Chapter Text
EMBER
‘As long as I can remember, music has been there. The soothing Mozart of my infancy, to the sweet pop of my childhood, to the dark emo of my teenage years. I never grew out of my emo phase, and I doubt I ever will. The angsty lyrics always felt so fitting for me, and the whine of the electric guitar comforted me. It's why I do what I do. Why I write my songs, why I play in underground venues.I do it for my younger self.” I finish, and lean back in my chair. The woman conducting the interview, a middle aged white woman, nods, and jots down a note. “It's so interesting you say that, Ember, because pop phenomenon Harley Conan said almost the exact thing when describing her music! Now, I heard you two have an..intense history?” I try to not make my disgust obvious. Of course that's why this bitch asked to interview me. To get the scoop on my thing with the pop Princess. I swallow my anger and plaster on a fake smile. “Yes, Harley and I are very similar. Can I ask what your favorite song from my new album is?” I change the subject almost immediately, and, surprisingly, it works.
I trudge out of the interview room, and literally walk into my manager Elkon. “Woah, where are you going? We had a lunch meeting, remember?” I wave my hand, pushing past the short man. “I can't, I have a date with my bed and cart.” Elkon chases after me, a frown spreading on his face. “Ugh, did the interviewer bring up Harley?” I grimace at the mention of the pop star. “Unsurprisingly.”
I push open the door of the recording studio, and walk out into the sunny streets of LA. Elkon follows close behind me. He grabs my arm and plops a baseball cap on my head. “There. Now walk and talk, we have to get to The Cafe.” I sigh. I should've known I wouldn't have been able to get out of my meetings. “Ever since those vultures at Pop News Daily got ahold of the high-school yearbook, they’ve been on Harley and I's asses about our fling in senior year.” Elkon wrinkles his pierced nose. “You didn't tell me you and the pop princess had a thing in high school?” I groan, and press the call button on the intersection. “Because we didn't! Harley was my only friend, I kissed her ONCE, and yes, she may have kissed me back, but that doesn’t change the fact she stabbed me in the back as soon as she got discovered.” We approach a small building on the corner of the street. Elkon holds the door open, and I duck inside. “That sounds like you two had a thing.” He says, and nudges me slightly. I smack him lightly in the head. “No it doesn't! Just because the yearbook editor tried to play matchmaker does NOT mean Harley and I were dating!” We sit down at a corner booth, and I lie my head down. “I just wanna go hooome.” Elkon sighs, and pulls out his phone. “We just need to talk about your streaming numbers. Ember, you're blowing up.” He taps his screen a few times. “We may even have to think about booking you in arenas for this tour.” I groan, loud enough to enact glares from other patrons. “I don't like arenas! I would rather go to small venues, you know that.” Elkon sets his phone down. “Girl, I would love to book you at the smaller venues, but that means multiple days in the same town, and we frankly cannot have you in one place too long.” I raise my head, a bit confused. “Why?” Elkon is suddenly very interested in the grain of the table. “Elkon. Why.” He grits his teeth. “Ember, you've been getting death threats.” I blink. And then laugh. “Oh my god, it took them long enough! Is it because I kissed their pop goddess before them?” I cackle at my own joke. Elkon is not amused. “Ems, this is serious. These people mean it.” I make a face. “OK, let them. I have security.” I stand up. “And I have two cats at home, both of which need feeding. So if you will excuse me, I'm gonna go.” Before he can protest, I walk off. God, I need to smoke.
I unlock the door to my apartment, and step inside, instantly feeling at home. My sphinx cat, Rotisserie, nuzzles up to my leg. “Yes, I missed you too. Where's your brother, sweet baby?” I scoop up the cat and trudge into my living room where my Maine coon cat, Rug, sits. I collapse on the couch next to the big baby. “Hi guys.” I talk as if they can understand me. “Today was bullshit. I hate interviews. And Harley.” I stand up, and rummage through my cabinets till I find the cat food. I dump some in each cat's bowl, and drag myself to my bedroom. “Goodnight, silly kitties.” I mumble under my breath as I drift off to sleep.