Memories are funny things. You'll never know what'll trigger them until it's too late.
Music is no exception. I'm sure many of us have cursed songs, I can tell you to this day what I was listening to when I got the news that my little brother died. No matter what kind of mood they intended to inspire, any time they come the memory'll crawl down your stomach and start kicking you from the inside.
But how much worse would it be for a phonomancer, when the emotional becomes the literal?
This is Marc's story.
About five and a third out of sixteen pages.
As Penny clued us in last issue, Marc's just gotten out of a bad breakup, and this is his first night back at the club since. (again, had to cut the intro scene for space, we'll try again with #5?) Things are going alright for the most part, until...
(it seems innocuous (and very dancey!) on its face, but it's all about the subjective reactions a song may invoke)
One little song and he's experiencing the magic-induced hallucination of his ex, reliving the night they met.
If you look, you can always tell memory-Marc from modern-Marc by the color of his shirt and that silly black streak in his hair. There's the faded balloons too, but those can be harder to differentiate at times.
They dance a bit and talk a lot, Marc uncomfortably strung along the whole way, until the song ends. The memory, unfortunately, doesn't. "Weekend Without Makeup" start up and she's not so fond of it, so they look for other things to keep them occupied.
She drags him to the bathroom to play out the rest of the evening's events, but sexytimes lose a lot when they're taken from a broken record.
As they return to the dance floor, Marc changes the subject to his regrets over things left unsaid.
And just then Penny's bad timing crops up. So, does Marc want to dance?
(it prolly loses a little bit without the manly tears panel, alas)
Either I just cut all the references, or this story plays more on concepts around music as a whole more than any specifics, because the glossary's a little sparse today.