Chapter Text
Shouts filled the air. To anyone outside the room, it may have sounded like a blood bath was occurring behind the door of studio 9. Then again, it was not unusual for it to seem like blood would soon be spilt in that particular studio. In fact, those inside the studio were subjected to noise like this on a daily basis, but one in particular had taken to sleeping through the recurring cacophony. This particular argument had been going on for far too long, and there were more productive things to be doing. For Sandy, this meant a nice nap on the couch he had brought into the studio for just such occasions. Some might have seen this action as a bit odd, but Sandy was known to be able to sleep through anything - including yet another screaming match between the two other men in the room.
While Sandy might have dropped off to blissful oblivion, not all other parties in the room were so at ease. On the sidelines, the one lady present, and lead singer Toothiana, was flitting between the choice to either intervene or keep out of what seemed to be yet another pointless argument between the bassist and guitarist of this group. While this was indeed an everyday occurrence, today’s argument felt more heated somehow.
"Oh come on! I know you're nicknamed after the damned thing, but you can't honestly believe that old wives' tale!" Usually Aster’s Australian accent could melt butter, but today it just grated on the nerves of everyone around. "Spring happens after Easter! Everyone knows that ya bloody Grounghog."
The ‘Groundhog’, though in fact he was in actual fact a rather short man, only crouched further in on himself. The scowl on his face, the way he bared his teeth, as well as the amount of hair on his arms, made him look more than a little animalistic. "'s got more brains than you've got. Only one thing bunnies are good for," the little man spat back in a thick Irish brogue.
This time Toothiana did step forward. She stood in front of the Aussie just as it looked like he was about to throttle the rodent-like man and kick his guitar stand. Holding a tanned hand to his chest, she reached out her other for good measure in case Groundhog chose to go on the actual offensive, rather than just spit out words.
The short man just sneered up at both of them and laughed. "And I'm sure Tooth here is an expert on your particular extracurriculars Bunnymund."
The screech that followed did include bloodshed this time, and several red faced profanities. Sandy actually lifted his head at the higher pitched screams and watched, vaguely intrigued as the violent storm of colour that was Toothiana beat their lead guitarist's ass out the door.
"If I ever see your face again-" the woman started, the wrath of Shiva in her eyes. She never got the chance to finish that threat, because Groundhog was limping down the hall and shouting back his own string of curses.
Unfortunately, their manager came down the hall just in time to see him storming away. "Groundhog?” the older man stared in surprise at the other man’s stormy face and limping gait. “Greg! Come back here!" The short and hairy man didn't turn back though, he didn’t even pause. Staring for another minute, the North’s face darkened and he turned his back as well, a flurry of what could only be presumed to Russian curses rumbling forth. When his angry gaze fell on the guilty parties, Tooth at least had the decency too look away, though she did not look the least bit ashamed. Still, that didn't stop the manager from glaring at his bassist.
"I say good riddance mate! We don't need that lousy muskrat!" came the defiant response, even before the elder man said anything. Despite just having lost their lead guitarist, the Aussie didn't seem at all phased by the matter. If anything, he was triumphant. Probably because it was his fault to begin with.
"No? Do you play guitar then Bunny?" The burly man asked, Russian accent particularly thick through the beard and anger. The bassist's shoulders slumped minutely, but it was enough to show the Russian that at least the arrogant young man knew he was in trouble. "I thought not," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"Tooth, you take up keyboard now for main melody.” There was no pause for further rebukes. There was a mess to clean up, so it was straight back to business. “I will find substitute in mean time. No exceptions," he said pointing at all of them. He would not have any of them fighting him, even if The Guardians were a headstrong group. Rather than agreement, he got grumbles and a high moan of despair from his main singer and resident prima donna. That was as close as he was going to get to a yes from a band at the top of their game, and The Guardians with their multiple hits on the top 40, was definitely at the top of their game.
Just for good measure, he also texted Groundhog asking him to come back, yet again. He could easily guess from the blood he'd seen on his vocalist's rings though, that this would be a much longer spat than usual. This was more than annoying because they had a tour coming up in a few months. Without a guitar player they might as well stop calling themselves a band, or their songs music, as it was impossible to maintain any kind of melody or decent performance if his singer was stuck behind a keyboard. The Russian shook his head at that thought, but his attention was drawn back to his phone as it dinged, indicating a text. He sighed with relief. If Groundhog was at least answering his texts then things couldn't be that-
All the colour drained again when he saw the message and who it was from.
-Meet me in my office immediately North.
M
This could not be good.
He played the role of the good manager though, and did as his producer commanded. Several minutes and one lonely elevator trip later had him at the top of the building and standing outside the office of one of the strongest men in the record industry. With a deep breath, North stepped in without unnecessary announcement and came face to face with... the back of a chair behind a desk. If there was one thing the head of Man in the Moon Records liked to be, it was elusive.
"I just received a very upsetting email North. Apparently your guitarist has gone and quit again. What is that now? Three times in just as many months?" These weren't questions.
"Yes, well, Greg is bit of handful. He will come back soon though Manny, and then all will be fine for concert." North honestly wished he could believe half of what he was saying. He valued his job though, and part of his job was painting an optimistic picture for his boss. He was nothing if not imaginative.
The immediate response was a snort of laughter. That could have just as easily been because of something from whatever video Manny was playing on his tablet. He couldn't really see what was on the screen, but it looked like YouTube. North couldn’t help but wonder how grave this conversation could be if his producer had his attention so clearly divided. North hoped that it was something on the screen that was making Manny laugh, unfortunately, it would have been a lot easier to convince of that if the sound hadn't been shut off.
No. Manny was just laughing at him.
"Not to worry Nick," he chuckled. It was a damn good thing they were friends, or else the laugh might actually be as horrifying as it sounded. "Greg O'noch is gone for good this time. He will never play in this town, or under any respectable label, ever again."
North shivered. It was very rare that Manny made such a show of his power. Something must have happened during those emails, or else he'd have to believe that his boss was just being cruel on a whim. He never wanted to think of his boss like that, but sometimes he made it hard to see the man who made a thousand dreams come true and stars come to life. Before he could protest though, the man behind the chair held a hand up to stop and simply added, "I'll take care of everything."
That was how Nicholas St. North was dismissed. With a wave and the returning volume of some YouTube cover album.