Busking is not always the most rewarding of jobs. Sometimes the money's decent and once you count up the coins and wadded up bills there's enough for a couple of meals or some new makeup and slightly fewer disapproving looks from your exasperated relatives. Then the money's gone and you have to whip out your dad's credit card (which is supposed to be for emergencies, not daily expenses), the disapproving looks become disapproving grumbles, and it's back to busking you go. Despite her protestations that she's living for her art, Imogen Reed will be the first person to tell you that it's a really, really shitty way to live.
Her favorite spot on the weekends is the entrance to the Piccadilly Circus Tube station, near the ticket machines (because of all the tourist traffic) but this afternoon she's running late and it's already taken by the time she gets there. Covent Garden's also a safe bet, so she finds herself on the surface, next to an alley near a seedier West End theater. It's a new spot for her; territory she's not familiar with and that throws her off a bit. The money's inconsistent at best and she doesn't sell a single demo CD, but an American teenager who doesn't seem to understand the exchange rate gives her £40 to play the new Taylor Swift single a couple times in a row and that saves the night.
At least, for the moment.
Imogen's just contemplating packing up when a couple of men approach her, leering in a way that tells her they aren't interested in hearing her sing. Being harassed by drunks is an occupational hazard, but this is different. There is something off about them that immediately puts her on edge; her stomach twists and she finds herself gripping the neck of her guitar like a club but she can't explain why.
The rest happens so quickly she can't quite remember it after the fact. She just knows that these guys are fast--faster than any drunks she's ever seen--and that they have fangs. But that can't be right. Maybe they're goths with a vampire fetish. Still, instinct kicks in and she starts running, leaving her guitar and the money and the CDs behind her. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows that she needs to get away because they mean to hurt her.
Who Do You Think You Are?
Imogen cleans up nicely, when she wants to. Gone is the denim and the grungy eyeliner that she wears to promote her rock persona; it's jazz night and she's dressed accordingly. Even though she technically performs every day, it's been ages since she's actually been up in front of an audience like this and she's a bit nervous. It's just jazz standards, she reminds herself. She used to do them all the time in school, before she dropped out. The piano starts--"They Can't Take That Away From Me" is the first song in the set--and Imogen takes a breath. Okay, time to sing. She can do this. Singing's the easy part.
Later, between songs, she introduces herself to the crowd and hopes for the best. "Tip your bartender," she reminds them. "They're doing all the hard work for me." It's a laugh line but nobody laughs. All right then, no jokes. Introduce the band (even though she suddenly can't remember the name of the guy on bass), keep singing, and try to stop dwelling on the way everyone's watching you. Judging you.
Wild Card
Choose your own adventure! Imogen's a siren (of the lures-Greek-sailors-to-their-doom variety), but she's a changeling and that means she doesn't know it yet. She can be found around London, singing for her supper. Or maybe she'll be your character's supper. Who knows?
Imogen Reed - Changeling Unseelie Fae - OC
Busking is not always the most rewarding of jobs. Sometimes the money's decent and once you count up the coins and wadded up bills there's enough for a couple of meals or some new makeup and slightly fewer disapproving looks from your exasperated relatives. Then the money's gone and you have to whip out your dad's credit card (which is supposed to be for emergencies, not daily expenses), the disapproving looks become disapproving grumbles, and it's back to busking you go. Despite her protestations that she's living for her art, Imogen Reed will be the first person to tell you that it's a really, really shitty way to live.
Her favorite spot on the weekends is the entrance to the Piccadilly Circus Tube station, near the ticket machines (because of all the tourist traffic) but this afternoon she's running late and it's already taken by the time she gets there. Covent Garden's also a safe bet, so she finds herself on the surface, next to an alley near a seedier West End theater. It's a new spot for her; territory she's not familiar with and that throws her off a bit. The money's inconsistent at best and she doesn't sell a single demo CD, but an American teenager who doesn't seem to understand the exchange rate gives her £40 to play the new Taylor Swift single a couple times in a row and that saves the night.
At least, for the moment.
Imogen's just contemplating packing up when a couple of men approach her, leering in a way that tells her they aren't interested in hearing her sing. Being harassed by drunks is an occupational hazard, but this is different. There is something off about them that immediately puts her on edge; her stomach twists and she finds herself gripping the neck of her guitar like a club but she can't explain why.
The rest happens so quickly she can't quite remember it after the fact. She just knows that these guys are fast--faster than any drunks she's ever seen--and that they have fangs. But that can't be right. Maybe they're goths with a vampire fetish. Still, instinct kicks in and she starts running, leaving her guitar and the money and the CDs behind her. She doesn't know where she's going, but she knows that she needs to get away because they mean to hurt her.
Who Do You Think You Are?
Imogen cleans up nicely, when she wants to. Gone is the denim and the grungy eyeliner that she wears to promote her rock persona; it's jazz night and she's dressed accordingly. Even though she technically performs every day, it's been ages since she's actually been up in front of an audience like this and she's a bit nervous. It's just jazz standards, she reminds herself. She used to do them all the time in school, before she dropped out. The piano starts--"They Can't Take That Away From Me" is the first song in the set--and Imogen takes a breath. Okay, time to sing. She can do this. Singing's the easy part.
Later, between songs, she introduces herself to the crowd and hopes for the best. "Tip your bartender," she reminds them. "They're doing all the hard work for me." It's a laugh line but nobody laughs. All right then, no jokes. Introduce the band (even though she suddenly can't remember the name of the guy on bass), keep singing, and try to stop dwelling on the way everyone's watching you. Judging you.
Wild Card
Choose your own adventure! Imogen's a siren (of the lures-Greek-sailors-to-their-doom variety), but she's a changeling and that means she doesn't know it yet. She can be found around London, singing for her supper. Or maybe she'll be your character's supper. Who knows?