Chapter Text
The stage smelled of sweat, smoke, and overheated cables. Bette Porter pulled off her monitor headphones with an impatient exhale, tossing them onto the nearest amp. The rehearsal room, usually her temple, now felt like a trench.
“So it’s official?” Shane asked from behind the drum kit, wiping her neck with a towel.
Alice raised her eyebrows from her bass, as if waiting for someone to tell her it was all a joke. Dana, sitting on the edge of the electric piano, just bounced her leg nervously.
“Yes,” Bette replied, crossing her arms. “Sarah’s leaving. ‘Creative differences’ and all that crap.”
“Before or after recording her solo EP with our songs?” Alice muttered sarcastically.
“During,” Bette said, her jaw tight. “She announced it this morning. On Instagram. With a reel.”
An awkward silence settled in the room, broken only by the echo of a cymbal Shane had accidentally struck.
“We’ve got a tour in six weeks,” Dana said, as if the fact were new. As if saying it out loud might change reality.
“And a setlist with at least seven songs where she sings lead,” added Alice.
“Can we go instrumental?” Shane tried to joke.
Bette didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the door Marissa had walked out of barely two hours earlier, without saying goodbye. After three years of being the face—and the voice—of Velvet Riot, she had decided she was no longer interested in “playing in someone else’s shadow.”
“This is bullshit,” Bette finally said. “But we’re not canceling the tour. I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”
“So what then? You’re going to get up there and sing?” Alice asked. “Because yeah, Porter, you’ve got a voice… but you’ve also got timing issues. And ego.”
“Thanks for your usual sweetness, Alice.”
“I say it with love.”
Shane leaned forward, gently tapping her sticks against her thighs.
“We need to find someone. Fast. Even if it’s just temporary.”
“A last-minute replacement to fill the shoes of someone who’s been with us for years?” Bette shook her head. “That person doesn’t exist.”
Dana raised her hand like she was in class.
“What if we hold auditions? Private ones, with referrals. People with real experience, not YouTube amateurs.”
“What if we make it public?” Alice chimed in suddenly. “An event. A contest. Let people watch, share it, make it part of the story. It could give us visibility, engagement… drama.”
Bette rolled her eyes.
“Great. Let’s turn our crisis into viral content. What’s next? A slow-motion TikTok with tears?”
Shane shrugged.
“It’s not a bad idea. We sell it as a ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ Give it a rebellious edge: ‘Be the new voice of the most badass band in the scene.’”
There was a brief silence, this time less tense. Bette sat on the edge of her amp, twisting a loose guitar string between her fingers.
“Fine,” she said, not looking at anyone. “Let’s do it. Auditions. But let’s be clear: I don’t want a fangirl, or a Sarah knock-off. I want someone who can hold their ground on stage without shaking.”
“And who can handle your mood swings,” Alice added with a smile.
“And who can sing,” Shane said. “That would help too.”
Bette exhaled through her nose and stood up. The weight of the decision already burned in her shoulders, but there was also a spark buried in there. Maybe, just maybe, something new could rise from the wreckage.
“Alright. Let’s find a voice. Though I doubt anyone out there can handle this.”
Spoiler: she was wrong.