ambitionz az a ridah

BAE, lacey; twenty-six. pop princess for hire. #PrayForLacey -- ain't nothing wrong with her, she's just in verona.

[hereticjoan-deactivated20161124]

Joan didn’t really have a need to be in the store.  She hadn’t played an instrument with any serious commitment; she always told herself she’d get into something badass–bassists were sexy, weren’t they?–and never did.  But she’d spent enough days, lazing about while René had been drooling over instruments he really did play, leafing through records and listening to people test the waters with the options available, that music stores were homey.  They had a nice vibe, and she had a while to kill before the bus she needed was going to stop.

She spent some time talking herself out of buying a Runaways record she didn’t need–if it’s already downloaded and on disc, Joan, you do not need it on Vinyl!–when the sound of someone who knew their shit pretty well made its way over to Joan’s ears.  Movie scores, always fucking awesome, and it sounded nice from the tiny little room where the strings hung.  She drifted towards it, figuring she’d hear it better.  Joan hadn’t been a groupie in a while, but old habits died hard. She couldn’t not approach a musician.

And there was the girl she’s talked about bright, red, angry fucking with.  What were the damn odds?  She leaned against the door, letting her play until the song finished and died off.

“Hey there.”  She entered more fully, taking the other seat.  “Sounded pretty sick.”  She was a sucker for musicians.  They had a habit of becoming people she was infinitely more interested by tan anyone else.  Lacey’s fault for being awesome in front of her.  “I mean–I don’t know shit about violins, but still.”

[baelacey]

    Verona had once seemed like a large city to her, two months ago when she just got off the taxi and she didn't know the place or the people in it. Now, it didn't seem particularly large at all. She saw the same faces, for the most part, wherever she went, whether it was at a nightclub, or the flower market, or even the furniture store. Exhibit A would be her audience, one of the people who participated in her, 'what colour is fuck' survey.

    A small smile made its way to her face as the other woman said her compliments, Lacey lowering the violin from her shoulders so she was just holding it. At least she still had the talent. She hadn't actually played the violin since way before she left South Korea. Six months ago, maybe? Right around the time she stopped wanting to produce music with her manager.

    "Thanks," she spoke, the smile widening a little. She always felt a little awkward when it came to compliments, mostly because she didn't know what to do with them other than thank the person. Compliments never really mattered to her, not because she got them a lot, but because it was her own opinion that truly mattered. "Oh no, trust me, you'd know if I sucked. Do you play an instrument? For some reason, I can totally see you as a drummer."

[jacquesofnotrade-blog]

Jacques had gone exploring while his–whatever they even were, yikes–while Richard worked.  Jacques’s hours were shoddy and strange, leaving him a lot of time to do things like wander into music stores and stare at guitars and ukeleles he wouldn’t have the ‘nads to buy today, but would make for an excellent fantasy of later purchases.  

The music wafting from the room over was both well-played, and instantly nostalgic for Jacques, melancholic nerd that he was.  He’d cried the last time he heard this theme in the cinema as a teenager–not that that meant much, but even so, hearing it was pleasantly painful, and hearing it played well was better.  He wandered away from the faraway guitars, and stood in the doorway, hoping not to disturb the player.  He was happy to see that he knew this apparently somewhat nerdy adept; it made him more fond of Lacey than he already had been.  Once she finished the tune, he let himself be known.

“I didn’t know you were a musician,”  he smiled, awkward and alien as that often felt.  “Nice choice by the way–both pretty and literary.  Best combination.”

[baelacey]

    Music had always allowed her to let her guard fall. She was typically cautious, knowing who (or at least what kind of person) was around her at all times, but the sound of the violin simply made her forget her reality; that she was a has-been washed away in Verona, of all places -- that her career got shot down so drastically that she couldn't even stay in the country. She was merely surviving, and at least her inner geek took her somewhere else, even for a moment.

    Hearing the vaguely familiar voice etched a small smile on her softened features. There were only a few people in Verona she liked, or at least was fascinated by -- Richard, Juliet, Patrick, Lysander solely because they were both immigrants, and a couple other girls she'd spoken to here and there (she could never remember their names, only faces.) Her current company was among the few she couldn't bring herself to be too rude to.

    "Yeah, it's kind of my secret identity. Just call me Lacey New Jersey," she joked, lowering the violin. "It's my favourite song to play. I would always get yelled at for playing the same song over and over, but I can't help it. Anyway, what about you? Are you a super secret musician?"

[fy-jessicajung]

[baelacey]

fy-jessicajung:

( 151210 ) Yahoo Asia Buzz Awards.

Woorissica ♢ do not edit !

[baelacey]

    Since she arrived, she'd been staring at the music store across the street from her apartment. Merely gawking since lately, she was unsure about her love for music. She'd left it behind, never to be thought of again, but it kept coming back to haunt her. Every time she heard a child play the piano, or strum the guitar strings, she missed it. She wasn't a fan of yearning for things.

    So, she was at the music store and had picked out a violin and bow. She began to play a song she'd grown to like, Hedwig's Theme, at first softly, but soon enough, the sound from the small instrument filled the entire store, and she forgot she was even in public.

[thegreatbenholio]

Sometimes…. Benvolio forgot himself. Not a literal forgetting, like his name and age, but more of a lack of awareness. 

When his headphones were in, and his feet were tapping, Benvolio lost the world. It happened frequently, mostly when he was walking the streets of Verona, seemingly on his own. 

Today’s poison was Celine Dion. He had no shame in faux belting her lyrics, his hands swinging dramatically as he reached the pinnacle point in It’s All Coming Back To Me Now,and given that he had no perception that someone might be walking right behind them- he accidentally punched them in the face. 

[baelacey]

    Italy had, in part, been growing on her. Since she arrived, she ventured the city for all of the good places to go to, from restaurants to museums. She'd found all the best places to eat for every category food's sorted in, and the best watering hole for when she felt she deserved a drink -- which was often.

    But the hit from the stranger caused her blood to boil once again. That would never happen in South Korea, people bumping into her and hitting her. She used to have a massive squad of guards in her defense, and now, she actually had to take the punch. The only silver lining was that she was at least a little bit above average height. She was only hit on the arm.

    "Hey, watch it, jot de-ga ri!" She yelled, fury reddening her cheeks and sharpening her glare.

[fleancing]

It was growing progressively darker, progressively colder, and Felicity wasn’t an idiot.  Verona was not a place to be at night.  Curfew be damned, she was nervous in a deeper way than that.  “Hey … you wouldn’t happen to know how to get back to the law firm on 5th Ave, would you?”

[baelacey]

    "Honey, I can hardly tell you what time it is. I have a map of the city, though, if it'll help you any."

[beaduncan]

“Every time I get a half decent idea it’s like, poof, right out of my head. Some writer I am.”

[baelacey]

    "Isn't the first thing they teach you in, basically any writing platform, to always have a notepad and a pen to jot down ideas?"

[fairestjuliet-blog]

“No you don’t! You can keep them as relics of a bygone era, the era in which Leo never won his Oscar. No need to throw away such perfect memes.”

[baelacey]

    "Hm, true. I should totally print them out and make an entire scrapbook for him. Maybe when I meet him, he'll autograph it."

[baelacey]

fairestjuliet:

“No you don’t! You can keep them as relics of a bygone era, the era in which Leo never won his Oscar. No need to throw away such perfect memes.”

    "Hm, true. I should totally print them out and make an entire scrapbook for him. Maybe when I meet him, he'll autograph it."

[baelacey]

humorwooed:

“How many Leo-Oscar memes do you have on your phone?”

    "Way too many to count. Like, I think it's at least ten percent of my gallery."

[baelacey]

jacquesofnotrade:

“Save them.  One day, we could go into meme deficit, and vintage memes could become valuable as nostalgic trading chips of a smoother time.  Or, you know.  Do the thing that doesn’t kill your phone storage.  There’s that.”

    "Oh, you're right... Maybe one day we'll use memes instead of money, and the Leo ones will be equivalent to a thousand notes."

[baelacey]

    "I mean... I'm thrilled for Leo, but now I have to delete all of the Leo-Oscar memes on my phone."

[liamhaywards-blog]

“What color do you think fuck is?”

“Ooh, I like that. I’ve never really thought about that, but it definitely makes sense.”

[baelacey]

    "I see it as a bruise type of colour. Maroon with hints of blue like hickeys. It's so interesting. It's a shame I never took Psychology."

[jacquesofnotrade-blog]

“You’re a saint–they can be relics.  People figure out who’s they are, suddenly, they start going for millions, and people are praying to ‘em.  Also, that would imply you’ve just rescued me from madness, for which I can deduce I probably owe you a drink.”

[baelacey]

    "Oh, definitely. Soon, I'll have my own holiday -- St. Lacey's Day. I totally just saved your life, so yes, a drink would be nice, please."

[hereticjoan-deactivated20161124]

“Definitely–assuming we’re talking about the angry kind of fuck.  Because I think the fun kind of fuck might be a red with something purple to it.  Like lips that’re a little bruised from biting.  But the angry kinda fuck–shit, you’re a genius.  It’s totally a head-on collision.  I like the way you think.”

[baelacey]

    "I'm way ahead of our time. I feel like angry fucking is the best kind of fuck, and with that being said, yes. It's a head on collision with dented metal and shattered glass, and police lights against concrete."

[liamhaywards-blog]

“I - maybe a dark green? Why do you ask?”

[baelacey]

    "Dark green, huh? That's certainly different. But I like it. Like that nice grassy smell. I don't know, I was just curious. I think people interpret words as different colours. Like, iridescent. Personally, I see it as more of a lavender colour."

[jacquesofnotrade-blog]

“You.  You are a savior.  I was going to… I don’t know.  I suppose I’d have just resigned to my cruel fate.  And yet now I don’t have to.  I mean.  It’s not as though I can’t afford a new pair, but something about the repetitive nature of buying the same thing twice in a row is depressing if it’s not espresso or vodka.”

[baelacey]

    "I’m a hero, a saint, I know. They don’t call me ‘Almost Jesus’ for nothing, kid. Didn't Einstein say something along the lines of, 'Madness is doing something over and over again and expecting different results'? The great earbuds fiasco of two-thousand-always is one of those maddening things. I think I've lost, like, three thousand in my lifetime. I'm sure every food place in Seoul has a pair of my earbuds."