(TFs into musical instruments)

A Trust Machines Story By grapehyacinth

 “God damn it,” Mr. Bob Jeffreys screamed at the Westmore High School Concert Band. “The concert's in two weeks! Most of you are going to be in college next year, yet you play like fourth graders! How hard is it to remember that there is a B-flat in the damned song? The piece you're playing is written for advanced beginners. You are advanced in nothing!”

“That's why we're in the concert band. The kids that can actually play are in the wind ensemble,” pointed out Waverly, the first-flute player. She batted her eyebrows at the conductor, making him even angrier.

“So you're telling me that you're proud to sound crappy? If you'd actually practice, I could move on and give you 'intermediate' music to play, you know, like for middle-school students.”

“I think we sound awesome, dude!” said Frank, one of the trombone players. He was not such a bad musician, but Bob was half-convinced the boy was on something. Whether it was legal or not, he did not want to know.

Marcus the percussionist banged several times on the bass drum. “Yeah! We're awesome! Let's hear it for how awesome we are!” He hit the drum again as most of the group gave a loud cheer.

“Damn it, Marcus! I should Venn you into a drum and bang on you!” Bob shouted over the din.

The group suddenly quieted down, and one could almost see the ideas forming in their heads.  If the Venn (or Trust) Machines could change a person into pretty much anything they wanted...

“Dude, how cool would that be?” Marcus exclaimed to Dave, the tuba player.

“Man, could you imagine being a freaking tuba?”

“Ew, Dave, you want someone blowing on you?” added Ashley, the stand-mate and friend of Waverly's. This comment sent the group into embarrassed giggles.

“I bet it would feel nice,” Waverly said dreamily.

“I'm surprised you haven't done that yet, Waverly,” Frank called across to her. “Well, you haven't done it in that form yet...” he added nastily.

Cat-calls and whispers of “Venn slut” punctuated the room.

Waverly stood up. “Just cause I like being Venned doesn't make me a slut,” she insisted, brandishing her flute in the air to make her point.

“Waverly, sit down. What the hell is a Venn slut?” Bob looked down at Trini, the first clarinet player, for an answer.

Trini was quiet, and the youngest of the group. She was too good for the beginner band, but, being in tenth grade, she was not allowed in the wind ensemble. So she was stuck in the concert band with the worst musicians in the school...perhaps even the universe... Bob felt bad for her, but rules were rules.

Trini cast her eyes down, obviously not looking to get on Waverly's bad side. What a shame, Bob thought to himself. Waverly was the biggest bitch he had taught in a while. Ashley was a close second.

Bob sighed, raising his baton. “Let's try this song again. Please.”

But this attempt was, if at all possible, worse than before. The students were now discussing all kinds of X-rated things to do with the Venn Machines, and were already making plans to meet there.

“Oh, God, do your parents even know what you're doing with those damn machines? I mean, that's...you're kids, for God's sake.”

“Mr. Jeffreys, I just turned eighteen,” Sid, the baritone player, pointed out proudly.

“Yes, because you've been left back how many times, Sid?”

“Dude, you're awesome,” snickered Paul, the lead trumpet player. He turned around and whacked at Sid with his trumpet, hitting the baritone and denting it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Paul? That's a rental baritone!” Bob chastened the boy. Paul always bothered him. He was an excellent player, but he was more interested in looking cool and hanging with the deadbeats. He had actually turned down the offer to be in wind ensemble so he could 'hang with the cool kids.' Sometimes, kids were just plain stupid.

At a low, Bob let the group out early. He heard Jerome, a sax player, suggest cutting the rest of school and heading to the Venn Machine at the Westmore Mall.

“Waverly, you come too. We'll turn Jacey into a soda, and you can be the straw, since you like that kind of thing.”

Jacey the oboe player squealed, and Toby the bass clarinetist uttered, “I'll drink her any day.”

Yes, teenagers were sickos, Bob thought defeatedly.

***

Bob sat drumming his fingers on the kitchen table. He and his wife had just finished dinner, and she watched the shifting emotions crossing his face. “The concert band kids are driving you crazy?” she asked.

He glanced up, shaking his head. “Lainie, I just don't know what to do with them. They just plain...suck.”

He drank the rest of his water, and crashed the glass down onto the table. “I told the stupid idiot drum player I'd like to Venn him into a drum and slam him, and he loved the idea! All the kids did! There's probably seventy kids-turned-drums sitting outside the damned machine right now, and a few kids left to beat them.” He covered his eyes. “I should go over there right now and bang the hell out of the little bastards. Can't hurt them when they're transformed, so it's a perfect way to get out my anger.”

“Bob!” Lainie's eyes lit up, and she rose from the chair.

“What?”

“I don't know if this is legal, but if you can't 'beat' them, join them.”

“What does that mean?”

“Venn them all into instruments, and have another group play the songs on them that they'll be playing at the concert!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, say I'm a...piccolo player. You turn me into a piccolo, and another piccolo player plays on me all the parts I play at the concert. I bet I'll learn that music pretty fast!”

Bob stood up beside her, eyes wide. “Holy crap. I mean, yes, it sounds ridiculous, but it's actually...brilliant! Lainie, you're amazing!” he hugged her, then grabbed the phone. “I'm calling my supervisor right now.”

***

Bob was surprised at how easy it was to convince the head of the music department to allow him to do a 'Venn Field Trip'. The Concert Band had the worst reputation of all the school groups, and the district obviously wanted to fix that. “Just make sure you get the parents' okays before you do this,” he was told.

Bob went off and drafted a permission slip immediately.

***

“Take one and pass it down,” Bob instructed, handing a pile of papers to the student at the end of each row.

“What the hell is this?” muttered Sid.

“A field trip! Hooray!” Jacey squealed. “Will it be like 'Band Camp'?”

Waverly made her best bitchy face. “Oh, my God, Jacey? Can't you like, read?” her eyes bulged as she scanned the paper in her hand. “Like, a trip to the mall? To get Venned? Hell, Mr. Jeffreys! You're like, so awesome!”

A murmur of agreement ran through the room.

“No way, really? You're going to make us all into instruments?” asked Frank.

“That's what it says,” Bob uttered, pulling out the score to their first piece. A thought came into his head. “And if you all do this, and you work really hard the next few days, I'll have them Venn me into a conductor's baton for the new conductor to use.” He was no newcomer to the Venn Machines; he and Lainie had quite an eventful Venn life for years. Although he had never thought to become a band instrument, he was curious about it now, and he decided, depending on how the 'trip' went, it might be interesting having his wife 'play' him. Or he could 'play' her. The closest he had done in this vein was to become a small piano for her. He wanted to be a grand piano, but he wouldn't have fit inside the Venn machine. He really wished they would get some supersized Venn Machines up and running. The possibilities were limitless there...

But even being a small piano, having his wife tapping at his keys and feeling the music flow from his 'body'...Well, it was truly incredible.

“Dude, you really are awesome, Mr. Jeffreys! I knew it!” Marcus cried triumphantly.

“Yeah, I'm awesome,” Bob muttered, opening up the music and flattening it onto the music stand in front of him. “Get those permission slips back immediately. Now open up to 'Acrobatics for Band' and let's play it. Awesomely.”

***

Not surprisingly, the permission slips were all back the next day, except for Trini's. “Trini, yours is the only one I don't have yet. Meanwhile, this is probably the first time all these other delinquents got something in on time.” Bob was actually shocked that not a single parent objected to the 'trip'. There were still plenty of people who were completely against the use of Venn Machines. But then again, the parents of these particular children were probably hoping their kids would remain permanently stuck as something useful. With a chuckle to himself, he addressed the clarinetist once more. “So, Trini, can you come with us?”

Trini, looking uncomfortable, did not answer immediately. So the rest of the band did it for her.

“Oh, my God, you're like, scared!” cried Waverly, as if this was the discovery of the century.

“Well, she's not friends with a Venn Machine like you, Waverly,” snickered Toby.

“Venn Slut! Venn Slut!” rotated around the band room a few times.

“I'm not scared! Here!” Trini ripped a permission slip from her pocket and thrust it into Bob's hand.

“Well,” he said, taken aback. “That's everyone. I guess we're good to go.”

***

Trini slunk into his office after band, just as Bob had anticipated. “Trini, you don't have to do this,” he said. “You're not the problem here.”

She sat down in the chair next to his desk. “No, I will. My parents really want me to. They feel I'm too much of a loner, and I should try not to isolate myself too much. You know, the whole 'go along with the group' thing.”

“Well, there's also the 'if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you follow' thing too,” he replied softly.

She sighed. “I have to try the Venn Machine sometime. My parents love it, my sister makes fun of me because I don't...”

“It's safe, Trini. And it's such fun... Listen, a couple of my friends almost divorced because of the machines. The husband was obsessed with changing, and he desperately wanted his wife to join him, but she was deathly afraid. So he started going off and changing with others. Anyone. Venn-sluts, I think some of them might be termed,” he smiled knowingly.

“People like Waverly,” she whispered.

Chuckling, he uttered, “Now, I didn't say that, young lady.”

They laughed together, and Trini appeared to relax. “So what happened with your friends?” she queried.

“Well, the wife tricked him and turned him into a garbage can for a while,” both tittered at this, “and when he changed back, they discussed his problem, and his wife finally agreed to be Venned. Now you can't get her away from the contraption. The other day my wife went to her house and found her waiting as a trophy on her husband's desk. So that shopping trip my wife had planned was obviously not going to happen.”

Trini looked intrigued. “A trophy? Like, metal? What's that like? I mean, you can't move or speak...”

He nodded. “Everyone says that. But when you're an object, it just feels...right. It's relaxing. But don't go there yet. Go home and get someone, maybe your sister. Go to the Venn Machine with her and ease into it, like my friend's wife did. First they changed her skin color, then they made her an animal, then a statue, and then it was anything her mind could think of. Trust me, Trini. Try it. You will thank me.”

Trini stood up. “Okay,” she said doubtfully. “Here goes nothing.”

***

The next time he saw Trini, her face was glowing. She ran up to him before band and gasped, “You were right! It's amazing! I was a panda, and then my sister shrank me down into a stuffed panda...she kept me that way overnight...” she giggled. “Then I was a toy train, and a scratching post for my cat... Well, that wasn't so fun when Fluffy scratched on me...”

“I'm glad, I'm glad,” Bob laughed, urging her to go sit.

“And I was a barrette...oh, my God!”

“What?” Bob asked with concern.

“I think I'm becoming a Venn slut.”

Amused, he shook his head. “I think we're all Venn sluts deep down.”

***

Two large groups stood outside the Venn Machine. To one side was the Westmore Concert Band, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. To the other side was the Westmore Community College Band, with several adult non-members standing off to the side in a small group.

In the middle stood Bob Jeffreys and Kent Raithburn, the conductor of the college ensemble.

“Okay, guys. Kent and I spent a while matching you up according to ability as well as personality. Since there are more of my students than Kent's, we invited in some of our musician friends who were willing to play you.”

“'Play you.' That's awesome,” snickered Marcus from the back of the group.

Several of the college students joined in the snickering.

“You'll go into the machine with your partner, they'll Venn you, and then...well, then it's rehearsal time, my friends.”

The high school band members clamored towards him, each yelling “me first!” Keith, the French horn player, was right in front of Bob, and the conductor pulled him towards the machine. “Who has Keith?” he called to the college students.

“Me,” a soft-spoken girl answered. With mousy brown hair and bluish eyes, she was actually cute in a studious way, and Keith leered at her hungrily. “I'm Tammy,” she introduced herself.

“Keith,” the high-schooler gulped.

“To the Venn machine with you both!” Kent ordered genially, waving his arms in welcome.

Side-by-side, the two students made their way to the machine. “How weird is this?” giggled Tammy nervously.

Still gaping at his 'player', Keith stepped into one side of the machine. Without realizing that his tongue was nearly hanging out of his mouth, he watched her step into her side and adjust the controls. As she reached over to start his transformation, he mouthed, “Thank you God” and collapsed to the floor in a clang of new brass.

***

The two band directors joined Tammy in retrieving the newly-created instrument from the floor of the machine. Triumphantly, Bob held it up above his head for the crowd to see. “Our first instrument is complete! Keith makes a nice horn, doesn't he?” Keith's brass shined in the sunlight, and the students gave a loud roar of agreement. Bob handed the French horn to Tammy, who accepted it carefully.

“Treat him well, Tammy. I expect you and he will make wonderful music together,” Kent laughed.

Tammy blushed, running her fingers over Keith's three mother-of-pearl inlaid keys.

“Next up!”

“Me, me! Oh, pick me!”

“Let's go down the list. Our piccolo-to-be, Nancy Strathwell.”

Nancy, giddy and blushing, met up with her partner, and soon was reduced to the tiny flute that she usually played. “She's so small!” giggled the college girl who held her in her hand. “I have to try this sometime!”

“Maybe we can reverse this 'group experience' at some point,” Kent suggested to Bob.

Bob snickered. “Yeah, my kids would destroy you all. Don't go there.”

“Waverly Anderson.”

“Oh, my God, like, who gets me?” Waverly emerged from the crowd, grasping her hands together excitedly.

“Oh, she's mine,” stated a deep, masculine voice. Everyone turned to see one of the older musicians moving forward. He was tall, dressed in a suit, and quite handsome.

“Dude, you play the flute?” asked Dave the tuba player. “You look like you play football.”

The man chuckled, and Bob quickly introduced him. “We're very lucky to have Dr. John VanDerSchmidt with us today. John and I have been friends since college, and he is the principal flutist in the Philharmonic. He's also a music professor.”

“And yes, men play flute,” Dr. VanDerSchmidt confirmed with a suave grin.

“Yes, there's also that guy who plays flute,” Jacey added. “He's really famous...I forgot his name.”

“Right, Jacey. Some famous guy,” Bob brushed the oboist away. “Come on, Waverly. You ready?”

Waverly was now gaping at the attractive flutist. “Eep,” she squeaked, and made her way to the Venn Machine in a daze. “Be gentle with me,” she stuttered to the man as she entered.

He made a look of fake-surprise. “My dear, I'm a professional.”

When he picked up his new flute, which he had chosen to make golden instead of the usual silver, he whispered, “Ah, my dear Waverly, we're going to have such fun!” He could have sworn he felt the flute-girl shudder in anticipation, but maybe he was just imagining it...After all, her body was now, in essence, a long, hollow, metal tube...

He poked his finger inside of her and twisted it around temptingly.

***

Woodwinds, brass, and percussion all poured one-by-one from the machine until Westmore's concert band was reduced to nothing but band instruments.

Kent and Bob now stood facing each other.

“You made a deal, Bob. You going to keep it? I could use a nice new baton,” said Kent with a smirk.

Bob sighed. He realized he would rather be an instrument, but a deal was a deal. “Try not to break me,” he warned as he strode into the booth.

“Bob, it'll be a nice form. Think of it. A small, hard, stick...”

“You sick bastard,” Bob said, and then he fell helplessly to the floor, bouncing several times. Kent entered, and Bob felt him pick him up and grasp him. “Yup, you're a small, hard, conducting stick. You'll do nicely, my friend.” He ran his hand up and down Bob's new form, and Bob enjoyed it.

***

Bob felt Kent tap him against a music stand, and soon he was swishing through the air, measuring out bars of “Acrobatics for Band.” This is the worst song ever, he thought to himself, even when decent players are performing it. But the sensation of snapping back and forth through the air was wonderful, and he was lulled into a semi-doze. Sometimes being inanimate and useful could prove to be quite nice. He could only imagine how his students were doing.

The music shrilled though Trini's wooden form, and she wondered how she could ever have been scared of transforming. The feeling of fingers on her keys and the air swishing through her hollow body was truly magnificent. She was being controlled, someone was singing using her body as their voice... As bad as the song itself was, the notes were like candy...each one a treat in itself...

The tones coursing through Paul's regal trumpet-body were clarion calls, sounding his voice over the band. Bass drum Dave's loud booming provided the beat, while the snare drum, his friend Micah, tapped beside him.

Jacey's loud oboe cry pierced a quiet section, and after, as her player wetted her reed, she giggled inwardly, enjoying the sensation.

As the music went on, Dr. John VanDerSchmidt ran his mouth over his new flute's mouthpiece, engulfing much more of it than was necessary to make a tone. Quite dexterously, he caressed it with his lips. On a rest in the music, he pushed his tongue through the hole in the mouthpiece, surreptitiously snaking its tip around Waverly's metal interior. Once again, he could almost feel the instrument react to his ministrations, which only made him continue them even more intensely.

The brass punctuated the woodwinds' calls, and each instrument-student was in their own private heaven. And most felt that Bob Jeffreys, still doing a great service as a baton, deserved a medal for this field trip.

***

And Bob Jeffreys had accomplished what he had set out to do. After the instruments reverted to their former human selves, the Westmore Concert Band knew their parts by heart, and they put on a performance that surpassed any they had ever played. They had enjoyed their 'field trip' so much that it became a long-awaited event each year.

But that night, when the concert came to an end, a party was held for both groups to get together once more so each couple could meet and discuss their experiences. Bob felt it would be another great learning opportunity for his students.

“Now I know there are two ways to play a 'C' on my clarinet, so I won't have to shift my finger all funny to go to the 'E-flat' key,” explained Gaia, a second clarinet player.

“You never learned that?” asked Gene, her partner.

“No, but you taught it to me. And it felt,” she reddened, “nice. I'll never forget that alternate fingering now!”

Bob and Kent were thrilled at how much the students had learned from being played. “We must do this again!” Bob patted Kent on the back. “And you really whipped me around there, Kent. Exhilarating experience – to be conducted with!”

“I bet! This should be done in all the schools! This whole thing was a great idea!”

“It was my wife's,” Bob admitted sheepishly. “In fact, I'd like to have her play me tonight. I'd enjoy being a big, bass instrument.”

“Bass clarinet?”

“Oh, maybe a bassoon!”

“Can she play bassoon?”

“Enough to make me sing, my friend!” The two walked off, patting each other on the back and laughing.

And off in the shadows, Dr. VanDerSchmidt, certified bachelor, took Waverly's hand in his. “Would you like a repeat of your 'field trip', my darling flute?” His eyes were hungry for the young girl.

“Dr. VanDerSchmidt, I'm way too young for you!” she protested, although not very convincingly.

“My dear, I would never besmirch your lovely virginity. And call me John.”

She gazed back at him. “What you did with your tongue...it sent shivers through me. I can't describe how wonderful it felt...”

He made a wicked grin.

She rushed at him wildly. “Play me! Now!” she demanded, thrusting herself into his arms.

He hauled her off to the Venn Machine.