A/N: This is my first story in several years. I was on here under a different username and published several Harry Potter Stories. I decided to give it another go, so please, be kind. Flames will be used to heat my tea. I own nothing, except Virginia. I'll try to post once/week but I'm a uni student and things can get kind of crazy. Anyway, enjoy!
When you're close to me
Chapter 1
When I was younger, and someone would inevitably ask me what I wanted to be, I would reply with a big smile on my face, "I want to be just like my dad!" I never imagined my life would end up like it has. Sure, I was like my dad for a while, but now, I would give anything to turn back time, undo the things that landed me here: at a grimy jazz club outside of London.
I sat at my dressing table, putting the finishing touches on my make-up. Everything about me harkens back to the jazz age in the 50's, from my pearls to my evening gown and ruby-red lips. I have to go on in a few minutes. The manager warned me I had a special guest: a man by the name of Murdoc Niccals. I am familiar with the name, sure. Everyone in Great Britain has heard of the Gorillaz, but I don't know what he'd want with me: a two-bit night club singer. The bouncer calls my name, and I stand up, grab my sax, and walk out into the blinding lights of the stage.
I open with "Send in the Clowns". I'm feeling a bit down tonight; my stint at this particular club will be ending soon, and the years of restlessness are beginning to wear on me. I take a long, slow solo on my tenor sax, letting my emotions flow through the horn. Normally, I'd open with something sizzling, like "It don't mean a thing (if it ain't got that swing)", but tonight I couldn't put myself in that frame of mind. I eased up on my set after that, moving into "Fly Me to the Moon". It's easy to have flexibility when it's just a bassist, drummer, pianist, and myself.
I have always thought being on stage is therapeutic. It's easy to forget everything and ease into the familiar rhythms and licks. Of course, it's hard not to notice the lank, green-skinned man sitting in the corner booth. That must be Murdoc.
My set was clean, my voice was low and smooth, and I was pleased. With time comes consistency, and I'd certainly had more time than I thought I would. I'm sitting at my dressing table, combing through my dark brown hair, when he enters. He's tall, with dark hair and eyes. Handsome, I note, with no little amount of surprise. His upside down crucifix dangles above a black t-shirt and jeans. I smile at him in the mirror. It doesn't quite reach my eyes.
"Virginia Wolfham?" He asks.
"Who else would I be?" is my tart reply.
"Alright then." He approaches me. I can smell the alcohol on him from several feet away.
"What do you want?"
"The Gorillaz need someone new. Since Noodle… died… We've been missing a more feminine touch."
"Look, Murdoc, I'm quite happy here" (I wasn't) "and I plan to be here for a long time." (I didn't).
"I wasn't asking, Ms. Wolfham". He grins wickedly, approaching me. The use of my last name puts me on my guard, an age old reflex coming in to play. I'm reaching into my desk, searching for an old friend long unused when he presses a rag to my nose and mouth. My eyes widen, the familiar scent filling my senses. I try to fight it, but I give in after several moments. Blackness comes and I sink into it.