Studio 42

The Late Great Beatrice Mattel

[A/N: HERE WE GO! And it's been a long time since I've written ffs so we'll see how this goes.]

A sigh came out of Trixie as she haphazardly threw herself onto a bench. The world hates her, it's official. "Stupid... Fucking-"

She couldn't even finish her sentence as she started to hiccup. Grateful for the park being empty as the clouds above her grayed. At least if it rained, no one would notice her tears.

The blonde grasped the roots of her hair, chuckling at how insane she probably looked right now.

Wearing the best dress in her closet, a floral dress that her gramms made for her and a simple flower turban she made to calm her anxieties of flying off to the new city.

She had her guitar resting on her lap, being the only thing important to her right now. Her suitcase lay beneath her, propping her beat up tennis shoes on it just to ensure that her belongings won't get stolen.

And a flyer rested on her hand, the one that brought her there. It said, "BE A STAR!" in big bold letters that mocked Trixie.

That made her sob even more as she looked down on it, just in time as the rain started pouring. Her, admittedly, overtly pink blush became stained with mascara tracks.

She regretted not listening to her friend, Max, and choosing to overlook a waterproof mascara.

Bringing her hands up to her face, she felt ashamed.

"After all I've done for you...?"

"Your dreams only belong in your sleep."

"What a fucking loser? She wasted her life."

"It should've been you who died."

Just then, she heard the rain pattering quieter. The feeling of raindrops dancing on her skin was gone. She looked up and there was a blonde standing beside her.

She wore a bright red raincoat, holding up a transparent umbrella above the country girl.

"Staying out in the rain is bad for your voice, you know?" the stranger spoke quietly but clearly, shifting her gaze to Trixie.

"Uh, thank you...?" she roughed out. Trixie looked at her in confusion.

"It's the guitar." the stranger responded again. She felt stupid. "And... The flyer. I work at a studio too, you know? So, I get it."

"I'm-- I'm not a singer."

The lady scoffed, "Are you sure?"

"Well..."

"Let me hear you."

"What?"

She sat beside her, not caring if the bench was soaking wet or if the mud got on her beautiful black boots.

"Sing for me. Tell you what, if you impress me, I'll get you a spot at our studio."

"Do you sing?" Trixie asked.

"Oh no, honey. I don't meddle with that," she laughed, "But I'm a manager. I can tell when someone has talent."

The lady looked at her seriously, but with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "What do you say?"

She could feel her stomach churn as she thought of the people she didn't want to disappoint. If she could get a chance, she could be a hero.

And, the fact that she considered staying on the bench for the night was enough to let her know that there was nowhere to go but up.

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her guitar. A shaky hand came up to pluck a string. She was nervous, but she's knew her song with her heart... Well, because it came from it.

"We've been going for a while," Trixie started slowly.

"We've been going strong..." She closed her eyes and continued, a rhythm picking up.

"Hard here to believe in all the years have come and gone
When we put our hands together
Key into a cage
Every story started when I found you on the page."

A smile was now resting on Trixie's face, letting the music take her away.

"And I still remember where I was when the feeling changed, and
How I burned my tongue when the ceiling caved in."

She opened her eyes to see grey eyes staring back with amusement. This made Trixie smile even more, if it was possible.

The grin on the stranger's face was almost unfathomable. But it reminded Trixie of that feeling when she would play for her family.

"Where do you go when the gold is gone,
When the old front lawn's turning gray?
Will you grow from those cold blood wrongs
When those old love songs start to play?"

Her strumming slowed, the grins on their faces almost reduced to sweet smiles.

"Do-do-do-do-do
They start to play..."

"Do-do-do-do-do~"

As she played her last note, Trixie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The lady clapped, making Trixie bow her head jokingly. "Bravo."

"Thank you. I'm Trixie, by the way."

"Katya. Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but again, just Katya would do."

'A pretty name for a pretty face.'

Trixie blushed crimson as she heard her own thought.

"Here is my card," she pulled out a brown card out of her purse, handing it to a blushing Trixie. "And I'll see you tomorrow at 7 sharp?"

"Yeah." she responded, almost in a daze. "Wait, seriously?"

"Uh..."

"You're not an axe murderer, are you?" Trixie asked with pure concern in her voice.

"You just sang for me! Tell me I'm an axe murderer."

Trixie paused, "Are you sure?"

"If I was, would I tell you?"

Katya almost burst into a fit of laughter as she could see the gears turning in Trixie's head, "Well... I'll take my chances tomorrow, I guess?"