a songstress in the making : camilla st. john

[cajun_songbird]

<center>Sirens ring, shots ring out.
A stranger cries, and screams out loud.
I had my world strapped against my back.
I held my hands, never knew how to act.

And that same black line that was drawn on you.
It was drawn on me.
And now it's drawn me in.
Sixth avenue heartache.

Below me was a homeless man.
I'm singin' songs I knew complete.
On the steps alone, his guitar in hand.
It's fifty years, stood where he stands.

Now walkin' home on those streets.
The river wind moves my feet.
Subway steam, like silhouette sin dreams.
They stood by me just like moonbeams.

Look out the window down upon that street.
And gone like a midnight was that man.
But I see his six string laid against that wall.
And all those things, they looked so small.
I've got my fingers crossed on a shooting star.
Just like me, just moved on.

And that same black line that was drawn on you.
It was drawn on me.
And now it's drawn me in.
Sixth avenue heartache.

( sixth avenue heartache ; the wallflowers )

----</center>

The small room was half filled with teenagers. Standing nervously in the doorway, hands wringing together almost worriedly, eyes slid over each and every single one. The man standing at the front of the room was in his early thirties -- dark hair emphasizing tanned skin and a vivid contrast of hazel eyes. Trying to blend in with the woodwork, the strap of her bag was adjusted on her shoulder as she listened for the moment.

"I know you've all had some practice with your instruments of choice over the past couple of years, but this year, it's going to be a little different." Hands clasping at the small of his back, he turned to face the dry-erase board, his profile the only thing visible to the teens. "You want to become musicians, right?" A chorus of "Yep" "Yes" and "Definately"s floated around the room, causing a white flash of a grin to appear. "Then that is what we're going to focus on. Practicing as a group, performing as a group. Ms. St. John here," a hand extending her way suddenly, causing her to jerk upright; a startled expression appearing on her face, "is going to help us with that. Want to come in?" The humor in his voice was full bodied, and she couldn't help but smile in return.

Pushing away from the door frame, heels clacked loudly against the tiled floor as she made her way to the front of the room as well. A nervous smile was given to the students before she leaned in towards the man to whisper, "I'm just here to observe." Reaching around to remove the bag from her shoulder, he dropped it into a nearby chair before placing a hand to the small of her back. "And contribute," murmured back quietly as he turned her to face the room at large. "Ms. St. John, why don't you tell us a little about yourself." It wasn't a question, and it wasn't a rude demand. Thirteen pairs of eyes -- fourteen counting his -- trained her way, and she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Nervous didn't even begin to cover what she was feeling...

"Well.. first, it's Camilla. Or Cam. Ms. St. John is a little too formal." Forcing a more realistic smile, she turned away from the man to face the teenagers. "I'm originally from Lafayette, Louisiana, but I spent a majority of my time performin' in New Orleans." Chin dipping almost shyly, fingers threaded together across her midriff, nervously twisting the pinstriped fabric of her suit jacket. "Jazz. Blues. Boogie-woogie, swing, big band, bossa nova. It's the stuff I was raised on."

Glancing back towards the teacher, to see if he wanted to jump in at any time and perhaps let her sit and observe like originally planned, he simply waved his hand forward while seating himself. Lovely.. exhaling a breath she didn't even know she was holding, that smiling facade was presented to the teens again. "I was a little younger than you when I first started singin'. After about a year of public performance, one of owners I worked for decided that playin' an instrument would 'expand my horizons', and the piano was my instrument of choice. Anyone else here play?" Considering he had given her the floor entirely, she took it upon herself to walk out a little farther and get to know the kids. A hand raised in the back, and a full-fledged smile appeared then.

"How many singers?" Two hands shot up -- a boy and a girl -- who were sitting on opposite sides of the room. A few more questions determined that there was a drummer, two guitar players, a bass player, a trumpet player, a tuba player, a saxophone player, a clarinet player, a violin player ambidextrous with a fiddle as well, and a slide trombone player. The smile furthered at this news, and she half turned back towards the man reclining easily in his chair, foot propped on his opposite leg and fingers threaded around his knee. "And you? Do you play?" Considering he had 'thrown her into the fire' without warning, it was her turn to put him on the spot.

Straightening up from his relaxed position, he stood and offered her a hand. "Brad Remington, and I play the piano as well as sing. Pleasure to meet you Camilla and welcome to our program." Grinning now, his hand was taken in a firm shake. "Pleasure to be here." Slanting a charming smile her way, his other hand came over to pat hers before she was released, and he stepped around to confront the class. "Well then. We have seasoned musicians." A hand extended towards them. "A seasoned performer." A hand extended to Cam. "And a teacher with nothing but time." A hand drifted to himself. "What do you say we get this going?"

As the kids separated and formed their practice groups, Brad walked back over to where Cam was standing, hands clasping behind him again. Rocking back on his heels, a look was cast over his shoulder towards the others before eyes settled back on her. "So, what do you think?" Glancing to the kids as well, when he did, a slow nod started. "I think with a little practice and organization, they'll be a very good band." Flashing a half smile with that, she leaned around him to grab her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, body was angled towards the doorway.

"Ms. St. J-- Camilla." Pausing at the sound of her name, her head turned enough to view him in her peripheral vision; brow arching in question. "We're here five days a week. Feel free to stop by any time." Flashing a grin her way, he turned on his heel and headed towards one of the groups, already throwing out orders and advice. With little more than a nod he couldn't see, she exited the room.

<font color="#999999" size="1">[ April 20, 2005 10:58 PM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>don't kid yourself and don't fool yourself.
this love's too good last and I'm too old train.

don't grow up too fast and don't embrace the past.
this life's too good to last and I'm too young to care.

don't kid yourself and don't fool yourself.
this life could be the last and we're too young to see.

( blackout ; muse )

----</center>

She couldn't find the music class.

Entering the school through the main door, sure steps took her in the direction that the room was supposed to be. After a minute of walking, those sure steps faltered off as eyes cut around the hallway, a confused expression forming. All of the windows were warped, like they had been made of warm taffy, and the sky outside was smut black. Coming to a complete standstill, she half turned to glance back towards the door, only to find that it had faded away to a blank wall of the same taffy-esque substance as the windows. Expression setting firmly, her jacket was shrugged off as steps once again picked up, though with a definitive firmness that indicated this little 'setback' was going to delay her.

Fabric was deposited to the floor as a straight path was cut ahead, eyes slanting to and fro at the doors to try and find one that was familiar. "Hello?" Calling the unsure greeting out, the only reply she received was a chorus of echos rebounding around her like invisible darts. "Hello. Hello. HELLo. heLLO. HeLlO.." The echos died off abruptly as a series of laughs began their reverberation, causing her to start down the hall again at almost a dead run. Hair flying over her face as she looked back to make sure nothing was behind her, she only looked forward again seconds before hitting a solid form.

Strong hands reached out to grip her arms as she began her descent to the floor, and all too familiar voice murmuring at her ear. "Ya should watch where yer goin', Cammy." A small flicker of happiness started in the pit of her stomach, only to fade away completely as her eyes averted up to her 'saviour'. The tar pitch features were somewhat Sam's, but the fact that he was-- it was... "Don't," spat out as she wrenched away out of its grip, backtracking fast enough to send her spilling to the floor. "Aw, c'mon. Y'ain't afraid of me now, are ya?" The smugness of the mimicked tone, it almost brought tears to her eyes. That was the voice that had told her everything was going to be fine when the world seemed to be collapsing. The voice that encouraged her to go after her dreams. The voice that cried out to her when she was alone, accusing her of letting him die....

"Ya did, y'know. Let me." Almost cordially, that tone slid out right after her last thought, and she quickly pulled herself up to her feet-- hands clasping over her ears. "You did it," her own choked voice filling the hallway. "You coulda came with me, but y'stayed. And y'got with those people.." For a moment, she forgot it wasn't her brother. Tearfilled eyes lifted to view the now empty space in front of her; the heels of her palms swiping over her cheeks. "I didn't." A final whisper, bordering almost at a plea for Sam to tell her she, in actuality, didn't. Looking around for the brother imposter, the search came up empty..sighted.

"Where was God when you needed a friend? Where was God when you came to an end..." The song lyrics were hissed from right behind her; close enough that a hot purl of breath could be felt on the back of her neck, and she whirled around quickly. "Where was God when you lost your mind? Where was God when you couldn't find..." Black burbling crease of a mouth slanted into a wicked smile then, a finger reaching forward to brush strands of hair from her forehead. Reaching up to slap the touch away, it began laughing at her again. "Tell me what you believe, I'll tell you what you should see. You don't know who to trust? Your heart should be filled with disgust..." The song ceased as both of its hands reached behind its back. "What's the matter, Camilla? Lost your faith?" It was still mocking her by using Sam's voice. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION!" One step-two steps-three steps towards her. "ARE YOU READY FOR THE JOKE?! ARE YOU READY FOR THE GREAT DECEPTION?!"

For every step it took forward, she took a step back, only to be followed after in a fucked up rendition of cat and mouse. "Don't worry, I'll help ya find it again." Sly tone of voice from the previous.. encounter reappeared and it straightened up suddenly. "So, which hand? Left or right? C'mon Camster, I ain't got all night. Purgatory and all." Glancing up abruptly with that, her head began shaking back and forth, but the motion was cut off as it reached forward. "Oh, fine. I'll pick for you. Close your eyes!" Merriment was creeping through, and it hopped from one foot to the other. When she didn't close her eyes, two fingers jabbed towards her, Three Stooges style. The flinch was all it needed, and without preamble, something was slapped quite viciously atop her head.

"There, now that's a right pretty fit for ya. Just needs a li'l adjustment.." Serpent tongue darting out between noir ooze lips, the crown was wedged down firmly over her brow, which prompted a thick flow of something sticky to trail down her cheeks and off her chin. "Now." It took a step back, hands clasping together as if pleased. "You almost look just like Him!" Cackling maniacally with this, the corporeal shadow began twirling 'round and 'round in a circle, arms extending from its sides. Blue-violets snapped opened with the feel of wetness trailing down her face, and very slowly, fingers lifted to touch her cheeks. Hands drawn back, a steady sound of screaming started at the sight of the blood coating her fingertips.

-----

Scrambling out of the bed, her hip slammed violently into the edge of the dresser as she hurried to the mirror. Lamp flicked on, hair was pushed back to view the cuts lining her forehead.. and without a sound, her form crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

[ song lyrics used in post: sermon ; drowning pool ]

[cajun_songbird]

<center>

I'm finding myself at a loss for words,
and the funny thing is, it's okay.
The last thing I need is to be heard.
But to hear what You would say.

Word of God speak; would you pour down like rain?
Washing my eyes to see your Majesty.
To be still and know that you're in this place.
Please let me stay and rest in your Holiness.
Word of God speak.

I'm finding myself in the midst of You.
Beyond the music, beyond the noise.
All that I need is to be with You,
and in the quiet to hear your voice.

Word of God speak; would you pour down like rain?
Washing my eyes to see your Majesty.
To be still and know that you're in this place.
Please let me stay and rest in your Holiness.
Word of God speak.

I'm finding myself at a loss for words,
and the funny thing is; it's okay.

( word of God speak ; mercy me )</center>

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I've dealt with my ghosts and I've faced all my demons.
Finally content with a past I regret.
I've found you find strength in your moments of weakness.
For once I'm at peace with myself.

I've been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long.
I'm moving on.

I've lived in this place and I know all the faces.
Each one is different but they're always the same.
They mean me no harm, but it's time that I face it.
They'll never allow me to change.

But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong.
I'm moving on.

I'm moving on, at last I can see--
Life has been patiently waiting for me.
And I know there's no guarantees, but I'm not alone.
There comes a time in everyone's life--
When all you can see are the years passing by.
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone.

I sold what I could, packed what I couldn't.
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town.
I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't.
I had to lose everything to find out.

Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road.
I'm moving on.

( i'm moving on ; rascal flatts )

----</center>

After everything -- the fighting ( whether it was with each other or for each other ), the togetherness... it was time to call a cease-fire. At least this time, both parties were agreeable with the terms of surrender. She was busy with school and working nights, and he was busy with just.. working. Little to no time was available for the two, and so with each's well being in mind... it was over.

Good things are never meant to last.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>everybody wants to know why i sing the blues.
well, i've been around a long time.
i really have paid my dues.

----</center>

The band up on stage was burning. Half turning on the barstool, fingers began drumming on a satin covered leg as eyes averted to the dias-- head nodding in time to the beat. Looking at the guys up there, having fun and playing like their lives depended on it... it brought a wistful smile to her face. It had been nearly a month since she'd been in front of a microphone, and even though the decision had been a voluntary one, she was beginning to have withdrawals. When you did something for years and years, and then tried to give it up cold turkey, it never really panned out unless you gave in to small, quick fixes. Just look at smokers. The sheer wrap over her shoulders was loosed to the back of the chair as she stood, blue-violets locking on the lead singer with a grin.

Brian returned the grin and made a small motion with his head, indicating for her to come on up. Chin tucking down to a bare shoulder, she pretended to mull over the choice before three inch stilettoes guided her on over. The security at the stage held up a hand as she approached, before they realized who she was. "Knew you couldn't stay away," was murmured from the one on the left -- Cam couldn't remember his name -- before he helped her on up the steps. The band finished up their song before Brian took a step back, sliding his guitar over to his side before a hand was held to her. "Looks like we've got an unexpected surprise," was directed into the mic before... she was placed directly in front of it. Grinning, her head shook as she waved him back to it-- half turning to accept another microphone that was being handed to her from one of the stage hands.

"I'll do back-up, what's next?" Inclining her head over, he presented her with some sheet music. Brian knew better than to argue. If she said she'd be the back-up, there was no use talking her out of it. Skimming over the words briefly, she focused more directly on the notes, trying to formulate the sound in her head. "Y'ready?" Grinning, she nodded before the music was placed on a little stand just to the side. Taking her place to the left, and just behind Brian, hands smoothed down the front of the black satin fabric of her pants-- fingers already tapping when the Bri began the opening chords on his guitar. The drums kicked in after an eight-count and he immediately slid up to the mic like he owned it.

"She calls me Goliath and I wear a David mask. I guess the stones are comin' too fast for her know. You know I'd like to believe this nervousness will pass. All the stones that are thrown are buildin' up a wall."

Alternating his gaze from the strings, then up to the audience, Cam grinned at the reaction he was getting. This was the kind of song that made you -- not dance -- but rock in place with your head nodding. Glancing to the sheet music, her mic was lifted so that her alto could blend with his tenor for the chorus, one hand still resting on her hip.

"I have become cumbersome.. to this world."

As the song progressed and she got more of a feel for the actual beat, the show got a little flashier-- a little more comfortable. The crowd reaction was awesome-- turning the band over to the man had been a good decision, that she could see. By the time the ending notes faded, and the applause started, she was laughing as Brian enveloped her in a hug-- pecking a kiss to her cheek. "Come by more often," whispered into her ear before he was reclaiming his place in front of the mic to continue on with the set. Passing the mic back off to the stage hand, she carefully manuevered her way back down to the floor. Half turning, fingers wiggled to the band as a whole before she gathered up her wrap and slung it around her shoulders, covering up the exposed flesh before the door was targeted.

She came, she saw, she sang. And now it was time to head on out and see what the rest of the night offered. So far, so good.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I don't need your forgiveness.
I don't need your hate.
I don't need your acceptance.
So what should I do?

I don't need your resistance.
I don't need your prayers.
I don't need your religion.
I don't need a thing from you.

I don't do what I've been told.
You're so lame, why don't you just go.

I don't need your prison.
I don't need your pain.
I don't need your decision.
So what should I do?

I don't need your approval.
I don't need your hope.
I don't need your lectures.
I don't need a thing from you.

I'll be sorry when I'm old.
You're so full of shit, man, just go.

I don't need your forgiveness.
I don't need your hate.
I don't need your acceptance.
So what should I do?

I'll be sorry, so you've said.
I'm not sorry-- bang, you're dead.

( die mf die ; dope // chorus has been cut out )

----</center>

The hotel room resembled an organized disaster. Bed was a rumpled mess of tangled blankets and punch softened pillows strewn from one end to the other-- Fernando ( her two foot tall stuffed penguin ) sat like a sentinel in the midst of it all, staring glassily over the room as if taking stock of what was where. The dresser was an overflowing wreck; sleeves and stockings hanging out of the drawers as if trying to climb down to the floor and flee. The table was a crime scene of paperwork and pencils-- stacks of sheet music prettily arranged around a small open space that was used to write on, and the Rhodes wasn't too far away. As a matter of fact, she'd only have to turn in the chair marginally, and the keys would be at her fingertips. For compositions that wouldn't break free from the bear trap her mind had melded into.

Standing near the doorway, fingers lightly grasping the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, a slanted gaze was directed from under the brim of the mostly-ever-present black fedora-- head tilting as if in serious thought. How did it come to this? The last time she had to live out of a hotel-- having nowhere to call her own except for a rusted key in her palm that was only there because of weekly payment-- it had been when she first moved to New Orleans with only fifty bucks in her pocket. She could find the irony in the situation, and a depreciating smile curved the full slant of her mouth. Something that could've been a laugh -- could've been a sob -- escaped before she pushed away from the door frame and wandered over to grab Fernando.

Both arms went around the stuffed animal, holding him to her chest, as she wandered over to the window-- a finger hooking around the flimsy material of the curtain to expose the night sky through glass just beyond reach. There was some strange, oozing dead guy wandering around out there, and Des was scared to death of him. That, within itself, caused a frown to appear-- a sigh was loosed as she pressed her forehead to the cool glass. What the full story was behind that, she still didn't have a clue. Evil had been too scared to say too much of anything, and she had been too unnerved to stand in the yard of the tavern and wait for him to calm down. Like the coward she knew she was, a drink had been her solace. That, followed by something called.. Tetris. Odd name, odd contraption it was on, but the colored blocks had been amusing, in their own right.

Fernando was shifted to a hip as she leaned towards the table, plucking a card from amid the various other paperwork-- brows furrowing as she read it over for the hundredth-- thousandth-- millionth time. A simple one word name and a brief description, followed by a phone number she was too scared to call. Solely on the principle that the robotic talking man might actually answer and steal her soul. Or something like that. You never could be too careful around people / things these days. She had enough problems with the oil slick ooze of a nightmare that was randomly cutting on parts of her. Oddly enough, she couldn't remember the last nightmare. All she knew, when she woke up, there were three burn-type marks-- one on each shoulder and one on her sternum. If a matching one had been placed to her forehead, she'd assume it was a mockery against Crossing ones self. Then again, her brow had already endured enough at its hands.

"You know what, 'Nando?" muttered down to the penguin as her head angled enough for eyes to rest on the black and white stuffed comfort-bearer. "Sometimes I think we should just go home and stay there. You miss New Orleans?" Straightening her posture-- forehead coming off of the glass then, the penguin was held up to eye level. As if she expected him to answer. Chalk this up to her spending entirely too much time in her own company. After a moment, she sighed before carrying him back to the bed. "Yeah, me either. It'll be better once we find an apartment." Zane was supposed to show her one later on tonight, so that problem could soon be rectified. The penguin was set down on the rumpled bed moments before she followed after, rolling onto her back with an arm draping over her eyes.

"Yeah," spoken bleakly to the empty room. "It'll be better then.."

[cajun_songbird]

<center>

You're looking at me,
Thinking angel in shreds.
But you don't see,
What you ought to dread.
Don't be thinking it comes for free.
Karma gets off bitchslapping me.

Understand I'm a sinner,
Nothing wrong with that.
Understand I'm a sinner,
Not your welcome mat.

You keep thinking of me,
See yourself a pocket saint.
You keep bleeding on me,
Blood red, it's nice paint.
Remember that on your saviors spree.
I'll keep my soul absentee.</center>

( original work, by the player of desdenova )

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I remember her saying, "I'm already dead."

----</center>


"Excuse me, miss? Miss?"

Leaning over the counter that constituted the server's 'bar', hands hung limply against the wooden front as she stared at the far wall. Work had been slow this evening, and the time had been taken to space off for a bit. Of course, the person trying to call her at the moment didn't think it was an appropriate time to forget customers were still in the restaurant.

"MISS?!"

Blinking lethargically, blue-violets shifted to the irate woman calling her, and very slowly she pushed away from the counter. "Yes ma'am, sorry 'bout that. Need somethin'?" Being this polite gave Cam a migraine, but she'd found out early on; be rude to the people that leave tips, they .. don't leave tips. "I ran out of water twenty minutes ago," she was informed crisply as the overweight, aging woman haughtily tilted her chin upwards to look at the waitress. Waitress... she'd been one of the best jazz and blues singers in New Orleans, and now she was pouring water at an uptight Italian place...

"My apologies. Let me refill that for you.." Flashing her best 'I'm here to serve you' smiles, the empty glass was whisked away to be replaced. Once the woman was at her back, Cam started making faces and mocking the woman's tone under her breath. "I ran out of waaah-taaah twenty min-ootes ago. Cow. Looks like she drank the friggin' Mississippi.." Dumping the empty into the washbin, a clean glass was filled with waaah-taah and a few ice cubes. Glancing around discreetly, when she was sure no one was paying her any attention, she stuck her finger in the glass. Swirl-swirl. All smiles and politeness again, she dried her hand off on her apron before heading back to the table. "There y'go, sorry for the wait. Can I getcha anythin' else?"

"No, thank you. This is sufficient. Now like I was saying, Harold.." Dismissed just that easily, a brow arched but Cam wasn't going to argue. Let Frau Cow and Harold talk about the disgrace of this town-- she was going back to her post and daydream for awhile. Halfway back to the counter, three new arrivals just had to sit themselves down in her designated area. Grabbing her little notepad and pen out of her pocket, she dodged around a few tables to get over to their booth. "Know whatcha want to drink, or do you need a few?" Pen poised, eyes lifted briefly to touch on the three men in question. "How about your phone number, gorgeous?" The younger of the three decided to be the first to try wit and charm on her, and the look she gave him bordered on sarcastic.

"How 'bout you order somethin' you'll have a chance of gettin'," returned as sweetly as she could manage, weight shifting from one foot to the other. The other two broke into laughter, ribbing the brave one before picking up their menus. The shot-down one glared her way for a second before hiding himself behind his own menu, muttering something about uptight bitches. Jotting down their orders, she turned to grab their drinks, but of course-- she paused. "There's a difference between an uptight bitch and someone with standards, darlin'. Stop tryin' to hit on waitresses and find someone who cares." Flashing a winsome smile, she headed for the kitchen.

"She got you, man. Don't start what you can't finish."

"Yeah. Shot down not once, but twice. That's gotta hurt."

The other two finally turned their focus away from their red flushed friend and began volleying sports scores around-- oblivious to the fact that his gaze and attention wasn't on them. He was watching Cam move around and do what she was paid to do, and the look in his eyes wasn't of the nice persuasion.

".. wrong one, darlin'." The endearment she tossed around without thought was mocked with heat, quiet enough for the other two not to hear. "Wrong one.."

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I could be mean.
I could be angry.
You know I could be just like you.
I could be fake.
I could be stupid.
You know I could be just like you.

----</center>


Cellphones were going to be the ruination of mankind. No good news ever came from hers.

"Remember our agreement, right?"

The voice drifting over the line pulled a strong sense of deja vu-- familiar, but she was unable to put her finger on.. who.. it.. was...

"Agreement? How 'bout blackmail?"

"How ever you want to phrase it, baby. Just make sure you're on stage next Friday night. I don't have to repeat myself."

"Don't worry about it, I know my end. You just make sure you know yours."

"Mine is simple. Do what I want, you can continue your life as usual. Until the phone rings, of course."

Without further explanation, the line suddenly went dead, leaving her to stare at the small device in disgust. Flipping the phone shut, it was tossed onto the table in front of her before fingers dug into her hair. Suddenly that bright future she envisioned -- the one that involved teaching and not singing on stage anymore -- dimmed to a lackluster memory.

At least the Mafia had morals. They wouldn't work a broad to death; they'd just shoot her.

[cajun_songbird]

<center>I could take every fucking word you said,
throw it in your face.
Would you even care?
I still remember when you looked at me,
that frown upon your face.
Trying to seem sincere.
I gathered all those little things you said,
kept them close to me.
Trying to make this real.
This cloud will always hover over me.
I'm leaving you today.
'Cause I now I see.

Suffocate, you suffocate.
You lie ( I don't lie.)
You're fake ( I'm not a fake. )
Suffocate, you suffocate.
You take ( I don't take.)
What you can ( what I can. )

I could take every fucking game you played,
blow it all away.
Would you even care?
I could take all those nights you said to me,
you'd never go away, never disappear.
This cloud will always hover over me.
I'm leaving you today, 'cause now I see.

Suffocate, you suffocate.
You lie ( I don't lie.)
You're fake ( I'm not a fake. )
Suffocate, you suffocate.
You take ( I don't take.)
What you can ( what I can. )

And now I'm far away from you.
I'll never bring back yesterday.
You're such a fake, it's true.
I can't believe the words you say.
I'm far away from you.
I'll never bring back yesterday.

<u>I</u> always take what <u>I</u> can.

( suffocate ; cold )

----</center>

The gig had gone as expected. She had blended back into the band as if never taking a break, and the crowd had appreciated the extra effort put in for normalcy. Jace had seemed ecstatic that she was back up there, and Libby had been fluttering around like it was Christmas. God only knows, people appreciate good jazz. Then again, the sets had changed a lot since when she had first arrived. The repertoire shifted and evolved into something more mainstream-- something more people could enjoy.

Being on stage was something that couldn't be compared to anything else. It was like finding that extra 20 in your wallet when you think you're flat busted. The lights, the music-- hitting that first chord and knowing the entire night is going to be good just off of that... indescribable. Of course, all of this was overshadowed by her mysterious phone admirer. After the set was done, not even ten minutes later, she had received a call. As expected.

"Job well done."

The voice, as always, tugged at her memory. It sounded so familiar... Eyes rolled towards the ceiling of the small room that doubled as the dressing area-- phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder.

"Why, thank you. That means a lot."

Sarcasm anyone? He chose not to comment on the tone.

"Next weekend, same time. Remember what's at stake."

The line went dead without warning, and she flipped her own phone shut. This was really starting to get monotonous. The whole thing with Sam's .. company, her rather fucked up love life, Jareth and his stupid Labyrinth, and now.. this. At the very least, she had a seven foot tall penguin to show for all her efforts.

Flashing a smile to the guys once they started meandering back from the stage, they got a half-hearted wave after she gathered her things and headed for the door. Jace wasn't anywhere around, and she left a note for him with Izzy, saying she'd meet him at home later on. While she had been staying away from the tavern lately, the coffee shop was just somewhere she had to go when a lot was on her mind.

Then again, if she knew what she'd find there, she might've just went on home and called it an evening. All the coffee shops, in all the worlds, and he had to walk into hers. It seemed surreal-- completely intangible that he was even there. Oliver-- he'd been gone for so many months... It was not only awkward to see him, but it brought back memories that she'd learned to bury deep. The conversation had gone as one might expect-- flare ups of anger, softer moments when neither knew exactly what to say or do.

Her only saving grace was the effortless mask of neutrality she'd perfected over the months here in Rhydin. Keep everything inside, and never -- never -- let them see you out of sorts. There were only a select few that had broken through that wall, and it had taken them a very long time to do so. Whereas she could be candid and open about anything else in her life -- what was going on, how things were, how others were doing -- showing weakness was never an option.

Some might not call it weak to be able to express what they were feeling, but they'd never walked a mile in her shoes. Then again, who could walk that far in stilettos? When the day was done, and the moon was growing wan in the sky, then she could come out of herself. It's always easier to be on the right side of the mirror, looking at the reflection as if nothing was wrong.

Once she was in the house, and the door was locked behind her, the facade of strength was dropped like a brick-- all of the resolve and determination that had seen her home slipped away. It was a burdensome thing to carry, day in and day out. When she dropped onto that ever familiar red couch, and her face was in her hands.. for the first time since Sam died, she cried herself to sleep.

<font color="#999999" size="1">[ May 23, 2005 04:12 AM: Message edited by: entropic notes ]</font>