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larrydaleydaily · 2 years

Text

Not with You pt.1

Pairing: Michael Morbius x Reader

Summary: Something about being near Michael just makes you feel different, makes you feel... renewed? Working at Horizon Labs can be difficult, but it gets easier when certain coworkers help you feel more yourself.

Wordcount: hovering around 3.6k

a/n: I have literally never written anything in my life, but I was suffering from the severe lack of Morbius x reader content, so I busted out this entirely self-serving ficlet in about three hours. Shoutout to my beta reader/English teacher: @cynicalsquib , who really doesn't get the obsession but continues to enable me.

“Well, Anna, I don’t know what you want me to tell you; it looks like a penguin to me,” you sighed, gently placing the origami… thing back into the girl’s delicately cupped hands.

Anna had been demanding your attention for the past hour as she did her best to replicate the crisply-folded paper zoo that she had been collecting. And she was getting frustrated. She loved showing the stationary menagerie off to anyone who was around, which, unfortunately, didn’t include many people, given the environment…

The famous Horizon Labs, home to some of the world’s most brilliant scientists from all fields of study (you had heard that, somewhere in the tower, there was a man with eight robotic arms). Horizon was the best place for someone like little Anna, the best place for someone with debilitating diseases or physical disorders, to be. Here, she received round-the-clock care from overqualified, highly trained experts in bio-medical treatments. Which she needed, desperately. Anna was only seven years old when the illness had first manifested itself. It had started with lethargy and an unwillingness to play outside with her brother, which no one spared a second thought to. Until the fevers came. Sometimes reaching 105°F, her family knew that something was very wrong. After a long bout of specialists poking and prodding Anna, there finally came a diagnosis: Hepatitis C. Not a death sentence, but not the makings of an easy life. Because of her age, no physician wanted to put her through the toil of dozens of pills per day, but there was truly no other way to manage her disorder. Until Max Modell caught wind of her case. CEO of Horizon Labs, and an honest-to-God hero of the scientific community. Modell brought Anna to the central Horizon location, deep in the heart of Manhattan, and made sure to outfit Lab Floor Six with the best equipment his money could buy, funding the research of many an experimental doctor. Which is where you came in. Kinda.

You were a zoographist and botanical researcher, meaning you really knew your fauna and flora, which was incredibly useful to more than a few scientists in the building. Tiberius Stone, the electro-magnetic tinkerer from Lab Floor Seven, had asked for your help in orchestrating an experiment called “Alpha” (what a vague and not-at-all helpful name, you had thought). Doctor Aribella Fishbach, Nobel Peace prize winning ecologist, damn near talked your ear off about helping her create a biodegradable, near-zero waste tire prototype until you gave in. You had even lended a hand to Peter Parker with his unstable “Cryo Cube 900”, adding a naturally occurring antithermalite to the casing of the creation, though you’re pretty sure he’s still tinkering with that one. Needless to say, you were useful on almost every floor of Horizon, which suited you nicely, as it gave you a lot of options for what you wanted to do on any given day, as long as your own deadlines were met.

What were you working on? That was hard to answer. You were convinced that certain species in the arctic circle had… odd… evolutionary nuances from their counterparts in other climates. There was evidence of a polar bear with wings. It was- it was unheard of and, as far as you had found, unimagined by the likes of most civilizations, ancient or otherwise. Regardless, you had been pulled from your own endeavors by every other goddamn researcher in the building for so long that you had mostly abandoned your own office, choosing instead to work with others, milling about their desks and workstations to assist with whatever they needed, picking up some skills and interests along the way- it could get lonely- working hunched over a pile of zoological diagrams that didn’t add up. Knowing that your work wasn’t saving any lives. Unlike the work of a certain hematologist that made your heart leap into your throat. Your friend, the doctor that actually made you want to quit your job so that you could just follow him around all day every day, hanging on to every word he uttered.

Doctor Michael Morbius, the self-proclaimed “Doctor Death” (a joking title that may or may not have caused Max Modell to double over laughing during a press conference preceding Michael’s Nobel nomination). He was…how to put this gently? The most enthralling person you knew? Forgetting the fact that he was painfully beautiful, as you often had to force yourself to ignore, he was just charming. His alarmingly quick wit that always caught you off guard and caused involuntary blabbering from you, his devastatingly unmatchable intelligence, and- you know what? No, you can’t ignore how pretty he is, because that’s a huge thing too- His eyes are just fucking piercing, like he could stare through your very soul with ice-cold intensity, daring your resistance to slip for even a fraction of a second so that he could analyze whatever unhinged thought leaked from your mind. The pale pallor of his skin, while clearly not healthy, created an almost marble-like, statuesque appearance, as though his jarringly high cheekbones and annoyingly smooth, clear skin were carved from stone. And his hair! Why did he have to take care of it so well? The first time you saw him take his hair down from its usual low bun, you quite literally stumbled over your own feet, earning you the title “Bambi” from his friend and colleague Doctor Martine Bancroft, who told you after the fact that you had looked like a baby deer caught in headlights. Speaking of which…

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” Stealing you from your reverie, Martine looked exceptionally smug as she leaned against the doorframe to Anna’s room, taking in the sight of Anna ferociously folding a piece of paper that you may or may not have nabbed from nurse Sutton’s desk, and you, frozen in place, eyes wide and a poorly-shaped paper pyramid in your hands. She smirked at the terrible attempt to replicate Michael’s delicate craftsmanship in your cupped palms, then slid her eyes over to Anna. Beginning to read vital monitors and charts that you really didn’t understand, Martine plucked the sad excuse for a project out of your hands and absentmindedly fiddled with it.

“She’s helping me make more of my army,” Anna replied with zero sarcasm in her voice, not taking her eyes off of her current task of fixing the “penguin” she deemed not perfect enough.

Such a strong girl, you thought with a little smile.

“Is she now? Bambi, why are you helping my patient conquer Dr. Morbius’ paper squad? Well- helping in the loosest sense, because what even is this?” She held up the lump. You took a second to stare sheepishly at the little creation she clutched before clearing your throat to answer.

“See, Anna beat me at chess-”

“Again?”

“Shut up and let me finish.” Both Anna and Martine laughed at that one. “As I was saying, Anna beat me, and I told her that she could have whatever she wanted as a prize for her victory-”

Anna finally looked up from her work to stare straight into Martine’s eyes; “I asked for a motorcycle.”

“-Which I obviously can’t give her, she’s not old enough for her license, so she settled on enlisting my… help,” you looked at your pitiful attempt, “in trying to take down Dr. Morbius and his animals.” You’d think that working in the field of animal anatomy that you could make some stupid animals a little better, but, sadly, that was not the case.

“Okay, then, Anna, answer me this: why do you want to take on Dr. Morbius’ paper crew?” Martine raised an eyebrow, along with a very good point. You actually didn’t know the answer to this.

Anna shrugged as much as she could, eyes returning to her project and grimacing when her IV held her back a little. “Dunno. Just want to show him that I can do cool stuff, too. Surprise him like he always surprises me with them?”

You did your damnedest not to well up at that. Being reminded of how sweet this girl could be is hard.

Letting out a little “Ha!” of delight, she held up what was definitively an emperor penguin. You and Martine shared a smile and looked on in pride. Until you heard the distinctive noise of incoming crutches. Expression blanking momentarily, Anna hurriedly rounded up her small collection of origami animals and tried to shove them under her pillow. When that didn’t work, Martine scooped a couple up into her lab coat, including your pyramid creature, and you snatched a few to hide in Anna’s bedside table, the three of you frantically hiding the evidence of Anna’s new hobby from the approaching doctor.

You were just shutting the drawer of the little stand when Michael rounded the corner to look into the room. He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone but Anna to be in the small space, but he really wasn’t expecting the three of you to be staring straight at him with noticeably forced smiles on your faces in not-at-all fake and totally-natural positions. He looked taken aback for a second before a truly heart-stopping smile curled his lips. He took the little trio in with a look of pure familiarity and humor, nodding to himself.

“So… seems like the doctors are already in, apparently,” he breathed out with a small chuckle. Soft spoken, as always. He moved into the room with little difficulty, looking no worse for wear than he normally did. Easing himself onto the foot of Anna’s bed on the same side you were sat in the adjacent chair, he began scanning the same charts Martine had a few moments before. Seeming satisfied with what he saw there, he wheeled his head around to look at each Martine, Anna, and then you, curiosity and suspicion growing with each successive face. The three of you did your best to maintain expressions void of anything he could use against you, which of course ended up with you and Anna emphatically and pointedly ignoring Dr. Morbius’ eyes in the most obvious manner possible. Catching each others’ eyes, you had to press your lips together in a poor attempt to suppress a laugh. Anna did no such thing.

Anna’s sudden screams of laughter had the three adults in the room falling apart in a nanosecond, each of you trying desperately to stifle some of the very loud gasps for air your laughing fits were leaving you with. It was good to get Anna to laugh- she needed it. As for you, you were also exceedingly glad for the excuse to watch pure delight erupt onto Michael’s face, laughs coming from deep inside his narrow chest and bringing an extraordinary light to his whole body. You leaned onto Anna’s bed for support as you came down from the sudden high, and buried your face into her sheets in order to take a second to catch your breath. Martine had somehow ended up on the floor next to the bed on the opposite side, hand to her mouth to try and cover the smile. The four of you took the silent minute to just breathe and relax. It was nice.

Until a small beeping sound broke the fond quiet in the little room, causing you to lift your head. Martine’s pager, you guessed. A guess that was immediately gratified when she sighed and hauled herself to her feet, turning to Anna with a light frown.

“I’ve got to go. Lily needs something, and you know her- she’ll start throwing things at anyone who passes her room until she gets what she wants,” she said with fake disdain in her voice, a real smile reaching her eyes. “You let me know if you need anything, too, okay?” She put a hand on Anna’s shoulder and gave a gentle grin before shooting you and Michael a look of ‘get out of here and let her rest’. Anna nodded in agreement and waved Martine goodbye, looking to the two remaining doctors in the room. You dropped your head forward and let it hang there, knowing what was waiting for you once you took one step out that door: the commute home through New York on a Friday night. In other words? Hell. Luckily, someone caught your look before Anna could. He nudged you with his right foot, eliciting a small jump from you, which he noted and swallowed a smirk at.

“Okay, Anna. It is officially bedtime for the both of us, meaning it is absolutely bedtime for you,” he said, pitching himself forward onto his crutches to stand and look at Anna with all the fondness in the world.

“Why should I be forced to have a curfew when I’m dying here?” Anna protested, throwing her free hand up into the air.

“I’m sorry, but if all of these guys,” Michael motions a hand towards you and towards the door, following Martine’s departure, “force me, another rapidly dying person, to go to bed at a reasonable hour, I feel zero shame making you do it, too.”

You roll your eyes at Doctor Death’s comment and chose to ignore it as you addressed Anna, too.

“Listen, if you want to ride that motorcycle I owe you, you’ve got to rest and heal,” you soothed, swiftly standing and raising her covers up a little higher than where they had fallen.

Anna’s eyes lit up at the mention of her waiting prize, and her grumbling subsided as Michael turned down the lights in her room. The two of you left, him first and you following. You slid the door to Anna’s room closed about halfway, leaving it open for the night watch nurses to get in. Turning to the good doctor behind you, you found him smiling at the floor. No, not at the floor, at something on the floor. A closer look granted you the image of… a… lopsided… pyramid. Embarrassment seized you as you hurled yourself down on one knee to snatch the little failure away from his knowing eyes, but you knew he had already seen it.

“Damn you and your lab coat pocket holes, Martine,” you groaned, not meeting Michael’s eyes as you stood from your position on the floor. You heard him reveling in polite hilarity and couldn’t even look in his direction, feeling your cheeks burn red-hot at the thought of him knowing you had tried and failed to emulate one of his little hobbies. Moving your arm with the intent to stuff the piece of rubbish into your jacket pocket, you felt a hand seize your forearm and had to adamantly suppress a shiver. You turned your head to watch as you felt the same hand move down to your own, where the paper was clutched in your iron grip. Except, as it turns out, no part of your body could deny Michael what he wants, and your once-stiff fingers betrayed you by uncurling and allowing his own slender fingers access to the little note. The exchange took maybe less than five seconds, but his hand dragging against your arm seemed to slow time to a standstill for you. The sounds of the busy hospital floor around you both hushed, allowing you two a miniscule bubble of Eden amidst the chaos of your fast-paced lives. Before he actually took the damned paper from your hand and held it up to inspect it closer. The sounds of Lab Floor Six resumed, and your bubble burst.

“Contrary to the popular notion, you don’t seem happy that we get to go home now,” Michael mused, still studying your creation held between his middle finger and his thumb. You hesitated a moment, deciding which answer seemed the least pathetic between well if it was actually WE it would be fine and actually, I just hate going through the city alone. You permitted yourself a brief second to imagine what it would be like to actually go home with him, to catch a cab together, make your way to a shared apartment and argue about who would make what for dinner, call it even and just order in so that you could settle on the couch together and just bask in each other. You shook your head to clear the pitiful thoughts of longing from the forefront of your mind (because those images never truly left you), and finally glanced at his light but pensive expression.

“Contrary to the popular notion, I actually happen to like my job and the people I work with,” you replied, as casually as you could manage. Which ended up decidedly not casual as his focus shifted from your pyramid to directly into your eyes, catching you staring at him. You quickly cleared your throat and spoke again, “plus, you know, this city is rough and I kind of hate going home the way I have to.”

“What’s the way that you ‘have to’ go home?” Every question he asks is so hushed, you felt compelled to lean in to be able to fully hear him.

Blinking away what you could only guess to be literal hearts coming out of your eyes, you told him of the complicated series of subways you had to take to go home in order to avoid the street, which made you nervous to travel on alone, despite the years you’ve lived in the city.

He seemed to digest your answer, turned his head away, and smiled to himself, satisfied with the response, and, much to your dismay, pocketed your origami attempt. He hummed as he thought to himself, expression dropping to one of contemplation as he focused himself inwards. It’s not rare to see Michael in this state, but it is unique for you to see it up close, with the excuse to stare at him like this and not feel like you’re gawking. You stayed like that another minute, standing together outside Anna’s room, him pondering hard on something and you just blatantly admiring him for it. He pulled himself out of whatever reverie he had himself in and refocused his gaze on you, having made up his mind. Sharp eyes bored into your curious ones, shattering whatever thought process you had going on.

“I’ll take you home,” he stated simply.

If you could find the correct way to explain how much you inwardly reeled at that, you would. As it is, all you know is that it took everything in you to be able to maintain your composure, breath catching in your lungs and your pulse skyrocketing at the thought of being driven home…by… him…? Wait, how did he even get home? Could he drive? How did you not know this?

He laughed.

“Jurgen helped me create a system to allow me to drive with some assistance. I’d wager you didn’t know that because I don’t like having others in the car with me, in case the mechanism faults,” he murmurs.

“Shit, did I actually say that out loud?” you blurted, eyes going wide. “Because the other explanation is that you can read minds which would make sense sometimes.”

He shook his head, letting a small sound of amusement out at your question.

Of course you had said it aloud, dumbass.

You coughed in an attempt to transition the conversation to something else, anything else.

“So if you don’t like having people along with you then why are you inviting me? Clearly you don’t care for your safety but I’d have never guessed you don’t care for mine,” you teased.

That got his head to snap towards you, expression stricter than has ever been directed at you.

“Of course I care about your safety, but I know you won’t distract me too much, or hover over me and backseat drive. Others would take my focus away from what is actually a rather simple task, but you’re much easier to exist with.”

That knocked the air right out of you, though for better or worse you can’t tell. Should you be upset that you don’t even offer the devastating doctor a modicum of temptation for distraction, or overjoyed that he is willing to break a personal rule of his for you? While you filed away the former in your mind to deal with at a later date, the latter fully possessed your body.

Tipping your head to the side, allowing a small victory smile to grace your face, you asked, “So that's why you prefer a smaller team, to limit distractions? I didn’t know people had that effect on you, made you feel like that.”

He cocked his head to the side, mirroring your own as he gazed out of a nearby window to consider his answer.

“I feel suffocated with large groups of people, like they’re expecting one of two things from me: to keel over right then and there, or to spout some genius idea that’ll save more lives. I don’t like all of that pressure. So, I limit myself to a few relationships in order to not feel the compounding effect of all of their expectations.”

“All of… ‘their’ expectations? So you don’t feel that pressure with some of us?” You were basically holding your breath at this point to hear every second of his response.

He turned his head back to you with a trusting smirk.

“Not with you.”

#michael morbius x reader #michael morbius #morbius 2022 #fuck_jared_leto #michael morbius the living vampire #morbius

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lachansonceleste · 7 years

Link

Fishbach : « Je n’ai pas de filtre »

Interviews

Écrit par Ronan le 09.02.2017

http://sourdoreille.net/fishbach-je-nai-pas-de-filtre/

Quand on écoute un artiste plusieurs fois par intérêt, c’est une découverte. Quand on l’écoute par pulsions et envies répétitives, cela devient une obsession. Le phénomène est classique. Il devient cependant plus troublant quand, à la base, on n’aime pas spécialement le kitsh de la chanson française des années 80 et qu’on devient accroc à Fishbach. Force est de reconnaître alors une chose qui a pris, ces derniers mois, la forme de l’évidence : ce bout de femme a un talent hors-norme. A l’aube d’un premier album intitulé A ta merci, il était peut-être temps de rencontrer cette Ardennaise qui assume tout et ne craint rien, et dont le potentiel est déjà comparé aux plus grandes.

Les deux premières phrases que j’ai écrites sur toi étaient : « Peu importe la carrière qu’elle fera, cette femme est foutue. Elle sera toujours comparée à Catherine Ringer. » En fait, j’avais tort. Peut-être que t’es quand même foutue, mais pas à cause d’elle, en tout cas.

C’est ce que tu pensais ? Que je m’en étais inspiré ?

Oui, que tu avais grandi avec elle et qu’on échappe jamais ensuite à ses matrices. Comme d’autres ont été biberonnés à Noir Désir, par exemple.

Je n’ai aucun biberon, moi. J’ai commencé à composer avant qu’on ne me compare à Catherine Ringer. Une fois, avec mon ancien groupe Most Agadn’t, je chante à fond, je sors de scène et une personne du public me dit : « Ah, vous avez beaucoup écouté Catherine Ringer » Je lui ai répondu : « Mais c’est qui ?« Alors j’ai écouté et j’ai pris une balle. Mais j’ai découvert super tard. Trop tard en fait, car je chantais déjà comme ça. Je n’allais de toute façon pas faire machine arrière. Mais chanter de cette manière, c’est comme un sport, quel plaisir ! Comme les gens qui adorent courir et qui font un bon 100 mètres. Ce n’est pas un petit footing. C’est court mais super intense.

A l’écoute du disque, une influence insoupçonnée émerge tout de même : Daniel Balavoine. Plus particulièrement sur le tire de clôture qui donne son nom à l’album : « A ta merci ».

Je ne sais pas pourquoi je ne le cite jamais. Cela fait un moment que je l’écoute. Quand j’étais plus jeune, le chanteur me choquait un peu, avec des phrases comme « ils diront que j’suis pédé », etc. Oui, c’était un petit choc. Après, je me suis intéressée à toutes ses chansons, dont certaines sont sombres et étonnantes. Sa carrière est bizarre, avec un début mitigé où il a cherché sa voix. Par ces mélodies, ses personnages, c’est vraiment un homme qui me fascine. C’est mon petit chouchou. Au niveau mélodies, je ne sais pas s’il existe quelque chose de mieux que « Tous les cris les SOS« . Je suis un peu dégoûtée depuis que Zaz l’a reprise, d’ailleurs. Dur.

Je comprends ceux qui cherchent une oeuvre complète, avec un fil rouge. Il n’est pas exclu que je procède ainsi un jour, car j’aime aussi ces disques-là. Mais je suis plus complexe que ça dans ma musique, dans ma personnalité.

Ta musique est clivante. On te trouve soit fascinante, soit insupportable. En as-tu conscience?

Oui, je comprends. Même quand j’étais gamine, c’était le cas. Par ma personnalité, par ce que je suis. Même moi, je n’aime pas tout ce que j’ai fait, mais ça ne laisse pas insensible. La musique, ça sert à ça. Je te parlais à l’instant de Zaz, qui est très énervante pour beaucoup de gens. Elle a réussi quand même. Moi, je peux comprendre car je chante fort, j’en fais des caisses. Il y a de des gens qui n’aiment tout simplement pas ça, à qui ça fait peur voire que ça dégoûte. C’est une question de vibrations. Comme ces odeurs qu’on aime ou pas chez des gens. Les voix, c’est comme les parfums. Parfois, tu as envie de suivre quelqu’un tellement il sent bon. Parfois, même si ça sent bon, même si c’est un parfum, tu n’y peux rien mais ça te dégoûte. Pourtant, la personne est sympa et te parle très bien. Tu ne décides pas mais tu peux évoluer : par exemple, au début, je n’aimais pas Mylène Farmer, et même Gainsbourg. Je ne connaissais que Gainsbarre. Il y a donc ceux qui ne m’aimaient pas et qui se sont mis à m’aimer, et il y a ceux qui ne m’aimeront jamais et tant mieux.

Tu inspires ce sentiment ambivalent d’attraction/répulsion.

Je suis contente de ça. Si ma musique ne faisait rien à personne… Je préfère ceux qui m’expliquent pourquoi ils n’aiment pas ma musique. Parfois, ils ont une explication. Parfois, cela ne parle tout simplement pas à leur cœur. Ils n’ont pas peur de me le dire, c’est cool. Même si moi, je n’ai rien demandé à personne. Par contre, je préfère qu’on me le dise de vive voix plutôt que sur internet. Sur le web, les gens se permettent de donner un avis sur tout. Je ne comprends pas cette époque.

Cela dit, ton objectif, après tout, n’est pas de rassembler.

Non. Mais Brel disait qu’on est des aspirines, en faisant du bien le temps d’une chanson ou d’un concert. Bah voilà, certains sont sensibles au Doliprane, d’autres préfèrent les Efferalgan.

Tu assumes ton disque comme protéiforme. C’est peu commun. Et la sacro-sainte cohérence vantée par tant d’autres, alors ? Tu n’as pas eu peur de la dispersion ?

Non, au contraire. Je comprends ceux qui cherchent une œuvre complète, avec un fil rouge. Il n’est pas exclu que je procède ainsi un jour, car j’aime aussi ces disques-là. Mais je suis plus complexe que ça dans ma musique, dans ma personnalité. J’avais commencé ce processus pour l’EP, je continue avec l’album. Je m’ennuie très vite et je suis plein de choses à la fois, avec plein d’influences comme beaucoup de gens de ma génération. En ce moment par exemple, je traverse une période glam rock. Alors je vais faire des morceaux glam rock parce que j’en ai envie. Cet album retrace trois ans d’écriture. Il y a eu des moments new-wave 80’s, d’autres plus pop. Ce sont différents moments de ma vie que j’assume complètement. Quand je suis arrivée en studio, les maquettes étaient déjà faites avec ce truc seventies. On a même appuyé le propos et les différents styles. C’est peut-être aussi lié au fait que ça soit ton premier disque, qui regarde dans le rétro sur trois ans. Tu es encore une artiste en construction, en mutation. Le deuxième sera peut-être plus homogène car écrit plus rapidement.

Certainement, mais j’aimerais continuer ainsi, en écrivant au fur et a mesure. Là, par exemple, j’ai déjà de quoi enregistrer un deuxième album. (Elle marque une pause). Tiens, prend le deuxième album de MGMT. Je le trouve fabuleux, à la fois déconstruit et cohérent. C’est un exemple d’album à suivre, selon moi.

Je l’ai trouvé prétentieux.

Il était ambitieux, je sais qu’il a divisé. A titre perso, je l’ai trouvé superbe.

« J’utilise le mot comme instrument. Ce qui m’intéresse, c’est sa musicalité. Je n’articule pas très bien, je viens du Nord, ma mère parle super vite et je mâche mes mots. »

Il y a un morceau de l’EP qui tu as choisi de garder, c’est « Mortel ». Pourquoi celui-là, en particulier ?

Parce qu’il est super important pour moi. Même si c’est devenu mon morceau le plus connu, ça me saoule pas du tout. Je prends un énorme plaisir à le chanter. Il y a des gens qui vont me découvrir avec l’album. Ceux qui me connaissent déjà préféreront la version précédente. C’est normal, on préfère toujours la première version. Je n’aime pas la deuxième version de « La Planche » sur l’album de La Femme. C’est comme ça, on s’habitue trop vite. Sur « Mortel », j’ai refait une voix et le mix a changé.

C’est une chanson parue à un moment spécial de l’Histoire de France et de ma vie, le 6 novembre 2015, quelques jours avant les attentats. Cela a résonné chez les gens. Pas en moi, bien sûr car je ne l’avais pas écrit pour ça. Beaucoup m’ont écrit pour me parler de ce refrain. Cela m’a touché et je ne l’interprète plus de la même manière. Quand je le chante, je vois le public le chanter avec moi, il y a une sorte de liesse triste. J’ai vu des gens se prendre dans les bras et chanter ensemble. Je voyais que ça leur faisait du bien. Mais d’un autre côté, je sentais bien que ce n’était pas la joie. C’était fort. Maintenant, ce morceau compte.

Puisqu’on parle de textes, ils sont assez abstraits. Sur l’EP, je ne distinguais pas tout, même au sens strictement littéral. J’ai décidé de ne pas aller voir les paroles.

Ah, ça me fait plaisir. Je préfère. Mais c’est étonnant pour un chant français. Tout le monde te comprend, mais en fait, au fond, personne ne te comprend. Comme tu ne chantes pas en anglais, c’est la couverture que tu as trouvé ?

J’utilise le mot comme instrument. Ce qui m’intéresse, c’est sa musicalité. Je n’articule pas très bien, je viens du Nord, ma mère parle super vite et je mâche mes mots, je bafouille. J’aime bien chanter en français avec une influence anglo-saxonne. Après tout, je n’écoute la musique française que depuis cinq ans. Quand j’écoute Christophe et que je le comprends pas, ça ne me dérange pas. Ou quand j’écoute Moodoïd et que je ne pige pas un traître mot de ce qu’il dit, je m’en fous. Le mot est une excuse. Evidemment, si le fond appuie l’émotion, c’est fabuleux. Plus ça va, plus j’accorde d’importance à l’intelligibilité du mot. Mais c’est bien de garder le petit doute pour que les gens viennent te dire : « Mais tu dis quoi, exactement. Ces ‘tirs au hasard’ ou ‘séduire au hasard’ ? » Tu peux choisir ce que tu entends et ça me plaît. Parfois, c’est juste une erreur d’articulation. Parfois, c’est presque intentionnel pour laisser une libre interprétation.

Je garderai ce petit côté punk, notamment dans le processus autonome. Je veux apprendre à tout faire moi-même.

C’est déjà mieux sur le disque que sur l’EP.

Tu sais pourquoi ? Sur l’EP, j’ai fait les voix toute seule, dans ma chambre, c’est dégueulasse. Avec beaucoup de reverb car j’adore ça. Sur le disque, c’est plus distinct. J’ai fait beaucoup plus d’efforts, dans une cabine d’enregistrement. Je n’étais plus dans mon pieu.

Il reste quoi justement de cette époque Most Agadn’t, que tu qualifies de punk ?

Je dis ça pour la romance. Notre musique n’était pas punk, mais l’intention, oui. Et la manière dont ça s’est construit et dont on se gérait, oui. Baptiste [l’autre membre du duo, ndlr] m’a tout appris, c’est lui qui m’a donné confiance, transmis des valeurs. Mais quand j’y repense, Baptiste était un punk, dans l’appréhension de la scène, dans le processus de travail. Je garderai ce petit côté, notamment dans le processus autonome. Je veux apprendre à tout faire moi-même.

En couverture des Inrocks, encensée par Télérama, etc, etc. Ton statut change à une vitesse folle, comment vis-tu ça ?

Je n’ai pas encore eu le temps d’y penser. Après la création des Trans Musicales, j’ai été malade et j’ai pas eu le temps de beaucoup me reposer. Mais je sens bien que mon agenda se remplit. C’est hallucinant, après toute cette période de travail en solitaire.

C’est parfois violent ?

C’est d’abord gentil, car on s’intéresse à ma musique. Tellement de musiciens composent sans qu’on ne s’intéresse à eux. Même s’il y a des gens anti-succès, à partir du moment où tu fais des disques et de la scène, ce n’est pas pour le garder pour toi. Parfois seulement, je me dis que je ferais mieux de composer dans mon studio plutôt que parler de mon truc, mais sinon c’est tout. Parce que j’aime écrire tout le temps, c’est ce que j’ai toujours aimé. Je ne veux pas changer ça. Je ne peux pas faire autrement, de toute façon. Les gens le verraient. Et puis je n’ai pas de filtre, je ne vais pas me faire passer pour une fille que je ne suis pas.

Crédits photos : Yann Morisson

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Écrit par Ronan

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