I could watch you a thousand times - open/closed

[greenevoices]

9 September, Evening - The Angelo (open)

Blues beat, slow burn. The lights turned way down low; just the spotlight on the singer and the dim glittering of the candles on the tables. The girl on stage looks so small and frail, all dressed in black, but when she starts to sing her voice is anything but.

"I put a spell on you...because you're mine."

She starts soft, low. This has always been more of a ballad than a power anthem. She sways with the rhythm, channeling the pain of a woman wronged.

"You better stop the things you do--I tell ya, I ain't lyin'.
Oh no, I ain't lyin'."

The rest of the set is a bit of a blur. Nothing original, nothing of her own, just jazz and blues standards. That's just fine. She can do standards. There's polite applause at the end of her performance; she didn't bring down the house, but it's the biggest audience she's had in months and she relishes it.

Imogen loves this. She loves performing. She loves the spotlight and the way people look at her when she sings, like they're seeing her for the first time. So what if she's not being showered with roses as she takes her bow? This is a good gig. She's going to savor it.

There's another set at 10, but in the meantime Imogen moves to the bar, ready to meet her adoring public.

12 September - The Angelo (Closed to Lydia)

"Yeah, Mum, I loved the flowers. Thanks so much." Imogen's got a new phone now, to replace the one she lost. Had stolen from her. By someone who, according to Find My iPhone, likes to hang out at cemeteries. Well, Daddy cancelled the account and had Apple remotely lock the phone, so Little Miss Cemetery Lurker has a very expensive brick now. Serves her fucking right.

Imogen still hasn't told her parents about being attacked; she just said she lost the phone while she was out in the West End. She's never been very good at lying outright--in fact, she's always been bloody awful at it--but she can embroider the truth all she wants.

Today's her birthday, and Imogen's going for birthday drinks with some people she knows later, but first she's got to drop by "work."

"No, Mum, I told you--I can't come by this weekend. I've got performances. Yeah, Mum. Thanks, Mum. See you later. Lots of love to Daddy. Bye."

She's too busy walking and talking to notice that there's a girl already waiting out front of Cesare's office. Not until she almost collides with her.

"Sorry!"

21 September - Redbright Institute (closed to Sylvia Redbright)

The letter had come in the second week of Imogen's residency at The Angelo. It was on fancy paper, with a letterhead for some school she'd never heard of, asking for a meeting. Imogen almost ignores it. After all, she's not exactly desperate for work right now. Not with Cesare paying her to sing three nights a week and lavishing her with expensive gifts. But she doesn't have anything else to do today, and she's bored. Might as well make the appointment.

The school's campus is a bit of a maze, so it takes a while to find the right door. Imogen knocks.

"Mrs...Redbright?"

Mid to Late September - Around London (open)

Even with a handsome millionaire paying the bills, a girl's still got to work. Imogen can be found busking around London, playing the new guitar that had been her birthday present this year. She still doesn't feel very safe after what happened last month, but she sticks to crowded areas and well lit streets and it's been okay so far.

She's drawing bigger audiences lately, and inspires more passionate responses to her music. Is this it? Is she on the verge of making it big?

Comments

[morevacant]

"Who the hell are you?" Lydia's eyes narrow as she looks the stranger up and down.
"What are you even doing here?"

Cheap clothes. Cheap hair. Probably extensions. Like, ew. Lydia doesn't think much of this cheap tart. Maybe she's just one of Cesare's victims?

[greenevoices]

Wait, what?

Imogen stares at the other girl. Where the hell had that come from?

"The hell are you on about, huh? I work here." Sort of. Not really. On an unofficial basis. "Not that it's any of your business. What are you doing here?"

[morevacant]

"What kind of work?" Lydia's suspicions are rising quickly.She's too pretty, as much as Lydia hates to admit it even to herself, just to be food.

"I just so happen to be Cesare's girlfriend, if you must know." Lydia smirks. She feels like she's got one over on Imogen anyway. "So keep your cheap nail extensions away from him. He's mine!"

[greenevoices]

Imogen is utterly gobsmacked. What right does this little ginger bitch have to talk to her this way?

"What the fuck are you implying, huh? I sing in the fucking bar, you paranoid psycho bitch."

[morevacant]

Ew. Who on earth does this girl think she is?

"Language!" Lydia replies, shocked out of her bitchiness. "You don't even know me and you're calling me a psycho? Like, ew. Who even are you?"

She turns her nose up at Imogen. "With that attitude, Cesare won't keep you around much. You'll soon be a goner."

[greenevoices]

"And who died and made you the fucking language police, yeah?" Miss Priss thinks she's all high and mighty, running around like she owns the stupid hotel.

Imogen really wants to punch this smug bitch in her overpainted mouth.

"I'm sorry, who are you? Do you pay the bills 'round here? Because your name sure as hell doesn't show up on my checks. So back off."

[morevacant]

Lydia's pert little nose wrinkles completely. This girl is obviously as common as muck.

"What are you even on about?" Lydia frowns, and then goes to push past Imogen to get to Cesare's door.

"Cesare? Are you there?" She calls. "I'm missing you."

[brightwitch]

"Come in," a voice calls. Sylvia is expecting their guest, of course, and she has Imogen's file to hand. There's not much in it right now, but she does have three rather significant pieces of information. One: the girl has power. Two: she was discovered singing at the Angelo which means Cesare Borgia has probably already discovered her. Three: she still seems to be largely ignorant of the supernatural world. Either that or she's been really good at hiding it from Redbright's recruitment agents.

Sylvia knows one thing. If the girl has potential, she'd much rather bring her into the school than let her become an Islington lackey.

When Imogen enters, she'll find Sylvia at her desk as per usual. The office is bright and modern, but comfortable. It almost has the feel of a lounge, with sofas and a coffee table off to one side, and family photos on Sylvia's desk. She stands up to greet Imogen, stepping forward to shake her hand.

"You must be Imogen. Please, have a seat, make yourself at home. Did you have a good journey?"

[greenevoices]

Imogen feels distinctly like she's back at school again, being hauled in front of the head teacher for doing something wrong. Which she supposes isn't altogether untrue, though she's not entirely sure why she's here in the first place.

"I did, thanks." Imogen sits on the couch, pretending that she's completely at home in this strange woman's office. Whatever she's done, she's confident she'll be able to talk her way out of it.

"I got your letter. It mentioned something about...recruitment?"

[brightwitch]

"Right." Sylvia sits back down behind her desk and nods. "The Redbright Institute is a school for gifted young people. And we look for those who are equally gifted to teach and work here. I'm told that your gift is in music. Could you tell me a little bit more about that?"

[greenevoices]

Oh. So it's a teaching job? They want her to teach?

"I started singing when I was a little girl," Imogen starts slowly, wondering how much this Mrs. Redbright knows if she's out to hire her. She'd have done her research, right? "My mum teaches piano, so I got a lot of that early on, and I studied music from primary school to university." Which she had dropped out of. "I sing jazz, classical, pop, and opera, and I play piano, guitar, and a little violin. Is that what you need here at the school? A vocal coach?"

[brightwitch]

She's not surprised to hear any of this. If Imogen has a natural gift, she'd be inclined towards music even if she didn't know about anything supernatural. And Sylvia can sense her power like an aura, something otherworldly. The girl has definite potential.

"Our Head of Music is Ms Sandra Ng. She would welcome an assistant. Are you currently employed?"

[greenevoices]

Huh. She really is offering her a job.

"I sing in a hotel bar three nights a week. Other than that, no. Sometimes I play my guitar in Tube stations but I haven't been doing that as much lately." Not after she'd been mugged by vampire fetishists.

Around London

[outofthemanor]

Wednesday had spotted the girl a few times s she wandered around London, and had stayed to listen once. This time she stays for a bit longer, listening carefully. It's not entirely her tastes, but she can see that there is talent there. Besides which, it's more in tune than some of the buskers. It's entertaining, really, listening, and she considers that she should leave something. She doesn't really have any small change, so leaves some large notes in the case.

[greenevoices]

Hey, money's money.

Imogen grins her thanks back up at the goth chick who just left her a sizable tip. "Got any requests?"

[outofthemanor]

Wednesday considers the question for a moment and... well, she's not actually heard the radio in a while. She doesn't actually listen to it, most of the music is too... bright for her. She shakes her head.

"I'm content to listen."

[greenevoices]

"Cool."

Imogen plays a couple more songs, gets a bit more money from other people, and the goth girl sticks around. About ten minutes later, she looks up at her. "You all right? You've been standing there a bit."

Maybe Imogen's just gotten herself a fan.

[outofthemanor]

"You play well," Wednesday replies. "While the music tastes may not be all in line with my own personal tastes, I can appreciate good playing." It seems to be reasonable enough - why else would she stand and listen?

[greenevoices]

Imogen shrugs. What can she say? She appreciates the compliment, at least.

"So what are your personal tastes, then?"

Sept 9

[stauncherhearted]

Cesare had told her, during one of their many texts, that he'd hired a new singer, advising her to come check it out. So one night, while Cooper was working late on Official Night Council Business, Nancy took her cue and arrived at the Anglo in time to catch the set from a nice seat at the bar. The bartender knew who she was, after years of her coming there for Cesare, and was happy to put her order of gin on the rocks on the house.

When the set is over and the singer moves to the bar, Nancy moves over slightly to better accommodate her. "You have a beautiful voice."

[greenevoices]

"Thanks," Imogen says brightly. She nods to the bartender who pours her a Diet Coke--no alcohol between sets. She doesn't want to damage her voice before its next outing.

"Did you enjoy the show?"

[stauncherhearted]

"Yeah," Nancy says with a bright smile. "I've seen a few of the acts here over the years- I think you're my favorite so far."

[greenevoices]

Over the years, huh? Imogen looks at the other girl. She can't be any older than Imogen herself is. "D'you work here too?"

Maybe it's her night off or something.

[stauncherhearted]

"Oh, no," Nancy says honestly. "I just used to come here a lot." Cesare always let her practice her former trade in the bar. He didn't mind, he partook, after all.

[greenevoices]

"Oh."

Imogen turns back to her drink for a moment, then holds out a hand. "I'm Imogen, by the way. Imogen Reed."