Sequel to
Finding the Rhythm
Written by
@PoptartProdigy
@Durin
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Stop the Clock
The next step is harder.
There is not much rhythm in a stasis shell. Rather the opposite, really. Ophelia, having just gotten used to listening to the music of reality, snags badly when set the task of making that music
stop.
This time, her teachers are of little help. While Grandpa Munstrum, in particular, managed to coach her to her initial understanding of these arts, his advice is less helpful as she moves away from precognitive arts. By now she has internalized the idea of the rhythm. It underlies everything she does.
And...
Ophelia focuses on the clockwork device in front of her, reaches out a hand, and, listening to the melody of creation, drags through her connection to the Warp a command for that melody to
cease.
And it does nothing.
Ophelia releases an explosive breath, staring at the clockwork device. It merrily ticks away, unperturbed by her attempt. With a frustrated grunt, she flicks her hand and smashes it to pieces with a telekinetic burst.
"Stupid machine," she grumbles, folding her arms as the pieces rattle to the floor. Immersed in the Warp as she already is, she hears its melody patter out and go silent in time with the more mundane sound of metal rattling on the ground. For a moment, she enjoys the silence, but soon enough, she grows restless. Twitching her fingers, she lifts up a cog from the machine and starts jerking it around, watching it sail through the air even as its renewed melody sings in her ears.
The problem facing her is intractable, and that frustrates her more deeply than she would willingly admit to another person. She has grown used to being able to master these abilities. Not without effort, to be sure, but she has worked years at this to no avail. She's running straight into the problem of expert fields: you need another expert to become an expert, and masters of time magic are few and far between. None have the time free to willingly spend it on her. All of her teachers who
are willing to help are cross-applying general principles from their own work.
It helped her break into the field in the first place, to be sure, and she will be forever grateful for that, but the fact remains that she now has passed beyond the point where they are able to help. Grandpa Munstrum can help with precognition. Mother can give advice on how to work with music. But taking that music and grinding it to a halt is something that does not come naturally, and the metaphors Ophelia uses to relate the issue to her family start to break down at that point.
Ophelia lets her thoughts drift as she plays with the cog. If she had to describe it to a layman -- and she wouldn't, not happily, given how frustrating that discussion would quickly become -- she'd say that it sounded like a flute. No, something higher-pitched. Picture-something?
She snorts to herself.
Mother would yell at me for messing up an instrument's name, she muses, keeping half an, "ear," on the sound the cog's motions make through the Warp.
"I raised you better! How could you disgrace the musical education I gave you like this?"
She laughs quietly to herself.
No, no she wouldn't. She looks up at the cog and jerks it to a halt for a moment, hearing the music cease on a high note. She smirks. "If only it were that easy." Then she lets it drop, and its music resumes in a precipitous plummet that sends it clattering to the floor before falling silent. Ophelia sighs and steps over to the cog. "Great. Now I've gotta clean this up." She picks it up. "You. You are pretty. But troublesome."
It sings in her ears as she tilts it back and forth. She amuses herself for a moment by pausing and restarting its motion over and over, listening to the song stutter. Stop and start, stop and start, stop and-
Ophelia stops again, staring at the cog. "...no." She wiggles it; its song restarts, climbing to a point of tension before she stops it again. She then twitches it once more, and the tension releases on a clean resolution. Ophelia closes her eyes.
Mother, I'm sorry for thinking your lessons couldn't help me, here.
She tosses down the cog and steps back before waving her hand and sending the leftover pieces of the machine clattering all over the place. She watches them dance and listens to their song as it builds to a whimsical crescendo, and again throws out her arms.
I am not trying to stop the music. Just trying to give it a bit of a...
She digs deep into the Warp and sends power outwards in a sphere, imagining herself as a conductor throwing her arms wide to hush an orchestra.
The pieces still and fall silent; their motion halts; their song fades.
Ophelia allows herself a somewhat annoyed smirk.
...rest. Yes, a rest. The answer was basic musical theory. Mother is going to laugh.
With a flourish, she lets the movement resume, and the pieces come to a halt as the song pitters and patters its way to an almost laughing finish. Ophelia sighs, sweeping them up.
She's going to be insufferable. I wonder how other people visualize these things?
Despite her mild annoyance, however, she works with a self-satisfied smile on her face. It will be quite some time
mastering this new ability, but she finds it not pretentious at all to celebrate
gaining it.