Tropic of Virgo by in_a_blue_bathrobe

http://www.twilighted.net/viewstory.php?sid=3138

Official Description: He's a young but jaded keyboard player writing lyrics for his band, Breaking Dawn, and she's a naive and frustrated poet looking to break out of her shell; their words collide on-line. What happens when they meet in high school, unaware of their literary connection? OOC, canon at heart.

Tropic of Virgo was the first fic I read where music plays a role way beyond setting the mood of a chapter. In.A.Blue.Bathrobe incorporates lyrics and poetry and performance - all of which brings the characters' creative process to life and heightens the reader's understanding of the characters' inner state. 

When it starts out, Edward appears to be a wannabe rockstar manwhore. Bella seems to be just a shy ordinary girl. But their online exchanges as Debussey_88 and Ordinary_Girl reveal the emotion and creativity that is going on inside. They unknowingly share this seamless online connection, while in real life they struggle to get on the same page. What sets this story apart from the average high school fic: the way Edward and Bella are able to bond through music makes the growing depth of their connection so visceral. And in.a.blue.bathrobe's writing brings me into that moment. (And god bless her for that. 2 words: piano bench.)


The supporting characters have such an interesting dynamic as they are both bandmates and family. I usually can't stand an ice-queen Rosalie, but the way she initiates Bella into their world is one of my alltime FAVORITE moments in fic. Bella understands that she must prove that she can hang and she and Rosalie engage in a showdown of sorts - Rosalie rocking out on guitar and Bella breaking out the soulful vocals.

I wandered up the stairs, looking for Rose.

Her room had the least amount of windows and the most mirrors. The decor was more baroque than gothic, with gold leaf and red velvet everywhere.  I handed her the drink in greeting, and she held it out for a mute toast.  She downed her shot, and I sipped mine.

I felt like I was being tested by her silence. I wasn’t sure that she had ever even spoken to me. Even now, she sat cross legged on her bed and watched me. I turned to look at her. She quirked an elegant eyebrow at me and picked up a red electric guitar. I grinned back, recognizing a challenge, and sunk to the floor, sitting sprawled out on the sheepskin rug at her feet. It was an act of polite submission, and she nodded, accepting the gesture like a queen.

Then she thumbed two unmistakable opening notes and let them whine.

Oh, no. Rosalie, you BITCH.

I tossed the drink down my throat, breathing through the alcohol fire. It was the only warm up I would get.

The next two notes were a higher echo of the first. She smirked, daring me.

I gave her a black look and took a deep breath.

She threw me the last intro note, and let it warble. I sang:

“Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true, wanted a woman, never bargained for you…”

I gave the lyrics my best reedy wail, surreal and feminine, finding pain and letting it arc through the words.  Rose’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Lots of people talk and few of them know, soul of a woman was created below…”

We screamed the next chords together, my voice cascading over her strings, and then I floated into her solo. She played her refrain and nodded my cue. I took the next verse with a sinister whisper. The starkness of just my voice and her guitar, without the familiar drums or bass, made it our own.  We weren’t trying to sound like anyone else, just a broken throat and a tortured guitar. Rosalie heard it, too, because her tone shifted, sadder, lighter, somehow more female.  I caught her eyes and took a deep breath. She understood, and followed me into the next verse, skipping the instrumental refrain so we wouldn’t lose momentum. Then she led me into the duet.

She trilled the note. I wordlessly mimicked it.

Again.

She modulated, bringing it closer to my vocal rasp. I crooned, barely moving my lips, sweetening it to her chord.

Again, harder, with an echo.

There was a gasp behind us. I started to cringe, but Rose caught my eyes fiercely and wouldn’t let me look away.  She let it wail, and I did too, crying out my ridiculous fear until it became my own to control, blending with her, to just a moan in my throat, held and drifting. I let it fade. She skipped the drum solo again and went straight to the thrash refrain, and I sang into it, fitting into her chords but never taking it away from her, back-up vocal harmony. Her hands moved so fast, they were blurry.

Then she gave me the last chorus, and I led the duet this time, calling the first note, mouth open wide.

She followed, pushing me slightly.

I met her pace, impatient guitar stroking my voice, until we were one thing.

I held the last note, and so did she. Then she grinned, and I nodded, and she crashed the closing chords on my scream.

I sat there, panting.

“Holy Mother of God,” whispered Jasper.

“That was sex!” screamed Alice.

“I feel left out,” said Emmett.

Rosalie looked over at Edward and said, “She’ll do.”

Rosalie's aloofness could easily be written off as bitchiness, but the understanding that is built between her and Bella through music gives her depth that makes her character interesting. I am by no means a Rosalie fan but the idea of her rockin out smooth and soulful licks on her guitar... pretty frickin hot.

And the description of how it sounds -- makes me wish there was a movie of this fic just so there could be a soundtrack. Some killer singer would do Bella's vocals on this soundtrack, and I'd be able to rock out to the amazing talent that blue.bathrobe so compellingly describes.

Tropic of Virgo remains a classic. No other fic has come close to how ToV takes the reader inside the process of making music. I love the drive that these characters have that compels them express themselves. I enjoy indulging in the turmoil and drama in their lives. It's a fun read and truly original.

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