Chapter Text
His manager at the coffee shop, Puffy, shoves something into his hands as soon as his shift ends at six p.m. on a Friday evening.
“I’ve got this friend, his name is Phil Watson, he manages a band, and they just lost their lead guitarist. I’m no talent scout, but I told him what I’ve seen from you, Tommy, and he wants to meet you.”
“Puffy, just cause I’ve filled in for Dream, like twice, doesn’t mean that I can play with an actual band,” Tommy sighed, “ I appreciate it, but it’s really not worth it.”
“Please hon, just give him a call, and try it out, it’s a good opportunity,” the older woman gave him a smile, and the blond pursed his lips.
“Okay fine. But only because you asked me to. And when I fail miserably, I am going to blame you.”
“Fine by me,” She laughed, “Now get outta here, and go rest. You’re dead on your feet.”
Tommy nodded, shrugging his bag higher onto his shoulder, and turned on his heel. He pushed out of the shop and headed down the street. He stared down at the business card. Boldly printed on it was PHIL WATSON, SYNDICATE RECORDS. It seemed a little ridiculous, and out of the blue, but that was fine. One phone call didn’t mean much anyway. He shook his head and shoved it in his back pocket, continuing his trek to his apartment.
Apparently one phone call meant a lot, actually, because here he was, sitting outside Phil Watson’s office, guitar case in hand, tapping his foot as his heart beat wildly in his chest. The man had wanted him to come in and speak to him, maybe meet the band and possibly run a few demos or play throughs with them if things went well.
“Tommy?” A pink haired woman ducked out into the hallway. “Phil said you can come in now if you’re ready.”
Entering the office, Tommy noticed that it was fucking huge. He'd never been in a room this fancy. It was mostly emerald green and black with gold embellishments, and the back wall was really just one huge window that looked out on the cityscape that was Pogtopia. He swore he could see both sides of the city from where he stood right there.
“Tommy!” Phil said, standing, and outstretching a hand for Tommy to shake, which Tommy took, trying not to stare at the large black wings that hung at the mans back, “Puffy told me about you. It’s good to meet you, I’ve heard you’re quite the guitarist.”
“Uh, tales of my musical talent are greatly exaggerated I’d say,” Tommy laughed, “Puffy’s kind of a mother figure in a sense, and I’ve played guitar in her son’s band sometimes when Dream asked, so she just likes me a lot I think.”
“Hmm, well I would still like to hear you play later, if that is an option, just to create my own opinions, if that is alright,” Phil told him, leaning back in his chair.
“Oh, um yeah sure, that’s alright.”
“The boys should be back soon, you would like to meet the other Sleepy Bois.”
“I-“
Tommy was cut off by the door swinging open and revealing four figures entering. The first one was a blur of brown hair and noise, dragging along a very tall figure with split died black and white hair. Behind him was two others. One, another with brown hair, and one with light rose colored hair.
“Sorry, didn’t realize you had company,” the pink haired guy said, arms folded over his chest.
“I mentioned I’d be interviewing a guitarist, since you all seem so prone in chasing off your others,” Phil sighed, and Tommy winced.
“We’ve been fine on our own, we make do,” the taller brown haired one, “so he could just leave now. It’s not like any of the others have been up to par anyway.”
Ouch.
“That’s Wilbur,” Phil said, brushing over what the other man's comment. Tommy nodded, and the older man pointed to the one with the pink colored hair and multiple gold piercings and tattoos. “And that’s Technoblade.”
“Call me Techno.”
“I’m Tubbo,” the shorter brown haired one stated brightly, waiving, and Tommy noticed for the first time that he had small horns poking out of his fluffy brown hair. Ram hybrid then.
“Ranboo.” The tallest one said, and Tommy surmised he must have been some kind of ender hybrid.
“Hi, I’m Tommy.”
They ended up playing through some demos. Ranboo was apparently a bassist and Tubbo played piano. They were pretty exceptional, honestly, and they seemed impressed with Tommy. Wilbur didn’t seem to be though. He rose an eyebrow at any and every hiccup, or sighed. Techno focused on the drums, and didn’t say anything. Tommy was at the end of his rope at that point.
“Seriously?” Wilbur spat. “This is like the easiest song we have.”
“Yeah well I wasn’t given this one before I got here so excuse me.” Tommy bit back, and Wilbur’s eyebrows shot up, surprised that the blond was actually fighting back for the first time that evening. “You know what, I get why your guitarists keep leaving you, you entitled prick. I came here as a favor. Fuck off. I’m leaving.”
He unplugged his guitar and packed it up, and ignored the stuttered apology that Tubbo and Ranboo tried to throw out on Wilbur’s behalf.
He exited the sound booth, holding back the urge to turn around and comfort the two other boys who sounded like they were choked with guilt. He knew it wasn't their job to apologize for their band mates actions, just like it wasn't his job to turn around and comfort them in this situation.
“Tommy can we talk for a second mate?” Phil asked, meeting him outside.
“No, I’m fucking done. Thanks for the opportunity Phil, but your main guy is an outright prick that needs to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around him. I’m gone.”
He stalked out of the building and headed straight outside where it was pouring down rain, a little angry that he had let such a good opportunity slip through his fingers. But he wasn’t going to be pushed around by some rich prick who thought he was better than him. No way.
He started his journey home, hoping the rain wasn’t going to fuck up his guitar.
Upstairs, after Tubbo and Ranboo had gone off to go sulk at the loss of yet another guitarist, Techno glared at Wilbur.
“Great job dickhead, you just let the best guitarist that’s walked in here so far walk out because you can’t get that stick out of your ass,” As Techno went to leave he turned, “You need to get it through your head that Sally isn’t coming back. To be our guitarist or your girlfriend. And we need a new one, or this is all going to crash and burn.”