Music and Fire

Music Often is Not Expected

Bunker nine is really boring when you're the only one working. I sighed as I turned off the nozzle to my welding torch, putting the tool down in it's mount. Pulling off my thick welding gloves, I took off my welding helmet. Both gloves and the helmet ended up besides my current project, taking up even more space on my workstation.

Wiping sweat from my forehead and pushing my slick hair back, I surveyed my current passion project. It was one of the most complex things I've created so far (which I've had years of experience in the bunker making just about everything under the sun.) Taking a deep breath, I ran my calloused fingers over the smooth imperial gold of the blade, down to the carefully designed hilt. Past the hilt, past the stygian iron handle. I gently rubbed the twin sapphires set into the stitched pommel.

Undoing my welding jacket, I tossed it with years of precision onto the coat rack everyone used for their gear. Running my hand up the the cool handle, I rubbed my finger over the inset button on the greek engraved hilt, the button warm against my skin.

I took a deep breath in the large, quiet bunker as I lifted the longsword into the air. I kept a strong, firm grip on the handle as I quickly balanced the sword in my hand, steadying the blade. A quick glance up the length of the blade told me all I needed to know: it was done. I finally let my grin show itself on my oil and soot covered face. For months this had been the one thing I put all my effort into, besides anything the camp needed me to make. Most of the others in my house had gone off to college, or did not have the access to get into bunker nine.

Spinning around, away from work station (I didn't need anymore of my equipment broken by testing), I deftly swung the razor sharp sword through the air. Satisfied with the whistle the blade made, I grabbed the leather harness system I designed. Holding the sword in my left hand, I managed to slip the sword holder onto my back and tighten the straps around my sides. Tugging to make sure it was secure, I carefully slid the brand new weapon into the rigging on my back. I wiggled, trying my best to see if I shake the sword out of its housing, but the harness held strong and true.

With long strides, I switched off the large overhanging lights of the bunker, pressing each industrial button. The large sources of lights slowly turned off, leaving the bunker in darkness, except for a bright orange glow by the door. As I got closer, I could easily see the small forge we kept burning day and night by the exit. Next to the active forge stood a large, celestial bronze rod. At the end of the rod sat a almost brand new wrapping of cloth: I grabbed the large rod and dipped the cloth into the forge, sparks shooting up at the sudden change. Quickly, I reeled the rod back out, the cloth burning bright, covered in a blazing hot fire. Slinging the rod, I threw the heavy staff at the thick bunker door. The fire melted onto the huge, vault-like door, traces of fire racing through pathways carved into the behemoth metal. I once again picked up the rod and gently placed it back in its resting place, the cloth somehow still intact, like it had never even touched the flames but a moment ago. Chuckling at the amazing fabric, I whispered a silent thanks to Leo, just as the bunker's door slowly shifted enough for me to squeeze out into the outside. Thankful for the fresh evening air, I slowly strode down the hill, making sure to listen to the huge protective door close once again, sealing the bunker closed.

With a quick look over the dense forest, I skirted south around the thick woods. Listening to years worth of stories from other demigods in camp made me very certain I never wanted to step in the forest willingly. Taking notes from my many former trips to the bunker,I quickly and quietly followed my homemade path the long way around the dark trees, their trunks covered in the long shadows cast by the evening sun.

After what felt like an hour or two, (but most likely much less, I suck at time predicting. What can I say? I'm a maker, not a clock.), I broke onto familiar ground: the strawberry field. My stride lengthened as I headed eastwards, past the field, aiming for main camp. I hated having to stop my work, but if I hurried, I might actually make it to dinner tonight. With that thought in mind, I fast walked myself all the way past the big house and the forge, making a straight beeline to the dining pavilion.