~♬~

a couple hundred followers online isn't shit, a couple months of fiddling with a guitar isn't shit, that's why roxie's out on the corner strumming away. doing her best to sing her heart out in front of an audience of people who don't give a shit that she's here.

in front of at least a few who probably wish she wasn't.

the case to her guitar is open in front of her (knocking around a few bills and coins -- maybe enough for a coffee before she heads home). her phone is recording, propped up on the wall behind her with the camera facing it. it's not for promotion but to hear how she sounds later and hopefully do something about it if it's disappointing.

right now, though, roxie isn't concerned with then. she's concerned with now. she sits hunched over her guitar and sings from the sidewalk and out into the street like no one's there. like she's in the showers at school after hours.

"and then you wipe your hands clean, splash of water, paper napkin
while the parrots sing headlines, we wear the leash like a fashion
try to take out my claws expect a visceral reaction"

her voice is deeper than a lot expect. tenor. boyish. nothing she can do about it so she tries to wear it like a badge and flash it at anyone who might find it endearing. puts a growl under it that threatens anyone who doesn't.

"try to muzzle me up, i'll lash out, i'll bite back and
keep my options open
for fear of becoming housebroken"

the guitar goes quiet and she becomes viscerally aware of how much she's sweating. with an affected coolness, she grabs lazily for her water bottle. an aesthetic gestured wasted by the fact that a second later she's chugging down half of it in three swallows. the plastic crinkles from the strength of her attempts to quench her thirst.

willow atkins

☉

there's a few coins get thrown into roxie's case and she throws a few grateful nods back while sucking down water. her eyes widen a bit at the paper money brought out by a svelte hand, and she actually sets her bottle aside when it's extended past her case and straight to her.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her right hand while the left reaches out to accept the offering.

"thanks," she croaks, before clearing her throat and continuing in a clearer voice, "i'm happy you liked it, super appreciate the donation."

the money is accepted between two fingers and tucked into one of the back pockets of her jeans.

"i've only been playing a few months, been singing a lot longer but i figured acapella only gets you so far ya know?"

willow atkins

☉

roxie laughs and shakes her now drained water.

"don't i know it," she replies to the joke with playful agreement before carefully setting the empty plastic container at her side. she makes a mental note to check it between songs -- she'd feel like an ass if it rolled off and became litter somewhere.

her eyes are still on the plastic when the stranger pays her a compliment. the way it lifts roxie's spirits is physically evident, as she perks up and turns her gaze forward once more.

"my voice?"

it's husky even when she speaks. an uncomfortable reminder of unchangeable truths. roxie's not used to it being a thing of pride.

"uh, thanks. not a lot of people think that way."

without meaning to roxie finds herself looking down again at her crossed legs. it's embarrassing how one little bit of praise has her feeling all squirrely. has her face all warm.

roxie looks up again when the stranger sits down next to her. she chooses to stare at the woman's shoulder instead of her face.

"mostly, yeah. i just watch internet videos and copy what they tell me to."

willow atkins

☉

it's impossible for roxie to fight the urge to rub bashfully at the back of her neck as the praise just keeps coming. her eyes shift focus back to the street as she subconsciously makes herself just a little smaller -- slouching forward and pressing her shoulders inward.

"i mean it just is what it is, do with what you've got. it's not a big deal," she replies. for lack of anything else to do with her hands she absent-mindedly goes about tuning her guitar. it doesn't need it.

usually roxie isn't one to talk about parents, but the way this stranger so warmly regards her father spreads a little warmth to her by proxy. it helps that the little bit of backstory is followed almost immediately by another compliment.

"that's really cool," she murmurs over her guitar, "the dad thing, the teacher, that's sick. i'd take that over the courage to busk or whatever any day."

willow atkins

☉

like a roller coaster, roxie goes from down and quiet to playful and bright.

"how else am i gonna sell myself? false advertisement is a crime, ya know," the response is thrown out with a cheeky smile and a peal of laughter.

it's a double-whammy of self-deprecation. the obvious downplay of her own skills is accompanied by a hand waving at the air over her head. haha, get it. sell short? and she is short? comedy gold.

she plucks at her (unnecessarily) tuned strings to (pointlessly) test them. this time her eyes stay on the woman next to her.

"mostly i just go to school," after a beat she corrects, "trainer school. the normal stuff wasn't really working out for me."

"otherwise, i don't know, i just try to stay out of the house mostly. go to shows. bum around."

willow atkins

☉

it does help a little. when the woman looks away. it's not that roxie has anything against her, but scrutiny in general makes her skin crawl a bit. positive, negative, she's worried that if anyone looks at her for too long they'll see things she doesn't want them to.

you don't have to worry about that when their eyes are somewhere else.

"yeah?" she replies on education, "that's cool. i mean, it's cool that you both kind of did your own thing. which i guess means it's cool i'm doing my own thing so . . . thanks for the perspective?"

god, the longer this conversation goes on the worse she's getting at it. thankfully she's thrown a lifeline. the topic of guitar lessons is way more comfortable and accessible than the do's and don'ts of getting an education.

"oh, totally! i've seen a couple places advertising but they're all stupid expensive or overlap with class, though. the busking is nice but it's, like, food money. just saving up for the guitar cleaned out all the fun budget."

willow atkins

☉

for a moment roxie just stares at the older woman. it's hard for her to make sense of what's just been said to her. all the words make sense on their own but . . .

"you mean if i just like, i don't know, water some flowers or whatever . . . " she starts, eyes moving as she visibly works through the thought, "you'll give me lessons for free?"

roxie's eyes move without her thinking. you're not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth but this seems like a really good deal and -- well shit, she's even got the calluses on her fingers. she definitely at least plays.

"and tools and strings and stuff too?"

now her eyes move to her own guitar, her strings that are getting a little worn out. she thinks about all the stress she was feeling thinking about how she'd afford new ones when they went.

"uh . . . dude -- ma'am -- that's uh," she swallows hard. this stupid little act of kindness is not going to make her cry that's so fucking uncool, "i think i'd love that."

willow atkins

☉