???:
Sweaty digits were smacking repetitively upon a singular melanoid button, multiple blinding flashes delineated, illuminating the tenebrous twilight. Men in their late thirties were the ones fixed behind these memory-preserving contraptions, their expressions varying from amused to displeased, aroused to disgusted — they were physically unable to settle on just one emotion in particular. Diversified shouts and commands and echoed throughout the streets, though many of which were inevitable for merely one human-being to comprehend all at once. A position as such would make any mediocre person leagues beyond uncomfortable; however this wasn’t so much for someone who was completely accustomed to the suppressing bulk of attention; fatigued in the slightest by it — but at least it wasn’t something they hadn’t already endured.
||;; 🅼🅰🅸🆉🅾🅽🅾-🆂🅰🅽~!
𝓢𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮! — 𝑯𝑬𝒀! Look over here!
NO! THIS WAY!
Precarious moments fly by as she’s inwardly gawking at the numerous commands and shouts, echoing and echoing amongst her puny-seeming mind, the view of her from other prospectives — one of the more or less unfortunate parts that came with said ‘fame’, though it was truthful that in numerous ways, she relied on this happy-go-lucky mask. This association of people, with the clicky cameras situated in their lengthy hands, were better recognized as the Paparazzi — and no, in actuality they weren’t as catchy and cool as the american pop-star, Lady GaGa, perceived them to be. An annoying select bunch of people, yelling and taking numerous photos without permission — it was only normal to yearn to get out of there — to get out of the blinding lights and the mix and matched sentences.
Which is exactly why she found herself here — in what seemed like an alleyway … a dangerous place for such an icon of fame to find herself in. She’s huffing, exhausted, out of breath from such a tiring run, she hadn’t intended on getting this lost, she had just gotten carried away with, well … getting herself away from the flock of people. Her features are yet to find a legible expression when she heard a shuffling of feet. Despite knowing it was best to keep quiet — instincts forced her to say something to kill the growing curiosity, and hopefully reassure her own self; and there was no time to put on her happy-go-lucky facade.
“Is anyone there?”
It was an ordinary day, one that included updates and spending her time walking around before returning home– at least, that’s what she wished it was like. Instead, she was chased around by fans and chants of her name, effectively giving her some much needed yet unwanted exercise. Galaco was a VOCALOID, not a human being, so why did she care about getting out and being active, right?
Panting and wheezing, Galaco nearly tripped over her own tired legs as she sprinted away, turning corner after corner to hopefully ditch the mob behind her. She loved singing, yes, she loved being able to make people happy, sure, but that didn’t mean she appreciated the gigantic group of people following her!
Perhaps she should start wearing a wig when she went out and actually lose the crown for once, but her hair and the accessory was a major part of her outfit! It was what made her Galaco: Queen of the Galaxy! … If she were the queen, that is.
No, instead, Galaco was just a was the would-be-queen. Yes, that’s right; she’d rule the galaxy with her coffee and singing and it’d be glorious!
Mind trailing elsewhere at the thought, she instantly snapped back to her situation as another fan yelled her name asking where she was, causing the multi-hair colored girl to make a sharp turn into a dark alley, immediately hiding behind a trashcan, nose wrinkling in disgust. It was a sour smell, and it hurt her nostrils, and as much as she wanted to gag and complain, she remained quiet, hood being pulled over her head, crown being worn around her wrist as a bracelet due to not having anywhere else to put it.
She held her breath once she heard footsteps (though she breathed harshly through her nose), head cautiously peeking around the bin in front of her to see who had found her. Man, and she truly believed no one would think to look in such a dirty area for someone like her! Maybe there were actually people who thought about who they were chasing rather than who the figure was.
Once the question was presented, Galaco sighed, standing up from her crouching position, dusting off her clothes before waving her hand.
“Please no pictures– I’ll sing a song and you can record it, but please, no photography."
