something pretty and lighthearted? I have to get back down. Weston isn’t bad as head waiter, but I really should get back to work.”
“I’ll play it,” Ia promised her. “But it’ll take all five picks and then some—I’ll play a simplified version for now.”
“Thank you, kitten.” Blowing her daughter a kiss, Aurelia retreated. She left the door open behind her. Ia didn’t bother to shut it, but instead just picked up another bead and the eyedropper, trying to get a feel for this new process manually so that she could replicate it telekinetically later. She would have done so now, but didn’t want to mess up one of her mother’s favorite songs.
The faint strains of strings being plucked in the up-and-down waves of an arpeggio shifted, turning much more melodic. Rising and falling with the song, the notes sang at rhythmic intervals, depending on how strongly or subtly she plucked them. The arpeggio had served its purpose, by adjusting her mind to the physical location of each string. Now she could play it in earnest as she worked.
Wall harps were not uncommon among telekinetics; it was considered a primary test just to be able to pluck the strings with the force of one’s mind, let alone waft a pick into the air and flick it across the metal lines. The real benefit, however, lay in practicing it like one practiced a normal instrument; the more a telekinetic could flick and pluck and play, the stronger they could train their abilities.
Of course, there were limits to psychic training. Everyone—at least among Humans—could train into themselves a baseline level of raw empathic, clairsentient, gut-instinct level sensitivity, with time and effort. For the flashier abilities, one had to be born with them, and then discover them—usually in the puberty years—and then master and train them. Raw ability could rank someone at a certain baseline, and training could push them a few ranks higher, but there were limits. Raw strength could lift and move a heavy weight, but wielding something as tiny as a string pick with enough deftness and dexterity to play a song took practice, practice, and more practice.
She hadn’t lied in telling her mother it would be nice to use her abilities for something peaceful. Nor had she lied about being a lot better at subtle manipulations by now. Still, therewas a difference between telekinetically guiding the outcome of a battle in her favor and plucking a charming tune from harp strings strung on a frame two meters wide and mounted on the wall of the dining half of the restaurant downstairs.
The noise of the diners had muted a bit during her warm-up. Now the melody soared and danced, growing a little louder as her mother slipped through the door at the bottom of the stairs, leaving it, too, slightly ajar. Pots and pans rattled in the kitchen, and she could hear her birthmother, Amelia, ordering someone to clean up a spill, but over all those noises, the wall harp played on.
Ia picked up another bead and carefully measured four drops of blood into the hollow at its center. She worked in time with the tune, thumbs squishing and kneading, palms rubbing and rolling.
Four drops of blood per bead, twenty in a milliliter…that’s eight hundred beads before I run out of blood. As soon as I’ve gotten a good rhythm and habit established up here, and I’ve played enough music for a set…I’ll be able to return the picks to their bowl downstairs and use my abilities on these beads instead. Then things should go a lot faster.
A pity I wasn’t born a Gatsugi, with four arms instead of two. Then I could’ve done this twice as fast by hand…
As much as part of her wanted to stay with her family, to be on hand to help Rabbit and the rest in their coming underground war against the Church, Ia was all too aware that her time here was running out.
CHAPTER 4
One of the requirements of being a bona fide psychic is to be registered with a duly authorized organization that can help
“I’ll play it,” Ia promised her. “But it’ll take all five picks and then some—I’ll play a simplified version for now.”
“Thank you, kitten.” Blowing her daughter a kiss, Aurelia retreated. She left the door open behind her. Ia didn’t bother to shut it, but instead just picked up another bead and the eyedropper, trying to get a feel for this new process manually so that she could replicate it telekinetically later. She would have done so now, but didn’t want to mess up one of her mother’s favorite songs.
The faint strains of strings being plucked in the up-and-down waves of an arpeggio shifted, turning much more melodic. Rising and falling with the song, the notes sang at rhythmic intervals, depending on how strongly or subtly she plucked them. The arpeggio had served its purpose, by adjusting her mind to the physical location of each string. Now she could play it in earnest as she worked.
Wall harps were not uncommon among telekinetics; it was considered a primary test just to be able to pluck the strings with the force of one’s mind, let alone waft a pick into the air and flick it across the metal lines. The real benefit, however, lay in practicing it like one practiced a normal instrument; the more a telekinetic could flick and pluck and play, the stronger they could train their abilities.
Of course, there were limits to psychic training. Everyone—at least among Humans—could train into themselves a baseline level of raw empathic, clairsentient, gut-instinct level sensitivity, with time and effort. For the flashier abilities, one had to be born with them, and then discover them—usually in the puberty years—and then master and train them. Raw ability could rank someone at a certain baseline, and training could push them a few ranks higher, but there were limits. Raw strength could lift and move a heavy weight, but wielding something as tiny as a string pick with enough deftness and dexterity to play a song took practice, practice, and more practice.
She hadn’t lied in telling her mother it would be nice to use her abilities for something peaceful. Nor had she lied about being a lot better at subtle manipulations by now. Still, therewas a difference between telekinetically guiding the outcome of a battle in her favor and plucking a charming tune from harp strings strung on a frame two meters wide and mounted on the wall of the dining half of the restaurant downstairs.
The noise of the diners had muted a bit during her warm-up. Now the melody soared and danced, growing a little louder as her mother slipped through the door at the bottom of the stairs, leaving it, too, slightly ajar. Pots and pans rattled in the kitchen, and she could hear her birthmother, Amelia, ordering someone to clean up a spill, but over all those noises, the wall harp played on.
Ia picked up another bead and carefully measured four drops of blood into the hollow at its center. She worked in time with the tune, thumbs squishing and kneading, palms rubbing and rolling.
Four drops of blood per bead, twenty in a milliliter…that’s eight hundred beads before I run out of blood. As soon as I’ve gotten a good rhythm and habit established up here, and I’ve played enough music for a set…I’ll be able to return the picks to their bowl downstairs and use my abilities on these beads instead. Then things should go a lot faster.
A pity I wasn’t born a Gatsugi, with four arms instead of two. Then I could’ve done this twice as fast by hand…
As much as part of her wanted to stay with her family, to be on hand to help Rabbit and the rest in their coming underground war against the Church, Ia was all too aware that her time here was running out.
CHAPTER 4
One of the requirements of being a bona fide psychic is to be registered with a duly authorized organization that can help
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