A Blake's 7 Community

Not so sweet now.

Behind his closed door, the violins soar and yearn in an intense ecstasy of sound. He has been trying to rest, something he finds difficult enough when his head isn't pounding and in desperation he has turned to this to help him relax. A violin concerto by an old Earth composer, Mendelssohn. A fragment only, that he has managed to download from a library bank of ancient music. And a rarity. Today's music is the discordant sound of electronic synthesisers or the anodyne tunes churned out daily from Federation speakers in the shops and food halls of the Domes.

Avon heard his first violin music when he was very young. His mother would play her favourite pieces over and over again and he would sit outside her room as the music sang piercingly of her longing to be free of the walls and conventions that trapped her, its harmonies so poignant, each drawn out note so perfect, that his throat ached with a burden of tears he did not understand. He has never met another who shared his love of the violin except his brother- even Anna had no liking for it.

He wills each interweaving diamond strand of melody to wrap itself around him and tries to soar with it and rise above the throbbing pain.

---
Tarrant making his way to Dayna's cabin, whistles the tune of a popular sentimental little number about a lonely Federation girl who falls for a handsome trooper. He hasn't much time in his life for music but he does like a tune he can whistle. As he passes Avon's quarters, he grins broadly to himself. The Ultras' mind transfer process left both Avon and Cally feeling nauseated, with blinding headaches but, predictably, Avon denied that he was feeling any ill-effects - right up until the moment he had, just as predictably, thrown up. Fortunately Vila had been at hand and Tarrant had been able to order him to clear up the mess while he took a shower.

The prospect of being without Avon's acid presence for at least 48 hours has cheered Tarrant up no end and now he is hoping that he can persuade Dayna to put in some practice with him on their mating rituals- you never know when you might encounter another race of blue-skinned Aliens who will demand to see you perform, and he believes in doing things well.

He braces himself outside her door after knocking, but even so the expected blast of Revival Steam Punk nearly knocks him off his feet when she opens it.
---
Eyes shielded from the light by the black silk mask she has put on, Cally, lies on her bed with the squeaks, whoops and eerie yowls of sea creatures reverberating around her. She tried this music on the crew during one of her yoga sessions but it had not been popular and Avon's subsequent observations about whale songs were both rude and anatomically impractical. Perhaps the crew's lack of telepathy prevents them from connecting with the calm centre she hears at the heart of the swirling noise. She breathes deeply and feels her headache slipping like water from her temples.
---
" Music the food of love. Can you explain this phrase, Vila Restall?"

Vila has been left on watch on the dubious grounds that he had done nothing while the others were risking life and limb,-despite the fact that if it wasn't for his cleverness they might never have returned. He has only Zen, Orac and a bottle of adrenaline and soma for company. Just as he prefers.

Normally he sleeps through his watches, but on this occasion Orac has decided that, rather than sit there privately gulping data like a starving Delta on Federation Aid days, it wants to continue investigating the functions of language with Vila.

Their conversation has quickly moved on from tin tacks and limericks to the meaning of quotes from an Old Calendar writer, William Shakespeare. Vila has struggled to interpret phrases such as ' the Bourne from which no traveller returns" and "Oh full of Scorpions is my mind" until his own headache has begun to match Avon's and Cally's. The "scorpion" reference was particularly baffling. He had no idea what a scorpion was and when he found out, there was still the mystery of how it might have got into a mind. He'd finally suggested that it was probably very small and had entered through an ear, which had shut Orac up for a bit.

But then Zen joined in demanding to know the significance of the phrase, "Music, the food of love' revealing that this was a password that Avon has set up so that any invading Federation thugs will be unable to access certain systems without it and will keep him alive. He wishes he could be sure that Avon will accord him the same consideration when he discovers that Zen has told him about it.

Music, the food of love. A strange phrase for Avon to choose but it has got him thinking. What particular music do his crew mates use to get them through the stressful days and lonely night watches?

He chooses songs from the musicals that he watched every Saturday morning on the Public Vidcasts when he was a kid. Jenna, he remembers affectionately, had a liking for some of the most eye-wateringly dirty songs that ever graced the lips of a pirate and would sing them without a blush, while Blake hummed marching music whenever he was alone. Ironic that one of the Galaxy's better known rebels should like the music that accompanied official Federation Occasions but Blake rendered it so tunelessly that Avon had been heard to mutter that this, in itself, was an act of rebellion. Cally has been caught listening to retro rock as well as her awful whales. It reminds them all that, behind the fragile appearance, lies a warrior's spirit.

He wonders what music Avon listens to? If music feeds what people love then it'll be something atonal, he bets - something as cold and unpleasant as that icy heart.
---
The concerto reaches for a climax and its last notes linger, piercingly beautiful, fading to leave him lonely and bereft. Avon wonders why his brother disappeared all those years ago and where he is now. Was he a victim of some hostile act, suicidal or did he just leave to seek his freedom? None of them comforting resolutions.

His headache is back with a vengeance and he slumps on the bed, resigning himself to the discomfort.