I don't know if I should be still posting these to here as I prefer ao3. So I'm just posting this one to see if there are any readers that would like me to keep posting here if they don't use ao3 or if I should just move all my stuff to ao3 like I have been doing. Please let me know in comments if possible. If I don't get any responses or interest in me posting here I will likely just abandon ff.
hope you like this one :)
The crowd's booing echoes long after the man trudges off stage. They're not being fair. She thinks he wasn't horrible. Maybe not on par with the other talent before him, but not horrid. Drinks flow steadily from behind the bar. Verbal jeers rising as inhibitions drop. Fate would have been kinder to showcase him first, before the crowd became bold with alcohol filled bellies.
"Poor guy." Ever the empathetic one, Ruby is quick to applaud, though she's the only one.
"Don't encourage that." Their other friend speaks up from her right. "He was horrible. I saw no breath control, and he was so -pitchy."
"Not everyone can be classically trained like you!" Ruby shoots back. "Who could control breaths while crying. I swear there were tears in his eyes as he ducked behind the curtain."
Their bickering continues, muffled now by the shouts for the next performer to take the stage. The set is early. They don't care that they chased the last one off ten minutes early.
Servers hurry to replace empty glasses; tributes to placate the ravenous horde, but their hunger is for entertainment not drink. Yang wonders if their demands now turn for more blood. The one constant ringing true throughout history - men are never sated. Always they want more, and more. Having a taste of viciousness, would anything curb that appetite now?
She spares what little empathy she can for the next performer, wishing it into the universe in hopes to protect them, even but a bit, from what's to come. Ruby worries for the wrong person, his embarrassment although tragic is now over.
"Here we are now, entertain us." It rings over and over, so much so Yang can't tell which are the true roughened lyrics and which are the reverberations from the rafters.
A girl rushes from side-stage, skidding to a halt a few paces in. It's obvious from her deer-in-the-headlights look that she's been rushed, pushed up there, like a lamb to slaughter. A simple acoustic guitar hangs from her white-knuckled left fist. She wears simple clothing, no fancy dress or designer jeans, no blazers or grunge band shirts hang off her frame. There's nothing to indicate this girl's trying to make an impression. Nothing saying she wants to be seen. The opposite in fact. She wears simple black jeans, blue converse and a long sleeved grey shirt. No gaudy jewelry or bold make-up marr her skin to grab the audience's attention. Her hair is pulled back in a simple bun at the back of her head. Fingers tremble as they slide across her temple, tucking a wayward strand of ebony behind her left ear. Higher up, two points flatten as she takes the half a dozen strides to collapse on the stool awaiting her at center stage.
The horde goes silent, staring slack-jawed.
She's a faunus.
Yang's muscles all tighten. Only noticing the way her hands grip the table when a splinter wedges underneath a nail bed. She sucks in a breath, releasing her grip on the wood, claw marks a visible indicator of her instant unease. Faunus don't showcase here and there's a good reason for that. She searches the crowd for a manager, a bouncer, a goddamn server would do. Someone has to get her off that stage. A sharp tug at her elbow yanks her back into the booth. She doesn't even remember standing.
"Where are you going?" Weiss glares at her, jaw clenched.
"Someone has to do something." Already murmurs are rising up. Scornful, racist slurs whispering all around her. "They'll slaughter her."
"No one can stop this." Weiss' voice drops, saddened, resigned.
"A manager." She stands again, determined to do something.
"Who do you think shoved her up there, Yang." Ruby's voice is opposite of her friend's. All scorn and hatred. She's never heard that tone from her sister before. "She's a barback. I saw her earlier when I went to get our drinks. She works here."
Yang falls heavily back into her seat and stares in horror at the uneasy flick of the girl's ears. Ears that now have the attention of every racist blowhard in the joint. Her obvious nerves will prove her downfall, they aren't something a drunk, malicious pack will ignore. She's become their prey, at no fault of her own, or even under her own decision. She's been forced into an impossible situation against her will.
Yang growls aloud.
Weiss' cautious stare flicks from her to Ruby. "We should go." She says at last. And Yang knows her reasons. She doesn't want to see what's coming, doesn't want them to see what they all know is about to happen. Ruby releases a breath and Yang can see her nod in her periferal.
"Yang l-"
"I'm staying."
"But-"
"You can go if you want." Yang's eyes haven't left the stage. She watches as the girl busies her trembling fingers by tuning the instrument in her hands. The pickguard wears many scars and the body is faded where her forearm comes down to rest. Each chord plucked ends with a nod, meeting her approval.
"Are all faunus this'low?" A man slurs from somewhere off to Yang's left. "No wonder they can'na keep any good jobs." A roar of laughter ripples the air.
"Yang, let's go." Ruby pleads.
"I'm not leaving."
"You can't do anything." Weiss reasons.
But they're wrong. "I can stay." They hover, concern in their eyes. Yang feels it. "Go, I'll be alright."
Doubt hangs in the air but it's not spoken. Finally Weiss pulls Ruby from the bar by the wrist. They weave between the tables at a brisk pace. Yang watches the door swing closed when they leave.
Then she starts to sing.
"Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play"
She starts without accompaniment of her instrument. Voice: soft and fragile but with a haunting strain, she sings the first verse. Yang's never heard anything like it. For the first time she wishes for different ears -like hers- if only to hear her better.
Her wrist moves, playing softly as her voice strengthens.
"And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn"
The once rowdy crowd is silenced, hypnotized by her. Eyes glued to her as hers remain on nimble fingers running along the guitar's neck with practiced ease. She doesn't spare a glance to the patrons and hasn't since she first took her seat, but the way she keeps returning to worry her bottom lip between piercing teeth relays her fear.
"And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm going to bury that horse in the ground"
So enraptured Yang is, she doesn't notice the whispers rise again. All her senses are focused on the beauty on stage. A brow furrows as she sings through the first chorus. Shoulders stiffen as a note is missed. Delicate eye's slam shut and her voice quavers for the briefest of moments.
She plays on.
Mutterings of 'faunus, animal, savage' finally reach her. Yang curses them all to the deepest pits of hell. This girl's not a savage or an animal. She's an angel.
"And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a final mess but it's left me so empty
It's always darkest before the dawn."
Yang hears laughter off to her left and she's sure it's the same table the man hollered from earlier. Dying down to snickers, Yang tears her eyes from the stage with a pain almost physical. There's a group of men, boys really, goading one of their own. Elbows jab at him teasingly as they whisper into his ears. Yang knows it's coming, knows it before he sports a determined mask, before he lifts his mug to chug back the rest of the courage it contains. He stands.
"Look boys!" His booming voice carries, "Guess you can teach 'em beasts a trick o' two."
Yang turns to the stage, hoping -in vain she knows- that he's remained unheard on stage. A human might have been blessed in ignorance, but not her. Not when she can hear and see so much more than they. Yang watches her flinch, sinking lower on her stool. Her eyes shoot to the side, seeking help they both know won't come.
The man continues, emboldened by his mate's prodding. "They taught'er ta sing. Wonder if she can dance too." Whistles rise up, taunting. "Give us a jig-" he hiccoughs through his laughter.
She stops playing, staring at the crowd. Pleading with them.
Yang turns to grab a server rushing passed. Glares daggers at her until eyes avert with a sad shake of her head. No one is going to help her. They'll make her dance for their entertainment.
But she's proud, or scared, and doesn't move from her stool. After an eternity she strikes the chords in the same tune.
Yang prays it's the end. Even as the same man steps out of the booth, she prays. She urges him to just leave it, to be headed home or even the restroom. His lumbering steps carry him in a wobbled zig-zag to the stage. Her fist throbs as it hits the table. She stands, moving before she processes what her next move will be. He's intercepted not far from her abandoned table, the alcohol has made him bold, but also slow.
Yang anchors herself in his way. He tries to sidestep her. "I don't need another drink, honey." Her hand plants on his chest as he tries again to pass her.
"What you need is to go sit down." Her voice is low, dangerous, but he misses the warning resting within her words.
"I'm just havin' fun, she'll be lucky ta dance with a real man." He motions with one trunk of an arm to his goal. To her. "This'll be a treat. After all 'em savage brutes rutting up on her e'ery night she'll enjoy-"
Yang hears a crack and she's not sure if it's his nose or one of her knuckles. But she stands where he crumples, unconscious to the beer soaked floor. Adrenalin pumping, Yang spins looking for her next target. Instead she's met with boisterous laughs. They hoot and holler. And a few close enough pat her shoulder.
"Taken down by a girl," they yell. His friends' angry looks are the only thing she contends with as they drag his limp body to the exit.
Behind her the guitar picks up and the girl begins to sing again, continuing where she left off. Yang stalks to the bar to order another drink, needing to calm her racing heart. Fists clench with a need to punch something or someone else. Whoever served up the faunus buffet is first on her list. A beer is placed before her. She looks up and sees the bartender smiling gratefully at her. "On the house," he says. His eyes flick to the stage.
She forces a smile through still gritting teeth and turns, listening again to the girl's angelic voice. It's not her guitar she stares at as she sings this time. It's Yang.
"And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark and right at my throat
'Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm going to let it happen to me
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, ooh whoa"
When the song ends she's called off stage. It's the first thing Yang's grateful for all night. She stays to finish her beer. It's the reason she tells herself. It would be rude not to finish the offered beverage, but when a cold cloth is placed over the knuckles of her right hand and she looks up Yang knows; she's waited for her.
"Thank you." Her voice is soft, careful. Unable to make eye contact with her now that only a bar separates them instead of a crowd. Her eyes dart everywhere except in her direction. She avoids her corner of the bar at all costs. Yang's just happy to watch her. They don't speak, but Yang's gaze follows as she completes her duties. Her beer is replaced when empty, her money refused again. The girl looks up from filling the ice bucket and smiles softly at her boss, witnessing the transaction, or lack thereof. All Yang wants is to be the recipient of that smile, just once. She could die happy.
Hours later as she's wiping down the bar Yang reaches out to touch her wrist. Her hand is snatched to her body with practiced reflexes. It breaks Yang's heart. She deserves more than this fear humans instilled in her. Their eyes meet and Yang feels herself smile, genuinely, for the first time all night.
"When are you off?" Careful to keep her voice low. She doesn't want to scare her. Yang hates that she's already been responsible for that telltale constriction of her pupils.
"Why?" Her voice is just as careful as Yang's, skeptical of her reasons.
"Do you-" Yang lifts her hand to scratch her nose, flustered by the amber that's studying her now. "If you'd allow, I'd like to walk you home."
"I don't need supervision." She turns to stack the clean glasses another faunus has brought out in a grey tub.
"I know, but I'd like to." She watches Yang stretch her right hand, watches the wince Yang can't completely hold back. No one has ever studied her as hard as the girl across the bar is now. "Just in case."
"I'm off in an hour."
"I'll wait." Yang nods as if sealing the deal. The girl grabs the empty tub and makes to disappear into the back. "My name's Yang." She blurts before she's out of sight. "Can I please have yours."
Without turning she answers, "Blake."
the song used is Shake it out by Forence and the Machine. I always liked the Glee version or Naya Rivera's voice for it anyway. The first verse in that version is how I pictured Blake's performance kinda being for it.