To Love a Mockingbird{DamoniquexLyra}[M]

[Damonique]

Rated M for sex, drugs, and Rock 'n Roll. Specifically, sexual themes and content, drug and alcohol use, frequent swearing, possible violence, generally adult subject matter. Enjoy!

---------Two Years Previously-

Jaide found herself, as usual, sitting in the bar section of the large, dimly lit club that was hosting the talent competition, sipping a Vodka Cranberry and thankful her break year left her old enough to drink here in dumbfuck America before coming over, unlike the many other freshmen and sophomores stuck waiting for their names to be called past the ropes with X's on their hands.

The rebel was dressed provocatively, in a low-cut white top and a black leather skirt that barely passed her hips, and these days was rocking three streaks of blue in her lustrous black hair. Unsurprisingly, she hadn't paid for a drink since she sat down, courtesy of an older, bespectacled man in a faded jacket further down the bar she had the sneaking suspicion was a teacher here. She idly wondered if he'd piss his pants if he found out her mother sat on the College Board.

Her mother, Diana, was the whole reason she was even here, having insisted at sunday brunch that her daughter enter the competition to 'share her talent with the world and maybe even 'make a friend'. Jay drained her glass, and slammed it down on the bar, tossing the man a flirtatious wink that saw another drink magically appear before her. She doubted that that was the kind of friend her mother wanted her to be making, and was sure she wouldn't approve of the sort of talents she could share for him if he worked up the balls to make a move.

But before anything came of that wonderfully transgressive line of thinking, her name was called and she took up the soft leather violin case sitting beside her and traipsed up towards the stage without any sense of urgency, swaying her hips just so as she ascended the stairs to ensure that everyone watching either wanted to fuck her or wanted to be her. She basked in the limelight and carefully uncased her violin, a striking Stefano Gibertoni piece that likely cost more than any given member of the audience made in a year. It wasn't her most expensive piece, but she particularly liked the mellow tone it had when precisely tuned.

She set the instrument to her shoulder, raised the bow, closed her eyes, and let the audience, the club, her family, vanish into the background...and began to play. It was a piece of her own composition that started slow, haunting, classical before becoming more rapid, manic, almost dissonant, defying expectations. Only having about seven minutes on stage, she had to compress the concerto by more than half, which only seemed to improve it, as the usual buildup towards transitions was cut away as she tried her best to impart the essence of the whole piece in what time she had.

Jaide didn't know how the audience was responding, and she at least told herself that she didn't care. That this was something she did for herself, because it was one her myriad talents, and that it would be selfish to keep it to herself in a word so awash in mediocrity. And she was finished, she stood, and bowed, and drank in the applause.

[Lyra]

Romi was a bundle of nerves sitting at the far-back corner table and fiddling with the hem of her knee-length, light green, silk dress. She'd decided to wear it for some silly, sentimental reason and a dumb reason to boot. Everyone else, including her friend, Avory, who was there to cheer her on, was either rocking a crop top and a pair of high-heeled boots or a form-fitting, sexy dress. It was a club after all, a club hosting a college end-of-the-year talent competition. She had swept her hair back in a bun for the occassion and practiced her pipes hoarse the week prior. She was doing opera. Who does that anymore, she wondered.

Avory was noting the talents performing on stage, commenting on their skills and lack thereof, but Romi was barely listening, her eyes darting quickly towards the exit sign. If she were to just scamper out of there... her thoughts drowned out the beautiful sound of violin and the big round of applause that followed. It was her idea entering the competition, but as soon as her father had heard about it, her entire performance ensemble changed. She wanted to do Madonna, her father insisted she do Mozzart. In the end she settled for the Queen of the Night aria, from "The Magic Flute". Her father promised he'd show up too, but so far, the club was full of strange faces only.

She rolled her eyes and bit down hard on her cherry-tinted lower lip, telling herself she should have known better. It was a sad thing being one of those daddy's little girls, the ever-mocked stereotype. She was angry at him and the charged sparks in her eyes spoke of it. Folding her arms on her chest, she shook her head and decided to, in the spur of the moment, go for a pop song, but when her named was called out and Avory nudged her back to reality, screaming out that it was her turn, she forgot all about it.

She stood up slowly and made her way to the stage, her heart hammering in her chest. You can do this, girl, you've got this, she thought and put on her best demure smile. The spotlight was blinding but she was glad she couldn't see anyone's face. She adjusted the mic stand and closed her eyes, listening to the music stream into her ears and her heart, giving courage to her pipes and emotion to her face. As soon as she opened her mouth and hit the first notes, the expression on her face started to twist and contort into a powerful but painful idea of a woman scorned but a woman who could push through. Her voice was as beautiful as it was full of sorrow and spine-chilling intensity. The entranced audience had no feeling their own but the one she encouraged. She thought of her father as she sang, wishing he'd been there to spur her on, but she imagined he was too busy getting wasted in some seedy bar, boring the bartender with stories of his late wife. It was that thought alone that drove her mad and added to her performance.

She finished off on a high note and listened nonchalantly as the audience gave her a standing ovation. She bowed only slightly and flashed a courteous smile before she rushed off the stage. Her friend welcomed her back with a hug and assured her she'd win. Romi wasn't as interested in hearing how everyone else was subpar; she skidded over to the bar for a drink but before she could get her hand on some vodka, she was surrounded by the teachers and colleagues who wanted to congratulate her on a well-rounded rendition and delved right into some tedious small talk. It wasn't long before the winner was announced. She wasn't surprised she had been picked. After all, few people in the club actually had any taste.

She hated opera.

[Damonique]

As the din of applause began to trail off and Jay departed the stage, she was sure she had won....so far, noone had put up much competition so far. Sure, there was some talent in the Music Department to which Jaide disappointingly did not belong...her days spent learning doublespeak and tax codes. Pianists, cello's, a few decent less polished violinists...and a few out-there instruments, like the semaphore. But soon after returning to the bar, she was stopped dead in the midst of raising her glass by a voice that could put an angel to shame.

Jay looked up at the slim brunette up on the stage who's name she hadn't caught, dressed in an elegant green dress that set her well apart from the trendy fashions in appearance, but still managed to hug her figure in all the right ways. And what a figure it was...Jaide completely forgot the man at the bar with a wistful sigh, wondering if this interesting new specimen was down with the ladies. If she was even a bit curious, Jaide could be very persuasive. The rebel watched the newcomer's performance with an enraptured look on her face...it was Queen of the Night, and aria she was familiar with, but sung with an intensity that turned it into something entirely different. Whoever she was, this girl was mad at something, or more likely, someone in her life, and it bled through into her art. If she was willing to ditch the faux-sophisticated classical bent, Jaide was sure the brunette could do something spectacular with that rage.

And all to soon, it was over, the song sung, the spell broken...and then came the applause. For a moment, Jaide considered the possibility that it was actually louder than her own, before dismissing that idea outright and chalking it up to the disorderly lot of teachers and students who were cheering longer and louder than anyone else. The brunettes many friends, come out the support her, she thought....and couldn't suppress a hint of jealousy, thinking how nice it must be to have so many people so genuinely in your corner.

Jaide had managed to make it through her entire freshman year without getting too close to anyone new, satisfying herself with passing acquaintances and lovers she only kept around for a week or two before freezing out of her life. Whenever someone came to understand just how much money she had, it was like they stopped seeing her for who she was and instead either resented her as a spoiled princess, or fawned on her hoping for a handout, and she resented both kinds. More than ever, she found herself sorely missing Jun, who was still finishing his bachelors in Taipei...it had been hard for her without him there to watch her back, counter her cynicism, and communicate for her to those that didn't speak her own personal blend of genius and insanity.

Jay tried in vain to steal the brunette's attention from her crowd of friends and admirers to the empty barstool beside her with winks and smiles, instead drawing only the sort of admirers she attracted...that being an unending steam of self-deluded men and boys trying increasingly-tactless pickup lines. She thought she might have caught her eye for a moment, but then the announcements started. Third place....didn't matter, and then, in second place....Jaide Mui. The rebel looked like she'd been slapped and failed to react for a moment, causing several people to look about for her before she finally gathered what little composure she could manage, slung her extraordinarily-expensive violin, still uncased, over her shoulder as if it were some plywood knock-off, and made her slow walk up to the stage to accept her silver medal.

"Grace in defeat. Grace in defeat. Grace in defeat..." She muttered under her breath the entire time, idly running her fingers over the green jade mala beads wrapped around her right wrist, fighting the urge to either storm off without a word or fly into a rage at the judges that they clearly couldn't tell a prodigy from some common drivel. Instead, she took a bow, said a few pithy words about how honored she was to be considered, and started to get the hell out of there before she lost her composure. Silver. Second Place. Not good enough. She could hear her father's admonitions, gritting her teeth.

But before she could make it to the doors, she turned around at the announcement of first place, one Ramona Morell...she looked around to see who it was...and of course it was the brunette, detaching herself from her cheering knot of friends to accept her gold ribbon and the small scholarship that came with it. Oddly, Ramona herself looked less than pleased with her victory, scanning the crowd looking for someone or something that she couldn't find. In the course of this, Jaide managed to meet her eyes for just an instant...and for some reason, she feigned a congratulatory smile, gesturing toward the bar before she lost the brunette's attention.