Round one took nearly the entire day to finish. Although the program had it all written and scheduled out, none of the competitors were truly prepared for the grueling wait.
Sixteen bands, each with a 45-minute long set, 12 hours of nothing but music and waiting and brewing in your own nervousness until it was nearly unbearable. No one could pick apart your own performance like yourself after four hours of sitting in the same position with nothing to think about but every minuscule mistake.
As soon as the Mistral band finished their set, Blake, Ilia, Neptune, and Sun all tore out of their seats and through the door. Half out of excitement for the first round's results and half out of honestly just wanting an excuse to move after sitting for so long. Racing down the steps of the gallery, dodging spectators on their ways to the exits, it felt like the run to get backstage was stretching further and further.
"Sorry!" Sun shouts after running into an older gentleman, picking up his run again after pretending to not notice the death stare the man's wife shot at him. "That woman looked like she wanted to sue me," Sun grumbled as they turned a sharp corner. The concert hall that the competition was hosted in was filled with long winding hallways; walls lined with lacquered oak, velvet carpet on the floors, way above all of their pay grades right now.
They had to make the cut - the only thing that Blake could think of as they pushed through another set of doors. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete halls as they finally reached the performer's hallway backstage; a narrow concrete corridor with various stage rooms lined on one wall.
Many musicians from the other bands packed the small space, crowding around an empty corkboard in the middle of the hallway. The cold fluorescent lights above made it feel as if the air had dropped several degrees despite the flux of bodies in the cramped tube-like passage. All four of them cringed at the heavy smell of metal and cork grease that stabbed their noses.
"Is it posted? Can anyone see it?" Ilia says, jumping up and down while pushing herself up with Neptune's shoulders."I can't see over the crowd, there are too many people." She gives up after a few tries and turns to Sun and Neptune. "Resident quartet giants, it's your time to shine."
Apparently one of the said quartet giants, Sun takes his own turn trying to spot the results. "No, nothing yet," he answers, shoving past some people and craning his head over the bodies. The four of them sighed and backed off from the growing congregation. Finding refuge in the small water fountain outcrop into the wall, they were safely out of the flow of musicians still entering from the double doors just a few feet away.
"Hold on," Blake says, stepping out of the safe haven, "I'm going to go see if there are any rehearsal times posted-"
She couldn't finish her sentence before the wind got knocked right out of her from behind. Again, for the second time that night, Blake's back hit another person. Hard . Among many things, clumsy wasn't something she usually was - something she tried to convince herself of as she stumbled back. Turning around with an apology already half muttered, Blake's eyes lit up in surprise after realizing who it was.
"We have got to stop meeting like this,"
Yang was smiling, righting Blake back up before she fell again. Her stomach drops, fluttering as she took in Yang's presence - her height above the crowd, the leather jacket she pulled on over the dress shirt, the casual ponytail she pulled her hair into.
Blake quickly brushed away the thought before it lingered, before she had to acknowledge its presence. She had better things to worry about. Better things that just attracted another 30 people into the hallway through the doors. At this rate, a lack of oxygen might become a concern with the absence of ventilation and the sheer number of bodies. Great; maybe she won't have to worry about if they made the cut or not if all the competition dropped dead from suffocation.
" 'scuse me!" Yang announced quickly before taking a quick step into the outcrop. A tall man burst through the doors right at the position Yang was in meer seconds ago. "That was a close one." She says with a relieved sigh. Yang glanced around the corner before letting out a laugh. "Looks like everyone's in a hurry, I'm only here to pick up my trumpet." She says. Determining that the coast was clear, she started to walk into the crowd.
Yang hesitates, turning back with an innocent enough look. "Want to come with me?" Yang says, voice failing to hide her hopefulness. It was a strange face for her to wear, bashfulness on a frame so tall.
"Sure," Blake finds herself saying before she could even process it. She glanced back to her bandmates who were consumed in some game of 'who can jump and touch the ceiling first'. She was quite familiar with this one; they played it in the airport on the plane ride over and nearly got them kicked off the flight. Ilia and Neptune were being destroyed by the taller and more athletic Sun - you'd think they'd be sick of losing every time by now.
She rolls her eyes at them before following Yang through the crowd. "I honestly don't even think they'll notice I'm gone," Blake says, earning her a laugh that made her heart swell, if not just a little.
They finally pass through the mob towards the instrument storage room where the staff had placed all their belongings between performances. "I'll just be a second." Yang says as she maneuvers through the packed room. All the musicians that competed in this competition brought their own instruments, should it be as small as a trumpet to as large as a century-old double bass. There was easily several thousand dollars worth of instruments in that room.
Yang brushed past some boxes that were scattered around, weaving through upright basses, past saxophone cases. "There we go," she says, finally spotting a worn leather case. Smaller than the other trumpet cases, the leather was dyed a handsome aged blue lined with some rusted metal ornamental pieces. Despite its antique appearance, the latches on the top were shined and well oiled.
"You guys had an amazing set, I don't think I've said it yet," Blake says, leaning at the door frame. Small talk with Yang felt like second nature - actually wanting to continue a conversation with someone she barely knew was unheard of, until now at least. What better time to be bold than when it's possibly the one quality that could push her to win the competition.
"Thanks, you guys did great too," Yang says, returning with her case tucked safely under an arm. "Fitting for an opening act." She set it down on a box nearby and unlatched the top to inspect the instrument.
"A Maynard Ferguson chart though, an...interesting choice to say the least," she continues, watching as Yang examined each piece of the trumpet. She dropped some valve oil into the mechanisms and played with the keys a few times to make sure they were greased properly.
Satisfied, Yang packed it away and looked up. "Ella Fitzgerald," she shoots back with an amused grin, "Transcribing her charts without horns...interesting yourself."
Blake laughs, Yang takes a step closer; mutually acknowledged without needing a single word, just a simple meeting of their eyes would suffice. That was the curious thing about Yang - the subtleties, the casual smile, the silent and deadly innuendos she brings back like one of her motifs in a solo.
"I've never really liked horns in my combo," Blake confesses before she drowns in Yang's eyes. They were a curious lavender that seemed to compliment the blue of her case perfectly. Another little thing to add to the growing list of 'let's pretend I didn't just notice that'. She continues, "All the trumpets I've met are more or less the same, their sound never has the versatility that I've been looking for." She adjusts her shoulder on the doorframe, leaning in closer to Yang. "I'm not even going to get started with the saxophone players I know."
Yang put on a mock face of insult, hiding the twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. "Am I being profiled right now?" she says with a stifled laugh, "Don't lump me with the rest of my section, what do you have against trumpets? What trumpet player hurt you?"
The last addition went straight to her gut, like she was doused in cold water. An unintentional harsh reminder of her past that relentlessly persisted in her present no matter how many times she tried to push it away. Yang meant no harm - it was just a silly joke, how would she know. Yet, no matter how many times she repeated it over in her head, who hurt you? , it came with a sting that brought the prickle of tears to the corner of her eyes.
A few moments was what it took for Blake to regain her composure. It wasn't time to dwell in the past, much less in the situation she was in. He wasn't about to ruin another thing of her career, her life . She brushed past the last addition, sticking a finger at Yang's chest. "Well," she starts, watching as Yang raises an eyebrow. The quiver in her voice was quickly masked before Yang noticed it, crumpled up and shoved down like a ball of paper.
"Every trumpet player I've met are all brash, and loud, and blunt, and have egos higher than the measly upper register that they can manage." Blake says as the impending feeling of doom starts to subside. The tightness of her fist was only noticed once she tried to relax its grip around her sleeve.
They both start laughing, which seemed to finally allow Blake to relax. Yang moving to the defensive. "Hey, I'd say my upper register is pretty good, if I'd say so myself." Something about Yang's laugh, how genuine it was, seemed to push her intrusive thoughts away for good. Suddenly, she was back; it was just her and Yang and a couple dozen instruments and the buzz of conversation from the hall. No shadows could loom under the soft glow that Yang seemed to radiate with each smile.
Suddenly, the constant chatter of the crowd in the hallway peaked to some shouts. Footsteps clattered as people started to run, the rustling of clothes, sound echoing down the concrete floors, walls, and ceiling. They both turned towards the sound and poked their heads out together.
"The more and more you push, the longer it takes for me to get there!" An older man yells in annoyance as he was attempting to push through the horde. He held a folded slip of paper in one hand that he lifted above the crowd.
"And you call yourselves professionals," he mutters, "savages, really."
The man finally made it to the corkboard where the crowd finally backed off, just enough for him to pull a stapler out of his coat pocket. He slapped the paper onto the wall and stapled it quickly, backing off just in time before the mob converged on the paper the second the staple was placed.
Blake glanced over at Yang who seemed rather unbothered by the round one survivors being posted. She watched calmly as musicians started to yell in celebration, some starting to cry.
"You're not interested?" Blake asks as the crowd starts to disperse. Yang shook her head, moving forward with the crowd slowly. She had given such an energy-charged performance just hours earlier, the utter lack of interest in the results was strange.
"I already know we passed the cuts, I don't need a piece of paper to tell me," she said with a grin, feigning confidence that Blake received with a grimace. Oh, so that's why. Somehow, this explanation was even worse than any other she could think of.
"Anyways, none of the four big schools have ever been cut in the first round." Yang continues, sparing a glance at the last few people crowding around the paper. She says "I'll bet anything that we're both safe."
Sun's laughter cut through the hallway, Blake turning to see her bandmates celebrating near the paper. Looks like she already got her answer. Interest dissolving for the cuts paper, her attention shifted to Yang, watching as her lips moved into words.
"Anyways," Yang continues, drawing out the last syllable until she got Blake's full attention. Her gaze dropped to Blake's lips for an almost undetectable second, before pulling back up to her eyes. She had to be doing this on purpose, she knew Blake noticed it every time, the slightest of blushes she earned each time.
Yang's mouth pulled itself into a sly smile, voice dropping in volume slightly, small actions that Blake pretended didn't make her flush. Yang's voice was light, "After a performance like that, they'd be fools to cut you guys."
Sun yelled Blake's name before she could say anything to embarrass herself, waving wildly in his excitement. Ilia jammed her elbow into his side curtly and he doubled over. Neptune seemed like the only one with a sliver of manners, waving to Yang and smiling at her when she waved a small greeting back.
Blake started walking back to them before a hand on her wrist stopped her, the halt of her boots echoing down the halls. "Wait," Yang says with more earnestness than she would have liked. She tried to play it off, clearing her voice.
"Do you want to…" she paused, cheeks taking an uncharacteristic flush. Yang averted her eyes, trying to find anything to look at other than Blake's unfazed gaze. "Get a drink with me? Or something?"
Yang's cheeks were definitely burning, finding interest in a random light fixture that flickered overhead. "To celebrate the competition's kick-off, of course. We both made the first cut after all." She added in quickly. Smooth recovery, she told herself. Maybe if she believed it enough, Blake would too.
Mostly taken back by the sudden mood change, Blake stuttered for a few seconds not being able to manage out a response. For a trained vocalist, words never felt quite this hard to form.
"Come on, Blake!" Sun shouted from behind them, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere surrounding the two girls. "We're going to be late for our reservation, I'm fucking starving."
"Oh, god," Blake said with a tired laugh, dropping her head into her hands. As much as she wanted to go, babysitting her friends was unfortunately a responsibility she couldn't escape from. "I'm sorry," she says apologetically, "I'll have to pass this time. I have plans with Sun, Neptune, and Ilia."
Yang nodded, pushing back the disappointment behind her lilac eyes. She let go of her arm in resignation, giving a small smile in understanding.
Something about watching her walk away spurred Blake into movement, another action with little thought. Of course, now , it was easy to call out her name the second she turned her back.
"Wait," Blake called after her, taking her own turn at the phrase. Yang turned back confused, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. She ignored the hastening beat of her heart as she caught Yang's eye.
"Ask me again, in three days, when intermission starts." She says, pulse racing with each breath. She never got so flustered over someone like this, over a simple proclamation - no, it's just drinks, nothing more, but still, nothing less.
Yang wasn't wrong; even though the major schools never get cut in the first round, it didn't mean it wasn't still a feat worth celebrating. A drink and good company would do wonders for a stress-filled competition like this.
Yang smiles, purposely letting Blake's outburst hang in the air to the girl's annoyance. She took another step back, trumpet case swinging at her side. "You're cheeky, asking for a rain check," she says after a moment.
Yang turns away and makes her way down the hallway, lifting her free hand, the prosthetic, in a wave over her back. "See you in three days!" She calls out before disappearing behind the exit's door frame.
—
The remaining eight bands had three days to prepare for round two.
Three days of nonstop rehearsal, only putting down their instruments to eat and sleep and nothing more. Conceiving an entirely new set of three new pieces, round two was engineered to push the musicians' boundaries - while round one was open with no restrictions, round two was focused on versatility; specifically genre and style contrast.
It was one thing to be in complete mastery of a certain sound, a specific style, but it was the adaptability of a player to show that they were truly musicians that made it or break it in this competition.
While each band's sets were already more or less established, each received feedback in the form of a letter delivered to their hotel doors. They were expected to change their next charts accordingly, whether it be small, or drastic; some bands had to pick up entirely new songs.
Settling into the new schedule was easy enough - music students more or less lived this way in normal life.
Wake up, rehearse, sleep, repeat. Everyone was very familiar with this routine.
With the competition being as prestigious as it was, the competitors were provided accommodations at a local luxury hotel. Blake was boarded with Ilia in a suite significantly larger than their dorms back in Menagerie, while Sun and Neptune were boarded together in the room next door. There was an art centre right next to the building where all their instruments and necessary supplies were set up, while schedules of their allotted rehearsal times were distributed early the second morning.
Living in the shared space was tolerable to Blake; she already boarded with Ilia in the dorms. Seeing so many musicians in the hallways though, the constant flow of unfamiliar faces, of competition, was unsettling, to say the least. Constantly being on edge wasn't doing wonders for the dark circles starting to form around her eyes.
However, it was on the third day of the competition, two days before round two when Blake started noticing something peculiar.
Maybe she just never recognized her face before, but suddenly, Blake started seeing Yang everywhere around the hotel. In the halls of the arts centre, the breakfast lounge on the first floor, even the games room where she watched Sun and Ilia played billiards on their time off.
Yang would always be around the next turn of the hotel's hallways, catching a quick meal in the restaurant when her quartet and her walked in, standing alone in the elevator and flashing a smile as the doors opened and Blake was on the other side.
Suddenly, Yang was just always around, presence as familiar as Sun, Neptune, or Ilia's. Blake wasn't complaining though; actually, very far from so.
What first started as just some casual greetings, a stray 'hey' or 'good morning' every once and a while, started to become conversations, to laughs and jokes, to walks around the nearby park. Yang was better company than she could have hoped for, walking down the hall at the same time as Blake pushed open the door to her hotel room.
"What a coincidence," Yang would say, falling into Blake's pace as they walked in the same direction. "You're going to breakfast too? How convenient, I was just heading there myself."
It even went as far as the showers, an unexpected interaction with nothing but towels and wet hair. Blake and Ilia were heading to the showers one night, pushing through the doors with their caddies in hand when Yang was just walking out.
"Oh," Yang says, seemingly pleasantly surprised. "Fancy seeing you two again." She let her eyes wander, giving Blake a badly disguised look-over in the towel she wore. "On second thought, I was just leaving, but maybe I should stay." Her eyes lingered at her chest, before coming back up to meet her eyes with a grin.
Blake looked Yang dead in the eye, knowing exactly what she just did. It wasn't given much thought; she did the exact same. Yang's height was something she was used to knowing, the angle that she tilted her head up to look at her already muscle memory by now.
A small thing Blake noticed out of the corner of her eye; Yang wasn't wearing her prosthetic tonight. Figures, coming fresh out of the shower. Her damp blonde hair was pulled into a bun and she held her towel up with one arm. Thick, pink scar tissue covered the end of the amputated limb, or rather, what remained of it.
A fact embarrassing for Blake to admit, and one that she'd rather die than say out loud, Yang was hot . Of course, she looked amazing in her stagewear; a fitted white shirt and black slacks, but it didn't give enough justice that her body deserved. Arms taut and muscular under the shower facility's lighting and remaining moisture, Blake took her own turn in pulling her eyes off the outline of Yang's curves under the damp towel she wore.
They were both at fault, really - a slip of composure can go unnoticed and unspoken if it's mutual. Although, Yang seemed to be the only one that was willing to show her earnesty openly and unabashed.
"It's justified," Yang says, with as much flirtation as she can away with, "Maybe you sing in the shower. I'll say I'm scouting the competition." She earns herself a laugh, something that's become increasingly commonplace the more and more they meet.
"You're out of luck, maybe try next time." Blake returns, with as much innuendo that she allows herself. Yang laughs before stepping out of the way to let them pass. "Have a good night, you two." She says before pushing through the doors.
"Can you guys just, have sex already and get it over with?" Ilia says blandly, annoyance so palpable Blake nearly apologized on the spot the second she turned to face her. "Watching you two is possibly the most aggravating thing I've ever experienced, and I've roomed with Sun before."
Blake could barely sputter out a coherent word, honestly having forgotten that Ilia was standing next to her the entire time. "Wait, we-we're not-"
"Shut your mouth, there's no use denying it." Ilia cuts in before Blake can continue. "You're practically spending every minute with her at this point, and whatever the fuck I just witnessed happen right now was so...so…" She threw a hand up in exasperation and walked away to the showers.
"Just, fuck her and get it over with, I don't want to ever witness that ever again," Ilia complained with a finality that made Blake's mouth shut immediately, there was no recovering from that. She pulled the curtains closed with a clash, leaving Blake to stand alone dumbstruck out of words.
The final day of preparations before round two came like any other day, well, at least it seemed that way.
Blake pulled herself out of bed when their alarm clock went off at 6 am, brushed her teeth lazily, hauling herself to breakfast with the rest of her band in tow. None of them had the energy to protest at such an early hour, shovelling their eggs and pancakes into their mouths as fast as they could before making their way to the arts centre.
The Menagerie Institute of Music representative group was scheduled from 7 am to 11 am and 8 pm to 12 pm - it may seem like a substantial amount of time, but with the amount of work needed to put together a set, not only in 3 days, but one good enough to pass them through to the third round, was cutting it tight.
The first rehearsal went by in a blur - final touches, rehearsals of queues, confirming the chart's form. Hours on hours rehearsing the solo section, finding the right groove, becoming so familiar with the chart that motifs came as quick as a breath. Blake experimented with her vocal dialect before finding the right sets of patterns for her syllables that fit well with the fast pace of their songs.
Round two was all about stylistic contrast to the first round - they stayed in the comfort of their swing, their blues, the tight and laid back sound they worked years to curate at Menagerie. This round, they went straight to 1960s post-bop. Laidback and steady grooves were swapped with faster and more vocal-centric foundations, relying heavily on Blake's adaptation to the agile and twisting melodies.
Hours of nonstop rehearsal until their throats were dry, fingers bled, sweat dripping off their brow. Sun had played through each chart with a nonstop walking line so long that he could barely form a fist with his right hand afterwards. A staff member brought some ice which he took gratefully.
The final rehearsal finally came after a hasty dinner similar to the two before it. The halls of the centre seemed deserted, the clinks of the key to the room echoing as it clattered into the practice room's lock. It seemed like they were the last ones in to rehearse, pushing into the room with a collective sigh and setting up again. The lights were flicked on, revealing the familiar large space - carpeted floors, wooden acoustic panelling on the walls, tall columned roof with its dim, hanging lights. A window on the south-facing side showed the road nearby, cars passing silently in the dark of the night.
"Alright, let's run Betty Carter one last time. I want to get another run through of the solo section." Blake says, taking a drink from her water bottle. She sets it down on the ground and switches on the speakers, running the chord of the microphone through her hands. It was a habit she seemed to never be able to break, and at this point, she couldn't think of any time that she sang without doing the small routine action.
Sun pulls a few notes, Neptune running some arpeggios and scales, Ilia taps out a few 16th fills. Settling in, they all look up and wait as Blake snaps her fingers to set the speed. Four snaps, and they pull off into the chart they'd run close to 100 times in the last 3 days.
Neptune starts the piece off with a few melodic passages, Sun pulling his 8th note walk, Ilia steady into the chart's groove. She does a quick fill, landing on her ride cymbal as Blake's queue.
Blake comes in smoothly and perfectly in time, intonation matching Betty Carter's idiosyncratic sound perfectly. Sneaking breaths any time possible, she moves through the shifting vocal line with ease. Ilia lands on her ride cymbal again, moving them through rapid sections as Blake sustains a note. They're all watching constantly, adapting with Blake's vocals as they advance; dropping in volume when she glides into her husky lower register, picking up the pace when they pull out of it.
So absorbed and concentrated in the chart, none of the members noticed the chatter that grew outside their door. The doorknob clicked open and burst into the room mid-song, the conversations immediately stopped. Yang and Weiss were standing in the doorway awkwardly, cases hanging on either of their sides.
Sun paused, staring at the pair in confusion. Blake had her back turned, seemingly not having heard nor seen the two behind her. She continued on, and Sun shrugged before jumping back in and resuming his line.
Yang leans down Weiss's height, cupping a hand so she could hear her over the instruments and singing. "So they're doing My Favourite Things," Yang whispers, eyes trained on Blake as she paces around the area between the piano, drums, and bass. "Phenomenal chart, who knew she could go Fitzgerald straight to Carter."
Blake finally turned, microphone held up in one hand, singing the last of the chart's lyrics with her eyes closed. She held out the last sustained note as Ilia finished with a crashing fill, Neptune and Sun pulling off their lines with a final chord.
"You got yourself a sweet set here!"
Blake's eyes flew open the second she heard Yang's voice. "Yang?" She asks, startled. She glanced back at her band, who seemingly were aware of their presence for much longer than she had. For having such a stunning stage presence, Yang seemed to blend into the room's atmosphere so well she went unnoticed - although seemingly unnoticed only by Blake. "How are you guys here, I thought the Vale rehearsals were before dinner?"
The two Vale musicians produced two very different reactions; Yang scratched at the back of her head with a half-hearted laugh while Weiss just rolled her eyes with a cross of her arms. She gave her friend a not-so-subtle shove with her arm, causing Yang to stumble back several feet. Weiss seemed to pack an unsuspecting punch despite her small frame.
" Yang , over here, got the room number wrong," she declared pointedly, shooting a glare at her. "We're here just to play for fun, I thought I'd take my alto out for once before round two." Everyone looked down at the case she held at her side. The lacquered leather was in such pristine condition that Blake swore it belonged in a glass case of a display cabinet. The buckles reflected the light so well it could blind someone.
"You guys can join us," Sun pipes up, Neptune agrees from behind the piano, Ilia just absently taps on the snare drum. "We're ready for tomorrow anyways, no need to rehearse My Favourite Things again, for the millionth time today."
"I just want to make sure it's perfect," Blake remarked in protest, turning to engage in his banter. "We lose and we're out, and I am making sure like hell we're going to finals."
"I thought you guys sounded great," Yang adds in helpfully, intrigued at Sun's proposition. "Maybe not as good as our set, but pretty close, I'll give you guys that." She says with a grin, Neptune and Sun groaning with complaints.
"Alright, fine," Blake resigns, moving out of their way. "You can set up there, but I'm picking the tune."
Yang and Weiss's cases clattered as they set them down, setting up their instruments. Yang buzzed a few effortless arpeggios on the mouth before fitting it into the trumpet's body. "Can you give me a B flat?" She asks Neptune, who taps it out with the sustain pedal down. She plays a perfect match, playing the upper octave, as well as a second octave above which garnered some eyebrow raises and impressed glances from Blake's quartet. Yang blew some air through her horn before sitting back on a few boxes behind her.
"Showoff," Weiss mutters, gesturing for Yang to play the note again so she could tune herself. After a few adjustments of the mouthpiece and neck strap, she settled back onto a box with a noticeably more graceful position than Yang's nonchalant lean.
"Secret Safe, guys," Blake says towards Sun, Neptune, and Ilia. They all nod and fall into playing position, playing a few notes and stretching out their necks as Blake takes another drink of water.
Yang glances over to Weiss in confusion, being met with the same reaction. "We don't know that chart, is it from a Menagerie local?" She asks, Blake realizing they didn't know the name. Of course they didn't, how could they.
"You could say that," Blake says, searching through her bag. She produced a sheet of manuscript paper with some notes scribbled on with pencil. "It's an original piece, so it doesn't have any horn parts. Here's the piano part if you want to transcribe."
"Oh, cool, I love originals!" Yang says while looking over the chords and signatures. "I haven't played swing in a while, this will be fun."
"I'll queue you guys with some shots first in the intro, then you can do whatever you see fit. I'll give you two bars" Blake offered, switching her mic back on. "It's pretty laid back, you'll fall into it pretty quick." She turned to see all of the players, snapping two bars out with her fingers.
She queued the first shot with a flat hand, coming in with the lyrics. The song was much more familiar in the tight and tasteful Menagerie swing sound, leaving most of the melody carrying to the vocals. They moved through the introduction with a few more queued shots; Blake glanced over at the two horn players, giving them a nod that they were free to move on before turning back to the rhythm section.
Yang let Weiss take the lead as she played out some countermelodies before settling back into a supporting role. They played out a few harmonized verses before Blake pulled into the solo section - trading Betty Carter's phrasing for a lighter and resonant tone.
How curious - Yang seemed to fit right into a supporting role with ease. Putting two soloists into the same quartet, or rather sextet at this point, always came with its hesitancies. Competing for the lead was an issue that seemed to be nonexistent once the band pulled out of the solo section and into the head once more.
Whatever bravado or flamboyance they cultivated in Yang at the Vale academy seemed to be swapped with a fluid and mellow tone, voicing out some more upper harmonies as Blake finished the head's lyrics again. Catching her eye, Blake gave Yang a nod to take the second solo section.
Versatility; a quality that Blake despised trumpet players for lacking. Too brash for the quartet's sound, too metallic, too uniform - all qualities that Adam had nailed into each and every brass player's head back in the Menagerie institute. They were all the same, really: hot-headed, crass, violent, scathing. Yang managed to become an exception to every single connotation Blake had towards her instrument.
"From the top," Blake says through the mic as Yang finishes her solo. A few steps towards Sun and she queues for double time; Ilia pulls into a faster groove and Sun speeds up his walk, Neptune bridging the speed gap with a long improvised melody. She took a few steps back, satisfied with the change in pace. Blake turns and queues for Weiss to play over the new feel.
Trading her melodic lead with the alto, Blake plays with the chart a bit. She gestured for more bass, less piano, a loop of her finger and they continued through the section again. Weiss jumped through some impressive 32nd runs, fingers flying across the keys. Blake queued for some lines with Yang that she joined in on, vocals and trumpet supporting with a harmonized line that rose with Blake's hand in the air.
They played various charts for nearly an hour over their allotted time, laughing and experimenting with charts surrounded by musicians well capable of playing whatever they wanted. For a few minutes, they tried adapting one of Yang and Weiss's bebop charts to a swing quartet, failing miserably.
After an unbearable amount of convincing on Sun and Neptune's part, Yang revealed one of their charts for the second round - Fantastic Planet by Soil & Pimp, from their 2013 sessions album. Sun instantly knew the Japanese jazz combo and begged for her to play some of her part. Giving in, Yang played some snippets of the flashy melody to everyone's delight.
Finally calling it a night long past their respective schedules, they packed their instruments safely into their cases before pushing out the practice room's doors. The halls remained deserted and now completely dark, illuminated by streetlights through the windows spanning the hall's wall. Blake and Yang lagged behind in the room, finishing cleaning up the room.
"Hand me that tape, would you?" Blake asks, catching the roll as Yang tosses it to her. She tears a strip off with her teeth and places it on the case of Sun's double bass. Satisfied with a few scribbles of a sharpie, she moves on to the disassembled kit where she labels it similarly. "Sun and Ilia are both so stingy about their instruments and I just know that the staff are going to mix them up with the rest of the equipment."
"I don't blame them, you don't really have an instrument, besides yourself really, so I'd imagine it would be hard to relate," Yang says from her spot on the risers. "Can't exactly forget your vocal cords, now can you."
The floor was raised in levels near the back of the room for bigger bands to line their brass section on so they could play over the saxes. "I couldn't imagine playing any other horn other than this one," she says, patting the worn case beside her and leaning back onto the carpeted surface. "My dad would probably kill me first, anyways," Yang added, tucking her hands behind her head and staring absently into the ceiling.
"Did he make it, your trumpet?" Blake asks without looking up from her work, ripping another length of tape.
"Not exactly, but it was his before me. He used to teach at the Vale Academy of Jazz where I'm at right now." Yang answers. She turned and propped her head up to watch Blake placing the last label with a tired sigh. Yang watched her walk over and sit down on the riser below her, letting out a yawn.
"So," Yang continued, moving her leg so that Blake could rest her head on it. Blake leaned back gratefully and closed her eyes against the dull lights of the practice room. "What got you into music?"
Blake shrugged, eyes still closed. "My parents put me in singing lessons as a kid."
Yang laughed, shifting her body closer. "Oh, I see, the classic 'I feel in love with music straight out of the womb' backstory."
"Actually, no." Blake denies, to Yang's surprise. "I honestly hated the lessons, I basically continued singing up to music school out of pure spite." She adds with a grin. Yang laughed, falling back onto her back.
Blake hesitated before continuing - she'd obviously been spending a lot of time around Yang; less in vagueness of their intentions but more in downright denial. She seemed nice enough, was it really okay to tell her? Fragility was what got her in the situation in the first place, and there was no promise Yang wasn't the same - yet, why did every ounce of her urge otherwise?
"Actually, I never really had much of a passion for it until music school," Blake adds tentatively, testing the waters. Yang seemed interested enough, playing with the shine of the lights above them with an outstretched hand and thumb. She continues, "The first-year professor at Menagerie was really the one that made me really get into vocals."
Blake stopped and the silence hung heavy, heartbeat growing in volume in her chest. She pushed the falter away from her voice, something she had a lot of practice doing. "Adam, the jazz improvisation professor. I was close with him when I first joined."
"I think I recognize that name," Yang says after thinking for a moment. She shifts onto her elbow again and looks at Blake curiously. "Adam Taurus, right? From the Menagerie quintet?"
Blake nodded her head, the only thing she could bring herself to do. The lights were too dim, the darkness outside the window absorbing much of the light to see clearly. Yang was oblivious to her discomfort and continued with enthusiasm. "No way! You studied under him? That guy's probably one of the best trumpet players in his generation!"
Yang sat up quickly, careful to not move her leg. "He won this competition, what, 10 years ago? He won the Vytal award too in the finals against Vacuo, that's so fucking cool!"
The Vytal award; the sole accessory prize given in the competition besides winning the whole thing. It was awarded to the top-performing soloist out of all the bands regardless of group or school - some argued that it was of equal if not higher worth than winning the Sanus competition itself.
Blake was very aware of its existence - the emerald green of the crystal plaque stood alone on the highest shelf of Adam's glass cabinet. Don't you dare touch it , she remembers him saying vividly, lips pressed against the shell of her ear. Break it, and I'll ruin your career, you'll be nothing. You're nothing.
Pulling herself out of the trance she fell into, Blake quickly changed the topic. "So what about you?" She cuts in, "You must have a story of your own."
Yang picked up on the sudden subject change and rolled with it, to Blake's relief. "It's a long story, nothing special." She says, starting to get up and rolling out the stiffness in her limbs. The joints of her prosthetic whirled softy, more audible in the dampened silence of the room. "I'll tell you next time, it's getting late tonight."
"What," Blake said with a grin, turning to watch Yang walk across the room and retrieve her trumpet case. "You're just stalling, come on. Is it super embarrassing or something?"
"No," Yang says, making her way back to the girl with a slow and relaxed pace. "I can't be giving out all my cool stories at once, I have to keep you coming back for more some way." She held out her hand that Blake took with an exasperated roll of her eyes, pulling her up from the stands.
"I'm not hanging out with you because of that, silly," Blake remarked playfully, "There's other reasons, for sure."
"Mhm, and what reasons are those?" Yang asks as she leads them out of the practice room. They were the last ones in the building - alone with no more eyes, no more judges, no more music to bridge whatever gap that held them apart.
Blake stays quiet for a few moments as they walk through the halls slowly, passing under the beams of moonlight streaming through the windows. The clip of their boots echoed on the linoleum floor as if to fill the space with music that was now absent.
She finally answered while looking down at her feet. "You know what they are," Blake says, voice dropping in volume. Yang didn't seem to respond, taking her turn of walking in silence through to the end of the hall. They arrived at the main doors when Yang stalls, turning to see Blake face to face.
"I'm not imagining things, right?" Yang murmured, trying to find Blake's eyes. "I'm not the only one feeling this way." Her hands found their way to Blake's shoulders; a touch she melted into immediately. She still couldn't catch her eyes, Blake intent on gazing away to her right.
The flush of her skin under the moonlight spoke for her already, an implicit answer that Yang received earnestly. Blake's apprehensiveness seemed to pull out Yang's teasing nature, finding too much fun in the way the girl put so much effort into actively avoiding her face.
"Oh, come on," Yang teased, trying to maneuver Blake manually by her shoulders to look at her eye to eye. "No need to be shy!"
Blake finally broke free with a huff, "God, you're intolerable." She says before pushing through the front doors of the music centre into the cold night air. The resolute flush of blood to her face that she was painfully aware of could at least be played off as a reaction to the wind if she was outside. "One more word and I kill you, I really will."
"Aw, you'd throw away the competition just to kill me? How sweet of you," Yang laughed with the return of Blake's usual demeanour. "I'd say wait until after our wedding though, they'd be less willing to jail a widow."
Blake couldn't hold back her own laugh, shoving Yang away as they walked to the hotel. The blonde went straight back to her side, cracking a few more jokes as they giggled into the solitary night.
"I guess I'll see you next on stage," Yang finally says as they arrive at Blake's hotel room. The keycard beeped on the card reader as she pulled the door open, turning in the doorway to face Yang one last time for the night. "I should go," Yang says, but she takes a step closer, so tall that the hallway light formed a halo around her head.
"You should," Blake says back, letting Yang advance again. Strange, that's what she'll give the girl. Strange, in the way she made her heart flutter when she slowly started to lean in, close enough for Blake to smell her cologne - citrus, summer days, and the irresistible drip of honey that she swore if she tried, if only she tried, could probably be tasted on her lips.
Blake finally resigns to her fate, to temptation, to whatever she'd been denying for the past four days. Resistance ceases as she lets her eyes close, Yang less than an inch away.
Impossible, unendurable, an excruciating woman Yang was. She pulled away before she closed the distance with a smile and took a step away. "Good night, Blake." She says before walking down the hall. Blake was left, pride in shambles and face burning hotter than the sun in the doorframe of her room, begging to dear lord that that didn't just happen. She pulled back into the room before anyone could see and slammed it shut so loud that she could hear Yang laughing from down the hall.
"Menagerie quartet, in positions." A staff member whispered, leading them towards the curtains of the stage's left. Blake glanced back to Sun, Neptune, and Ilia nervously as they grouped up ready to take the stage. The Mistral big band still had a chart left, giving them at least a few more minutes to calm their nerves.
"You ready?" Sun says to Blake as he notices her worried look. She paced in place for a few moments, taking some deep breaths. The form-fitting black dress she wore was definitely not helping - the material was a bit more restrictive than she would have liked. Unfortunately, now seemed to be the worst time to come to that conclusion now that they were literally two steps away from the stage.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Blake answers after taking a few seconds to collect herself. If she started to get antsy, Sun would definitely pick up on it and make a fuss. Best to put on a brave face, now or never. "My throat is just a bit dry after warmups, that's all."
Sun offered her a sip of his water bottle which she took thankfully, seemingly just in time. The Mistral band had just finished their last note and the crowd started to applaud, moving staff rushing onto the stage to rearrange into their quartet's preferred arrangement: piano on stage right, bass on a diagonal behind, drums straight behind vocals. It gave plenty of room for Blake to move while she sang and placed her rhythm section close enough that she could queue behind her back.
The staff member from earlier, with a thick earpiece and all-black attire, returned again and held the curtain open for them to pass. "Menagerie, you're up. Good luck with your set, you're up against some unforgiving competition tonight."
The four of them brushed past with some awkward smiles and thanks, quickly crossing the stage to assume their spots. The lights were dimmed enough that the audience couldn't see them run on quickly, their footsteps dampened and hollow on the ground.
Ilia took a seat behind the drums and pulled the sticks she had put in the waistband of her dress pants out. She tapped a few quiet notes on the snare and adjusted some latches, checked the cymbals and hi-hat.
Sun followed suit, double-checking that his bass was tuned by matching a few notes with Neptune's keys. He seemed satisfied, giving the instrument a boastful spin. Neptune laughed, urging him to do it again while Ilia seemed to be the only sensible one trying to get him to stop before the entire instrument fell and broke on the wooden floor.
Neptune didn't have to do much with the piano, settling with a few rolls of his wrist, adjusting his dress shirt, tapping out a few tuning notes. He played a quiet chord for Blake so she could internalize the starting key of the tune again.
A microphone was set up for her on a stand when Blake approached, pulling out the mic shakily and running the chord through her hand. The audience loomed before her; a pit, a cave, a mouth that was waiting to consume her the second she made a mistake. The faces of the judges were illuminated like gravestones by the small lamps on their desks. She took a few steps back, trying to calm the racing beat of her heart with some deep breaths. A glance back at her bandmates helped, the ready and reassured looks they sent back did wonders for the nerves that were starting to grow in her stomach.
Another breath, and the audience melted away. It was just her and the music, and Yang sitting in the front row. Blake did a double-take, eyes finding her familiar blonde hair immediately. How she got into the front row, primarily reserved for investors and VIP spectators, she had no clue. It wasn't time to wonder the sense of it. Yang waved her hand enthusiastically and gave her a thumbs-up, one that Blake could barely see under the dimmed lights.
The main lights flicked on, and the four of them were instantly bathed in spotlights. The air changed once she was under the spotlight; it always did. Whatever hesitations Blake had before stepping on the stage seemed to be burnt away, replaced with the familiar weight of the microphone she held in her hand. A smile automatically found its way onto her face as a camera panned onto the group.
"We're the Menagerie quartet," Blake says into the microphone, echoing the same line from four days ago. The first round felt so far in the past; she was different now, all of them were. "Our set tonight includes My Favourite Things, Caravan, and Tea for Two." She let the microphone drop from its position near her mouth as the audience started to clap, turning back to queue the band.
The chart was fast, lyrical, and propulsive - a far cry from the delicate swing they entered the competition with. Blake snapped through the cut time bars and the piano, bass, and drums began their driving groove. She had four bars this time before the lyrics came in, internalizing the feel of the foundation being laid before she came in with the first line.
Contrast - that's what round two was all about. The feel for the quartet changed; their style of playing, the chemistry taking hold of a new sound that adapted perfectly to the more nimble and richer tune. Transformation and adaptation, they evolved away from their familiar and friendly sound to a daring and dangerous group.
Yang's little big band had taken the concept in strides as well, leaps even. Shattering their hard-hitting and brassy reputation, their adaptation of Dark Alliance from the Darcy James Argue's Real Enemies album earned them a three-minute standing ovation. The modern and almost hip-hop chart featuring synth and funk-inspired melodic lines were a far cry from Nuttville or Fergueson from the first round.
Blake and her quartet were just beginning Caravan by Cyrille Aimee when she spotted him; a face that forced her to take a step back and brought an overwhelming urge to run . It was muscle memory at that point, when Blake came in with the first lines of the song, deaf to her own voice singing. Thank god she could still sing despite the utter paralysis that had overtaken the rest of her body.
Adam sat less than 10 meters away in the front row of the audience; his legs and arms were crossed as if he had dignity - a respectable man with awards and acolytes and his name on plaques. His pale lips were pulled into a grin, watching Blake perform on the stage before him with demon eyes.
She couldn't react, no, she really couldn't. Not now, while on stage, performing in front of thousands when her entire future was at stake. They pulled quickly into the second section and Blake's grip on the microphone tightened, voice stable and potent despite the shake of her free hand at her side. She immediately shoved it behind her back before anyone could notice, before her band mates could notice.
Yang was sitting three seats away from Adam, oblivious to the man. Her eyes were trained on Blake performing only; everyone else was unimportant, they didn't matter in the slightest, in comparison to her. Painfully oblivious to the man that eyed Blake like a predator, His hands were empty but they still held weapons; as if one move and he pulls a knife out of his pocket, a bat out behind his back, a slap raised above his head in the air that would crack like a whip. Adam didn't move once, the entire performance. He sat quietly, silently, eyeing her like a martyr.
You want to be the best? Blake could remember him saying to her on the first day they met. She had just passed her auditions to the Menagerie Institute of Music, unknowing that the man about to turn the next four years of her life into a nightmare was her proctor. Are you ready to cry for it? To hurt, to bleed, to die for it?
Blake didn't know better at the time; Adam was handsome, he was nice to her, kind and funny and talented at his craft. Amazing, that's what he was, until he wasn't. She didn't think much of the first time they had talked, what he had said, what he had implied. But it was real now, once she ran. No - tried to run, and now she was found, caught in the spotlight and the line of fire. Adam wasn't standing up and aiming a gun at her, no, he didn't need to. His gaze on her, burning a hole straight through her head that was enough to unravel the months - no, years - of courage that she had built to escape. Adam clapped, and so did everyone else, as they stood up in ovation as they finished their set. Sweat dripped off her brow but it wasn't from performing this time, the shallow breaths she could barely manage burned in her lungs like smoke and made her choke. Adam didn't have to say anything; he didn't have to do anything; his presence said all he wanted to say to Blake.
I've found you .