A/N: Ok this is one of a couple ideas I've been thinking on for a new story. I was going to hold off until I was nearer to the end of Her Words, but motivation hits and we must obey! I hope you guys like it. This first chapter is the groundwork (I guess that's obvious for any first chapter) I've never tried to write anything in this type of setting before so forgive me for doing my best. Let me know what you think and if you're interested in me continuing.

Disclaimer- As always, I sadly do not own Pitch Perfect or any of the recognizable characters involved, if I did I think we all know what changes I'd make to it. I also don't own any companies/products/brands or anything else recognizable mentioned. All I own is the plot, this universe created and the original people who pop up along the way.

Warning – This story will contain alcohol/drug use and some language.

Ch. 1

The dark sky did it's best to blanket the city, but the constant glow of the never-ending New York lights kept it from claiming total victory. Beca sat on the hotel balcony, staring at the expanse of the ever-alive city. Leaning back in the lounge chair, cigarette dangling from her lips and guitar resting lazily across her torso.

She plucked the strings absently at random; not aiming for anything other than the familiar vibration of the notes beneath her fingers. As always, she was wide awake and anywhere but the bed. Not her bed, the hotel's. The brunette didn't know what time it was, closing in on 5am was her was her best guess. It didn't matter, it wasn't like she wouldn't get a lovely announcement when it was time to get up and start the day.

It wasn't like her time, her life, was up to her in anyway.

Once, long ago, she thought it would be by this age. She'd pictured by now she'd be on her own…she'd be happy. But that picture faded until there was barely a blur in her mind. The only time she could see traces of it now were in the moments that followed the drink or the sniff or the swallow.

It was artificial just like everything in her life. She couldn't even call them highs. She didn't get high. It was more like…peace; like she reached a contentment for a few precious moments before it disappeared. Just like that elusive image of a life that wasn't hers.

The brunette's thoughts were interrupted by the sliding glass door being shoved open behind her.

"There you are," the woman's voice declared.

"Here I am," Beca replied without looking at her and continuing to draw the disconnected notes from the guitar.

"It's 5:15."

"Thanks for the update Big Ben," she replied, still not showing any interest in the woman's presence.

"Well, should I assume you woke up to prepare for the day?" she asked the cynical question before crossing her arms.

"You know what they say about assuming," Beca responded, flicking ash from her cigarette onto the balcony floor.

The older woman rolled her eyes at the response and put her hands on her hips.

"You have to be at the junket at 7," she reminded Beca, "I figured it would take you this long to erase your … exploits from last night and get together enough to be made presentable."

Beca didn't acknowledge her words, instead continuing to pluck at random strings with black nailed fingers. Irritated, the woman stomped over to the chair, grabbing the instrument by the neck and pulled it out of Beca's lap.

"What have I told you about this?" she asked rhetorically, "Calloused fingers are not a sought-after quality."

"Yes mother," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

"And I told you a thousand times to knock that off; even in private."

Beca rolled her eyes at her mom. God forbid any of the young bucks she lured in ever equate her to having a 24-year-old daughter. Wouldn't want them trying to do any math and figuring out her actual age underneath all the nips and tucks and peels.

She stood up and took the guitar back while correcting herself.

"Yes Angela," she remarked as she walked by her and into the room. Her mother – Angela- following behind and closing the door.

"Good. Now shower and get dressed. The team will be here in half an hour to get you ready. And for God's sake, get that girl out of your bed."

Beca went into the bathroom, speaking out as she disappeared inside, "It's not my bed."

Angela sighed and approached the bed. She took in the disarray of the blanket and sheet around the woman lying on her stomach. With a shake of her head, she shoved her foot against the mattress, jostling the girl awake. The blonde groaned and lifter her head to find the disturbance.

"Morning Starshine," Angela greeted sarcastically, "Time for you to go."

The nameless girl rubbed her face and looked around, presumably for Beca, before sitting up. Angela watched the sheet fall into her lap, revealing an intricate tattoo that started in the center of her chest and wrapped around under both breasts.

"Charming," she sneered in distaste before opening her purse and pulling cash. She counted out an amount and then held her hand out to the woman, "Come on, let's go."

"I ain't no hooker," the woman defended, looking offended by the action.

"Sweetie, I don't care what you are as long as you keep your mouth shut," she informed her, dropping the bills on the bed, "For your discretion."

Angela watched her gather her things and quickly dress; noting that for all her defense she still had no problem gathering the money before leaving. The woman then made short work of putting the room together and hiding evidence of her daughter's activities. When Beca returned from her shower wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, her mother automatically descended upon her.

"You good?" she asked, looking over her face and into her eyes, "Need something to perk up a bit?"

Beca just shrugged in response, trying to pull away from the hands on her cheeks. Angela pulled out an unmarked, orange bottle and tipped a pill into her palm.

"You've got interviews all day, we need you focused," she told her as she gave her the pill and watched her swallow it. Once she did, she spoke again with her hands on her face again, "Remember, you're happy to be here. You're proud of this movie. It was fun to make."

"How innovative," Beca replied, pulling back to get away again, when her mom grabbed her and brought her back.

She looked at her daughter with a scrutinizing gaze before brushing her fingers through her damp hair.

"This is serious, Beca," she began, and the younger brunette knew already what was coming next and sure enough she was right, "You brought us here. You got us out of that nowhere life. You made our dreams come true. Don't you want to protect it?"

Her mother gave the familiar speech. Beca hated hearing it. She hated her mother's use of "us" and "our" as if it were something they sat down and decided on together. She hated that when she did say it, the words were always surrounded by affection and pride that she never displayed any other time. More than anything, Beca hated that she craved it from her; this long held desire for her mother to be like, well, a mother.

But this was the closest she ever got; ever would get. So, with a nod and nothing more, Beca pulled away from her touch again. Fortunately, this time she let her, allowing Beca a moment to feel the chemicals kick in and close her eyes for the split second of peace before it vanished.

Hours later and the young woman was no more enthused about the day than she had been all morning. Sitting in a chair in front of a large mockup of the movie poster. She'd spent her day enduring the rotating cycle of journalists who all swooped in to take their turn in the same seat across from her and ask the same questions all day. She could see the moment they turned on the forced cheer when they saw her sitting back in the chair, showing exactly how thrilled she was to be there.

Photographers. Cameramen. Hair and makeup coordinators. Movie reps and, of course, her mother, were all hovering around while what's-his-name from fished for a soundbite.

In the middle of what she'd been told was the final one of the afternoon, Beca saw her mother gesturing for her to smile. Beca ignored her and cast her eyes back to the young woman from some entertainment channel, she hadn't been paying attention during the introduction.

"Now, this role is pretty intense for someone so young. A lot of what you've done seems like it would be so draining. How do you get to the space you need to relate to these characters? Is there a specific method you use to get there for a scene?"

Beca brushed her hair back from her face before answering.

"I just read the script and say the lines they give me," she answered indifferently and heard the woman chuckle as if she'd told a joke. Beca saw Angela behind the camera glaring at her for the response. With a quiet sigh, she cleared her throat and gave a little more, "Hard to say; it's different for each part, I guess."

"Understandable," the woman replied with the smile Beca had seem all day; any day she had to spend doing this stuff. The smile that was rehearsed and brought out when they realized she wasn't giving them what they hoped for, "Ok, last question. Now there's talk buzzing around that you're signed on to star alongside Chloe Beale for your next project. Can you tell us if that's true?"

Beca, having no clue what her mother ever agreed to on her behalf, looked over to her for confirmation. The woman nodded, giving Beca her answer and she made an effort not to sigh before responding.

"Yeah, that's right."

"I'm sure it'll be great; something we can all look forward to. Chloe's sort of recently blasted onto the scene, I know I'm certainly a fan. What do you think of her work? As someone who's been in this business for a while, any observations? Do you consider yourself a fan?"

"I wouldn't know; I don't want movies."

The answer obviously surprised the peppy woman who had to clear her throat before thanking Beca for her time and plugging the movie's release date for the camera. As soon as she got the call that they were clear, Beca snapped the mic off her shirt and stood up; she pulled out her pack of cigarettes and nodded to the woman before walking away.

Angela huffed and approached the reported once her daughter was gone.

"What the hell was that?" she asked the woman from Entertainment Tonight.

"I know, right?" she responded with a good-natured laugh, "Some people really don't enjoy the interview process and don't hide it well. Don't worry, it's not a big deal, this'll be edited before it airs."

"I'm talking about you," Angela accused, "Why the hell are you talking about some other actress? Beca's interview is supposed to be about Beca. So, make sure you edit out your stupidity before airing this."

"I was making conversation about something that pertained to her career," the woman replied; defensive about the attack.

The woman shook her head and gathered her things. Internally debating whether or not to speak her mind before deciding: to hell with it.

"You know, I'm beginning to see what Beca is the way she is."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Angela asked sharply.

"I mean, with you running the show, I'd hate my life, too," she remarked. Her attempt to leave it on that note was halted when a tight hand gripped her forearm.

"What did you say to me?"

The reporter's eyes dropped calmly to the hand holding onto her. She was used to people trying to strong arm her.

"Easy, Ms. Mitchell, your daughter already has quite the reputation in the media, you don't want to make it worse, do you?"

Angela let go but refused to let the attitude slide.

"What's your name? I'll be in touch with your supervisors about this."

"It's Catherine Rolan," she answered, "I can spell it for you, I have nothing to be afraid of."

On her way out, Catherine sported Beca Mitchell hovering just inside the building's main door, smoking a cigarette even though she was certain it wasn't allowed in the building. On impulse, she approached the actress.

"Beca?" she got the girl's attention through her sunglasses, "Hey, I'm sorry about what happened upstairs; if you felt like I got off topic."

Beca shrugged.

"Just doing your job," she dismissed, "It's fine."

Catherine nodded, noticing the way Beca kept glancing out the side window at the people hanging around waiting.

"Paparazzi?"

Beca sighed heavily and looked back at her, taking off her sunglasses she spoke.

"Do you like what you do?' she questioned suddenly.

"What?"

"Your job; do you like it?"

Catherine thought about the question for a second before answering.

"I do. Some days more than others, but overall, yes. Very much."

Beca nodded after hearing her answer which inspired the woman to return the question.

"Do you like what you do?"

Beca put her glasses back on and zipped up her leather jacket before answering without emotion, "It's a dream come true."

As soon as she stepped outside, the horde of people waiting rushed her; cameras and voices bombarding her.

X

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Across the country, the television was on in the California penthouse while an unamused Aubrey Posen stood in the center of the living room watching TMZ transition to footage of a New York sidewalk. Her eyes narrowed as the voices behind the cameras threw question after question at the woman and her response was to give them a middle finger for their trouble.

Of course, as Aubrey predicted, the action only spurred them on even more.

"Chloe! Are you almost ready? The car is going to be here soon!" she called form the other room and checked her watch.

"Coming!" she heard back and Chloe appeared a few seconds later, putting in her last earring and noticing what was on the television, "Why do you watch this stuff?"

"I have to keep an eye out to make sure there aren't any ridiculous stories on you I have to fix. It's my job, after all."

"And you're very good at it," the redhead complimented and bumped her shoulder into her best friend.

"Well, you definitely make my job easier than some people would," she stated with a nod towards the screen.

Chloe chuckled and looked at the tv where Beca Mitchell's voice came through with a two-word response, the first word censored with a loud beep to cover it up. Aubrey scoffed at the girl's behavior.

"I can't believe you're actually wanting to work with her," Aubrey shook her head.

"Come on, Aubrey, it's a good opportunity. You have to admit she's talented. Maybe I can learn from her."

"Picking up habits from Beca Mitchell will definitely make my job more interesting if that's what you're hoping for," she mused, "Trust me, I hear all the talk that goes around about her. The last thing your career needs is any of her influence."

"Oh, come on, I'm sure she isn't that bad. She probably a good person in reality."

As soon as she speculated this, Beca's voice came again from the tv.

'Back the [BEEP] OFF!" followed by a hard shove to the TMZ camera before the program moved on to another clip.

Aubrey looked at her friend and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, she's a peach."

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Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Concerns?