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keith_ltd2022-01-14 09:50 pm
runawayballista) wrote in keith_ltd2022-01-14 09:50 pm
Live at the Mile High Club! Chapter 1
Fandom: BanG Dream!, Scum Villain
Title: Live at the Mile High Club!
Summary: Shang Qinghua has been releasing music as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for years, drawing both praise and ire all around, but when she's left in charge of a failing live house, she has no choice but to dig the place out of debt before it pulls her under with it. Popular music blogger Shen Yuan seems to draw a crowd just by being there, so Shang Qinghua allows (begs) (bribes) her to come to performances in the hopes of attracting more bands to play. She just has to make sure that Shen Yuan doesn't find out that Shang Qinghua is also her favorite subject for vehement criticism. And keep up with the prolific output Airplane's fans are used to. And prevent the Mile High Club from toppling over into destitution and taking her with it,
AO3 mirror
The thing is, Shang Qinghua had never really planned to run a live house.
It was just a side hustle serving drinks and cleaning up after customers, meant to supplement her other side hustle, because when you’re broke in Tokyo without a full-time job, every hustle is a side hustle. It wasn’t her fault that selling mass market appeal EDM on TuneCore wasn’t profitable enough to support her full time! Her Vocaloid productions had more of a dedicated following, but it was smaller, not quite enough to keep the cash flowing. And the music videos—which were absolutely critical to Airplane Shooting Through the Sky’s elaborate and sprawling OC lore—took so much longer to produce than a single track! Every lyric was carefully constructed to flesh out the elaborate narrative of Airplane’s musical fantasy realm! It was a lot of work for just one person, okay!
It was for that reason that production on her Vocaloid content had really slowed down ever since she started working at the live house. Some of her fans were understanding, even upping their contributions on her pay-what-you-want anime cover tracks in support, while others flipped the switch from devoted followers to vicious anti-fans who, despite their professed disgust with the new direction Airplane’s music was taking, wouldn’t stop commenting.
Well, any press is good press, right?
By far her most vehement detractor was that contemptuous Peerless Cucumber and her indie music review blog. She wasn’t a celebrity, wasn’t even a musician! But for some reason, her blog had gotten super popular in the last year, and all of a sudden producers on the local music circuit were paying attention to her opinions. She had become...an influencer!
Of all people! Peerless Cucumber, whose dubious “career” had started as nothing more than leaving rude and verbose comments on Youtube AND Nico videos (seriously! Who went to that much effort!), was now considered a voice with authority in the local music scene??
So why was it that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, who’d been sweating blood, sweat and bass drops on her aging laptop for years now, was getting all of the negative attention, and Peerless Cucumber, who had never produced a track in her life, was getting all the praise? Where were her credentials? Where was the karma?!
The fact that Peerless Cucumber kept even bothering to post about Airplane’s music after her meteoric rise to (local, very local) fame was a mystery in itself. According to the Cucumber herself, Airplane was nothing but a third-rate ““producer”” (Shang Qinghua did not appreciate her liberal use of scare quotes) whose music was steadily losing altitude with every release, and it was only a matter before she took a nosedive directly into the Pacific Ocean.
Stop with the plane crash jokes, it’s not even that funny!!
“Anyone with a laptop can shit out an okay EDM track,” Cucumber had recently written, “and the rate at which Airplane puts out new singles suggests she must have musical diarrhea.”
First of all, rude! Second of all, gross! Who told you to drag Airplane’s IBS into this!
Shang Qinghua supposed that she was grateful for the attention, because every time Cucumber posted a new review of her music, a few more clicks came her way. Any new sales also tended to increase the number of stupid comments and the time she spent ill-advisedly but hilariously engaging with those comments under sockpuppet accounts. Whatever, joke’s on them, at the end of the day, money is money!
Still, for whatever reason, Peerless Cucumber was paying attention to her, even if it was just to roast her. It was nice to be noticed. In a way, she was one of Airplane’s most dedicated listeners, someone who had been commenting since the beginning. So didn’t that mean that it was partly thanks to Airplane that she had all that fame? Of course it did. After all, if you were going to be a music critic, you had to have music to criticize!
Her part-time job at the Mile High Club pulled in enough cash to narrowly make her ends meet, but only if she kept producing music on the side. Even as she shifted more towards the less time-consuming non-vocal tracks, she was still working on her magnus opus: a full concept album voiced by Vocaloids, complete with its own set of lore-drenched music videos. Shang Qinghua had even spent a considerable amount of her (very non-disposable) income commissioning cute character designs for all of her musical OCs—it was important to have an artistic vision, okay, and not everyone wanted to make content of M*ku and her countless derivatives 24/7!—which she then used as reference for laboriously rigging 3D models for her videos. Peerless Cucumber really didn’t appreciate how much time and effort went into her work, jeez! Shang Qinghua would bet she’d never had to choreograph a 4-person dance routine with a 13” laptop screen and a very narrow apartment for practicing steps in. Never mind that Cucumber thought the choreography in all of her videos was “flat and uninspired” anyway.
But it was fine! It was fine. As long as Shang Qinghua made enough money to cover rent, cheap noodles and her budget for titties-out anime figurines, then everything was fine.
When the owner called Shang Qinghua into the office one day, she was too busy panicking over the possibility losing her job to immediately notice the suddenly strangely naked walls and all the knickknacks missing from the owner’s desk. She was still mentally composing a desperate plea to keep her miserable post when the owner offered her a promotion. Shang Qinghua froze mid-bow so abruptly she thought she might have pinched a nerve in her neck.
A promotion? Here? Shang Qinghua had barely received any attention from the owner, let alone praise, in the several months since she started working here, but now she was being offered a promotion?? Maybe the floor manager had put in a good word for her, despite all those dirty looks. Maybe those were supposed to be encouraging dirty looks. Whatever, Shang Qinghua was over the moon. A job promotion! Shit yes! Shang Qinghua had never been offered a job promotion in her life!
It wasn’t until after she’d signed the paperwork hastily shoved at her, accepted keys to the building and every locked room therein, and found the owner’s office completely empty the next morning that she realized that maybe…she should have asked a few more questions about that promotion before accepting.
And when Shang Qinghua discovered the debt notices and multiple liens against the business, she realized that she hadn’t just been made the Mile High Club’s new owner; she’d been made the fall guy! She wasn’t even sure if this was entirely legal, but it wasn’t like she had the money to like, get a lawyer or anything!
Most of the upper management had absconded along with the owner, but Yuka, the floor manager who, ah, nope, definitely hated her guts was still there, along with all the staff that Shang Qinghua definitely could not pay. So not only did the owner leave Shang Qinghua all her debts, she also left all the dirty work! Miserably, Shang Qinghua thought she could sympathize with the anger of every employee being let go by the person who, three days ago, had been solely responsible for cleaning toilets and serving drinks. She’d be pretty pissed too. She probably wouldn’t have thrown a chair at the new owner, but hey, everyone processes anger differently.
She kept some of the staff on—she had to, because she had no idea how to run this place by herself—including Yuka, because she was a good manager, and Shang Qinghua needed that more than she needed her dignity. She’d just been handed this place, she at least had to keep the lights on. Also, this was supposed to be her side hustle! The other half of her income! If she let it just go under, she’d be in even worse shape than before she even started this stupid job!
Shang Qinghua still cleaned the toilets and served drinks, of course. No sense in hiring someone extra when she already knew how to do those things. Also, she couldn’t afford to hire anyone extra. Also, she really needed to handful of people she didn’t lay off to run lights and sound and teach her how to do all of those things.
Keeping the live house from shutting down consumed Shang Qinghua’s life completely. Who knew running a business was so time-consuming? And the previous owner really did wait until the last and worst possible moment to drop this problem in someone else’s lap, huh? It was all Shang Qinghua could do to keep churning out dance tracks so as not to lose her online following’s attention, but the lore-laden concept album had been put tragically aside for the time being. She couldn’t even think about commissioning any new art, not when her other job was costing her money instead of paying her.
Still, even as she hastily put herself through a gamut of online accounting classes and scouted (begged) bands to perform, there was a little glimmer of hope for Shang Qinghua. For better or for worse, she owned a live house now! So what if it was just barely staying in business? For the first time in her musical career (“career”), Shang Qinghua was looking at a stage she didn’t need permission to perform on. Could…could this finally be Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s live debut? Could she finally realize her dream of performing in front of her fans and go public with her music, and finally get the recognition she deserved? And maybe give Earless Cucumber a reason to rethink all of that criticism and say something nice for once?
As it turned out, no.
First—sigh, priorities—first, she had to get bands to play on her stage and bring in some paying and hopefully returning customers. As soon as news of the new management had gotten around, all but a few of their bookings had dropped out. What was left were the dregs, the bands who usually wound up paying half of their ticket quotas out of pocket. They were fine for filling out the opening acts, but what Shang Qinghua needed were names with recognition, bands who would bring in customers, who would buy drinks and remember the name of the Mile High Club, and encourage more bands to come play and bring in new waves of customers, and it would perpetuate into a glorious golden cycle of revenue and fame! Shang Qinghua would be on top of this in no time, and then, then she would make her debut!
She just…had to convince anyone worth anything to play at her live house. The problem was that she couldn’t afford to drop or even really reduce the ticket quota, and bands who could guarantee an audience turnout had bigger and better places with nicer bathrooms to play. It turned out the vicious cycle of debt and anonymity was even harder to escape as a business.
After a few desperate months of campaigning and a nearly empty house week after week to show for it, Shang Qingua finally managed to book a solid Saturday night lineup. The headliners were a weird bunch to be sure (although she had to admit, the DJ in the pink bear suit was a bold gimmick), but the leader was loudly enthusiastic about playing at the Mile High Club. Shang Qinghua was assured by a trio of women in black suits that any deficit in the night’s ticket quota was guaranteed to be covered, but that it would not be a concern regardless. When they’d appeared in the doorway, Shang Qinghua mistook them for debt collectors and immediately bolted for the back door, but once they got that little mixup cleared up, everything was just fine. In fact, they even offered Shang Qinghua an advance on the performance, which she immediately accepted, because who wouldn’t? But—
“Why, though?” she found herself asking, stupidly. Did it matter why? If someone wants to throw cash at you, shouldn’t you just bow and say thank you?? “I mean, uh—don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful, I’ll definitely take the money—”
“Kokoro-sama wishes to play here,” one of the women said expressionlessly. Okay, she was wearing sunglasses (they all were) but Shang Qinghua was sure her face would be unreadable even if she wasn’t. That was exactly the kind of person you hired to stand around in a black suit and sunglasses. “If your business goes bankrupt before the date of the concert, it would be an unacceptable disappointment. Please use these funds to cover your operating costs in the interim.”
Sweat began to bead at Shang Qinghua’s hairline. Not debt collectors, but almost as scary in this case. Okay, okay! You really don’t have to twist her arm like this, if your spoiled charge wants to play here, she can play here until the sun comes up!
But the suits weren’t lying: the little circus that was Hello, Happy World! drew a hell of a crowd. A hell of a…mostly underage crowd, granted, but soft drinks were still drinks! It was just as well that the other acts Shang Qinghua had managed to book were high school girl bands too. None of them with the same name recognition, and a couple of them looked like they were one careless word away from a drama meltdown. But this demographic wasn’t too bad anyway, was it? At least some of them had to have access to their parents’ money, spending as much on drinks and merch as they pleased.
It wasn’t just kids, either. More adults than Shang Qinghua was expecting turned up to watch the show too. She recognized some of them from other live houses in the area—scoping out their new competition, no doubt. The rest…who knew, even high school bands could have fans that spanned multiple demographics. The crowd sure got into it, regardless of age, and customers came to the drink bar in droves in the breaks between sets, eyes shining, cheeks flushed with excitement. Aw, it actually was pretty nice to see this place packed full of people having a good time. It even made Shang Qinghua forget about her crippling debt for a hot minute.
There was one person who stood out by virtue of…well, standing aside. Rather than cheering along raucously with the crowd, this tall, dark-haired woman mostly hung by the wall, watching the performances with a critical eye through thick-rimmed glasses, tapping a closed fan against her palm in time to the beat. There was something about her that looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to make out much of anything in the flashing lights, and though most of her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed halfway down to her waist, the hair that framed her face effectively hid her from Shang Qinghua’s view. After the first (pretty mediocre, even Shang Qinghua had to admit) opening act and the resultant flood of drink orders, the woman approached the bar, tapping her fan on the countertop.
“Plum wine,” she said as soon as Shang Qinghua turned her way. Shang Qinghua raised her eyebrows.
“Uh, sorry. Don’t have that here. Can I get you something else?”
The woman pursed her lips. “Ochawari, then.”
“Yeah, I don’t have shochu either.” Shang Qinghua gestured to the fridge behind the counter. “I have…beer?”
The lady with the fan sighed as though she were being tediously inconvenienced in some way. “Sapporo, then.”
Listen, lady, if you want fancy drinks, you don’t come to a live house that looks like this! Shang Qinghua stifled a roll of her eyes until her back was turned, at which point she made a vicious series of faces while she grabbed a chilled beer and a glass. A little bit of doubt gnawed at her, though. Should she be stocking shochu? Did other live houses actually keep that stuff behind the bar? Shit, did she need to do the kind of research some of her rivals were doing right here, right now?? But it wasn’t like she could ask the boss for a night off or anything, haha…
Shang Qinghua set the beer and glass down and opened her mouth to recite the total, but the words stalled off at the woman’s expectant look. Eyes on the beer, the glass, then Shang Qinghua’s face. Seriously? Who expects the staff at a live house to pour for them? But she couldn’t afford to offend a paying customer, so Shang Qinghua sighed internally, sucked it up, and poured the lady her beer.
“That’ll be—” she started, when the lady flashed a drink ticket at her. Shang Qinghua’s brow furrowed. “Uh, excuse me, where’d this come from? The only people we gave drink tickets to were the bands. Hey, you didn’t steal this from one of those kids, did you? Or bully them into giving it to you? That’s pretty messed up, you know?”
The lady’s brows dropped like a curtain and she snapped open her fan to cover her immediate frown, a thoroughly supercilious gesture that was giving Shang Qinghua some inspo for a new OC. The lady firmly pushed the drink ticket across the counter with two fingers.
“I got this from you.”
Shang Qinghua frowned in confusion. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”
The lady’s eyes rolled heavenward, as though every word was a test of her patience. “You were handing these out with flyers. You don’t remember? You ought to, you practically begged every passerby into taking one.”
Shang Qinghua squinted. Yes, that sounded like something she’d do. Yes, it…was something she had actually done in a fit of desperation.
“Hey, wait, that was two months ago!”
“I don’t see an expiration date.”
Okay, true, but— “These are for soft drinks.”
“It doesn’t say that anywhere on the ticket,” the lady said blithely. Can’t afford to offend a paying customer, right. But she wasn’t actually paying!!
Well, if Shang Qinghua cussed the lady out for unscrupulous coupon use now, the chances of her coming back and actually buying a drink were nil. So Shang Qinghua smiled through her teeth, thanked her for her patronage, and shoved the beer across the bar at her.
The lady with the fan disappeared back into the seething crowd as soon as the next started up with a roar of applause. Shang Qinghua stood back to watch and silently patted herself on the back. Hey, this wasn’t half bad! She’d only had to personally beg one of the bands playing tonight to come, and they were doing steady business with the drinks, so maybe this was actually going to work out. Maybe this was the first step on the road to that golden cycle of being able to pay both sets of bills on a regular basis.
Maybe she really could play on her own stage! Yes! Hell yes! Shang Qinghua’s dreams were totally going to come true now!
Humming a jaunty tune she had already titled “Everything’s Coming Up Airplane,” she tidied up behind the drink bar. Her usually murderous-looking floor manager even returned her thumbs up with a conceding narrowing of the eyes. Haha! The spirit was infectious!
Shang Qinghua had even forgotten all about the haughty lady with the fan and her unreasonable drink standards—until Shang Qinghua followed the trailing crowds to the lobby and saw her swarmed by teen girls from the audience.
No, wait. Half of those girls were onstage tonight!
“Shen Yuan-sama! You really came! I knew you’d be here!”
“Ahh, I thought it was only a rumor, but I came anyway just in case! I can’t believe it!”
“Shen Yuan-sama, what did you think of our performance? How did we sound?!”
“Will you review our EP for your blog? I-I have it right here! We’d be so honored!”
Shang Qinghua actually stopped in the doorway, mouth half open. What the hell? Wasn’t this the kind of attention you were supposed to shower the owner with after a good show? Who was this stranger basking in all the good vibes Shang Qinghua had worked so hard to cultivate? And it really had been a good show, too! Obviously!!
She was seeing the other woman’s face in proper lighting for the first time, and the name sounded familiar, too. Shen Yuan…Shen Yuan…wait, that Shen Yuan?
Runs an indie music review blog under the name Peerless Cucumber Shen Yuan?!
Yuka bumped into her and, when she didn’t move immediately, shoved past with a snarl. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother with a frown, staring at Shen Yuan at the center of that hard-won audience, half her face obscured by her fan. Covering up a smug smile, no doubt! What the hell! Shang Qinghua knew Cucumber had gone public with her real name and face after she’d achieved a certain level of clout in the local music scene, but she still predominantly thought of her long-time critic as Peerless Cucumber. It had definitely never occurred to her that Peerless Cucumber might turn up at a show at her own live house!
And what’s more, she apparently had some kind of teen heartthrob vibe going on! Shang Qinghua had been a teen once and she knew damn well that you didn’t throw yourself at a woman’s feet just to get her to listen to your demo tape. Well, okay, Shang Qinghua actually would have done that and still would now, but even so! It wasn’t like Peerless Cucumber was the only indie critic in town. Definitely nothing worth squealing over. She wasn’t even that hot! Not hot at all! That fan was her only charm point!!
But she watched, in crumbling dismay, as Shen Yuan plucked the proffered CD and the girl, whom Shang Qinghua had witnessed screaming death into a microphone not two hours ago, let out a giddy laugh and nearly melted on the spot. Shang Qinghua finally let herself be pushed out of the doorway by another disgruntled staff member. This one actually cussed her out, which was probably a thing she shouldn’t tolerate as new management, but Shang Qinghua was lucky to still have staff at all at this point, and more importantly—
There was no absolutely way she could perform here as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky now!
It really wasn’t a matter of pride. Shang Qinghua’s was more than capable of taking a few punches and she had been reading Peerless Cucumber’s harsh reviews for years, after all. But she was working so hard to build up a good reputation for the live house, so that it wouldn’t fold and she wouldn’t be stuck with the kind of debt people throw themselves off buildings over, and if an influencer like Peerless Cucumber totally panned her performance, how would she recover? That could actually spell the end for the Mile High Club!
Besides, she definitely needed to have Shen Yuan as a repeat customer. If mere rumors of her appearance drew in a crowd, then Shang Qinghua absolutely had to make sure she’d come back!
It seemed the headliner band was the only group not hanging on Shen Yuan’s every glance. Actually, their guitarist, whose princelike charm had absolutely captivated a sizable portion of the audience, was looking longingly towards the crowd—not Shen Yuan—with a kind of tortured agony on her face. The DJ, now out of her bear suit, just patted her arm and nudged her along out the door. Shang Qinghua didn’t see the black suits anywhere, and going by how ticket sales had gone for the night, she probably wouldn’t ever have to again. Thank god.
Not long after that, the rest of the patrons and performers began to wander out. One or two of the band members seemed to remember that Shang Qinghua was the owner of the stage they’d just performed at and thanked her in passing, but all attention passing through the lobby seemed to snag on Shen Yuan on the way out. It was a little nauseating to watch all that fawning and fanning, but Shang Qinghua wasn’t going to deliberately subject herself to the indignity of trying to get a grown woman’s attention and losing it completely to a small crowd of adoring teens.
Except it was taking way too long. After another couple of minutes waiting, she started helping to usher the lingering customers out the door.
“Sorry, sorry, we’ve gotta start closing up, everyone! Thank you, thank you for coming, hope to see you again—grab a flyer on your way out, check us out on social media! You can look forward to some more sick lineups in the future!”
Shen Yuan made absolutely no effort to assist in ushering the lingering girls out of the live house, just watched from behind her fan as Shang Qinghua attempted to herd them out the door. It took forever, and just as about the lobby was about to clear out, Shen Yuan too made a move for the door.
“Wait!” Shang Qinghua all but lunged to block her from the door, arms flung out in a T-pose. “Shen Yuan—Peerless Cucumber, right?”
Shen Yuan’s reflexive little brow furrow at being intercepted shifted to a look of surprise, her eyebrows lifting. “You read my blog?”
“Well, yeah—” Largely for articles about herself, yes, but she read other posts sometimes. “I didn’t know you were that popular, though, haha. I mean—I guess people will show up to a place just because you’re there, huh?”
“Mm,” was all Shen Yuan said. Shang Qinghua could couldn’t get a read on her expression with the fan in the way.
“So you should definitely come back. Next live show, I mean. Which is soon.”
Shang Qinghua really couldn’t tell what that returning look was supposed to mean. What gives? When it came to tearing Airplane’s music apart, she’d write a 5,000 word blog post, but in person all she did was grunt and nod behind that stupid fan?
“I’ll give you more free drink tickets,” she said when Shen Yuan didn’t answer. She was already prepared to resort to bribery. “For alcoholic drinks, even!”
Shen Yuan appeared to consider it. “I don’t want free drink tickets,” she said, closing her fan with a flick of her wrist.
Shang Qinghua deflated slightly. Shit, was Shen Yuan going to ask for money? She definitely couldn’t afford to bribe an influencer. Just as she opened her mouth to try and bullshit some other offer off the top of her head, Shen Yuan pointed her fan at Shang Qinghua spoke again.
“I want free drinks.”
Shang Qinghua’s mouth closed. Okay, that was…more than she was really preparing to give away, but still, a pretty good deal! How much could Shen Yuan possibly drink during a show?
“Okay, yes! Deal!” Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together. She never thought Peerless Cucumber would be the one to come through in the clutch, but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like this. Then she rushed on before Shen Yuan could possibly rethink that decision. “Seriously, thank you. I owe you a whole-ass debt of gratitude. So when are you free?”
Shen Yuan’s eyebrows knitted slightly, but all she said was, “When’s the next show?”
“Uh…TBD. Can I text you?”
“You can DM me,” Shen Yuan said with a withering look. It had no effect on Shang Qinghua whatsoever. Yes, she will absolutely slide into your DMs, Peerless Cucumber, thank you for the invitation! Arguably this was a worse decision than giving Shang Qinghua her number.
Shen Yuan left shortly thereafter, and the lobby was empty except for Shang Qinghua and the handful of staff tidying up after the show. Yuka shoved a broom into her hand and grunted, “Don’t just stand there, help us clean up.”
Shang Qinghua’s triumphant mood could not be eroded by cranky coworkers. Tonight was a success! Tonight was a victory! That had actually been a good show, they had actually almost had a full house, and now indie music influencer Peerless Cucumber had agreed to be the Mile High Club’s personal barfly. Things were definitely coming up Airplane.
All she had to do was make sure Shen Yuan never found out she was Airplane, or else she’d dump their arrangement in the trash immediately. And she had to book more bands to play in her, at this point, highly theoretical next show. She had this. She totally had this!
Title: Live at the Mile High Club!
Summary: Shang Qinghua has been releasing music as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for years, drawing both praise and ire all around, but when she's left in charge of a failing live house, she has no choice but to dig the place out of debt before it pulls her under with it. Popular music blogger Shen Yuan seems to draw a crowd just by being there, so Shang Qinghua allows (begs) (bribes) her to come to performances in the hopes of attracting more bands to play. She just has to make sure that Shen Yuan doesn't find out that Shang Qinghua is also her favorite subject for vehement criticism. And keep up with the prolific output Airplane's fans are used to. And prevent the Mile High Club from toppling over into destitution and taking her with it,
AO3 mirror
The thing is, Shang Qinghua had never really planned to run a live house.
It was just a side hustle serving drinks and cleaning up after customers, meant to supplement her other side hustle, because when you’re broke in Tokyo without a full-time job, every hustle is a side hustle. It wasn’t her fault that selling mass market appeal EDM on TuneCore wasn’t profitable enough to support her full time! Her Vocaloid productions had more of a dedicated following, but it was smaller, not quite enough to keep the cash flowing. And the music videos—which were absolutely critical to Airplane Shooting Through the Sky’s elaborate and sprawling OC lore—took so much longer to produce than a single track! Every lyric was carefully constructed to flesh out the elaborate narrative of Airplane’s musical fantasy realm! It was a lot of work for just one person, okay!
It was for that reason that production on her Vocaloid content had really slowed down ever since she started working at the live house. Some of her fans were understanding, even upping their contributions on her pay-what-you-want anime cover tracks in support, while others flipped the switch from devoted followers to vicious anti-fans who, despite their professed disgust with the new direction Airplane’s music was taking, wouldn’t stop commenting.
Well, any press is good press, right?
By far her most vehement detractor was that contemptuous Peerless Cucumber and her indie music review blog. She wasn’t a celebrity, wasn’t even a musician! But for some reason, her blog had gotten super popular in the last year, and all of a sudden producers on the local music circuit were paying attention to her opinions. She had become...an influencer!
Of all people! Peerless Cucumber, whose dubious “career” had started as nothing more than leaving rude and verbose comments on Youtube AND Nico videos (seriously! Who went to that much effort!), was now considered a voice with authority in the local music scene??
So why was it that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, who’d been sweating blood, sweat and bass drops on her aging laptop for years now, was getting all of the negative attention, and Peerless Cucumber, who had never produced a track in her life, was getting all the praise? Where were her credentials? Where was the karma?!
The fact that Peerless Cucumber kept even bothering to post about Airplane’s music after her meteoric rise to (local, very local) fame was a mystery in itself. According to the Cucumber herself, Airplane was nothing but a third-rate ““producer”” (Shang Qinghua did not appreciate her liberal use of scare quotes) whose music was steadily losing altitude with every release, and it was only a matter before she took a nosedive directly into the Pacific Ocean.
Stop with the plane crash jokes, it’s not even that funny!!
“Anyone with a laptop can shit out an okay EDM track,” Cucumber had recently written, “and the rate at which Airplane puts out new singles suggests she must have musical diarrhea.”
First of all, rude! Second of all, gross! Who told you to drag Airplane’s IBS into this!
Shang Qinghua supposed that she was grateful for the attention, because every time Cucumber posted a new review of her music, a few more clicks came her way. Any new sales also tended to increase the number of stupid comments and the time she spent ill-advisedly but hilariously engaging with those comments under sockpuppet accounts. Whatever, joke’s on them, at the end of the day, money is money!
Still, for whatever reason, Peerless Cucumber was paying attention to her, even if it was just to roast her. It was nice to be noticed. In a way, she was one of Airplane’s most dedicated listeners, someone who had been commenting since the beginning. So didn’t that mean that it was partly thanks to Airplane that she had all that fame? Of course it did. After all, if you were going to be a music critic, you had to have music to criticize!
Her part-time job at the Mile High Club pulled in enough cash to narrowly make her ends meet, but only if she kept producing music on the side. Even as she shifted more towards the less time-consuming non-vocal tracks, she was still working on her magnus opus: a full concept album voiced by Vocaloids, complete with its own set of lore-drenched music videos. Shang Qinghua had even spent a considerable amount of her (very non-disposable) income commissioning cute character designs for all of her musical OCs—it was important to have an artistic vision, okay, and not everyone wanted to make content of M*ku and her countless derivatives 24/7!—which she then used as reference for laboriously rigging 3D models for her videos. Peerless Cucumber really didn’t appreciate how much time and effort went into her work, jeez! Shang Qinghua would bet she’d never had to choreograph a 4-person dance routine with a 13” laptop screen and a very narrow apartment for practicing steps in. Never mind that Cucumber thought the choreography in all of her videos was “flat and uninspired” anyway.
But it was fine! It was fine. As long as Shang Qinghua made enough money to cover rent, cheap noodles and her budget for titties-out anime figurines, then everything was fine.
When the owner called Shang Qinghua into the office one day, she was too busy panicking over the possibility losing her job to immediately notice the suddenly strangely naked walls and all the knickknacks missing from the owner’s desk. She was still mentally composing a desperate plea to keep her miserable post when the owner offered her a promotion. Shang Qinghua froze mid-bow so abruptly she thought she might have pinched a nerve in her neck.
A promotion? Here? Shang Qinghua had barely received any attention from the owner, let alone praise, in the several months since she started working here, but now she was being offered a promotion?? Maybe the floor manager had put in a good word for her, despite all those dirty looks. Maybe those were supposed to be encouraging dirty looks. Whatever, Shang Qinghua was over the moon. A job promotion! Shit yes! Shang Qinghua had never been offered a job promotion in her life!
It wasn’t until after she’d signed the paperwork hastily shoved at her, accepted keys to the building and every locked room therein, and found the owner’s office completely empty the next morning that she realized that maybe…she should have asked a few more questions about that promotion before accepting.
And when Shang Qinghua discovered the debt notices and multiple liens against the business, she realized that she hadn’t just been made the Mile High Club’s new owner; she’d been made the fall guy! She wasn’t even sure if this was entirely legal, but it wasn’t like she had the money to like, get a lawyer or anything!
Most of the upper management had absconded along with the owner, but Yuka, the floor manager who, ah, nope, definitely hated her guts was still there, along with all the staff that Shang Qinghua definitely could not pay. So not only did the owner leave Shang Qinghua all her debts, she also left all the dirty work! Miserably, Shang Qinghua thought she could sympathize with the anger of every employee being let go by the person who, three days ago, had been solely responsible for cleaning toilets and serving drinks. She’d be pretty pissed too. She probably wouldn’t have thrown a chair at the new owner, but hey, everyone processes anger differently.
She kept some of the staff on—she had to, because she had no idea how to run this place by herself—including Yuka, because she was a good manager, and Shang Qinghua needed that more than she needed her dignity. She’d just been handed this place, she at least had to keep the lights on. Also, this was supposed to be her side hustle! The other half of her income! If she let it just go under, she’d be in even worse shape than before she even started this stupid job!
Shang Qinghua still cleaned the toilets and served drinks, of course. No sense in hiring someone extra when she already knew how to do those things. Also, she couldn’t afford to hire anyone extra. Also, she really needed to handful of people she didn’t lay off to run lights and sound and teach her how to do all of those things.
Keeping the live house from shutting down consumed Shang Qinghua’s life completely. Who knew running a business was so time-consuming? And the previous owner really did wait until the last and worst possible moment to drop this problem in someone else’s lap, huh? It was all Shang Qinghua could do to keep churning out dance tracks so as not to lose her online following’s attention, but the lore-laden concept album had been put tragically aside for the time being. She couldn’t even think about commissioning any new art, not when her other job was costing her money instead of paying her.
Still, even as she hastily put herself through a gamut of online accounting classes and scouted (begged) bands to perform, there was a little glimmer of hope for Shang Qinghua. For better or for worse, she owned a live house now! So what if it was just barely staying in business? For the first time in her musical career (“career”), Shang Qinghua was looking at a stage she didn’t need permission to perform on. Could…could this finally be Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s live debut? Could she finally realize her dream of performing in front of her fans and go public with her music, and finally get the recognition she deserved? And maybe give Earless Cucumber a reason to rethink all of that criticism and say something nice for once?
As it turned out, no.
First—sigh, priorities—first, she had to get bands to play on her stage and bring in some paying and hopefully returning customers. As soon as news of the new management had gotten around, all but a few of their bookings had dropped out. What was left were the dregs, the bands who usually wound up paying half of their ticket quotas out of pocket. They were fine for filling out the opening acts, but what Shang Qinghua needed were names with recognition, bands who would bring in customers, who would buy drinks and remember the name of the Mile High Club, and encourage more bands to come play and bring in new waves of customers, and it would perpetuate into a glorious golden cycle of revenue and fame! Shang Qinghua would be on top of this in no time, and then, then she would make her debut!
She just…had to convince anyone worth anything to play at her live house. The problem was that she couldn’t afford to drop or even really reduce the ticket quota, and bands who could guarantee an audience turnout had bigger and better places with nicer bathrooms to play. It turned out the vicious cycle of debt and anonymity was even harder to escape as a business.
After a few desperate months of campaigning and a nearly empty house week after week to show for it, Shang Qingua finally managed to book a solid Saturday night lineup. The headliners were a weird bunch to be sure (although she had to admit, the DJ in the pink bear suit was a bold gimmick), but the leader was loudly enthusiastic about playing at the Mile High Club. Shang Qinghua was assured by a trio of women in black suits that any deficit in the night’s ticket quota was guaranteed to be covered, but that it would not be a concern regardless. When they’d appeared in the doorway, Shang Qinghua mistook them for debt collectors and immediately bolted for the back door, but once they got that little mixup cleared up, everything was just fine. In fact, they even offered Shang Qinghua an advance on the performance, which she immediately accepted, because who wouldn’t? But—
“Why, though?” she found herself asking, stupidly. Did it matter why? If someone wants to throw cash at you, shouldn’t you just bow and say thank you?? “I mean, uh—don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful, I’ll definitely take the money—”
“Kokoro-sama wishes to play here,” one of the women said expressionlessly. Okay, she was wearing sunglasses (they all were) but Shang Qinghua was sure her face would be unreadable even if she wasn’t. That was exactly the kind of person you hired to stand around in a black suit and sunglasses. “If your business goes bankrupt before the date of the concert, it would be an unacceptable disappointment. Please use these funds to cover your operating costs in the interim.”
Sweat began to bead at Shang Qinghua’s hairline. Not debt collectors, but almost as scary in this case. Okay, okay! You really don’t have to twist her arm like this, if your spoiled charge wants to play here, she can play here until the sun comes up!
But the suits weren’t lying: the little circus that was Hello, Happy World! drew a hell of a crowd. A hell of a…mostly underage crowd, granted, but soft drinks were still drinks! It was just as well that the other acts Shang Qinghua had managed to book were high school girl bands too. None of them with the same name recognition, and a couple of them looked like they were one careless word away from a drama meltdown. But this demographic wasn’t too bad anyway, was it? At least some of them had to have access to their parents’ money, spending as much on drinks and merch as they pleased.
It wasn’t just kids, either. More adults than Shang Qinghua was expecting turned up to watch the show too. She recognized some of them from other live houses in the area—scoping out their new competition, no doubt. The rest…who knew, even high school bands could have fans that spanned multiple demographics. The crowd sure got into it, regardless of age, and customers came to the drink bar in droves in the breaks between sets, eyes shining, cheeks flushed with excitement. Aw, it actually was pretty nice to see this place packed full of people having a good time. It even made Shang Qinghua forget about her crippling debt for a hot minute.
There was one person who stood out by virtue of…well, standing aside. Rather than cheering along raucously with the crowd, this tall, dark-haired woman mostly hung by the wall, watching the performances with a critical eye through thick-rimmed glasses, tapping a closed fan against her palm in time to the beat. There was something about her that looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to make out much of anything in the flashing lights, and though most of her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed halfway down to her waist, the hair that framed her face effectively hid her from Shang Qinghua’s view. After the first (pretty mediocre, even Shang Qinghua had to admit) opening act and the resultant flood of drink orders, the woman approached the bar, tapping her fan on the countertop.
“Plum wine,” she said as soon as Shang Qinghua turned her way. Shang Qinghua raised her eyebrows.
“Uh, sorry. Don’t have that here. Can I get you something else?”
The woman pursed her lips. “Ochawari, then.”
“Yeah, I don’t have shochu either.” Shang Qinghua gestured to the fridge behind the counter. “I have…beer?”
The lady with the fan sighed as though she were being tediously inconvenienced in some way. “Sapporo, then.”
Listen, lady, if you want fancy drinks, you don’t come to a live house that looks like this! Shang Qinghua stifled a roll of her eyes until her back was turned, at which point she made a vicious series of faces while she grabbed a chilled beer and a glass. A little bit of doubt gnawed at her, though. Should she be stocking shochu? Did other live houses actually keep that stuff behind the bar? Shit, did she need to do the kind of research some of her rivals were doing right here, right now?? But it wasn’t like she could ask the boss for a night off or anything, haha…
Shang Qinghua set the beer and glass down and opened her mouth to recite the total, but the words stalled off at the woman’s expectant look. Eyes on the beer, the glass, then Shang Qinghua’s face. Seriously? Who expects the staff at a live house to pour for them? But she couldn’t afford to offend a paying customer, so Shang Qinghua sighed internally, sucked it up, and poured the lady her beer.
“That’ll be—” she started, when the lady flashed a drink ticket at her. Shang Qinghua’s brow furrowed. “Uh, excuse me, where’d this come from? The only people we gave drink tickets to were the bands. Hey, you didn’t steal this from one of those kids, did you? Or bully them into giving it to you? That’s pretty messed up, you know?”
The lady’s brows dropped like a curtain and she snapped open her fan to cover her immediate frown, a thoroughly supercilious gesture that was giving Shang Qinghua some inspo for a new OC. The lady firmly pushed the drink ticket across the counter with two fingers.
“I got this from you.”
Shang Qinghua frowned in confusion. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”
The lady’s eyes rolled heavenward, as though every word was a test of her patience. “You were handing these out with flyers. You don’t remember? You ought to, you practically begged every passerby into taking one.”
Shang Qinghua squinted. Yes, that sounded like something she’d do. Yes, it…was something she had actually done in a fit of desperation.
“Hey, wait, that was two months ago!”
“I don’t see an expiration date.”
Okay, true, but— “These are for soft drinks.”
“It doesn’t say that anywhere on the ticket,” the lady said blithely. Can’t afford to offend a paying customer, right. But she wasn’t actually paying!!
Well, if Shang Qinghua cussed the lady out for unscrupulous coupon use now, the chances of her coming back and actually buying a drink were nil. So Shang Qinghua smiled through her teeth, thanked her for her patronage, and shoved the beer across the bar at her.
The lady with the fan disappeared back into the seething crowd as soon as the next started up with a roar of applause. Shang Qinghua stood back to watch and silently patted herself on the back. Hey, this wasn’t half bad! She’d only had to personally beg one of the bands playing tonight to come, and they were doing steady business with the drinks, so maybe this was actually going to work out. Maybe this was the first step on the road to that golden cycle of being able to pay both sets of bills on a regular basis.
Maybe she really could play on her own stage! Yes! Hell yes! Shang Qinghua’s dreams were totally going to come true now!
Humming a jaunty tune she had already titled “Everything’s Coming Up Airplane,” she tidied up behind the drink bar. Her usually murderous-looking floor manager even returned her thumbs up with a conceding narrowing of the eyes. Haha! The spirit was infectious!
Shang Qinghua had even forgotten all about the haughty lady with the fan and her unreasonable drink standards—until Shang Qinghua followed the trailing crowds to the lobby and saw her swarmed by teen girls from the audience.
No, wait. Half of those girls were onstage tonight!
“Shen Yuan-sama! You really came! I knew you’d be here!”
“Ahh, I thought it was only a rumor, but I came anyway just in case! I can’t believe it!”
“Shen Yuan-sama, what did you think of our performance? How did we sound?!”
“Will you review our EP for your blog? I-I have it right here! We’d be so honored!”
Shang Qinghua actually stopped in the doorway, mouth half open. What the hell? Wasn’t this the kind of attention you were supposed to shower the owner with after a good show? Who was this stranger basking in all the good vibes Shang Qinghua had worked so hard to cultivate? And it really had been a good show, too! Obviously!!
She was seeing the other woman’s face in proper lighting for the first time, and the name sounded familiar, too. Shen Yuan…Shen Yuan…wait, that Shen Yuan?
Runs an indie music review blog under the name Peerless Cucumber Shen Yuan?!
Yuka bumped into her and, when she didn’t move immediately, shoved past with a snarl. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother with a frown, staring at Shen Yuan at the center of that hard-won audience, half her face obscured by her fan. Covering up a smug smile, no doubt! What the hell! Shang Qinghua knew Cucumber had gone public with her real name and face after she’d achieved a certain level of clout in the local music scene, but she still predominantly thought of her long-time critic as Peerless Cucumber. It had definitely never occurred to her that Peerless Cucumber might turn up at a show at her own live house!
And what’s more, she apparently had some kind of teen heartthrob vibe going on! Shang Qinghua had been a teen once and she knew damn well that you didn’t throw yourself at a woman’s feet just to get her to listen to your demo tape. Well, okay, Shang Qinghua actually would have done that and still would now, but even so! It wasn’t like Peerless Cucumber was the only indie critic in town. Definitely nothing worth squealing over. She wasn’t even that hot! Not hot at all! That fan was her only charm point!!
But she watched, in crumbling dismay, as Shen Yuan plucked the proffered CD and the girl, whom Shang Qinghua had witnessed screaming death into a microphone not two hours ago, let out a giddy laugh and nearly melted on the spot. Shang Qinghua finally let herself be pushed out of the doorway by another disgruntled staff member. This one actually cussed her out, which was probably a thing she shouldn’t tolerate as new management, but Shang Qinghua was lucky to still have staff at all at this point, and more importantly—
There was no absolutely way she could perform here as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky now!
It really wasn’t a matter of pride. Shang Qinghua’s was more than capable of taking a few punches and she had been reading Peerless Cucumber’s harsh reviews for years, after all. But she was working so hard to build up a good reputation for the live house, so that it wouldn’t fold and she wouldn’t be stuck with the kind of debt people throw themselves off buildings over, and if an influencer like Peerless Cucumber totally panned her performance, how would she recover? That could actually spell the end for the Mile High Club!
Besides, she definitely needed to have Shen Yuan as a repeat customer. If mere rumors of her appearance drew in a crowd, then Shang Qinghua absolutely had to make sure she’d come back!
It seemed the headliner band was the only group not hanging on Shen Yuan’s every glance. Actually, their guitarist, whose princelike charm had absolutely captivated a sizable portion of the audience, was looking longingly towards the crowd—not Shen Yuan—with a kind of tortured agony on her face. The DJ, now out of her bear suit, just patted her arm and nudged her along out the door. Shang Qinghua didn’t see the black suits anywhere, and going by how ticket sales had gone for the night, she probably wouldn’t ever have to again. Thank god.
Not long after that, the rest of the patrons and performers began to wander out. One or two of the band members seemed to remember that Shang Qinghua was the owner of the stage they’d just performed at and thanked her in passing, but all attention passing through the lobby seemed to snag on Shen Yuan on the way out. It was a little nauseating to watch all that fawning and fanning, but Shang Qinghua wasn’t going to deliberately subject herself to the indignity of trying to get a grown woman’s attention and losing it completely to a small crowd of adoring teens.
Except it was taking way too long. After another couple of minutes waiting, she started helping to usher the lingering customers out the door.
“Sorry, sorry, we’ve gotta start closing up, everyone! Thank you, thank you for coming, hope to see you again—grab a flyer on your way out, check us out on social media! You can look forward to some more sick lineups in the future!”
Shen Yuan made absolutely no effort to assist in ushering the lingering girls out of the live house, just watched from behind her fan as Shang Qinghua attempted to herd them out the door. It took forever, and just as about the lobby was about to clear out, Shen Yuan too made a move for the door.
“Wait!” Shang Qinghua all but lunged to block her from the door, arms flung out in a T-pose. “Shen Yuan—Peerless Cucumber, right?”
Shen Yuan’s reflexive little brow furrow at being intercepted shifted to a look of surprise, her eyebrows lifting. “You read my blog?”
“Well, yeah—” Largely for articles about herself, yes, but she read other posts sometimes. “I didn’t know you were that popular, though, haha. I mean—I guess people will show up to a place just because you’re there, huh?”
“Mm,” was all Shen Yuan said. Shang Qinghua could couldn’t get a read on her expression with the fan in the way.
“So you should definitely come back. Next live show, I mean. Which is soon.”
Shang Qinghua really couldn’t tell what that returning look was supposed to mean. What gives? When it came to tearing Airplane’s music apart, she’d write a 5,000 word blog post, but in person all she did was grunt and nod behind that stupid fan?
“I’ll give you more free drink tickets,” she said when Shen Yuan didn’t answer. She was already prepared to resort to bribery. “For alcoholic drinks, even!”
Shen Yuan appeared to consider it. “I don’t want free drink tickets,” she said, closing her fan with a flick of her wrist.
Shang Qinghua deflated slightly. Shit, was Shen Yuan going to ask for money? She definitely couldn’t afford to bribe an influencer. Just as she opened her mouth to try and bullshit some other offer off the top of her head, Shen Yuan pointed her fan at Shang Qinghua spoke again.
“I want free drinks.”
Shang Qinghua’s mouth closed. Okay, that was…more than she was really preparing to give away, but still, a pretty good deal! How much could Shen Yuan possibly drink during a show?
“Okay, yes! Deal!” Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together. She never thought Peerless Cucumber would be the one to come through in the clutch, but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like this. Then she rushed on before Shen Yuan could possibly rethink that decision. “Seriously, thank you. I owe you a whole-ass debt of gratitude. So when are you free?”
Shen Yuan’s eyebrows knitted slightly, but all she said was, “When’s the next show?”
“Uh…TBD. Can I text you?”
“You can DM me,” Shen Yuan said with a withering look. It had no effect on Shang Qinghua whatsoever. Yes, she will absolutely slide into your DMs, Peerless Cucumber, thank you for the invitation! Arguably this was a worse decision than giving Shang Qinghua her number.
Shen Yuan left shortly thereafter, and the lobby was empty except for Shang Qinghua and the handful of staff tidying up after the show. Yuka shoved a broom into her hand and grunted, “Don’t just stand there, help us clean up.”
Shang Qinghua’s triumphant mood could not be eroded by cranky coworkers. Tonight was a success! Tonight was a victory! That had actually been a good show, they had actually almost had a full house, and now indie music influencer Peerless Cucumber had agreed to be the Mile High Club’s personal barfly. Things were definitely coming up Airplane.
All she had to do was make sure Shen Yuan never found out she was Airplane, or else she’d dump their arrangement in the trash immediately. And she had to book more bands to play in her, at this point, highly theoretical next show. She had this. She totally had this!