35 ᴍᴍ ꜰɪʟᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ I 🎀 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒸𝒾𝑒 𝒜𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓂𝓈 [𝑔𝓍𝑔] 🎀

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

"You got this...This is what you prepared for...You got this...This is what you prepared for...You got this...This is what you prepared for...You got this... You got this..."

Charlie-Wren Montgomery stood clutching her electric guitar in the small, dimly lit backroom of The Red Lantern Pub. The familiar smell of spilt beer and wood polish filled the air. The buzz of conversations and clinking glasses hummed through the thin walls, mixing with the nerves twisting in her stomach. Her hand shook slightly as she adjusted her guitar strap, trying to quell the nerves that had unexpectedly taken hold. Although, why was she nervous? This is a dingy pub she and her band had been frequenting for the last few months. She wasn't a rookie anymore.

It was a regular Wednesday night in the streets of Oxford. A student night at that. At which Charlie-Wren should be finishing an assignment due the next day at 3pm, but instead is choosing to do an all-nighter doing performances for people completely off of their faces. She decided, like every university student does, to tell themselves that they still have time. To Charlie-Wren, it does not matter what time you start an assignment or when you do it if you are able to still hand it in in the nick of time.

"Why are you shaking? Get it together, you'll embarrass yourself...Stop shaking, you useless fuck...You've done this so many times and you're still scared? Fucking stupid..."

It's true. She had done this a hundred times, maybe more. But tonight, the weight of the stage, the lights, and the crowd felt heavier. The Red Lantern wasn't exactly the biggest venue, but it was a start—another gig on the road to something bigger, something that could change everything.

"Come on...You got this...You got this...."

A gentle knock on the door was what pulled Charlie out of her verbal pre-show ritual. "You ready for this?" Jackson, her drummer, asked as he peeked through the cracked door. He wore a perpetual grin, the kind that never seemed to waver, even when the band played to a half-empty room. Despite the kill-joy that is this pub and unfortunate crowd, his personality matches his sports and exercise science degree, just riding out the waves like nothing in the world matters. If anything, at least his dog-like energy is the only thing keeping morale up and high.

Charlie-Wren pulled the strap of her guitar over her shoulder and ran a hand through her messy dark brown hair. She had spent more hours than she cared to admit practicing for this moment, but no amount of preparation seemed to dull the anxiety. "Yeah," she said, forcing a confident smile. "I was born ready, remember?" As she checks the tuning of her guitar one last time, acting like nothing affects her.

Jackson chuckled, tapping his drumsticks together as if to reassure her. "You always say that, but I've seen you freak out over song choices." He says sneeringly to the guitarist before pointing one drumstick like a wand at her. "Chill, Char. It's The Red Lantern, not Madison Square Garden." Which resulted in receiving a guitar pick to the face from Charlie-Wren for his smart-ass comment.

"Yeah, well, tonight feels different," she muttered, mostly to herself. Maybe it was because she had been balancing this—her music—her acting jobs—with her classes, grinding away for years without catching a real break. Acting gigs had been scarce, and the ones she did land barely made a ripple. No matter how many lines she memorised or how many small roles she nailed, she remained in the shadows of the industry.

But music was different. With her guitar in hand, she felt like she could create something—control her narrative. She had her own voice here. Still, tonight, under the familiar nerves, there was an undercurrent of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tonight could be the night someone noticed.