Work Text:
Grian desperately needed a change. He was, quite frankly, going insane. The permit office was singlehandedly, the worst thing he'd ever been a part of. Yes, it was open for one day a week, and yes it was only open for an hour anyways, but it was miserable. It was stupidly futile and so, so, boring.
Needless to say, his life was... mundane. He'd open the permit office, do some fishing outside his questionable excuse of an apartment (near the river, so frightfully shabby - he had to fish somewhere, however!), and half-heartedly attempt to play guitar (and fail, everytime). That was it, almost as if he was living in some perpetual, incessant loop forced upon him by someone out for his blood.
Turns out, however, handling a permit office makes you very employable in the music industry. How? Grian has no clue. Literally no idea, its alarming somewhat, because those two careers don't even align. Apparently it 'makes you good at handling money'. Which he questions, because he doesn't even handle money.
Head of Publicity, which sounds embarrassingly official and fancy, but he wouldn't be in this position if he hadn’t been practically pushed into it head first by his closest friend, secret keeper, and enabler, Mumbo. So, if Grian has anyone to blame for this predicament, it's him. He's not even sure what he's meant to do in his role, truth be told. His boss, and for some reason the Buisness Manager - though she clearly struggles with budgeting her own income - Gemini Tay, told him that emailing people to ask about poster designs and articles would be good enough. He does that, and not much more. There's not much to do when you work for a band you don't exactly know. The music is.. okay, he's heard it on the radio from time to time. It's catchy, he's caught himself humming it, and hey, to say the lead singer hasn't caught his eye would be a lie. It's not a crush if he's just looking up to the guy who made it possible for him to leave the hellhole of permit handling.
His co-workers are questionable. Gem's assistant, Joel Beans, who is definitely, undeniably nearing some maniacal sort of insanity, pesters him more often than not. And has a terrifying obsession with the band's bassist. He's not even met the poor guy, it's concerning.
In his silly opinion, he gets on quite well with the guy who proclaims himself king of the office, and also designs all their album covers. Bdubs is dangerously energetic, cannot be controlled, no matter how hard anyone tries, but has a sharp, creative mind to make up for it.
Much better than the permit office. Anything would be, actually.
----
It's a strangely quiet day in the building, save for the quiet, melodic rock of Monopoly Mountain playing through the speakers. Joel is sat at his desk, not doing much, gushing over Etho Slab, which isn't anything new. Grian finds this display of.. whatever it is, deeply disturbing. Will he say anything? No. Is it off-putting? Yes. That being said, it stops him annoying everyone else, maybe it's a saving grace.
The infamously rookie event co-ordinater and schedule planner, Scott Smajor, is pacing, hands running through his glaringly blue hair. At first, Grian was in half a mind to ask if it was natural. Permit delirium, is all.
Bdubs is, somewhere, doing something, actually, there's a good chance he hasn't turned up today, he was going on about his horse needing a good cleaning. Grian, in his stammering self-confidence and overlooming fear of horses, smiled and nodded.
Joel rushes out to call his wife, something about impulsively buying a cat on Craigslist? He's learning to not question anything the longer he's here.
Gem rushes out her office, practically running full speed at Grian, oh, no, she is running.
"Grian! Grian! Come with me, it's urgent, like, life or death- okay, maybe not that important but I need you!"
It's nine in the morning. He's just sat down with his coffee, he was excited, or as excited as one could be in this situation, for a day of doing nothing and messaging back and forth in a text chain with Mumbo and Skizz. That's that plan out of the window.
"Yeah- yeah okay, I'm coming."
He follows her into her office, it is disgustingly white and the lights are annoyingly bright, the entire building, as small as it is, reeks of rented property. Which it is, so, there's that.
On Gem's laptop screen are the faces of two, very much pretending to be angry, but are clearly the opposite, men. They're on mute, whispering between themselves.
"They're the big bosses- not the big bosses, but they sort of organise all the concerts for the band and make Scott do the little gigs and it's this whole thing. Anyways, that's Ren," Gem pauses, gesturing to a man with a bushy, out of control mustache. He could do with some tips from Mumbo, Grian thinks, which is ironic, probably, because he's had Mumbo give him advice on it before. "and that's Martyn," She points to a smaller, blond man next to Ren, who really does appear to be the epitome of happiness, despite how annoyed he's trying to appear, but how upset can a man look when he's evidently wearing his pajamas?
"I know Ren, Gem, I told you this when you hired me, because he was in the room, you remember that, right?" He smirks, not fully there, he's exhausted, but he'll persevere.
"Oh, of course, uh-huh," She sighs, clicking unmute on the laptop. And lord, if that isn't a whole lot of waffle.
Something about Cleo- yeah no, he's lost it.
"Basically, what Ren's trying to say is," Martyn begins, voice static as it comes through the speakers, the wifi in this place is nothing short of abysmal. "Cleo, the lead guitarist of Monopoly Mountain, y'know, the band we all work for, has taken ill, again. And he's starting to think maybe he just hates her job, but anyways, she's ill. And well, no guitarist, no world tour."
It is very much not a world tour, thank you Very much. Grian's saw the schedule, it's ten states and two festivals in the UK and Germany, so yeah, by no definition a world tour, but he supposes they can call it whatever they want.
"And that’s why we need you to step in, Grian." Martyn finishes with a sigh, as if he'd been talking for much longer than anticipated.
Grian frowns, light-brown brows meeting together in a furrow. "You what?"
Appears he hadn’t been listening, which he hadn’t, he'd been working out the logistics of a world tour.
"Yeah! I told them you play guitar recreationally sometimes, and that you're really totally super good at it, and you're super sociable, plus you've met them, so!"
"I play one song, one song, Gem! And I play it terribly at that!" Grian replies, panic clear as day in his voice. "Sociable? I have like two frie- whatever. I- yeah, okay, sure. But I've not met them! I've talked to Jimmy once! At a wedding!"
----
Suits are painfully uncomfortable. He's briefly reminded of his high school days, shirt buttoned to the neck, tie restricting his airways. Subpar memories. He's not even sure why he's at the wedding. Okay, yeah, he knows BigB and that's sort of awkward considering.. uh, everything. Ren's a great guy too, all lighthearted and just slightly sardonic at times. Though, he can't help but see their marriage as one of convenience than anything else. Not his place to comment, however, so he refrains, no matter how hard he's chewing at his lip to just say something, anything. Not out of spite or jealousy, no, he just.. doesn't see the chemistry. They're happy. That's all that matters.
"Grian, dude, you made it!" Ah, there it is, Ren's charming, enthusiastic voice pouncing on him from behind, ensnarling him like a vine round a centuries old house. Needless to say, Grian was only slightly terrified of how captivating Ren was. Something weird and entrancing about him, Grian, for one, may go as far to describe him as enchanting, but that's far too mystical and fanatical. So he doesn't. He doesn't do a lot of things for this reason; his track record with romance is a beautiful reminder of this.
"Yeah, I wouldn't miss it, Ren, course not!" He replies, grin plastered on his face, though, if Ren, or anyone for that matter, we're to look closer, they'd find that it's only somewhat faltering, slowly slipping into a thin line, he's showing a lot of restraint. And wow, if this wedding wasn't already a show of style and taste, Ren has certainly planted the seed for it being just that, because the crimson red suit, complete with delicate little spirals scattered throughout is certainly magical.
Ren smiles back, pats his hand on Grian's shoulder a few times and walks away. Brief, concise, too the point, just as he'd always been. If Grian were to be truthful to himself, he's only came here to see BigB. No one else needs to know that, though.
Grian's never seen him before. Shaggy blond hair, sunglasses, and is that.. a denim jacket at a wedding? He's only been to a few, but weddings were events of respect and class, right? Surely rocking up in double denim with combat boots was the opposite of that? Either way, he's thoroughly intrigued.
Maybe walking up to him is a bad idea. Maybe he's some member of a gang out for blood. No, that's stupid, who'd do that at a wedding?
"Hi, I don't think we've met. I'm Grian." He offers a hand, albeit a slightly clammy, shaking one, but he's never been good with social interaction so this is the best anyone's gonna get.
"Uh, oh, hey. Jimmy." He doesn't reciprocate the handshake, instead patting his shoulder. Seriously? This suit was rented, any marks and he'd not get that deposit back, and rent is pretty important, all things considered. "So, how d'ya know the husbands-to-be?
He was anticipating this, the awkward exchange of how they knew everyone. Silently wishing for a tsunami to crash and destroy this whole affair may be slightly spiteful, but he's not good with people, proven by the fact his closest and only real friends are two guys he got paired with in lab one day because he hated everyone else.
"Yeah- well, they're both just school friends, really. BigB and I, we were like super clo- that doesn't matter. School friends, yeah."
Stop rambling, Grian, this complete stranger doesn't want to hear your backstory of how you know two guys. He frets slightly at the fact this is the.. fourth time he's told himself this today. Great.
Jimmy nods. Shrugs, as if this was a completely casual and not at all surprising thing to say, "Ren used to play in our band, and then life happened, got stolen by some corporate guy to handle a marketing company. Sad honestly. Had potential."
Right, because that's just something people have in their repertoire of stories.
"You're in a band? That's.." Grian doesn't really listen to recent music, it's all old-timey stuff on his well-worn turntable. "totally rad."
Why'd he say that. Rad? What is he, some new age adult trying to fit in with the kids? Goodness gracious. Mentally berating himself won't get him anywhere, however, so that falls awkwardly short.
Luckily, Jimmy, sort of like a bell signifying the end of class, is his saviour. He laughs.
"Yeah, guess it is! No one's really been that interested in it, but y'know, s'just a side hustle 'till we get everything sorted out."
"Right yeah, well, uh. Keep it up? I'm sure it's great." What else is he meant to say, a total stranger is telling him his band is failing, what's he gonna do?
"Thanks mate, honestly, really appreciate it. Not everyday you hear that, especially from random people you've just met."
Grian smiles, nods, offers a thumbs up, before hastily sliding past Jimmy. He seems like a nice guy. Though, he's definitely more pre-occupied with finding BigB and somehow trying to telepathically communicate that somewhere down the line he's going to regret this and he should've just stayed with Grian because they could've had a life togeth-
----
Grian snaps back to the present, staring at Gem, pupils blown, face blank, if his fear wasn't evident, it sure is now.
"C'mon Grian, if no one can step in, they can't tour and they've sold out, like, three stadiums!" Gem pleads, puppy dog eyes and all, it works quite well in other ordeals.
"I- I mean, Ren," He starts, turning to the laptop, "you know how I get, I'm not the best socially and on a stage is..." terrifying, daunting, probably catastrophic.
"I know dude, but you're like, our only option, you can play, and even if it's not the best, Jimmy can teach you, electric isn't too different. If we just got some random dude who was good, but didn't know the music or the band, just imagine!" There's a twinge of resignation to Ren's tone, as if he knows Grian will say no, and will not be swayed under any circumstances, offers, or bribes.
Grian sighs. A fair point, he supposes. He's met Jimmy, albeit it's been once, but that's better than none. And he knows their music and he's sure not everyone in a band is egotistical and full of themselves.
Mumbo is always telling him how he needs new experiences and to see the world and not stay cooped up all the time. He's asked if he wanted to come on fishing trips with himself and Skizz, all of that sort which most certainly interests Grian, but he turns it down. Work is always an excuse. Or needing to spring clean. Does Mumbo buy it? No. Does he interrogate further? Thankfully not.
And, how many options do you get to travel a quarter of the world with some pretty cool people and an incredibly pretty lead singer? It's probably once in a lifetime stuff, it'll make him more experienced, he'll be better at his job, more respected, hopefully.
"Okay, fine." Giving in is better than arguing until you get what you want, he's found. Now he's about to go on a tour with four strangers to play on a massive stage, to a massive crowd of people. Is he regretting this? Most likely.
----
Scar Goodtimes is the lead singer of a band. There's not much else he'd rather be doing. It's taxing at times, of course it is, it's not an easy job, and hopefully never will be.
Sometimes bandmates getting ill and having to drop out of the tour is just a part of life. He stressed, and he'll continue to stress. Tango assured him it'd be okay, a gentle hand on his arm, words of affirmation. They'd find a replacement. It wouldn't be permanent, no one could replace Cleo forever. That wasn't possible.
Etho mentioned this guy in California, heard him play live a few times or somethin', and had some real talent. Maybe he was a good choice.
They'd work it out. They always did. Even if Jimmy was a walking hazard, bound to get himself killed.
And there he goes again, seriously, does he not see the wires on the floor?
"Jimmy, Jimmy, the wires." Scar calls out, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose at Jimmy. And of course, he trips over said wire. Sometimes having a klutz as a member of your band was just fate.
Great, there's his phone ringing in that awfully annoying tone. It's Martyn, just what he needs. They're trying to find someone, thank you very much.
"Martyn, hey, yeah, we're trying to find someone, I know we don't have long and-"
Oh.
"You found someone? Who? Are they any good?"
Inexperienced, terribly awkward, introverted... how much worse is this going to get? But he can't say no, can he, because they'll never find their own guy in time, and a recluse is better than having no lead guitarist. Hopefully he won't be as bad in person.
"Hey gu-, good lord, Tango, the drums!" Shouting over Tango's absurdly loud kit isn't anything new, but he needs to save his voice, so he'll resort to kicking the bass drum, if that's even the name of it, he doesn't really know, in all honesty, if he has to.
Tango glares at him.
"They uh, they found someone. He's basically just an Etho pre-first performance. Nothing we can't work up into someone totally super cool." Scar's never been one for giving announcements. Far too professional, usually he'll just send it in a text chain, but they're all there infront of him, he may as well make the most of it.
They all fall into renowned whispers behind him, so either that's good news, or he's about to be pounced on by the three cheetahs that are his bandmates.
"Y'know, I think we can make it work," Etho begins, always the mediator, "Course we'd rather have Cleo with us, but circumstances are circumstances, and this guy could he amazing. Just gotta give him a chance."
Thank the high heavens someone else does that, because he certainly wasn't going to.
"Whatever." Tango huffs, blond hair cascading over his face. He's stubborn in this regard, values Cleo immensely, they all do, but lead and drums intertwine like pinky fingers when making a secret, so he's bound to be more petulant in that regard.
Jimmy is painfully quiet. Scar looks over to him, almost begging him to say literally anything. Though, knowing Jimmy, it's very possible he's gotten a concusion from that trip and fall. He's just nodding at Scar aimlessly, he'll take it as a win.
----
This may be the most terrifying thing Grian's ever willingly done. Does he tell Mumbo? Does he tell Skizz? He's got to, right? It's too late to back out, he's got a flight to New York in the morning. Twelve weeks on the road, and possibly more if Ren can worm his way into the hearts of stadium managers. It's going to be painstaking, but potentially life-changing. Make or break, something like that.