Chapter Text
I thought our love would be so beautiful
Somehow we’d make the whole world bright
I never knew that fear and hate could be so strong
All they’d leave us were these whispers in the night
But still my heart is saying we were right
There is a place known as New Donk City, where people from all walks of life flock to in hopes of making their dreams come true. Some dreamed of Broadway, others of becoming world famous chefs, while others had dreams of playing music for the world. Everywhere you could turn there was someone with bright eyes and a heart full of hopes and dreams.
Blumiere Bleck, was not one of those people.
A man in his late twenties, Blumiere was what many would call a washed up musician. He lived in a small, one bedroom apartment where he was barely able to make the rent with the money he gained from tips and small gigs. His amber eyes were underlined with deep dark bags that did not look as though they would ever go away, though they were slightly hidden away by a pair of glasses that were only held together by some tape. His skin was pale despite his time spent bussing on the streets, and the clothes he wore were white and stained. The only part of Blumiere’s appearance that he ever put any care in was his hair that grew shaggily to his shoulder blades. A faded blue color, with black roots proving that the man had dyed his hair long ago. The only notable thing he had to his name was his guitar, a deep black color accented by a dark purple heart. A gift from someone he had known long ago.
He had come to New Donk City many years prior, a guitar in hand and plans to gain enough fame to get his music out into the world. But his eyes held a heavy sadness, his heart was cold and broken. Yes, Blumiere had dreams of his own, but those dreams had nothing to do with fame and fortune. He didn’t care how many people his music reached, he only wanted his music to reach one person.
Her.
The thought of seeing her again was the one thing that kept Blumiere going, despite the odds. Despite the poverty. As long as he held onto the hope that the two of them would see each other again he knew he could survive anything.
Which lead to today, he had managed to convince the manager of a nearby Starbeans to allow him to play for the patrons. While it definitely wasn’t the easiest way to get attention, it was all he really had besides playing on the streets. At least he knew that the shop was already going to pay him, not to mention any tips he could gain from those that weren’t so busy that they couldn’t spare a few minutes to listen to some music.
Upon entering the shop Blumiere noticed that it was pretty busy, but that was to be expected for a Starbeans in a city such as New Donk. Most of them were the normal patrons you would see in a Starbeans, writers working on their latest novels, artists sketching, and office workers lumbering around trying to get their daily cup of coffee so they could make it through the day. However, there was one person in the shop that caught Blumiere’s eyes. A woman, with hot pink hair tied up in a bun that was staring at the current musician that was playing. A frown was on her face, and she noticeably winced whenever the performer played the wrong note. (Which was often.)
Blumiere tore his attention away from the woman, and walked over to one of the baristas that had just finished handing off a coffee to one of their patrons.
“Excuse me,” Blumiere said, catching the boy’s attention. “I am Blumiere Bleck, I was scheduled to perform at four.”
“Yeah, yeah, Elvin told us to expect you.” The boy said, his voice drawling in a way that showed he really didn’t care at all about Blumiere. “Just get your stuff ready for when the last guy finishes.”
“Thank you.” Blumiere nodded, even though he knew that the worker really didn’t care as he turned to receive a finished coffee. He began to head over to the area where the musicians played just as the current act finished up and was beginning to pack. Blumiere took off the guitar case he had on his back, setting it down on the floor as he unzipped the case revealing his black guitar. A soft smile pulled on his lips as he ran his fingers across the wood. Briefly caught in the memories of the one who gave him the guitar, before he shook himself out of it. His usual sadness settling over him as he took it out. The old act had left by that moment, so Blumiere settled himself onto the stool that had previously been occupied and he began to tune his instrument. He had tuned it before he had gotten there, but there was no harm in checking just in case.
Once he was done checking his instrument, Blumiere cleared his throat to address the crowd. “My name is Blumiere Bleck,” he informed anyone that was bothering to pay attention, “The first song I will be playing is The Memory by Mayday Parade.” Once his introduction was out of the way, Blumiere ducked his head, staring down at the strings of his guitar. He played out the first few notes of the song, before he started to sing-
She
Is everywhere I go
Everyone I see
Winter’s gone and I still can’t sleep
Summer’s on the way
At least that’s what they say
But these clouds won’t leave
Walk away
Barely breathing
As I’m lying on the floor
Take my heart
As you’re leaving
I don’t need it anymore
Blumiere allowed himself to be lost in the song, forgetting that he was in a coffee shop as his mind conjured up the image of her. Of her black curls that could barely be held back from her face by a rainbow ribbon, her dark, near black eyes that held so much love in them whenever they made eye contact. Her bright smile that lit up even the darkest of rooms.
They had been young, and so in love. So much so it seemed as if nothing could take them down from the clouds they danced upon together. That was, until Blumiere’s father had found out about the relationship. Upon finding out about it, he had screamed at his son for wasting his time with “no good musician trash.” Before he tossed Blumiere on a bus to an all-boy’s boarding school where he had no contact with anyone outside of the school.
When Blumiere returned, he had raced out of the house in the middle of the night and went to her house. Only to learn that she and her family had moved away long ago. And no matter how hard he searched, he was never able to find her again.
Someone help me
‘Cause the memory
Convinced itself to tear me apart
And it’s gonna succeed before long
She
Is everywhere I go
Everyone I see
But these clouds won’t leave
As the last notes faded away, Blumiere opened his eyes. Unaware that he had closed them in the first place. He could feel the tears his memories had conjured up, but didn’t care enough to wipe them away. Looking around, he found that almost everyone in the coffee shop hadn’t been paying attention to his performance. In fact, it seemed as if the only ones that were was that pink haired woman and her companion.
The day continued, with Blumiere performing all of the songs he had on his list for that day. Each one being about lost love, and eventually the end of his gig came to another disappointing end.
With a sigh, Blumiere hopped off of the stool, and packed his guitar away. Once it was secure upon his back he turned to leave the coffee shop when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He turned around, hope filling up his chest before being crushed when his brown eyes met a pair of red. (Strange, he suspected colored contacts.) Instead of it being her the person that had come up to him was the pink haired woman he had noticed earlier. Closer, he could see that she was quite the beautiful woman, though she had a no-nonsense sort of air surrounding her. Though that was most likely in part to the white colored shirt, black slacks, and black heels that made her look like some sort of office worker. She pushed up her red librarian glasses up on her nose, before sticking out a hand towards him.
“Blumiere Bleck, correct?”
Blumiere nodded, and took her hand as he waited for her to continue.
“My name is Nastasia Dracul,” she introduced herself, letting go of his hand, “I’m a music manager in the need of new talent, and I vound myself pleasantly surprised by your performance. You know vhat that means, yes?”
“You’re offering to manage me?” Blumiere guessed.
Nastasia nodded, before reaching into the purse at her side. She pulled out a small card and handed it to him. “If you vant to take your career to the next level call the number on the card at 2pm tomorrow, k?” Without waiting for a reply, the woman began to walk over to the door, taking a pause near it to look over her shoulder towards the table she had been seated at. “Antasma, ve’re leaving!” She called to her companion, before she looked towards Blumiere once more. “I hope to be hearing from you.” She told her, before she and her companion left the coffee shop, with the only proof they had been there was the soft tinkling of the bell that hung over the door.
Blumiere frowned down at his phone, laying on his beat up mattress on the floor of his cheap, one bedroom apartment. Despite how small, and honestly awful the apartment was, the rent was still too high for him to afford a bed frame so the mattress sat on the floor instead. He glanced over towards the card he held in one hand, before looking back at the phone.
Admittedly, he had tried having managers before. But he never kept them long, as they had never really been able to click. He highly doubted this… Nastasia woman would be any different. But he supposed any sort of publicity that she could gain him could eventually lead up to him finding her.
With a sigh, Blumiere flicked the card onto the floor, turning to his side to stare at the framed photo sitting on his bedside table. (Which was just a cardboard box.) In the picture were two young teenagers, one of them being a younger Blumiere with his hair still black, and actual hope and happiness still shining in his eyes. And next to him, a girl. He reached for the picture frame, and picked it up, running his thumb across the glass where the image of the girl was located. He smiled softly, before the smile fell and he put the picture frame back.
He took another look at his phone, reading the time as 1:58pm. And making his decision, Blumiere grabbed the card he had previously discarded and punched in the woman’s number. Holding the phone to his ear, Blumiere moved onto his back, listening to the phone ring before there was a click.
“This is Nastasia Dracul.”
“Hello, uh, Nastasia, this is Blumiere. We met at Starbeans yesterday-”