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"Gull."
Farrell Seagull looked up to find Ron Monstera standing in the doorway. She lowered her trumpet. "Hey Ron, what's up?"
He jerked his head, motioning to the hallway, before retreating there himself. Ollie looked at her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. "Probably something for the upcoming art show. Think you can handle the rest of the composition?"
He waved her off. "Don’t worry, I can figure the riff out. Go see what the Fremont Troll needs."
"Thanks Ollie." She set her trumpet down, getting up.
"Keep it wavy." He called after her.
Farrell followed Ron into the hall. "You're not one to interrupt practice."
He grunted in response. He ducked into a recording studio nearby, and she followed. He shut the door behind them, leaning against the door, hunched over to fit his hulking frame into the room.
"You've been sneaking out at night."
Farrell shrugged, leaning against the mixing table, her lithe fingers brushing the board. "Oh please, Ron, I’d hardly call it sneaking out. I have art crimes to commit. The city needs more life, and who am I to deny it?"
Ron cocked an eyebrow. "Which one?"
Farrell's eyes widened at that. "I... beg your pardon?"
Ron stared her down. "Tell me, Farrell. It's important."
She looked at the recording booth, avoiding his steely gaze. She would have thought she'd be used to his... intense nature by now, but turns out getting used to an 8 foot troll man wasn't exactly easy.
"Oh, its nothing major. I just... might have stumbled upon another dimension that I've been trying to assist."
Ron squeezed the bridge of his nose with massive fingers. "Shit. Knew it. Gull, do you have any idea how bad of an idea that is?"
"I can't just leave it be, Ron. There are people there who need help." Farrell said, straightening her back. "Besides, how do you even know where I've been going? Have you been following me?"
"I can smell it on you when you come to practice the morning after. Smells like new electronics. And greed. How long have you been going?"
"I don't particularly like this interrogation, Ron. Please step off."
"That place is dangerous." His deep, gravelly voice boomed throughout the tiny room. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"Then tell me, so that I can know what it is I'm getting myself into." She said calmly. Farrell knew he meant well, always trying to keep the band out of trouble. But this was worth getting into a little trouble for.
"No."
"Ron-"
" No. Forget it exists. Do more normal art crimes here. In this city."
"I can't do that, Ron. I'm not going to sit here on my ass when there are people out there who need my help. I'm going to keep going there, with or without your help, so if you're as concerned as you sound, you'll tell me what you know. So I can be safe."
Ron sighed, rubbing his face. He stood there like that for what felt like forever.
"...Fine. First, how did you find it."
Farrell relaxed a little and fiddled with the mixing board, twisting a dial. She looked up at the ceiling. "This is going to sound a bit ridiculous."
Ron nodded.
She let out a breath. "I made good on my promise to dismantle the gum wall." She shuddered, giving him a pained look. "Do you know how dreadful it feels, getting gum off of brick? But Farrell Seagull does not back down from a challenge, so I kept at it. At one point, the gum was particularly thick, and..." she ruffled her fluffy white hair. "There wasn't any brick behind it. Just a black, swirling portal."
"So. There's a portal to another dimension. Behind the gum wall." Ron said, deadpan. "You're right. That is ridiculous." He pushed himself off the wall, lumbering over to one lined in band posters. "But I believe it. So, you went in."
Farrell nodded, though it wasn't a question. "On the other side is another Seattle. But it's ...very wrong. The sun is always in the same spot in the sky, so it is in eternal daytime. It appears that some large corporation is nearly running the place, at least from what I've been able to tell. Branding, everywhere. All gaudy eyesores."
"Is the portal just... open like that now?"
"No. Every morning it's back to being the gross gum covered monstrosity it is."
Ron turned his head to give her a look. "So you've been scraping gum off of the wall every time you go?"
"Some causes are worth the disgusting hassle."
"Must be." He stared at a poster of a rock album depicting a vast desert. "And what is it you're hoping to accomplish?"
"This... also sounds ridiculous, but I think the corporation is keeping people hostage somehow. I don't have proof yet, but the way their employees act isn't normal. I almost had a breakthrough with one of them, but their boss intercepted me before I could get anywhere."
Ron whipped around. "You've engaged with them directly?" He raised his voice, rattling the framed records on the wall.
"Yeah, I've just been selling them art. Nobody questions the interior decorator, Ron."
Ron let out a few tense breaths, another silence passing between them. Finally, he spoke.
"Know why the sun's like that?"
Farrell shook her head. "Why?"
"Godslayers killed it, pinned its corpse in place to show the world what they could do. You look close enough, you'll see the arrows."
Farrell’s eyebrows raised. "There's no way."
"How else do you explain the way the sun stays in place?" Ron traced the outline of a throne on one of the posters. “The people there don’t fuck around. Must wonder what kind of folks can actually get away with killin’ the sun.”
Farrell slumped against the mixing table, looking at the plush carpet. “That… does put things into perspective. But I’ll be hard pressed before I give up on this.”
“I know there’s no convincing you otherwise. Just know what you’re getting into.”
She looked back up to him. “How do you know all of this, even?”
"Satanic sine waves."
Farrell gave him a blank stare. He let out a long breath before he explained. "Look, I've been trying to find a way to get Jaylen back from the dead. Involves a special forbidden kind of chord. Goal is to get it to vibrate as the same frequency as the null plane, allowing us to reach into the void and get her back. Ended up getting the vibrations wrong one night. Found myself peering into the wrong dimension. Music told me the rest."
Farrell looked at him, bewildered. "Hold on a minute. You're worried about me going to... dark, weird Seattle while you're trying to raise the dead ? I would argue that's far more dangerous."
He leaned against the wall. "I... I know. That's why I'm worried about all this. We're not meant to be looking into this stuff, but here we are. Messin' with other dimensions ain't natural. There's gonna be consequences."
"...but it's worth the risk." Farrell finished.
Monstera looked at her.
“Yeah. It is.”
The two stared at one another. Both too stubborn to back down from something if it meant helping someone else. Farrell nodded.
“Well, if neither of us are going to stop our antics, we should at least help one another. You help me with Weird Seattle and I’ll help you… what was it you’re hoping to do in order to bring her back?”
“Find the M chord. To reach into the void.”
“Yes, that. I will help you find the M chord.”
"Yeah. Deal." Ron stood up. “But ‘Weird Seattle’ is not what we’re calling it.” He headed for the door.
Farrell laughed, following. “I suppose that is too on the nose. It is a rather evil looking place, we could call it ‘Dark Seattle.’”
Ron stroked his beard. “Dark Seattle… that ain’t bad. Funny, too, with all the light they get.”
Farrell stuck out her hand. “To Dark Seattle and the M Chord, then.”
Ron took it gently, shaking it. “To being too nice for our own damn good.”
Farrell laughed at that. She supposed he wasn’t wrong. She watched him lumber away, carefully avoiding some fresh art the Lil’ Roadies had hung up, and wondered if maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.