as she flopped back onto her seat. “He’s just the kind of high-falutin’ bastard that tickles my fancy.”

“Ugh.” The piano player averted his face in mock disgust. “Please remember you are talking about my cousin… here!” His voice suddenly wavered on the last word, and under her very eyes his nose wrinkled itself again. As he carefully exhaled, face still turned away from her, Sanne found herself suddenly yearning for the moment that he would finally rid himself of that irritation that was so visibly bothering him.

She was careful to make no comment, though. He might start getting ideas if she kept drawing attention to his particular discomfort. Ideas she really didn’t want him to have.

This time, however, he didn’t recover as quickly. His nose would not keep still, nostrils quivering in anxious anticipation. His gaze became unfocused and his mouth slack. A sensitive, soft mouth, she noted with pleasure. As he wasn’t likely to notice her staring this time, she grasped the opportunity, allowing herself to watch freely, eagerly, relishing in the only possible outcome.

“Hehh…” he gasped softly, eyes fluttering close for a moment. His brow creased in annoyance as he brought one finger up to his nose, not rubbing it this time but instead gently circling the nostrils one after the other in a barely touching motion, which was incredibly erotic to Sanne’s gawking eyes. Oh mon Dieu!

The method was a good one, however; within seconds his head flew back convulsively, giving her a perfect view of flaring nostrils and eyes squeezed shut. A heartbeat, and his head snapped down, hands flying up to cover his nose and mouth when he released a harsh, hissing “HaahTSSSCCH!”

It took him a moment to recover, sitting still and looking a bit dazed with his hands still cupped over the lower half of his face, making a small, breathy sound of surprise.

Sanne got up abruptly, taking the coffee mugs with her to the sink as some hurried excuse for this sudden distance. She wanted to have her back safely to him in order to keep the signs of astonished pleasure at this undeniably exciting display away from his attention.

“A vos souhaits…”

---

TBC... naturellement!

[tma]

Awwww!!! Am SO psyched that I could help be encouraging.

This was SO lovely!! The characters and the banter and the way that Simon is so cute and arrogant.

**Simon smiled at her. Enchantingly. “Superior blood, chérie.”

“Oh, évidemment.” She was going to say more, but Simon’s hand stealing to his nose and touching it gingerly, forestalled her. She wanted to ask him if he was okay, but thought better of it. She knew his answer. **

LOVED!!

oh and the whole build up. OMG!!!!!!!!!! The description and the way that you descriped her feelings and it was just so ........khakfhajkkzvnkzha!!

Cannot wait for more.

[Geist]

Totally awesome story, Sanne!! I put off reading it for a while because I'm stupid and even the mention of the word "jazz" upset me for a while, but you understand.

Aku LOLA..... Oh jeezus. You do realize what you just named that character, right?

HURR HURR, does she practice safe sax? Come on, you asked for that.....

[March Hare]

Totally awesome story, Sanne!! I put off reading it for a while because I'm stupid and even the mention of the word "jazz" upset me for a while, but you understand.

Aku LOLA..... Oh jeezus. You do realize what you just named that character, right?

HURR HURR, does she practice safe sax? Come on, you asked for that.....

Of course I understand. Thank you for reading it anyway!

Safe sax... XD I SHOULD think so, but you never know. She's got a mind dirtier than dirty intonation. (Her name was my sister's idea, btw!)

And tma, I LOVE YOU for loving my descriptions!! Eeee! And Ren, just THANK YOU so much for your lovely comment!!

This kind of feedback is encouraging as hell... so HERE YOU GO! Have some more Lola into the bargain. A short bit, but it's waaay past my bedtime ^^

---

Over the running of the tap, she heard all too clearly the few deep sniffles and the slight cough that followed the sneeze, as well as his somewhat hoarse reply “Merci.” It was not until she had carefully and meticulously rinsed both mugs and sat them upside-down on the drying rack, that she dared turn round to face him again. By then, of course, he had quite recovered. It caused her only slight regret.

“You do sneeze a lot today,” she could not help remarking. Even looked at him while she said it.

“The tickle is persistent,” he replied, shrugging. His stone-gray eyes revealed absolutely nothing as they gazed up into hers. Neither did his soft mouth. “It is nothing.”

Oh, very well. What was that again about not wanting to give him ideas as to where her attention went?

Sanne said down again, picking idly at calloused fingertips. It just was that way when you played double bass – she could just forget keeping her hands nice and fashionable. Short nails and thick skin on the fingers were the price for stamina and skill on the strings. And the devil take her if ever she’d mind. But picking at them was something she could never resist doing.

Even under the eyes of Simon Lemaire, who never failed to scold her for it, telling her she was ruining her skin and it would cause her suffering during play. Young as the boy was, he acted like a mother hen for every one of the band’s members more often than not. However, today he didn’t even seem to notice. He looked singularly absent-minded and just a little bit tired.

“Would you like another coffee?”

Simon turned his eyes upon her, their expression not varying much. “No thank you, chérie. I think I will go and practise that solo a little. One does not really like to depend too much on impro – one likes a bit of basic scheme to work from.” He got up and as he walked to the door, he sent her one of his enchanting smiles that always hit her right between the eyes.

“Good luck,” she got out. Then he was off.

As he walked rapidly down the narrow little corridor towards the studio, he thought with some dismay that he shouldn’t have sneezed so freely in Sanne’s presence. The girl was attentive; she noticed things. It wasn’t as bad as sneezing in the middle of performance, but it was unpleasant enough. He sincerely hoped the persistent tickle would not prolong itself – but for it to be there at all, was uncommon in the first place. On the whole, he did not feel optimistic about it.

At least, Aku-wench and the Mouton mec were nowhere in sight. That saved him some scolding and a look of benign mockery, which would be all the more annoying because it was benign. Simon supposed the tall drummer was all right, but he could never help feeling infuriatingly inferior in his presence.

~

Some minutes after Simon had left, Lola walked into the kitchen with her trademark scowl fit seamlessly into place. At the sight of her, Sanne got up immediately and filled a mug with coffee, adding a drop of milk and a spoonful of sugar before putting it in the table in front of where Lola had plonked herself ungraciously onto a kitchen chair. This earned her a grunt of approval from the saxophonist and a pointed, not unattractive glance from under threateningly drawn eyebrows.

“I’d like to give that Simon a piece of my mind,” she growled over her steaming mug. “Sneezing in the middle of Summer Jasmine. Disgraceful distraction. I tell you, if he gets it in his sorry mind to pull a stunt like that on stage, vraiment I will his head on a platter. Who does he think he is?” And so she went on, in a petulant tone of voice that could not, however, conceal the immense satisfaction she derived from being able to rant freely at somebody who did not interrupt, but merely listened, willingly and with patience.

Tattoo Sanne was always content to let her temperamental roommate spit tacks for any amount of time she wanted. Even about this particular subject, which she found to have some rather unwelcome effects upon her.

“Do you think he may be coming down with a cold?” she prompted, making use of a brief pause in Lola’s indignant monologue.

“Ah, that he had better not! Ma foi, il ne manquerait que ça! Surely I need not explain to you the very great inconvenience that would be.” The long-haired jazz purist was now positively fuming. Sanne saw it with some amusement. There was even a little flush to be seen on those aristocratic, high cheekbones; the eyes were blazing with passionate ire.

If you didn’t know better, Sanne thought suddenly, you could almost think that…

Ah, but that could never be. No, surely that was out of the question.

And yet…

Yet this reaction was just a tad exaggerated, it seemed – even for Lola.

There was a brief silence. Sanne contemplated another mug of coffee, reminded herself that the pot was empty and toyed with the idea of making some new, then thought better of it.

“Will there be any more rehearsing today?”

Lola shrugged. “I do not think so. Valentine is bound to be confined with Jojo for at least an hour, bickering over all that tiresome paperwork. Mouton got it in his head to go out and fetch cigarettes” – Sanne almost burst out laughing at Lola’s expression of pure disgust – “and who knows where he will end up hanging about. We start tomorrow at ten, I think.” She took a sip from her coffee and grimaced. “When was this made?”

“Not an hour ago. Is it bad? Do you want me to make some fresh?”

“No, no,” with an airy gesture, “it is all right. But I suggest we go home shortly. There is still grocery-shopping to do.”

Meaning, Sanne knew, that it would be she who did them while Lola stayed at home and ‘cleaned the kitchen’, i.e. shake the table-cloth out from the window with fierce energy and grumble over stains on the stove. It was all right. Getting the groceries was usually fun.

“Say, Lola. What would you think of inviting the Lemaires over for dinner?”

---

TBC... Oh dear, WHERE will it lead?

[tma]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! You just got me Totally hooked with that Lola twist and I was reading and loving, reading and loving, and then..... TBC

D'oh!!

Love Simon (and rest of the gang).

Oh... my Fav. part

****

Simon turned his eyes upon her, their expression not varying much. “No thank you, chérie. I think I will go and practise that solo a little. One does not really like to depend too much on impro – one likes a bit of basic scheme to work from.” He got up and as he walked to the door, he sent her one of his enchanting smiles that always hit her right between the eyes.

“Good luck,” she got out. Then he was off.

As he walked rapidly down the narrow little corridor towards the studio, he thought with some dismay that he shouldn’t have sneezed so freely in Sanne’s presence. The girl was attentive; she noticed things. It wasn’t as bad as sneezing in the middle of performance, but it was unpleasant enough. He sincerely hoped the persistent tickle would not prolong itself – but for it to be there at all, was uncommon in the first place. On the whole, he did not feel optimistic about it.

*********

The phrase "enchaniting smile that hit her right between the eyes"- just ROCKED! Also... I just Loved his reaction and the way that you described his thoughts and everything.

I enjoyed it all throughly- but wanted to let you know my fav. part.

Ok... am waiting for more.

[Candy]

Gah! More! Must have more! Mmm, I love it!

[Zane]

I agree! need more! must have more! yum! thanks so much for writing this

[starpollen]

I remember this. If you have more written I would definitely like to read it. Simon is... mm. Delicious. Something about musicians, especially foreign musicians... just ticks all my boxes!