funkyasian - Thanks, well, "Buffy" always had bands, and of course there was OMWF. In this Season 7, the PTB come to their senses and hire Amber as the house band. Kewl, huh?
Jen - Wait no longer, it's a double post weekend. Tara will have a fairly mixed set, but the songs have been chosen as much for their lyrical content as for how they sound.
Xita - Thank you. Here's more.
Rating: PG-13.
Musical credits: “Closer to Fine”, Emily Saliers; “Shadow Cabinet”, Steve Kilbey
Cautionary note: Actual song lyrics are quoted in this and later sections of the story. In places they make possible reference to events and situations in this fic. They are not intended to be prophecies or spoilers. Trying to over interpret them will do your head in. And some of them are there for fun.
As Tara played, and her silvery voice rang out, perhaps a little too loudly at first, Willow moved from table to table, reaching into her backpack and placing a small empty tin can in the centre of each, next to the sugar bowl. Each can had a piece of paper taped to it, decorated with little coloured pencil flowers and birds, along with the message, “If the music makes you grin, drop a coin into the tin.” The deal with Ray was, it being a trial of an unknown artist, in spite of her acquaintance with the departed Rupert Giles, strictly a tips-only arrangement. Nothing up front, no risk, no hard feelings if it didn’t work out. Willow finished making her rounds of the tables and turned to watch how Tara was doing. She had not dared to look before, though the sounds resonating from the twelve-string and Tara’s vocals had sounded good enough to Willow’s inexpert ear.
Well darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable,
And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear,
Tara sang.
Fascinated, Willow let her green eyes rest upon her beloved as a new facet of the jewel that was Tara was revealed to her. The music was fine, the voice angelic, the look especially to Willow’s possibly biased eye, was beyond beauty. The overall impression was that of a born chanteuse. And it’s not just me, Willow thought, looking around. Feet shuffled, conversations slowed and stopped, heads turned, Ray popped his lower lip out and nodded, which for him was a supreme compliment. What was it about Tara that made her singing and playing so special? Was it the forceful precision of her guitar playing, her strident attack on the strings with the pick, or the strength in the fingers of her left hand, able to grasp elusive chords and reaches with superhuman ease? Was it her face, her aloofness, her pale otherworldliness accentuated with subtle eye shadow and deep ruby red lipstick? The look in her eye that said, “Abandon hope all ye that come hither”? Or was it that exquisite crystalline voice, beautiful as a fairytale nightingale’s, soaring above the sonic carpet of the guitar? Willow tried hard not to be a critic, to dissect Tara’s performance and place it under a microscope. She was content to watch her lover and enjoy; to note with swelling pride as people responded with a smile, a nod, or on occasion by reaching into their pockets for spare change.
It had been quite unexpected when Tara had telephoned her at work with her idea. When Tara had outlined her reasoning, the redhead had initially been unwilling, pointing out that it was her responsibility to help with Dawn’s college fund and that the additional challenge of affording blood to feed Tara’s need was also her, Willow’s, choice. But in truth Willow was financially stretched, and she had to admit that any help, even if it was only a few dollars in tips for a couple of hours’ play at the Espresso Pump, was welcome. Tara’s choice of work was also practical; she could rehearse at home during the day as much as she wanted, and it gave her and Willow an activity they could share in the evenings that got them out of the house. Willow had also been an invaluable assistant, hunting down MP3s and accurate tablatures for Tara’s repertoire. Devon had been a useful contact; the Dingoes had broken up over a year ago but just before they did, they flirted briefly with textural rock; part of that experiment being the acquisition of a twelve-string acoustic guitar which had subsequently languished, unplayed and unloved in the attic of a former band member. Borrowing it for a while had been the work of just a couple of phone calls. If Tara’s plan worked out, they had the option to buy it at a reasonable price.
Tara’s song ended, and as the last chord rang out through the intimate space of the coffee shop, a scattering of applause greeted the blonde vampire. She smiled a little, almost to herself, said “Thank you”, softly. Willow waved to catch Tara’s eye and offered her broadest smile, as if to say, “It’s great, go on!” Tara undid the capo and carefully set it down, then commenced her next song, a tune almost as old as herself. As she eased into the second verse, Tara tilted her head back and closed the rose petals of her eyelids. The single white spotlight lit a golden halo in her hair, shot with ephemeral rainbow highlights as she sang:
“Here,
The difference between close and near
The way oaths and oafs interfere
Bliss comes first as a jangling flood
The pillow from the old country arrives with a thud
And that night she dreams ceremony and mud
It’s happening, I say
Must be thirsty, drink drink sink forget
Must be empty, inside the shadow cabinet”
Tara worked steadily through her set list, smiling when the applause was loudest, nodding in appreciation whenever money found its way into a collection tin. Patrons came and went; most lingered awhile after their coffees were finished, just to listen. Ray looked busy and happy, although for him these were one and the same. Willow relaxed over a latte, savouring it, the confrontation earlier in the evening a fading unpleasant memory. Above all she felt so proud of Tara at that moment; she remembered how shy and awkward Tara had been on their first meeting; so apt to fade into the background. Now she was a confident, outgoing performer; it was difficult to believe that it was simply her vampire fearlessness that had wrought the change. Surely it was growth in Tara herself over the years, wasn’t it?
A few songs from the end of the set, Willow noticed Xander walk into the café. She saw the young man stop dead in his tracks and gape, an astonished expression on his face. The redhead caught his eye and motioned him over to her table. Xander complied, though he was barely able to take his eyes off the guitarist and as a consequence he almost knocked over two other tables on the way. He continued to stare at Tara through most of the rest of the set.
“Wow, she’s great!” he eventually said during a break between songs. “You did all this?”
Willow paused, then said, “I just did musical basics. Tara’s - software - adapts. She can practice and learn stuff by herself.”
“It’s amazing. It’s a side of Tara I never knew about.”
“She was always musical, but she was too shy to do anything about it,” Willow replied, having to raise her voice a little, for another song had begun.
Xander and Willow said little for the rest of Tara’s set. When it finally ended, the vampire stood and took a bow to warm applause. While she packed, Ray came out from behind the counter for a brief conversation.
Xander turned to Willow. “So, what other things can Tara learn?”
“Pretty much anything,” the redhead answered. “She’s reading her books from college. Mostly though, we just, you know, talk.” Xander raised his eyebrows as if to ask, what about? “Just personal stuff, my feelings, how much I miss her, what our plans for the future were. And the more I do it, the more like Tara she becomes.”
“I’ve noticed,” Xander commented. “Lately it’s uncanny. It could really be her, which makes me even more sorry about…Hey Tara,” he turned and smiled, for the blonde was approaching their table, flight case in hand. “Nice axing.”
“Not my last,” Tara answered. “Ray wants me back Monday. Money up front and a percentage of takings, we split the tips. He’s going to put signs up and everything.”
“Wow, congratulations,” Willow beamed.
“Well done, Tara,” Xander added. “Can I help collect your wages and walk you ladies home? Lot of strange folk out at night in Sunnydale.”
Tara and Willow shared a knowing look. “Not arguing with that,” the vampire said.
(To be continued)
I loved that. 
- bot out - ummm....no, sorry, just keep on reading.
is such a bad liar, isn't she? But Xander can be dim at times, so she gets away with it. You probably don't agree, but I quite like the idea of Willow weaving this complex web of deception. Poor thing.
It's okay though. I'm still looking forward to reading. And I'm sure I'll read through Chapter 6 and so on, even if it is a bumpy ride. I want to see this one out until the end. 
- 
I'm going crazy here.
No, she wrapped a big bath sheet around herself after her shower, she just - left her robe behind, and kind 
You tease, you!
It's all your fault. But you know what?? I'm not complaining. Hee...