What better way to celebrate the fact that I'm writing for National Novel Writing Month than by uploading the novel I worked on back in '07?
I don't even know why I wrote this. National Novel Writing Month (AKA NaNoWriMo or just NaNo) is 50,000 words in 30 days. Why in the world would anyone, ANYONE, write 50,000 consecutive words about the Elite Beat Agents in one month?
An idiot, that's who.
Regardless, I really liked some of this, despite the crap I went through making it. I guess I can let everyone see what I did here, at least the beginning, for now. Invite others to read this too; I wrote it specifically for people who don't know EBA that much. At least, the beginning is enough for anyone. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it, I guess.
Hardly anyone noticed the small music shop near the corner of 34th and Vine. Indeed, the strange shop next to it seemed to always get more attention. That didn't seem to be much of a problem for the shop though. As long as it got the money to sustain itself, its owner was happy.
However, soon the small music shop did something quite extraordinary. It hired the help of a rather extraordinary boy. The young, colored teenager was unlike most teenagers in the fact that he loved music. He loved music of every type, from classical to country to rap (the young man actually wanted to become a rapper when he grew older). When listening to music, he could pick out which instruments were being used, how many, and whether or not a few were not tuned properly. It had always been a silly knack for the young man, and he hardly paid it any mind.
When he was hired as the caretaker of the small music shop near the corner of 34th and Vine, however, he found that he had another strange knack. Philip J. Jackson would smile favorably at any customer that entered the store and ask the same question. "What do you describe yourself as?"
At first, the customers were put off by such a strange, personal question, but a few humored Philip. They told him what they were like. Some were bubbly, some were sad, and even some felt angry at the world and wanted to see what it was like to suddenly kick someone in the rear and see the look on his face. Philip would then press his lips together, think very hard, and sail off to grab a music CD. He would then hand it to the person and say, "This is the CD for you. From the way you described yourself, you will love this music more than any other."
It was scary because every single time, Philip was right. Those who took the young man's advice found that they did love the songs within the CD; every last one was perfect bliss to the people who listened to the recommended songs. Suddenly, the small music shop got a lot of traffic. People of all sorts came barreling into the shop, just to see if they could disprove the claim that Philip could pick their music. Every single time, he would ask the same question, and if everyone replied truthfully, then he would find the right music.
Philip became a commodity in the town. Classmates of his that never remembered his name suddenly approached him on the way to school, asking if he was the Philip J Jackson that everyone was talking about. Philip would puff himself up pridefully and nod happily. "Yes! That's me alright!"
However popular Philip was in the music industry, however, he never really found himself fitting in with the students in his high school. The students would be excited to see the man who was a musical wizard, but other than that, they were highly uninterested in his escapades in real life. Seeing him as a normal kid who really couldn't do much else but sing and dance was incredibly dull and boring. Philip's best friend, Kyle, tried to sum up the feeling most of the others in the school felt. "It's like finding out Superman likes LARPing on weekends. Would you REALLY want to hang out with a LARP fanatic, no matter how fast he could fly around the world?" Philip wasn't sure that really made sense or summed anything up, but he took it with a grain of salt.
Philip was a musical master, but he didn't seem to be very special in other ways. He lived with his grandmother and sister, waiting for his father to return from the war, and his life revolved around his school, his homework, and his job at the small music store. There was just one thing he wished he could add to his expert juggling act…
One day, when Philip was cleaning the shop by sweeping the floor, a woman entered the door, calling out to anyone working there. "Hey, Phil! Where are you?" Philip winced at the nickname. He had decided at a very young age that the nickname "Phil" was the nickname of the devil and he hated it with a fiery passion. However, he allowed the woman who recently entered the shop to call him anything. The young worker appeared from an aisle of sheet music and waved the woman down.
"Hello, Asha!" he called to his classmate since the 6th grade, "How've you been?"
"Well enough," Asha said. She turned away to look at an antique recorder that Philip's boss had put on display. When she turned, Philip cocked his head to the side. He wanted a better view of her nice rear. It was shaped so well and fit so nicely in her tight shorts. The moment she looked up, however, Philip returned to sweeping. The man had always thought Asha to be the most beautiful woman on the planet, but she never seemed to respond to his attempts at wooing her. Her beautiful brown eyes would dance every single time he asked her out.
"Please, Asha!" he had cried when they were freshmen in high school, "Just one date! How's it gunna kill ya?"
"Slowly and painfully," Asha replied, "You'll never understand, Phil, I'm a delicate woman. I need someone other than a pushover to go out with. Why, I bet if I went on a date with you, muggers would target us JUST because you look like an easy target!"
"That's not true," Philip would reply with a smile, "They'd assume we don't have anything on us 'cause we're black."
Philip got a black eye that day.
"So… Asha… whatcha here for…?" Philip asked after he shook that horrid memory from his mind. Asha smiled at him, and her eyes danced again. She always did that when she was ready to play with yet another suitor that she'd turn down so hard the man would explode in a flaming wreck. "I mean, you know… Whatcha doin' in a music store unless you're buying music?"
"I wanted to know if you could stop staring at my rack long enough to speak to me for a while," Asha said. Philip looked up from her cleavage and stared at her manipulative dancing eyes. They were a trap! A trap! "Why don't I file a suit for sexual harassment?"
"If you don't like your treatment, you can leave," Philip said, "Although you can't really leave, can you? You really like the music I pick out for you."
Asha raised one of her eyebrows. So, Philip was going to play it the hard way, huh…? She smiled and walked to the counter that the worker was failing to stand behind, and leaned across it for a moment. "I suppose you're right, Phil. So could you pick something up for little ol' me?"
"Let's see… did any new music come in since you last visited?" Philip asked, walking behind the counter and accessing the lone computer behind it, "When was that, again?"
"Last month," Asha said, leaning further across the counter. Philip continued to type away at the computer, refusing to stare too heavily at her. She was so beautiful, he could stare at her for hours on end, but he had a job to do! If he worked hard, maybe she'd let him take her out for coffee, at least! There was a Starbucks down the way…
Philip struggled with the PC. How come they always had to be so difficult? If only everything electronic could just be accessed like shooting games. Press the Alt (Or "B") button, and have any machine ever immediately come to life and do the work for you. "Oh, here we are. We do have a few new things in stock," Philip said without missing a beat. He whirled around and rushed off. "I think I know just the one for you, too!"
"Think…?" Asha asked with a sly smile, "I didn't think you actually thought, Phil. I thought you just went by your instinct through life. Sentience isn't fashionable anymore, you know."
"Oh, you know, I always think if I have to. I mean, really," Philip replied without even realizing that the woman was being sarcastic. She decided not to say anything and instead just sighed lightly. Eventually, he returned with CD in hand. "Here it is."
"Great, how much?" Asha asked, reaching out to take it.
Philip pulled it back. "One coffee at Starbucks," he demanded, "Alright?"
Asha glared at the extortionist. "You do realize you get paid by commission, right?"
Philip stared back, and placed his fingers on his chin in thought. "Damn, you're right…" he muttered, "Here, just take it. It's on me if you do want to get a coffee?"
"Nice try, lover boy, but I have plenty of money right here," Asha said, fishing around her back pocket. Philip moved his head just slightly so he could watch her touching her rear. She was so cute when she did that…! She pulled open the wallet and handed him a few bills. "Keep the change. Looks like you'll need it come tonight."
"Tonight?" Philip asked, blinking as he counted off the money to see how much went into his personal coffers, "Don't worry, I don't have to help Gramma pay rent until a week from now."
"Good god," Asha said as she took the CD and left, "You really DO need to get laid…" Philip watched as she walked out of the shop, and once the bell rang to signal that someone had entered or left, a light bulb appeared over his head.
"Oh, that's what she…" He frowned darkly. "Ohhhhh, THAT'S what she meant…"
Philip sighed as the woman of his dreams walked out of the shop with nary a hitch. It just wasn't fair. Why wasn't he appealing? Was it his shaved head? He'd grow it out if she just asked… Perhaps it was the way he dressed. Maybe if he had a grunge look she'd be attracted to him. He wasn't sure how that would work, but everyone was mysterious in their own way.
"Hey! Jackson!" Philip nearly jumped when he heard his boss from the storage room. "What did I tell you about daydreaming on the job? There's a pile of dirt on aisle 3! Get over there now!"
Just how did that guy know everything that went on out front when he was in the storage room? And he thought HE had weird psychic powers. "Y…yes Sir!" Philip called back. He trotted around the counter, grabbed the broom, and rushed down to continue his sweeping.
Suddenly, Philip's watch rang loudly. The young man winced when he realized what that meant, and he shouldered the broom so he could inspect the fancy watch that was wrapped snugly around his wrist. One would wonder how he got such a high tech watch from his low paying part time job, but hardly anyone noticed it unless it was ringing. That hardly ever happened, so Philip was usually in the clear.
However, now that it was screeching at him, he made sure to check over his shoulder and press a small button on its side. Just great, it wasn't a test… "Hey, Boss!" the young man shouted as he quickly swept the dust under one of the aisle's merchandise shelves, "I gotta go!"
"Again!?" the man demanded, poking his head out as Philip rushed off to put the broom away in the closet, "What's the fire this time?"
"…Family matter!" Philip replied after a moment of hesitation. He tromped quickly to the door and opened it, letting the bell above the door ring loudly.
"It's ALWAYS a family matter!" the man said angrily, appearing behind the counter and glaring at his worker, "Someday, you're going to have to think of a better excuse than that, Jackson!"
"I know," Philip said sympathetically, "But now's not the time! I'll see you again if I can finish this up!"
"Boy, this is coming out of your pay!" The owner threatened. Philip would have to live with that as he slammed the door and sprinted down the crowded sidewalk. The owner grumbled angrily and leaned against the counter in frustration. "That boy…" If he wasn't such a valuable commodity for the music store, that kid would have had his butt fired months ago, and he knew it, too!
Philip continued to rush down the busy street, muttering apologies as he squeezed past people and stopping only when he came upon a darkened alleyway. He just hoped no one was in there, preferably muggers. Sliding inside, the young man leaned against the wall and slid down behind a couple of trash cans. There, he returned to his watch. Pressing another button, he waited patiently for the small analog screen to change. The face of a familiar face appeared. "You're late," the graying man said with a frown.
"I'm sorry Commander, but you know how life is…" Philip said, panting heavily not only because he had been running so fast, but because he wanted to make sure the commander knew he did so.
"Indeed…" the commander replied, "Agent BA-5, I will be sending you the information you need soon enough. Have you heard her call for help yet?"
Philip chuckled lightly in embarrassment. "Someone's calling?" he asked, "I'm sorry Commander… I guess I'm not that good yet…"
The commander pursed his lips. "Of course… I'll be sending backup. Do you think you can handle a job with BA-3 and BA-4?"
"Of course, Sir," Spin said, always aiming to please, "Just leave it to me!"
The man nodded. "Right, then I'll send Derek and Morris to the coordinates specified. Don't let me down, Agent Spin!"
The young man saluted the commander rather poorly. "You can count on me!"
The commander's face winked out, and Philip looked down at the tiny information that displayed on the watch's face. Huh, he never knew elderly women called for help as well… Philip stood up, brushed his rear of dirt, and removed his jacket. Pulling out a backpack from god knows where, he dragged out a formal over shirt and tie. In a flash, he was dressed in a tuxedo of tremendous fashion (he only had a little hard time applying his tie, as he still wasn't used to putting it on in a timely state). Finally, he pulled out the finishing touches. After applying his sunglasses and his trademark headphones (with two large stars on the casing of his earpieces), the young Philip J Jackson transformed immediately into BA-5, AKA Agent Spin.
Packing his jacket away, he pulled a small cube from his inner breast pocket, and pressed a small button on it. Immediately, the cube expanded to that of a large jet pack. He always loved using his jet pack, although he had to keep reminding himself that it didn't actually belong to him. He strapped the pack on, held his backpack in the crook of his elbow, and pressed a button. Immediately, the young agent was off to the coordinates on his watch. It was up to him to help the woman with her problems.
As he soared off into the sky, people of all kinds blinked at the trail of smoke that zoomed off into the air. With a slight shrug, they then returned to their lives. After all, stranger things had been seen in the busy town…
Philip J Jackson is BA-5, AKA Agent Spin. His family consisted of himself, his sister, father, and his paternal grandmother after his mother left them. There were a lot of court proceedings that Philip didn't remember much, probably to protect himself rather than because he was so young. Eventually his father went off to "the war" that will forever be unnamed but due to this taking place in the present time, you can sort of guess which one. Philip is proud of his old man, despite how he feels about the war itself, and waits for his return by trying to take on responsibility as "the man" of the household. Sometimes, though, it's real hard juggling a secret as well as a public life, and he tends to look to his "coworkers" to ask just how to keep everything afloat. Whether or not the answers are good is one thing, though, and Philip has to take everything he hears from them with a grain of salt.
I dunno if anyone cares, but the names that come out of here really are quite strange, so I figure I'll give you some reason for my madness:
Philip J Jackson is a little easy to figure out. When thinking of a name, I had been watching way too much Futurama, and Philip J Fry kept getting stuck in my head. Not exactly sure why, seeing as how that would probably fit Agent J a little better, but oh well, that's the way the cookie crumbles?
Jackson, as we all know, is totally a rip off from the king of pop, Michael Jackson. I figured he had to be named after SOMETHING musically inclined. It also seems to flow off the tongue: say "J Jackson" out loud. See? I dunno it sounded nice.
And guess what Christy I bet NO ONE CARES.
REGARDLESS. Send a review my way. Tell me what you liked and what you hated. Critique is just as acceptable as praise; I know this isn't anywhere near very awesome so I'd like to find out ways to improve. Thank you!