AUTHOR: Juliebug ([email protected]) and Martha McDonnell
([email protected])
CODES: TNG, indirect P/C, 1/1
RATING: PG-13
ARCHIVE:  Yep!  asc and the collected It-stories page are both
fine.  :) All others please ask.
FEEDBACK:  Much appreciated at [email protected] and/or
[email protected]
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Trek, Bevster owns the It-concept, we own
this. :)

Author's Note:  A joint venture!  The first section was written by
Juliebug and the second by Martha, with reciprocal beta-reading.  We
are not responsible for this -- blame (or thank) Bevster and TrexPhile
(hi guys!), and the general amusement factor of all the stories thus
far. ;)

Summary:  POVs from Bev's theatre masks and JLP's flute.

--

THE MASKS (Comedy and Tragedy)
by Juliebug ([email protected])

Tragedy sighed again.

"Get over it, already," Comedy said, smiling, as always.

"But it's so... so... so TRAGIC," the mask lamented. Again.

"It's kind of funny, if you think about it."

"EVERYTHING is funny to you. I don't think it's funny at all. It's
so... so... so TRAGIC."

If Comedy had had eyes, he would have rolled them. "And YOU think
everything is so tragic all the time."

"Well it IS tragic. No one ever looks at us anymore. No one ever even
stops by. She's never here." He sniffled, quietly. "It'd be one thing
if she were working in Sickbay, or doing a night shift on the Bridge,
but... She's always with HIM!" Tragedy sobbed.

"Aw, look at the bright side," Comedy giggled. "Remember the last time
they were here? That time where the old bald guy pushed her up against
the wall? That was interesting!"

"You call that INTERESTING?! We went crashing to the floor and went
unnoticed for HOURS. It's so... so... so TRAGIC."

"It was something better than just sitting up on the wall all day long.
Human interaction AND a neat view."

Tragedy made a strangled sort of noise. "A neat view?! Are you kidding
me? They dented the wall, and poor Visor Boy had to get an engineering
crew up here to fix it! I don't think that was remotely fun or
interesting. In fact, I think it was--"

"TRAGIC, yeah, yeah, I know," Comedy interrupted.

"But that much force cannot be healthy for a human." Tragedy grumbled,
concerned for the redhead's well-being. If anything happened to her,
it would be... Well, tragic, really.

"Relax. If she's happy, that's what counts!"

"But what about us? We're not happy. The BED certainly isn't happy.
The wigs haven't been happy in ages and don't MAKE me bring up the
lab coat."

"Oh, not the lab coat AGAIN," grumbled Comedy.

"YES, the lab coat. And you know what I've heard? That the poor
turbolift got a communicator IMBEDDED in its control panel!"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It was OUR REDHEAD'S communicator!"

"You're kidding me."

"I most certainly am not."

Comedy burst out laughing. "That's GREAT! They really get around. I'm
so happy for them."

Tragedy frowned even more. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this."

"Uh, oh, speaking of hearing things..."

Voices were heard outside the quarters. The doors slid open and before
long, the old bald guy and the redhead were stumbling into the
bedroom, hands all over each other, kissing and nibbling and giggling
and groaning.

"Oh, good lord, not again."

"Hot DAMN!" cackled Comedy, "I love having a high vantage point!"

"No, not again, not the wall!" cried Tragedy, softly.

<thud>

"Okay, so the floor isn't such a bad view, either. Wow. Look at THAT!"
Comedy's eyes went wide. "I didn't know that was *possible*," he
whispered furiously to his partner. "This certainly is educational!"

"Tragic," Tragedy sighed, as yet another dent in the wall was created.
"Just tragic."

--

THE FLUTE
by Martha McDonnell ([email protected])

I've settled into my new life here quite well, really.  A desperate
flight from a dying planet, adrift for hundreds of years, rescued by
clumsy, tone-deaf engineers .... why, with all I've been through, it's
amazing I'm still in such good condition.  But I'm a genial sort of
instrument -- always have been.  And I've really had little reason to
complain, here.  The old bald guy's always been good to me, held me in
the highest regard, paid me attention, stored me carefully ... all in
all, it's been a good life.

But not lately.

No, I cannot say I am at *all* pleased with the recent turn of events.

Why, I've been neglected!  Positively ignored!  It's as if he doesn't
even  *care* about me anymore.  I'll bet I don't even cross his mind
some days!  The old bald guy and I used to make beautiful music
together, if I do say so myself.  Until *she* came along.

It's all the fault of that horrid redhead.  Sure, she's lovely,
graceful, charming, witty, and apparently pleases him very much ...
but she's completely stolen him!  All his attentions are now focused
on her!  Gone are the quiet, relaxing evenings together.  Instead
*she's* always here, and I *must* say, the sounds they make together,
though most definitely not lacking in enthusiasm, are absolutely
nothing as resonant or musical as *mine*.

From what I've overheard (when they've been *coherent*, that is), he's
even been taking her to all *our* favourite places.  Can you imagine?!
They went to see the jeffries tube!  The jeffries tube and I are
*wonderful* together.  How on *earth* does he think that she can even
*begin* to compare?  She makes noise, that's for sure, but that's
about where the similarity ends.

Worst of all, though, is the irreparable damage his musician's mouth
*must* be taking, from what I've seen.  The rigors she's putting it
through!  It used to be that I was the only one who had access to that
mouth -- well, me and the teacup.  But it was me he'd use most
lovingly, me who knew those lips oh, so well.  But alas, no longer!
He's converted, left the sacrosant field of musical devotion and
turned his mouth to far less cultural pursuits.  True, I can hardly
say it hasn't been educational, but beyond that ... it's just
shocking.  A true waste of musical talent.

Harumph.  No respect for the true fineries of life.

<sigh>