Chapter Text
There was an email from Too Lily in his inbox.
Or, her staff—definitely her staff. Because Too Lily wouldn't send an email to Zanka herself. She was a world-famous singer and songwriter, with more awards to her name than outfits in her famed collection. Surely she wouldn't have the time to write to a bunch of amateurs like Akuta.
But if that was the case, why did the message look a little too personal?
"Well, don't just stare at it!" Beside him, Riyo watched the laptop with wide eyes. She was trying to suppress her nerves, but her freshly decorated nails squeezed Zanka's shoulders with the scratch of a cornered cat's. "Open it! C'mon!"
"Or don't. Don't, that's…" Rudo could hardly breathe. His gloved hands tugged at the pendant on his chest. "If we never open it, we can never get rejected."
"Ooooooorrr we miss Too Lily's retreat because we were too antsy to see we were accepted!" She shook Zanka lightly. "Zan! Come on! And Rudo! Chill out, dude. I'm getting anxious just watching you!"
"You were already anxious! Don't pretend like you weren't!"
Zanka just had to open the email. Simple. Open the email and let whatever's inside determine his band's fate. He slid over the mousepad as if it were a spider's greedy web, and clicked on the email with the fear of feeble prey.
Dear Zanka, Riyo, and Rudo of Akuta
Thank you so much for your patience and follow-ups as my staff and I worked through applications.
I would like to extend my offer to you and Akuta as three guests to my exclusive musician's retreat to prepare for the upcoming Doll Festival. The retreat will occur at my private residence, aligning with your autumn break schedule and the following weekend. I have attached full details in the liabilities waiver included in this email.
As rising stars in the Cleaners Label, your attendance would be greatly valued. I have invited a few other artists from the Cleaners, as well as additional trusted labels and industries. You will work alongside your fellow entertainers, along with selected teachers, performers, and experts, to prepare for shows on stage.
Kindly RSVP by the end of the week to confirm your attendance.
I look forward to watching you three grow alongside your peers.
Warm Regards,
Too Lily
They were accepted. Too Lily accepted Akuta, of the hundreds of artists and bands that applied. Zanka felt his breath seep through him.
"Dude!" Riyo shook his shoulders, now giddy with giggles. "We're in! We're in! Oh my- I can't believe- Too Lily! She invited us!"
"She… did…" Zanka couldn't stop staring at his laptop. The invitation was still there, real and right.
Rudo's hand grew tight around the pendant. "We're in? Like, really? That's not a scam?"
"No way! That's her signature there, and that's the application we sent in, and that's-" She stopped suddenly, then stretched over to grab Rudo's jacket and pulled the two together for a tight group hug. "We're going to Too Lily's music retreat! Us! Akuta!!"
Rarely did Riyo ever get so excited. And Rudo hardly got weepy anymore, yet there he was, hiding his tears behind a wobbly smile. He squeezed the other two with one hand and pressed the pendant to his heart with the other.
Getting so emotional over one acceptance was a foolish waste of feelings; nothing a true band or a natural musician would indulge in. And yet…
Zanka wrapped his arms around their backs and pulled them in close. "Yeah. We're in, guys."
He could call himself a fool later. But his band of weirdos was together and whole, clamored over his laptop like it was the last light in the sky.
And Zanka couldn't be prouder of them.
Too Lily's mansion was only half an hour away from Andio, yet it sat atop a 10-acre hill tucked behind tended gardens, lavish pools, marble walls, and more cars sweeping through the driveway than her garages could handle. Which said something. She must have had enough parking spaces to store entire entourages.
Enjin pulled up behind the final car, waiting to reach the front of the estate. "Five whole days up here… You kids gonna be alright?"
"We'll be alright, no need to worry." Zanka could hardly keep his hands still. He peeked up the front, trying to glimpse at the staff mingling around the front doors.
"You're so modest about it," scoffed Riyo. "It's gonna be so much fun! A whole five days in Too Lily's mansion, doing nothing but yapping about music-"
"And training," Enjin said, driving closer when the first car swerved away. "Too Lily is a commendable musician. Don't expect her to go easy on you."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Zanka rarely had chances to prove himself like this. His parents were counting on his failure, waiting for him to come crawling back to the sovereignty of their civics. He wouldn't give them the pleasure.
Enjin reached the front of Too Lily's estate, where three housekeepers stood before gaping oak doors, waiting for the car to stop. "If you kids need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."
"Got it, thanks." Rudo popped the door open and jumped out before Enjin could stop him.
"Ah- And, you guys got everything, right? If you don't, there are some convenience stores down the road."
"We're good! And thank you! You're the best!" Riyo followed suit, sliding out her door with nearly too much haste.
Zanka, the final of the trio, rested his hand on the door handle before he opened it. He sighed at Enjin from the passenger seat. "Thanks for driving us."
"Yeah, yeah," he said. Always, he meant.
If nothing else, Enjin would be there at the end of the retreat, ready to accept Akuta with open arms. That gave Zanka a bit of homely comfort.
Until he started speaking again. "Seriously, call or text if something goes wrong. I mean it."
Zanka rolled his eyes. "Nothing's going to go wrong, dude." He pushed the door open and slid to the running board.
"Hey, I'm trying to help you out! That's no way to respond."
"Right, sorry. 'Thanks, Dad. Love you. See you in a few days.'"
"Dad?! I'm only 29! Don't call me 'Dad,' you-!"
Zanka slammed the door shut, chuckling at the muffled shouts from the truck. He'd be fine.
One of the housekeepers moved to the truck bed, taking Riyo's bags and bass and stacking them on a nearby luggage cart. The second housekeeper approached with a stack of three boxes, each wrapped tightly by a power-white bow.
"Welcome, esteemed guests," she started. "I assume you are the Akuta band?"
Zanka nodded for them. "Here's the bassist, Riyo, and our drummer, Rudo."
"Introducing your bandmates first. You're as kind as Lily thought you would be." She handed each a box, speaking as she moved. “That contains a gift from her, as well as the itinerary, the key to your room, and additional information for your stay.”
Zanka untied the ribbon, tucked it into his pocket (it was too precious a ribbon to toss away), and opened the box. The autumn sunlight revealed it before his eyes did: a vintage quill feather pen. Silver clasped the shaft with rigid embroidery, releasing the black barbs of the feather to spread across the box. A small note and key dangled from the top of the box. Zanka strolled to the foyer and pulled the tape off the message.
“Welcome, Zanka Nijiku!
I am delighted to welcome you and the rest of Akuta to my estate for an exclusive musician's retreat. On behalf of my visiting instructors, staff, and sponsors, I would like to thank you for your dedicated attendance. We cannot wait to create wonderful music with you!
Below the quill pen, you will find a pamphlet of the full schedule of events. You will also find your assigned room number and roommate. Please note that I divided all band members into rooms with other musicians during their stay. This is to promote creativity and collaboration, so don't be shy! Get to know your new roomie! And don't worry; you will still get plenty of time with your precious Akuta. I've been dying for a full album from you, so please know I don't want to keep you away for long.
My staff will assist in delivering your luggage to your rooms. Feel free to unpack and unwind. I will have them return to collect you for dinner and introductions at 6:00 pm.
Warm Regards,
Lily."
Signed, Lily. Not her full stage name. Holy shit, she trusted them.
“We’re not rooming together?” Rudo’s nervous tone broke his train of thought. The drummer lifted the cardboard at the bottom of the box and sifted through it. “Who- They better not snore, I swear-“
“Guys, get inside. The staff’s already moving our bags to our rooms.”
They moved into the foyer, opening the second layer of their boxes as they did, and found the itinerary tucked to the bottom. Zanka skimmed the events as he saw them: scheduled meals, outdoor poetry readings and writings, joint jam sessions, free time with recommended activities.
“I don’t know why, but I was hoping I’d get to room with someone we knew.” Riyo had already flipped to the last page, squinting at her assigned roommate. “Her name’s Momoa. Have any of you heard of her? It says she’s a producer.”
“Can’t say I have,” said Zanka. “You?”
“I still haven’t heard of half the people here.” Rudo stared at his roommate’s name. The confusion in his pout was so evident that Zanka had to restrain his laugh. “... Fu? Fu Orostor?”
“What’s he do?”
“He plays guitar,” said Rudo. “Weren’t we looking for another guitarist?”
“Not urgently.” Zanka flipped through the itinerary. As much as he loved the other two, he knew they weren’t going to look for any important details. “Double check for stuff you might need to tend to. Allergy notices, waivers, and whatnot. And yes, Riyo, I know we already filled out some paperwork at home, but they might have mo...”
His roommate.
That name.
That poisoned, wretched, vile fucking name.
Zanka sprinted towards the stairs before he could finish his sentence.
“Woah, Zan?” Riyo ran behind him. “Where are you going?”
It wasn’t actually him. It wasn’t. Fate was cruel, but not that cruel. “My room.”
“Why? asked Rudo. And then, “Oh, is it your roommate?”
It’s who his roommate wouldn’t be. Zanka wouldn’t let it happen. “Yeah.”
“Do you know him?” Riyo questioned. “Ooooooh, is he an ex?”
“Not an- ew, don’t put that image in my head.” Zanka, dating the guy. Zanka, being involved with him at all, in a way that didn’t involve him spitting or strangling all his vexations out onto him. The thought made him burn with ire.
He reached the room before he could think about it any longer. Attendants were already there, unloading his suitcase and two guitar cases off the luggage cart and setting them by the door. They met Zanka's eyes with startled apprehension. "Is there anything we can help you with, sir?"
Zanka forced his frown to still, tearing the key out of his gift box like a loose string. "No. Thank you." He lifted the key to his door-
And paused. That steady beat, playing from a Bluetooth JBL speaker, was far too familiar.
Zanka heard it all the time, playing down the hall of his university dorm. He swallowed the dread it brought and pushed the door open, leaving his key inside the lock.
The room was just as bright and lavish as the rest of the home. Fit with white walls, cushy bedding, and a large window overlooking the gardens, it was everything Zanka dreamed it would be.
But his roommate was there, unpacking his own luggage, invasive as a nightmare. He turned at the sound of the door creaking open, his wide, magenta eyes gaping with such confusion that Zanka wondered if it was real.
Jabber never got confused. He knew everything—magically, gallingly. It was one of the things Zanka hated about him. It was one of the things Zanka hated about himself.
"Mr. Bad Attitude," Jabber scoffed. "I just can't get away from you, can I?"
Zanka explored the mansion under the guise of 'getting a lay of the land.'
It was true, to a degree. Certain areas were off-limits to guests, but the attendants let him stroll the front of the gardens, carefully adorned with the artist's signature flower. He dipped his hand into the pool water, cool against summer's sultry scourge. He found the cluster of rooms where the musicians would practice. He found a game room that Rudo would inevitably hoard for hours. He found the home gym, the sunroom, the small library and its ghostly office.
Really, he should check in with his band, but he didn't want to be anywhere near the guests' rooms. Not while his signature beats were playing.
He found the dining room a few minutes before dinner, relieved to see Rudo and Riyo saving a chair for him. He slouched on it with weakened muscles and fading resolve.
"Dude," Riyo started, "where were you? You vanished into that room with Jabber, then, not even ten minutes later, you were gone."
"Looked around…" muttered Zanka. But then other musicians started to stroll into the room, so he straightened himself up, placing his hands in his lap. "I have a better understanding of where everything is, so feel free to refer to me."
Rudo pressed his lips together. "And… the roommate?"
"I'm not going to waste my mental space thinking about him." And he wasn't, so Zanka forced a sigh and glanced around. "Have you met your roommates already? Are they here?"
"Not yet," said Riyo, "but you'll never guess who else was invited!"
"Who?"
"Amo! She's in the room across from Momoa's and mine."
Though she was strange and extremely untrusting of Zanka's mentor, Amo was a familiar face. She and Riyo got along excellently, and she often connected with Rudo in ways others could not. "Is she doing alright?"
"Mmm-hmm," answered Rudo. "We're gonna try to take screaming classes together."
"That… would help you two sort through some stuff."
"Oh, please." Riyo nudged him lightly. "You've got plenty of things to cope with, too."
He didn't need reminding. Zanka opened his mouth to respond when the source of his dilemmas strolled in, locs sweeping down his tank top, chatter loose and lulled like a proper celebrity's. How he always managed to appear so nonchalant, Zanka didn't know. Nor did he care. He proved it with a raise of his chin and a glance towards the kitchens.
The first course was simple: an introduction to the home's lavish qualities, featuring the vegetables grown in the gardens right outside. Small salad plates passed around as fresh bouquets of beauty: a bed of greens, tossed with vegetables too colorful to count, lightly daubed with a dressing that chilled the summer air.
It also included an introduction to the home's sole owner. "Good evening, everyone. I do hope you settled in all right."
She was more magical than her songs portrayed her.
Lily was gorgeous in every sense of the word, with unblemished skin and magenta eyes that scanned the room like a studious crow. She wore a long black jumpsuit, tucked tight around her chest, with slit sleeves to catch the breeze as she took each step forward. Her make-up framed her face in dark allure that midnight could only envy.
Then she spoke with that signature, song-like voice. "I am so glad you could all make it. My name is Lily. I'll be your instructor and mentor over the next few days."
She crossed the room and sat at the head of the table, lifting one leg to rest on the other. "No one here is allergic to shellfish, correct? My staff checked all of your waivers beforehand, but I'd like to make sure."
And she was thoughtful—seriously, what did Zanka do to deserve being in her presence?
When no one spoke up, she smiled. "Lovely. Then, shall we introduce ourselves? How about we start with you and move clockwise?"
Like the Cleaners Record Label, Lily gathered an eclectic range of artists, each specializing in a different genre. Amo introduced herself with poise, holding a hand to her heart the way a fairytale princess would. Eishia, the soft pop songwriter Zanka met briefly, had better control over her worries. She only stuttered twice when speaking of her songs.
Then came Zanka's turn. "We're Akuta," he introduced, "a hard rock and metalcore band. There's the bassist, Riyo, and the drummer, Rudo. I act as lead guitar."
"And who is the primary singer and songwriter?" asked Lily, cradling her chin on her palm. "Your discography is so varied, I cannot tell whose mind it comes from."
"We all write the songs," Riyo said. "Take turns singing them, too."
"These guys really helped me out." Rudo stretched his wrists to prove his point. "I've got issues with tendonitis, so singing lets my wrists get a break. Our manager covers the drum parts when that happens."
"Hmm." Somehow, Lily's smile grew warmer. "I can't wait to see your shared work in person."
The line continued down, with each artist feeling more comfortable than the last. Then the line reached Jabber and his two companions. Both remained silent: one from frozen fear, the other from dazed dissociation.
"I'm Jabber," he said, lifting his slouched hand as a small wave. "I rap. That's Momoa, my arranger."
"… Hello."
"Just 'hello?'"
Momoa shrugged, just the slightest. Her clothes were too large to show her movements. "I make beats. He raps to some of them."
"Do you ever sing yourself?" asked Lily. "Rumor has it some of your unfinished songs are circling the web. I may have heard one, but I don't know if it was your voice, for sure."
Momoa did not move. With such cloudy eyes and that faint yet honest smile, her thoughts grew as guarded as the rest of her appearance. "I don't like singing in public. He'll take the spotlight for me."
"You talk about it like it's a burden." Jabber stretched out, slumping his elbow onto Momoa's shoulder, and leaned onto her with the weight of her jacket. "I don't get you at all."
Of course Jabber loved the spotlight. Naturals never saw the point of developing new skills, so they relied on the ones they were born with to garner any attention. He wouldn't recognize hard work if it struck him in the jaw.
But he did recognize Zanka. That odd squint across the dining table told him that.
"There are plenty of ways to make and share music anonymously," Lily said. "I say your humility is something to admire."
Rudo's roommate, Fu, introduced himself next. His nerves were somehow worse than Eishia's, twitching his fingers like puppet strings, controlling him as a vessel of fear. It took ten seconds of him stuttering for Jabber to yell out, "Dude! - Fu. Guitarist. Expert coward."
"N-Not a…!"
And then he was silent again. Lily spared him the conversation by gesturing for dinner.
The main course, a delicate serving of shrimp scampi, flew in through the generous hands of Lily's staff. Zanka took his from the staff member and observed. Across the table, Jabber waited a full seven seconds before nodding to the attendant grating cheese on his plate of pasta.
Rudo stuck his fork through a shrimp. "What a glutton."
You're one to talk, Zanka would have said, if not grateful for his solidarity.
The evening grew too rowdy to remember. Despite her looming authority, Lily was an excellent host, encouraging chatter out of her twelve guests with the same charisma she showed on stage. Zanka fell to it before he realized. He made a show of clinking glasses with Riyo, gave his serving of chocolate mousse to Rudo, did anything and everything with the company of his bandmates. Others asked endlessly about them: the way they met, how they practiced, who kept track of what. Not once did Zanka hesitate. Around his friends, there was no reason to quell his heart.
The night came to a close, yet Akuta lingered behind. They huddled by the dining room's entrance and tilted their heads to each other's whispers.
"Let us know if that guy causes any trouble," Rudo murmured.
"Yeah," nodded Riyo. "We'll beat him to a pulp for you."
"And I'll do the same for you," said Zanka, "but that won't be necessary. It's five days, and we'll be spending most of those days out here. I'll be alright."
He said it mainly to reassure himself, but its effect on Rudo lingered. He saw it in the way Rudo squeezed his pendant. "We'll be alright."
"We will," smiled Riyo, giving him a final clasp on the back. "Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day."
"But one we can handle," said Zanka.
"With absolute ease."
A shadow slid from the top of the stairs. Zanka paid it no mind.
He reached his room in silence. The curtains were already down, blocking the moonlight from seeping onto the far bed; a fact Zanka was grateful for. He crept along the side of the wall, grabbed his pajamas and travel-sized soaps, and slid back to the door.
"You've got good friends."
Zanka didn't want to look. He was trying not to, and the absence of illumination made it so easy. But he gazed towards the voice anyway, tracking it to the unmoving lump behind the covers, and remained so still his shadow could not give his observation away.
But that was all Jabber said.
He was so odd, truly. Jabber carried so much natural talent that it tilted the scales of fate itself. From the lower end of the scale, Zanka could only gape at the heavens that would not accept him, tearing at his envy as the chains that dragged him down. So why did Jabber's voice share that desperation? What would he know about lacking greatness?
"I know," said Zanka, before he tore himself from the door.
By the time he returned, still warm from his shower, Jabber was asleep. Zanka crept into his bed and did not think of the moonlight.