MUSICIAN!CARMY X JOURNALIST!SYDNEY
thank you bruce springsteen movie for this idea this is just a drabble!!!!! i may turn it into a fic but idk
"No I don't have a ticket." Sydney murmurs after being pulled to the side by security, her hands fish into her side bag. Pushing through pens and full notebooks, she drags out a lanyard and hands it to them, "And his manager should have told the venue I'm coming, I'm Sydney Adamu." Looking up at the unphased man. His lips are curves down, nostrils pushed out as he breaths. He doesn't say a word to her, grabbing a walkie-talkie and mumbling something into it. She barely catches anything, only hearing descriptions that sound scarily like her.
'Braids— Yup. 'bout 5'5— Alright.' He slips it back into his pocket and finally looks at her, his head cocks towards a door labeled 'STAFF ONLY' she raises an eyebrow, but he just repeats the action. "I need my lanyard." She perks up, he hands it to her. Slamming it into her hand. She nods and moves towards the door, pushing through. Eyes dart towards her.
Shes convinced herself that she's not a journalist. That she's snuck in, made a fake ID. She can feel the sweat dripping down her back as she wanders, completely unsure where she's going. "Miss Adamu!" A voice rings through, a man who couldn't be taller than 5 feet wanders towards her, a grin plastered on his face as he grabs her shoulder. "We was starting to think we'd never see ya'!" He laughs, Sydney mirrors it as best as she can, Her laughs dry and short.
He drags her forward, bringing her to a room with people dressed nicer than her. She knows it now, it's the cops. They're taking her out and she's losing her job at the Chicago times. Her breathing is labored as they finally stop, "Miss Adamu here is your place! Watch, drink, enjoy. Write down on your little notebook and tell us how it all is." Her breathing returns back to normal, almost at a snap. "I was only supposed to be here for an interview." She finally says, scratching her neck. She can see his manager scrambling, his tongue darts out before he begins. "He ain't do interviews." He shrugs, and it's so blunt that Sydney doesn't believe it. "You said I could do an interview. I drove an hour for an interview, not to watch his show."
She heats up a little, a free concert is nice but she's not sure "Our Music Journalist saw a Concert!" is a front page show stopping title, he's scrambling again. "I'm just the manager, not the man." He says, and Sydney can feel the eyes back on her. Yet these ones are dressed much nicer than the rest of the staff. She's sure he'd give them an interview. She sighs, "If I'm not getting the interview I'm leaving." She sternly says, and his hands fly up. Muttering defenses, he's stumbling. Words lace together in his panic. And in the blink of an eye the lights dim down and a voice rings through the speakers. "Welcoming our own hometown hero.. You know him! You love him! Carmen Berzatto!" Cheers erupt, so loud they could probably break the glass separating them from everyone else.
She takes this opportunity to leave, pushing through doors until she reaches the street. She zips her jacket up and begins away, she wanders.. and wanders. Deciding it's futile to waste a night in town, and plus. She hasn't eaten since this morning.
She walks past restaurant after restaurant, scanning for a while. After several failed city blocks she leans against an illuminated building, pulling her phone out and scrolling through for a second. The door opens beside her.
"Hey Miss?" Someone perks up, it drags Sydney right out of her phone. The man's much older than her, but his concern makes her ignore that. She mumbles so he knows she heard her, "You hungry? We fucked up some meat. It's not bad it's just not up to standard." He laces sarcasm into the last four words, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, "It'd be on the house." Sydney just nods and moves towards him, he adjusts himself and holds the door open for her.
She knows this place, knows it well. Her dad would take her here when she was a kid. The man tells her to wait patiently. For the first time she's tall enough to stare at the pictures on the wall, scanning through them. A poster sits poorly up there on the edge, stuck there by a ball of sticky tac, 1 push pin and some tape covered in dog hair. She giggles a little.
'CARMEN BERZATTO COMES HOME! PATIO THEATER JULY 27TH 2025'
She's overthinking it, they're pretty close together. Wouldn't be too crazy to imagine the venue just asked them to put it up. "Misses!" The same voice peaks through, holding a wrapped sandwich.
"Lookin'at that poster like you lost him at sea." He chuckles as he pushes it closer, she turns around. "Stupid question. They talk so much about the him growing up here— Is that true?" She grabs the food from his hand and stands infront of him.
The only noise that the question illicts is a small giggle, "He grew up here. He's the owners younger brother." He explains, shaking his head, he cocks his head and questions her motives. "Doesn't matter." She responds, poorly hiding her new found excitement. "Bullshit." He bickers back, squinting at her. She gives up. "I was supposed to interview him. But his manager pulled me out of it last minute."
The other guy nods slowly, hand rubbing at his mouth as he thinks, "How do I know you're not lying?" Sydney just looks at him, face flat in both disbelief and irritation. His eyes widen and his nods speed up for a second.
"He comes here after his shows. After hours most times, if you wanna wait we won't kick you out." He says, shrugging and walking away.
She stands in the lobby alone. Surveying her options, and despite her lack of faith. Thanking god for her luck. She pulls herself away from the lobby and wanders towards the back room. Finding a mostly clean table, she patters against it with her nails.
Shes in disbelief, she doesn't believe him. But oh well. It's worth a shot.
3 hours pass as she sits there waiting, several people wandered through and left. She sat there paitently.
"There you are Bear!" A new voice rings through, she hears mumblings of a conversation. Despite her nerves, she pulls herself up and peaks around the corner. He's standing right there, sweat contouring his hair. She can see the hesitance in the other man. It wasn't the same one she saw before.
His gaze drags off Carmen and over towards her, cocking his head. "The other guy told me I could stay." She was timid, the man's eyes squint. Glaring at her, "I promise." He immediately pushes through the back door. Her hand moves and offers an awkward wave towards Carmen. He mirrors it.
The man comes back out, immediately focusing back onto Carmen. His finger points towards her. In a comical motion, she turns and looks around her. When she looks back she sees Carmen approaching.
"You got kicked from an interview with me?" He asks as he walks past, plopping down across from the chair where she was just sat. She drags herself towards it, nodding. "Your manager said you don't do them." She replies, smiling awkwardly back at him.
He laughs dryly, looking down at the table. "I told my manager I get anxious post shows, he took that as 'no one talks to me ever'" He explains.
She's interviewed a million musicians, and yet this one felt different. She wanted to know more about him than the music, she wants to know why he strums his strings like that. But she can't ask that, and even if she could she's not sure she would.
"So.. can I interview you?" Sydney says, swallow as she reaches for her notebook and pen, he shakes his head. Her face drops at the drop of a hat, lips parted. "Yes you can." He quickly corrects himself, she breathes. Clearing her throat as she scans at the scratched notes sitting on the desk.
Shes interviewed fucking Beyoncé. And now she's sitting in-front of some guy who hasn't made it past the top 50 on billboard and it feels like she's talking to the creator of the universe. Her nerves are making it seem like that anyways.
ADAMU: I'm glad you could make time for me tonight, even after that big show.
CARMEN: Post show is the perfect time to interview me. I'm too tired to lie and too lazy to cover myself up when I do slip.
SYDNEY: Perfect. Let's start, I know you play guitar in your songs and live, do you play any other instruments?
CARMEN: [Laughs] I grew up catholic. Was an alter boy, did choir. I lost my voice for a few weeks when I was 15, Pastor put me on piano duty—I was almost too good. They never made me sing again.
SYDNEY: Did you enjoy choir?
CARMEN: I was good. When I was younger it was nice, I had a stutter. But when I sang it was smooth, sounded right. People never asked 'What?' I really loved that feeling. But once I hit middle school and got a speech therapist, I didn't want to be understood anymore.
SYDNEY: Do you want to be understood now?
CARMEN: Through my music, sure. But people understand what I give them, and I think in a way the beauty is people rarely do understand it. Atleast in the context of me, they get it. They apply it to themselves, that's what I like.
SYDNEY: That's really beautiful.
The interview strings on for several more minutes. It flowed like a conversation, small praises littered in about her questions. A smile was plastered on his face as they spoke.
As they finish off, Carmen stands up, offering his hand to Sydney. She grabs it and shakes his hand. "Thank you Miss Adamu." He says, dropping his hand, "Sydney." He cocks his head, "Call me Sydney." He nods and repeats her name. She crouches down and fills her bag back up. As her eyes move she sees his feet planted in the same spot. She shrugs her bag on and looks towards him.
"Do you have a way home?" He questions, it's genuine. She nods, adjusting her bag anxiously. "Is it an Uber?" He questions. She nods again, he cocks his head the same way the owner did. She complies and wanders behind him.
They step outside, staring at beat up dodge dakota. "I can take you home." He says, unlocking his car, "It's an hour away." He just shrugs. "That's fine."
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