Beth Greene

With the news from Curt that she's going to be playing at the Majestic in three months time, Beth is starting to feel woefully unprepared, as if she's only now realizing what exactly all this actually means to her and to her future. Darrow is the only future she has, she's known that for a long time now and although the memories had been awful to have come to her all at once, now she's grateful for them.

Even in the midst of the worst parts of being here, she does her best not to waste any of the time she's been given because it's all she has left now.

If she's going to treat this like the only life she has left, though, then she needs to be more serious about her music, which she had thought she was doing all along, except now, with this news, she feels less and less serious with each passing day. Even with reassurances from her friends that she's going to be wonderful, she feels like a serious fraud and she spends almost all her free time now writing new songs, trying to establish which ones she should play and which ones she needs to discard and she knows Curt will help her with this if she asks, but she feels like she ought to really do it on her own. To prove she can.

The only problem is that it's leaving her flustered and stressed and she still has three months to go. Right now she's trying to balance her bag and two notebooks filled with music and lyrics, a pencil clamped tightly between her teeth and a coffee in her free hand. She's just lucky she's not trying to wrangle Judith at the same time, too.

Just as she's about to cross the street, a distracted driver shoots through a red light and Beth stops short enough that she doesn't get hit, but in her surprise, her coffee goes tumbling down the front of her coat.

"Damn it," she mutters and the pencil falls to the ground, too, landing in a puddle of coffee at her feet. "God damn it."