( it's difficult to pinpoint the moment it became less about a sense of professionalism than it did a game of one-upping personal strangers. fans, even. gideon doesn't lack any small amount of talent, but his attention span leaves something to be desired, attentions constantly straying to every girl who catches his eye. which, it quickly becomes obvious, is every girl close enough to the stage for him to make out. winking suggestively, singing to them --or mouthing the words to them. it doesn't take her long to realize he rarely if ever truly sings--.
the attention and adoration of the fans is intoxicating. she understands that just as well as he does. wouldn't feel the need --much-- to hold the desire to revel in it against him if it weren't starting to cause disruptions in the show. the kinds of things their fans never seem to notice, but that grate at her each time. chords wrong or missed entirely. launching headlong into a completely different song, despite the fact that there's always a fresh and cleanly written set list at his feet. despite the fact that he wrote all of their songs, supposedly lived them all.
quinn yells after every show. yells and threatens, as if there's anything she can actually do to him other than yell some more.
it isn't selfish, she tells herself in the beginning. it's an experiment. when she struts onto the stage in a skirt that just barely covers the curve of her ass, a shirt that could only very charitably really be given that title, exposing far more skin than it covers, it's a power play. the first chord he misses, gaze heavy, boring into the back of her head, she practically stops mid-song to laugh. instead turns and flashes the same flirty little wink he's tossed to endless girls. throws herself into the performance with even more energy than before, all raspy voice and swiveling hips and a pleased little grin she couldn't wipe away if she tried.
maybe it wasn't a competition, but she's still pretty positive she just won.
or if she wasn't before, then she sure as shit is at the afterparty. waiting by the bar for her drink when he finally catches up to her --she had wondered how long it would take. practically beaming up at him, all sweetness and innocence, slightly tarnished by the fact that she's still wearing the same outfit from earlier. tight and black, faintly iridescent and almost sheer in places that it probably shouldn't be. the sort of outfit that would have made her former self, the president of the celibacy club and good little christian girl, faint on the spot. )
It was a great show tonight, wasn't it? ( she speaks up before he can get a word out. still playing her part, taking a little too much enjoyment from this particular role. ) The crowd was amazing. ( did he even notice? pathetically, selfishly, she hopes not. ) And you were really on fire out there.
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Date: 2015-03-14 06:55 am (UTC)( it's difficult to pinpoint the moment it became less about a sense of professionalism than it did a game of one-upping personal strangers. fans, even. gideon doesn't lack any small amount of talent, but his attention span leaves something to be desired, attentions constantly straying to every girl who catches his eye. which, it quickly becomes obvious, is every girl close enough to the stage for him to make out. winking suggestively, singing to them --or mouthing the words to them. it doesn't take her long to realize he rarely if ever truly sings--.
the attention and adoration of the fans is intoxicating. she understands that just as well as he does. wouldn't feel the need --much-- to hold the desire to revel in it against him if it weren't starting to cause disruptions in the show. the kinds of things their fans never seem to notice, but that grate at her each time. chords wrong or missed entirely. launching headlong into a completely different song, despite the fact that there's always a fresh and cleanly written set list at his feet. despite the fact that he wrote all of their songs, supposedly lived them all.
quinn yells after every show. yells and threatens, as if there's anything she can actually do to him other than yell some more.
it isn't selfish, she tells herself in the beginning. it's an experiment. when she struts onto the stage in a skirt that just barely covers the curve of her ass, a shirt that could only very charitably really be given that title, exposing far more skin than it covers, it's a power play. the first chord he misses, gaze heavy, boring into the back of her head, she practically stops mid-song to laugh. instead turns and flashes the same flirty little wink he's tossed to endless girls. throws herself into the performance with even more energy than before, all raspy voice and swiveling hips and a pleased little grin she couldn't wipe away if she tried.
maybe it wasn't a competition, but she's still pretty positive she just won.
or if she wasn't before, then she sure as shit is at the afterparty. waiting by the bar for her drink when he finally catches up to her --she had wondered how long it would take. practically beaming up at him, all sweetness and innocence, slightly tarnished by the fact that she's still wearing the same outfit from earlier. tight and black, faintly iridescent and almost sheer in places that it probably shouldn't be. the sort of outfit that would have made her former self, the president of the celibacy club and good little christian girl, faint on the spot. )
It was a great show tonight, wasn't it? ( she speaks up before he can get a word out. still playing her part, taking a little too much enjoyment from this particular role. ) The crowd was amazing. ( did he even notice? pathetically, selfishly, she hopes not. ) And you were really on fire out there.