Work Text:
Written for the 2024 Insert Title Here Challenge
The Town Muscians of Bremen (fairy tale)
"A Sweet Melody"
It was more than a little relief that the trio plodding thigh-high drifts of snow, saw the lights of the inn glowing in front of them, a welcoming sight for all weary travelers.
With weary steps they pushed open the door of the inn, the good aromas of a joint of beef roasting on a spit towards the back, ale and laughter wafting out toward the cold night air from the opening of the door; it was good to be out of the cold and wind.
When they came in, closing the door behind them, they choose a table near the back and set their gear down on the floor. ”Woot, I declare, I do not recall ever seen a snowstorm the likes of this, have you Rooster?” asked the one of the other members of their troupe.
“Not since the storm of 1790,” Rooster replied. Nodding his head, his crest of bright red and whiteg glowing in the light from the hearth in the back of the tap room.
“I remember that one, “Dog replied. “I had a friend who said that it happened on the night of All Soul’s Day, November 2nd, and he and I were planning on going to a masquerade ball. We had our costumes all picked out, you know?”
“I think I’ve heard this one before,” the Cat chimed in. He loved his friends, he really did, and he was very grateful that fate, or circumstanes had mangaged to bring them all together, after they had all experinced indvidual sad pasts; however, they did go on so, sometimes.
“Tell it again,” Lupo the Dog encouraged.
“What,” Koki the Rooster replied with a huff, “What are you looking that way at me for? It will help pass the time I until we can order a little food and drink.”
“Very well,” the Cat huffed.
The Dog needed no further encouragement: “So, I heard that fedoras were all the rage that season; and I had a long coat with a white cravat and some nice but not too nice dress pants, but since I was all wet from swimming, when I went out into the cold air, it was like all the fur on head stood up like tiny icicles. My hat barely fit on top of my head!”
The publican came over to take their order. “What’ll it be?” he asked. He was a big, barrel-chested man with a big bushy bear that hit nearly at past his breast-bone.
“Three platters of that joint yonder, some bread to sop it with and two milks,, and pitcher of water, if you’d be so kind, Sir,” Koki the Rooster said.
“Very well,” the man replied and stomped off.
Their food and drink came in do course, and they all dug in with gusto.
Once their initial hunger had been assuaged, the two most talkative members of their trio turned their glances towards the third and up until now the quietest member of the troupe.
“Old chap, I’ve been wondering something for a very long time now, perhaps something you could clear up for us,” Rooster said.
“What is it?” Burlon The Cat replied.
“How did you ever learn to play the fiddle? I know you prefer the saxophone to the fiddle, but we’ve seen you bring that out a time a time whenever we perform," Koki asked.
“I imagine, the same way you learned to play your own instruments,” Burlon replied.
“I know that, but tell we’re all in the mood for a good tale, and perhaps a sweet melody afterwards, so let’s hear it.”
Burlon the Cat heaved a deep meditative sigh, held it for a count of several heartbeats, and let it out again. “Very well, here goes., Once upon a time, isn’t that how all of these stories go? My great, great, grandfather lived on a farm where the inhabitants grew cotton, soybeans, and all manner of good and green things. But they also had a well-deserved reputation for merriment and music. “
“In fact, one could say that they were better musicians and singers than they were farmers. My grandfather was a tortoise shell, my grandmother, also; it made for blending into their surroundings much easier.”
“So, when they people on that farm would gather together in the barn, or out of the cleared area near the fields at the end of a day, or on the weekends, everyone, and I mean everyone, family, farmhands, invited guests; would bring out every manner of instrument imaginable; and if they didn’t have an instrument; they would improvise, and make the biggest ruckus imaginable."
“I bet it did!” Lupo the Dog exclaimed.
“These would occur almost every night and day, and my grandparents would watch and learn, and painstakingly learn to play the fiddle themselves, and then when they had kids, they made a promise to pass on the skill to their descendants.”
“Why a fiddle?” Koki asked.
“I’m not sure, Burlon replied with a supple shrug. “I real, it had something cryptic to do with if your hands are cold and the fiddle is old, spark it up.”
“Spark it up. If our instruments have dried out by now, we can peform to pay for our supper.” Lupo the Dog offered.
“I don’t think they take a melody for payment here, “Burlon softly suggested. “As for the drums…and our other intstruments, they might not have dried out yet.”
“I hope so, Lupo the Dog replied. “Do you have any idea how much water can crack leather?”
Burlon said: “We’ll help you carry them up to our rooms once we reckon up with the innkeeper.”
“We can still get a small session in latter tonight, or tomorrow., if you want, Lupo suggested.
“Agreed,” both Koki and Burlon said almost in unison.
“Tomorrow, then,” Lupo agreed, and they raised their respective drinking pitchers and clanked them all together. It’s getting late, and tomorrow will be here sooner than you think.”
“Good night, all!” Koki cried.