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We have a total of 23 episodes, and they're all available if you follow the HFS link.




Music Of The Mind


P-twang, flat, flat, sharp: Joe thought he was going to loose his mind. She was a very beautiful young woman: slim, bright blue eyes, warm smile, long almost black hair which fell completely straight, but one place her talents did not lie was music.

The sign had been outside the bar for a week now, announcing that the proprietor was looking for new talent to play in the evenings. Joe's last regular band had found a record deal and were off to bigger venues, hence he needed someone to fill their shoes. He had thought asking all the musicians to turn up on the same day was a good idea, but he was becoming more and more sure that it was the worst decision he had ever made. That there were so many young hopefuls in the immediate area had not entered the Watcher's head, now he knew first hand. The young lady sitting on the stage in blue jeans and a frilly white shirt, playing--a very broad term in this case--the acoustic guitar, sounded quite good compared to some of the acts that had passed through the bar that morning.

The rendition of some poor unsuspecting folk song was at least not as painful as the young man who had claimed to play the harmonica. Now that had truly been something to make real musicians very afraid. There were only two applicants left: the girl on stage, and a duo who's instruments were a drum and a penny whistle. There had only been one group through the bar that Joe would even consider employing, and then only if he really had to.

One more missed chord, or bad note and it would only be fair to put the people listening out of their misery. There were only so many pregnant pauses as she tried to get her fingers in the right place, that Joe could take. It wasn't just the fact that it sounded bad, it was the abuse of the instrument. His mind was just trying to formulate a tactful way of getting her to shut up, when the task was taken away from him. The door literally slammed open and a somewhat threadbare young man filled the gap.

He was tall, somewhere around six feet, with mid brown straight hair that fell across his eyes slightly. He was carrying two leather cases and a back pack which he took no time in depositing on the floor. His clothes were sturdy and well worn, but he didn't give the impression of a scruffy individual. His entrance had caused complete silence, but this didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. In fact, the expression on his face didn't seem to have even taken this into account. His eyebrows were raised and he was looking directly at the young woman on the stage.

"Lass, you're singing in the wrong key," were the words that passed his lips in a lilting Irish accent.

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