One of Sabine’s happy places was sitting in a recording studio with an artist and some other people and brainstorming ideas. She was a songwriter for hire and wasn’t glued to one record label as many wished she would be. She wanted to be free to write for whoever she wanted as long as the genre matched up just right for her. Writing a good song was like writing a good story. It needed a beginning, middle, and end. It also needed feeling and emotion. There needed to be a connection between not just the writer and song, but the artist and the song. The shifter never sang her own stuff so she needed assure there would be a connection between the artist and the words. The listener needed to feel that suffering, that joy, that excitement, whatever that emotion was, they needed to hear it dripping from the artists voice in order for it to touch someone. Sabine knew she did her job if she made someone feel something. If someone shed a tear or smile in remembrance then she knew she had done something right.
She didn’t sing her own songs. No. She enjoyed writing for other people. She did at one point make a demo CD. You know, those small round discs with the hole in the middle. On one side, it shined like a glitchy rainbow when you moved it around in the light. She could remember how proud of that CD she was. She used to carry around a couple in her purse in case something magical happened and someone wanted to sign her. Now they were all buried somewhere in her room. Well, more like shoved into her desk drawer and sitting under the weight of a bunch of other stuff. Who was to say they even worked anymore though? They could have gotten all scratched and dinged up. They were in perfect working condition. They just weren’t something she was totally proud of. Ahhh the 90s, what a time to write and sing music. The time of Nirvana, TLC, The Spice Girls. There was no way a young LA girl could compete with any of those big names. It was best if that CD stayed buried and never see the light of day again.
She liked modern day music much better than what they were writing way back when. She felt like people dug way deeper now than they ever have, literally putting their hearts on their sleeve and letting the world listen to them. Although there were some questionable artists out there who capitalized off of people’s emotions, there were the good people who wanted to let others know they weren’t alone. It was those people she wanted to write for. She didn’t want to write a meaningless song about some salty girl who got broken up with multiple times (ahm, Taylor Swift). She wanted real feeling. Something deep and meaningful.
After her long day in the studio, she had been invited to get drinks with the crew, but she politely declined. Even though she had pencil to paper all day long, she still had some brainstorming she wanted to do. She definitely couldn’t do that at home. She rarely did it at home. The women there were just way too loud and Blair understood that. So instead she headed several blocks on foot to a small bar she dipped into every now and again. It wasn’t a place her and Blair attended together. It wasn’t that kind of place. It was a place she could call her own little spot whenever she needed somewhere to just sit and be alone for a while. With her large bag in hand, she stepped into The Fox’s Den. There were tons of people around, but it wasn’t loud and obnoxious. She just stood by the door, observing the crowd for a moment before spotting an empty stool at the end of the bar. She made her way to it and perched, spinning to face the bar top. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and gave the bartender a warm smile as he made his way to her and asked her what she would be drinking. “A vodka cranberry please. Thanks.” She said before turning to her notebook to re-read the notes from the day.