[Trish didn't start performing on her own right away. She watched the other talent Nai'a had to offer, sitting with her legs crossed, an orange notebook on her knees, writing down what she would and wouldn't like for her own performances.
Practice came next, and she joined a few seasoned, human performers who would usually play a set with the monster talent of the night, though with the way monsters came and went these people often ended up filling the gaps left behind. They're kind enough, they have to be to bother with monsters at all.
And then...she's on her own.
She would be the last to ever admit she was nervous, but the quailing of her heart spoke otherwise. Every beat tinged with doubt, but like everything else she's ever done since February 2001...she simply lets herself lean forward and freefall into the moment. There's no one, nothing to hold on to but herself anymore, ever since she woke up to her mother's hand cold in her own.
It gets easier. Eventually, it feels natural.
Today it's rather gloomy outside, and she introduces her set by commenting on that fact, and you know what? The music ought to match.
And so it does, Trish swaying gently in place, lips nearly brushing the mic, like she's whispering a secret to it and it alone.]
My friends are so distressed; They're standing on the brink of emptiness. No words I know of to express This emptiness.
I love all of you Hurt by the cold. So hard and lonely, too, When you don't know yourself...♫
[She dives into the bridge, her focus entirely on her performance...and then there's a voice synchronizing with the thrum of her bass, and it reminds her of when Kate joined her for Halloween, almost. That was an event where anyone could join in, while Nai'a has something of a schedule. So who...?
Trish's ears twitch as she listens, leaning back from the mic to look here, there and – oh. She recognizes this mer. Beatrice the Golden, a regular performer and one bewitching to behold in motion by virtue of her form alone, all frills and color. Trish's notes on her performances were more about the energy and drama on display, since she can't exactly replicate the ability to swim in a tank and sing. Regardless, Beatrice had a particular flair, although Trish isn't sure what makes the mer tick, and thus whatever lies underneath that flair is a mystery.
Intrigued, Trish decides to harmonize with Beatrice in the spirit of one Miss Denson, humming along for the instrumental. She raises a brow at Beatrice too, having turned slightly to watch the mer but otherwise, unless Beatrice decides to abscond, she is now being integrated into this melancholy exchange.]
i accept this [crawls in so late also] / cw: death implied
Practice came next, and she joined a few seasoned, human performers who would usually play a set with the monster talent of the night, though with the way monsters came and went these people often ended up filling the gaps left behind. They're kind enough, they have to be to bother with monsters at all.
And then...she's on her own.
She would be the last to ever admit she was nervous, but the quailing of her heart spoke otherwise. Every beat tinged with doubt, but like everything else she's ever done since February 2001...she simply lets herself lean forward and freefall into the moment. There's no one, nothing to hold on to but herself anymore, ever since she woke up to her mother's hand cold in her own.
It gets easier. Eventually, it feels natural.
Today it's rather gloomy outside, and she introduces her set by commenting on that fact, and you know what? The music ought to match.
And so it does, Trish swaying gently in place, lips nearly brushing the mic, like she's whispering a secret to it and it alone.]
My friends are so distressed;
They're standing on the brink of emptiness.
No words I know of to express
This emptiness.
I love all of you
Hurt by the cold.
So hard and lonely, too,
When you don't know yourself...♫
[She dives into the bridge, her focus entirely on her performance...and then there's a voice synchronizing with the thrum of her bass, and it reminds her of when Kate joined her for Halloween, almost. That was an event where anyone could join in, while Nai'a has something of a schedule. So who...?
Trish's ears twitch as she listens, leaning back from the mic to look here, there and – oh. She recognizes this mer. Beatrice the Golden, a regular performer and one bewitching to behold in motion by virtue of her form alone, all frills and color. Trish's notes on her performances were more about the energy and drama on display, since she can't exactly replicate the ability to swim in a tank and sing. Regardless, Beatrice had a particular flair, although Trish isn't sure what makes the mer tick, and thus whatever lies underneath that flair is a mystery.
Intrigued, Trish decides to harmonize with Beatrice in the spirit of one Miss Denson, humming along for the instrumental. She raises a brow at Beatrice too, having turned slightly to watch the mer but otherwise, unless Beatrice decides to abscond, she is now being integrated into this melancholy exchange.]