Sanders Sides Oneshots

Dying In LA (Analogical)

The sound of gravel and an abundance of discarded cigarettes crunching under Virgil's leather combat boots provided his own personal soundtrack for his walk down the main streets of the city of Los Angeles.

He was probably a sad sight to passerby, but not an unfamiliar one. He looked like a lost teenage musician, his purple and black hoodie beat up and smelling like smoke and other things, black jeans ripped more than they originally were intended to be. His guitar case was easily the nicest thing he had on him, and he protected that thing like it was his child.

Stepping inside a neon bar, he swerved around everyone and moved towards a small stage made for when the place wanted to liven itself up with live acts. After getting cleared by the manager, he stepped on stage, trying not to wince when people groaned after the DJ shut his music off and transferred everything over to Virgil. He busied himself with tuning his guitar, letting one of the bar workers set the microphone and speakers up for him. He could feel all the eyes on him. Watching. Waiting.

Once everything was set up, Virgil tested the microphone, cringing and wincing at the shrill feedback he received from it. He adjusted it to how he liked it, and put on his confident act.

"Good evening! I'm Virgil Sanders. I hail from Florida but came here to LA to pursue my music career. I'm going to be doing a few songs tonight, mostly covers. So feel free to dance or sing alone if you know them!" He smiled awkwardly at the crowd, clearing his throat and adjusting his guitar. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in more towards the mic and started singing one of his favourite acoustic classics, strumming softly, slowly. The musician at least had the attention of most of the crowd, and he heard a few girls dazedly singing along in the back of the bar.

Virgil went through four more songs. He was halfway there, only having four more left. He adjusted the mic and his sitting position on the stool he sat on, getting ready for his next song. He flinched upon narrowly missing a red solo cup that had been chucked at his head by a guy who was clearly already out of it. Virgil took a deep breath, trying not to be bothered by this. The show must go on.

Half an hour later, he packed up his guitar, exiting the bar as quick as he could and turning down any drinks offered to him by the crazy crowd. The musician shoved his hands in his pockets and walked briskly down the street, nudging the door of a nearly empty coffee shop open with his shoulder and slipping inside. He gently sat his guitar down on a bar stool at the counter and sat beside it, putting his head in his hands.

"Hey, Virgil. How did it go?" A familiar voice asked. He glanced up to find the barista, Logan, looking at him gently, putting his dish rag over his shoulder.

"Music-wise...I think I did okay. My voice didn't really crack as much as last time, and my guitar managed to stay in tune for most of the act. The crowd didn't seem to like me very much though..." He sighed heavily, lifting his head completely and taking the ice water Logan offered him. He sipped it slowly and sat the now half empty glass down on the counter.