ItsFulgrim
❤︎⊹𝓢𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽⊹❤︎
The quiet beat of a tempo resounded from a small, rental studio in the nearby area, followed by a high energy track that was heavy enough to even be bothersome to those not used to this style of music.
Evelyne Romero, banged a drumstick against a set of cymbals, while using her free hand to record and edit her current work, she was focused, maybe a bit too much, she hadn't gone out in hours, her bob haircut was messy, and her curls only made it all even worse, the woman looked like a manic, and she felt like she may turn into one very soon.
It was a long day, her tracks, as always, were moving and widely accepted by very popuar artists, it was a win, at least for most it would have been. Eve had been trying a career as a singer herself, to no success, she had a whole biography on her website, all of her collaborations listed and written down neatly, and yet, she was unable to get much further than a few hundred plays on her music every week.
Today her main focus for anger had been simple, she had gotten a comment on her latest track that stated: " This is just a copy of Shore Mendrik's music. >:[ "
She almost spat out her coffee when she read it... SHORE MENDRIK?! That kid didn't have an ounce of knowledge in terms of music production. He was a pretty face, and had a decent voice, nothing else, all his music came in without input from him, all from some random artist who would go fall into irrelevancy any time soon.
Her piercing gray eyes reflected a mix of intense focus and jelousy, but they hid melancholy as well, she had always wanted to make music and be famous, but now she was 27, and she was still stuck, making music for others, helping to their success and getting no credit.
It was late, and she was starting to give up, she hit a large, red button on her console, and stopped the recording.
With a deep, tired sigh, she took her oversized jacket, put it on, and stormed out of her studio, locking it before leaving, of course. Her ripped jeans didn't help to keep her warm. At least her chunky boots made the trek across the rough pavement easier.
Eventually her pace slowed down, the rumble of her stomach forcing her to search for a convenience shop to get something to eat. truth be told, she was not picky, she had survived on a diet based around cup noodles for most of her early adulthood, now she could afford anything, yet, she still wanted a fimiliar taste, so she picked one from a shelf, and kept on moving around the store, browsing more than anything.
This were, harsh times, she was expecting a miracle, as fantastic and unlikely as it was.
Evelyne Romero, banged a drumstick against a set of cymbals, while using her free hand to record and edit her current work, she was focused, maybe a bit too much, she hadn't gone out in hours, her bob haircut was messy, and her curls only made it all even worse, the woman looked like a manic, and she felt like she may turn into one very soon.
It was a long day, her tracks, as always, were moving and widely accepted by very popuar artists, it was a win, at least for most it would have been. Eve had been trying a career as a singer herself, to no success, she had a whole biography on her website, all of her collaborations listed and written down neatly, and yet, she was unable to get much further than a few hundred plays on her music every week.
Today her main focus for anger had been simple, she had gotten a comment on her latest track that stated: " This is just a copy of Shore Mendrik's music. >:[ "
She almost spat out her coffee when she read it... SHORE MENDRIK?! That kid didn't have an ounce of knowledge in terms of music production. He was a pretty face, and had a decent voice, nothing else, all his music came in without input from him, all from some random artist who would go fall into irrelevancy any time soon.
Her piercing gray eyes reflected a mix of intense focus and jelousy, but they hid melancholy as well, she had always wanted to make music and be famous, but now she was 27, and she was still stuck, making music for others, helping to their success and getting no credit.
It was late, and she was starting to give up, she hit a large, red button on her console, and stopped the recording.
With a deep, tired sigh, she took her oversized jacket, put it on, and stormed out of her studio, locking it before leaving, of course. Her ripped jeans didn't help to keep her warm. At least her chunky boots made the trek across the rough pavement easier.
Eventually her pace slowed down, the rumble of her stomach forcing her to search for a convenience shop to get something to eat. truth be told, she was not picky, she had survived on a diet based around cup noodles for most of her early adulthood, now she could afford anything, yet, she still wanted a fimiliar taste, so she picked one from a shelf, and kept on moving around the store, browsing more than anything.
This were, harsh times, she was expecting a miracle, as fantastic and unlikely as it was.