Imogen Reed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenevoices) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-09-08 12:09 pm
greenevoices) wrote in undergrounds2017-09-08 12:09 pm
Entry tags:
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?
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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"Our Head of Music is Ms Sandra Ng. She would welcome an assistant. Are you currently employed?"
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"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.
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Suddenly she's uncomfortable. Or, well, even more uncomfortable than she was before.
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"You're joking, right?" Maybe she doesn't mean it in the literal sense. But the way she'd said it...
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Hint: she doesn't. She stands up, pausing to take her wand from her desk drawer before moving around in front of Imogen. She doesn't need the wand to cast this spell, but it looks more impressive if she uses it. Sylvia raises her wand and a ball of light appears before her. It's like a tiny glowing orb; she sweeps her wand to the left and the light rushes in that same direction, then does a loop. Sylvia places the wand back on the desk while the orb of light stays where it is, hovering above them.
She looks down at Imogen. "Everyone in my school is gifted in some way. The staff, the students, everyone. I'm a witch."
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Imogen gets halfway off the couch when Sylvia starts waving around the wand and does magic, but falls back into it, obviously stunned. The logical part of her brain immediately wants to dismiss it as a trick--something with the lights, maybe--but the rest of her recognizes the magic for what it is and, oddly, accepts it.
She's silent for a while afterwards. Eventually, still staring at the glowing orb, she asks, "Am I a witch too?"
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She's offering a journey of self-discovery and the promise of special gifts. In Sylvia's view, that's a pretty good proposition.
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Imogen would have loved to be a witch. Having only one gift is a bit boring when compared to that. Still, if witches exist...
Imogen keeps staring at the spot where the orb had been. Maybe it's silly, but she thinks she can almost feel the spent magic in the room. She's probably just imagining it, though.
She's quiet for a moment. When she finally does speak, it's not to answer Sylvia's question.
Instead, she asks one of her own:
"Are vampires real too?"
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"Yes. We have a few in this school, in fact. Evening classes. Have you met a vampire?"
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"I was attacked. Last month, near Covent Garden tube station." She isn't making eye contact. "I thought I was crazy. Trauma does funny things to you, you know? I thought they were drug addicts or gang members or something. They took my phone and all my money once I'd blacked out."
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Imogen snorts. "So, what, there's ghosts and werewolves too? The Loch Ness monster?"
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"That's just...it's all real?"