undergrounds | I could watch you a thousand times

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I could watch you a thousand times - open/closed

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?

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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?"

Edited 2017-09-08 20:52 (UTC)

"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!"

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."

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."

"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."

Edited 2017-09-09 19:49 (UTC)

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."

To be totally honest, Cesare had heard the arguing outside his office door. He had just chosen to ignore it, hoping that it would pass. But next thing he knows, someone is calling his name. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he opens the door, wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. Obviously he was working and he would like it if the people outside his office could respect that.

He pauses for a second, letting an uncomfortable silence sit among the three of them before he finally speaks.

"...you called?" he responds, clearly unhappy about the way he was just summoned in his own building.

Of course he looks good in glasses. Of course.

Imogen shoots the ginger girl a glare, but she doesn't say anything else to her. Instead, she turns to Cesare. Suddenly she's all business, and she gives him a megawatt smile.

"Mr. Borgia, I didn't mean to bother you. I was just in to have a word about this weekend's shows."

Cesare glances over to Lydia in confusion as he responds to Imogen, his brow furrowed slightly. What the hell is going on? Why are they screaming at each other in his hotel? He would really rather they do this somewhere that guests can't stumble across them. He'll have to find out in a moment what all this drama is about.

"What is it?" he asks, not intending to waste time. If Imogen wants to say something, she can tell him quickly.

"Ahem!" She shakes her head impatiently at Cesare. "Never mind that! Have you heard what she's been calling me?"

She goes to kiss Cesare on the cheek. "I just wanted to say hi. I didn't see you this morning."

And she wants compliments: is she hot today?

Imogen's boiling mad but she tries not to show it. Instead she clenches her jaw, squares her shoulders, and directs her attentions solely at Cesare.

"There's a problem with rehearsal space. Jerry, the drummer, fell off his bike yesterday so he's out until at least next week so he can rest his wrist. I've got a sub--went to school with her; she's very good--but I need to rehearse the set with the full band before Friday, and the lounge is booked all day tomorrow for a retirement party. Is there another room we can have?" It's a question easily answered by the maître d', not the hotel owner, but there's another pressing issue: one of Cesare's other employees has vetoed the new drummer and she needs to go over his head.

Cesare leans down to allow Lydia to kiss him, though his gaze is fixed on Imogen, listening carefully to what she has to say.

"Have you spoken to Jennifer about it? She'll sort you another room. You'll need to invite Damien to your rehearsal to assess the drummer and see if he's appropriate." There are a few rules when it comes to performing at The Angelo. The establishment expects a certain skill level and a certain look. No punk rockers here, thank you very much. "Though Jennifer can tell you all this better than I can..." he says with a slight squint. Why is she asking him this? She knows she has other people she can ask.

"Damien says that Aimee's blue hair is a distraction and that I need to find another drummer," Imogen admits. This would be easier without the smirking bitch here, but whatever. She'll cope.

"I think that's bullshit. Aimee's a better drummer than Jerry, even, and she's got the chops. If the hair is a problem I will buy her a damn wig, but it's your call. He was listening to her hair, not her playing." It's brazen. She's only been here a week; why is she challenging the powers that be?

Because she always has, really, and she knows she's right.

Edited 2017-09-09 23:25 (UTC)

Ah. So that's where the issue is. Cesare thinks on it for a moment, mostly ignoring Lydia. On one hand, he doesn't want some rock drummer in his hotel murdering smooth lounge jazz. On the other, though, he wants to keep Imogen around.

"Is she pierced or stretched anywhere?" He doesn't want some girl with ears the size of saucers or a bloody lip disc to perform in his hotel. He has an image to uphold, even if she'll only be drumming in the back.

Okay, good. That's not exactly a no. She can go with this.

"Septum piercing, but I'll see if she can take it out. No gages, and no visible tattoos." Imogen is smiling, in spite of herself. She's almost forgotten the girlfriend entirely.

This may yet turn out to be a better birthday than she thought.

"You won't regret this. I promise."

She's surprised by how conservative he is, though. Someone so young ought to be a little more flexible when it comes to how their generation chooses to express itself.

Edited 2017-09-09 23:57 (UTC)

Cesare quirks an eyebrow slightly at her response. Jumping the gun a bit isn't she? He hasn't said yes yet. Though she's right in that he's about to, so he'll give her that.

"But she's getting a wig or a temporary dye job. Or a hat. I don't care how you do it. And if Damien sees anything else that's a problem, he can veto," Cesare says firmly, trying to make his rules nice and clear. He thinks he can be reasonable but he is far from a pushover.

"Uh, EXCUSE ME!" Lydia's hands are on her hips, and she's pouting. Is Cesare serious right now? He's ignoring her complaints about this skank to talk about drummers with blue hair? Like, seriously?

"She -" Lydia points furiously at Imogen - "just called me a psycho bitch and you're discussing band members? Are you serious, Cesare? I mean, are you really serious right now?"

Wow. Is he having to mediate now? Cesare lets out a tired sigh.

"Did you call Lydia a psycho bitch, Imogen?" he asks a little wearily. Would Imogen even be that wrong right if she said it? It's not as if Lydia is the perfect image of calm right now. But he's trying to be fair and nice to the two of them. As best he can at least. He would really rather it if they didn't fight.

"Are you FRIGGING kidding me right now, Cesare? You're asking her? Like seriously? You don't believe me?"

Lydia can't actually believe that her boyfriend is questioning her in front of this - this - Imogen, whoever she is. As if what Lydia says isn't true? You better get your act together fast, boy, cos Lydia is seriously unimpressed.

"Let her speak, Lydia," Cesare responds quickly. He's trying to sort this out and Lydia is not helping the situation at all. Let him confront Imogen without any interruptions, please, for goodness sake.

In the back of his mind, he makes a note for the two of them to discuss this later, though he has no doubt that Lydia herself will be keen to do the same, albeit for different reasons.

"I did." Imogen keeps her voice light and reasonable. All she has to do is look more sane than the other girl--Lydia, apparently--and she's proved her own point already. "I was on my way to speak to you about the drummer situation and suddenly she was in my face, throwing around all sorts of accusations. Making all sort of implications. She was quite hostile."

"She called me a bitch," Lydia seethes. "And when I asked her to stop, she totally kept on swearing at me."

She glares at Cesare. If only he could read minds, he'd know about her fury, about how he can't expect her not to suspect these pretty girls who claim they're working for him are sleeping with him too. It's not fair that she looks like a psycho right now.

"I'm so not happy right now," she warns.

"Please, both of you, I do not do conflict well..." he says with a sigh. He's not entirely truthful there. In fact, he does conflict exceptionally well. He usually wins. It's just that the people he's fighting against tend not to survive that. He doesn't want to fight with either of these women.

"I am sure there's a misunderstanding. Can we not resolve this amiably?"

Imogen's got to keep her job at the end of all this, so she readily agrees. She turns to Lydia and holds out a hand. "I'm sorry I called you a paranoid, psychotic bitch, Lydia. Will you accept my apology?"

Lydia's still suspicious. But, she also doesn't want to seem like the psycho bitch she's been called. Grudgingly, she takes Imogen's hand to shake.

"This does not mean we're friends." she snaps.

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