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keith_ltd2022-01-14 09:58 pm
runawayballista) wrote in keith_ltd2022-01-14 09:58 pm
Live at the Mile High Club! Chapter 2
Fandom: BanG Dream!, Scum Villain
Title: Live at the Mile High Club!
Summary: Shang Qinghua hustles to put together a follow-up show so that Shen Yuan can draw an even bigger crowd to the Mile High Club, but very little goes according to plan. Luo Binghe is furious. So are a lot of other people.
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Shang Qinghua did not even remotely have this. Hello, Happy World! wasn’t opposed to playing at the Mile High Club again, but they were already booked for the next month. She had really underestimated the popularity of a band that primarily played to child audiences and had kind of been banking them to headline again, but that was fine! Totally fine. She’d just find another band for her main act.
Proud Immortal Demon Way, one of the opening acts and a regular at the Mile High Club’s practice studios, repeatedly nominated themselves for the gig, but the truth was that they still lacked a lot of polish, and, well…as a band, they were kind of a mess. Sha Hualing, the lead guitarist, had a tendency to improvise solos in the middle of a song, and the drummer Six Balls sometimes lost the tempo in the excitement. Luo Binghe, the vocalist and rhythm guitarist and (in theory) leader, was just as inclined to get carried away onstage and didn’t bother trying to keep the rest of the band in line. The result was a sound that clashed more often than it resonated, more noise than music. Overall…communication was definitely not their strong point.
But Shang Qinghua had a little soft spot for Luo Binghe and her disaster band. When she’d first started working here, Luo Binghe was in the studio practicing just about every night, improvising a new chord progression and charmingly overwrought lyrics every time. She had a lot of raw talent, to be sure, but absolutely no sense of musical direction. And wasn’t it Shang Qinghua’s job, as an industry professional, to give aspiring young musicians a little nudge in the right direction? Sure, she was a menial worker at the live house, but she was a musician too. She had all the right sensibilities. She could spot a budding talent just as well as any scout!
So she introduced Luo Binghe to the quiet, stony-faced bassist who booked Studio B on Thursday nights. Shang Qinghua had to admit that Mobei Jun was also a little intense for her age—and tall! What were high school kids eating these days!—but figured she’d probably be a good foil to Luo Binghe’s manic approach to music. And it turned out they already knew each other from school, so it wasn’t even much of an introduction to make. Just a little nudge, just like that.
It didn’t take long for Sha Hualing, Meiyin, and Six Balls to come together with them as a band, and—a point of personal pride—Shang Qinghua had even suggested their name. It suited their image, and Luo Binghe seemed to like it, because she latched onto it immediately. But it seemed that since the moment they declared themselves Proud Immortal Demon Way, the only thing Luo Binghe wanted out of Shang Qinghua was time on that stage. The only reason Shang Qinghua kept letting them was because Mobei Jun made up for their ticket quota every time, and Luo Binghe didn’t even have the good sense to be grateful about it.
Ah, teenage girls were so heartless! Didn’t the gracious and encouraging menial worker-turned-owner deserve a little more credit than that?!
Still, Luo Binghe was a persistent and stubborn thing, weirdly intimidating for a seventeen-year-old girl, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t bring herself to say no. She found herself giving Luo Binghe an “I’ll think about it” instead. That might come back to bite her in the ass later, but that was a problem for Future Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua mostly moved in the online electronic music circles, and while she’d become more acquainted with the local girls band scene from the last year or so of working at the live house, the Mile High Club had never really managed to nab any top artists. So Shang Qinghua hit up the best reference she could think of: Peerless Cucumber’s blog.
Shang Qinghua’s desk chair creaked plaintively as she climbed into it, gingerly blowing on a steaming cup of instant noodles. The chair listed slightly to the side as Shang Qinghua shifted her weight—either one of the wheels was broken or something had gotten caught in it, she hadn’t bothered to check—and a splash of scalding water spilled onto her bare thigh.
“Ffffuck,” she hissed, stifling a spasm that would have resulted in noodles all over her laptop, and set the cup down on her desk with a heavy thud. She scrubbed at her leg with the hem of her tank top, but the angry red marks were already there. Her work clothes were abandoned on the floor around the entrance to her tiny bedroom, and it was too hot to wear pants. That was the beauty of living alone! No one was around to care if you hunched over your laptop in your underwear like a sweaty little gremlin, just as Shang Qinghua was doing right now.
She perused the tags on Peerless Cucumber’s blog, mostly looking for reviews of live shows she’d gone to. There was no shortage of girl bands in Tokyo’s bustling indie music scene, though Cucumber’s reviews were rarely gentle. Yikes, she didn’t go easy on anyone, did she? Shang Qinghua wondered what it must be like to be that joyless. People who spent all their time roasting others in blog posts and getting into fights in the comments really had too much free time on their hands.
A couple hours, another cup of noodles, and two beers later, Shang Qinhua was…not feeling very optimistic. The only problem with this idea was that all of the bands Peerless Cucumber reviewed were way out of the Mile High Club’s league! Shang Qinghua gnawed anxiously on a hangnail, cycling through the 25 tabs’ worth of blog posts she had open, just trying to find someone attainable. That’s right! She didn’t have to book the best, she just had to fill up the stage, and Shen Yuan would bring the customers in droves!
Shang Qinghua sketched out a shortlist of bands to invite on the back of an envelope floating around her desk and went to close the cascade of blog tabs. But she paused after the first few rapid clicks as she noticed a new update. Shang Qinghua’s heart leapt. Was it a review of the show at the Mile High Club? Was Shen Yuan going to give her a little free publicity in return for the free drinks? Shang Qinghua clicked through with gusto. Haha yes!
No.
Not a post about the latest show…a post about Airplane’s latest single!
She’d pushed it out in a bleary, sleepless daze the day before the show and then immediately forgotten about it in favor of wrangling the logistics of setlists and equipment breakdown. It seemed that instead of writing a rave review about the Mile High Club’s fantastic comeback show, she’d poured all of her time and energy into yet another rambling hate post. Was that why she was so grumpy back at the live house? Was she just all chafed over the unending parade of disappointment that Airplane’s music brought her?
No one’s forcing you, okay! Haven’t you ever heard of “don’t like, don’t listen”!
Shang Qinghua read the blog post anyway.
Come on! That’s not criticism, that’s just flaming! What happened to your posting standards, Cucumber??
Okay, so if you’re so convinced her music is always trash, then why are you still subscribed to her Patreon? Besides, those “donator requests” were her bread and butter right now! You try thinking up a concept for a hot new dance track every other week, it’s really hard, okay!
Shang Qinghua sat back in her hair, tipped back her head, and rolled her eyes back as far as they would go.
Peerless Cucumber brought up the shelved (not scrapped!) concept album in almost every post about Airplane’s music these days. It was a little weird. Sure, Peerless Cucumber had once been a little more favorable in her reviews, and the reviews of Airplane’s laboriously produced vocal tracks were always the longest. She’d even point out some good things about Airplane’s music, but it was usually to highlight the bad points, like the “florid lyric writing purple enough to put an eggplant to shame” and “repurposed chord progressions from relatively successful releases, thereby devaluing her music as a whole”. And then there was the lore! For someone who claimed to be done with Airplane’s music time and time again, she sure knew a whole lot about Airplane’s pantheon of musical OCs, citing the kind of stuff you’d only know digging through old forum posts and liner notes.
Maybe she just missed having a broader range of things to complain about when it came to Airplane’s music. Sorry, Peerless Cucumber, she was way too busy with her other job now to provide you with more perverse entertainment!
Shang Qinghua closed her laptop with a sigh. As WTF-inducing as Peerless Cucumber’s reviews could be, they didn’t really get under her skin. Okay, she would definitely appreciate some nicer reviews if only to score her some more downloads, yes. But the truth was, she kind of agreed with Peerless Cucumber on one thing: the stuff she’d teased for her concept album really was a lot better!
She glanced at the wall next to her desk, plastered in overlapping posters and prints and more than a few of her own drawings. Most of the prints here were character art she’d had commissioned of her OCs, and just looking at it brought a wave of intense longing to work on her passion project. She didn’t have anywhere else to go for the rest of the night. She had a buffer for her next release in reserve. She could blow the dust off and just dabble a little, right? Even business owners needed to do things to relax, right?
Shang Qinghua knocked over one of the empty noodle cups on her desk as she all but sprung from her desk chair to unearth her favorite synth, recently buried under old issues of music magazines and several unwashed hoodies (they’re out of season, who has time to do extra laundry?). With a gleeful little hum, she wiped the dust from the keys with her work shirt, plugged it in, and got to jamming. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky always was happiest when she was making music.
“Fuck! Fuck! Ffffuck!”
She was late! She was beyond late! They didn’t even open up until noon, it really wasn’t that hard to be on time!
And yet 3pm the following day saw Shang Qinghua sprinting breathlessly from the train station to the Mile High Club, nearly seeing stars. It wasn’t her fault she got into a groove, stayed up playing until 4am, and then unceremoniously passed out before remembering to set an alarm! That’s just what happens when an artist doesn’t get to make real art for too long!!
She was panting by the time she made it to the live house in rumpled clothes she’d scavenged from what she was pretty sure was the clean pile. Yuka looked up from the pile of dust she was sweeping up.
“Hey, she’s not dead,” she called over her shoulder. Shang Qinghua dragged herself through the front door with staggering steps.
“Why didn’t you text me,” she half-wheezed, half-whined to her most senior employee (since the assistant manager had quit almost immediately after Shang Qinghua’s “promotion”), who had never respected her from day one and probably, definitely wasn’t going to start now. She dragged herself behind the counter and fished a bottle of water out from the cooler.
“I figured you’d either show up or you’d be dead,” said Yuka with a shrug.
“And what if I was dead?”
“I dunno, I guess the police would tell us when they found your body?”
Ouch, ouch! But on the other hand, Shang Qinghua probably should be counting herself lucky for having staff who’d open and run the store even if she mysteriously disappeared. She nodded in concession to this and pretended she didn’t see Yuka roll her eyes as she carted off the dustpan.
Why did she think she needed to discipline her employees? If she did so much as scold them, she probably wouldn’t have any left. So it was totally fine if they didn’t really respect their boss as long as they kept the live house running!
The workload was light, too. They had a few practice sessions in the studio booked for today—they’d seen a small uptick in reservations since the last show—but as Shang Qinghua stood in the lobby, catching her breath, she realized the bulk of her work wasn’t going to be in the studio. She finished chugging the bottle of water and tossed it at the trash. It missed by about a foot. “So, uh, you guys are good here, right?”
Yuka’s murderous gaze moved from the empty water bottle to her boss. “You just got here—you’re leaving?”
Shang Qinghua was already finger combing her hair to tie it back in an uneven bun. “Well, somebody’s gotta scout some bands so we can have another show and I can continue to pay you. The hustle never ends, you know?”
Yuka looked supremely doubtful, but she wasn’t about to argue with the prospect of getting paid. “Is that why you were late?”
“Yes,” Shang Qinghua said instantly with a firm nod. Yuka squinted at her for an uncomfortably long moment, then shrugged once again. Shang Qinghua practically flew out the door.
“Please come play at our live house this Saturday!”
Five teenage girls with instruments slung over their shoulders exchanged a dubious glance amongst themselves. It was weird enough for a grown woman to bow in entreaty to a couple of high school students, particularly just outside their school, but it was definitely weirder when she got on her knees and actually started begging! One of them looked at her bandmates uneasily before answering.
“Um…it’s not like we’re totally uninterested or anything, but it’s kind of short notice, isn’t it?”
Yes! It was incredibly short notice! But if Shang Qinghua didn’t pull together a gig soon, Shen Yuan would probably forget about the Mile High Club altogether and the live house would collapse under the weight of a thousand debts!
“What’s the ticket quota?” another girl asked curiously.
“Twenty-five,” said Shang Qinghua, but after a couple of uncertain hums, she quickly amended it to, “Twenty!”
“Hm...we have a couple hundred followers on Twitter, we might be able to get enough people to come…”
“Yeah, but for this Saturday? Everyone’s probably already busy!”
“True, we’re really only available because our show this weekend got postponed…”
“Shen Yuan will be there,” Shang Qinghua added hurriedly. Just as she’d hoped, the namedrop had an almost instant effect on the band. Five pairs of eyes widened, and a couple of them smiled dreamily.
“Shen Yuan? You mean the music blogger?”
“Seriously? Shen Yuan-sama is going to this show?”
“Oh my gosh! Is she a regular at your live house?”
“Yes,” Shang Qinghua lied, like a liar. “She’s there all the time! If you come play at our live house, you’ll definitely get to meet her!”
The uncertain murmuring was starting to turn to a little stream of excited burbling. Shang Qinghua held her breath.
“Hm…but if we can’t enough people, can we afford to cover the quota?”
“Are you kidding? If Shen Yuan is going to be there, the place will probably be packed!”
“It’ll be worth it even if we do have to pay! One good review from Shen Yuan-sama and we’ll get invited to play at the good venues!”
Shang Qinghua, whose ego could easily absorb the blow of truth that her live house was not one of the “good” venues, was over the moon with relief when they finally said yes. Booking get!!
The humble little Mile High Club was nearly at capacity the next Saturday night, to Shang Qinghua’s dizzying relief. Granted, the dizzying part was because she hadn’t slept in three days, spending all of her free time tossing flyers at would-be patrons like a cartoon pizza chef dealing out pies, but it was worth it! A solid four-band lineup; none of them were particularly famous, but as Peerless Cucumber liked to point out, she could always manage quantity where quality was lacking. There were still some customers milling around the lobby when sound check finished and the first band started their set, but they were steadily drifting into the performance space. No one really got their hype on for a band with a total of two songs up for download, but the vibe was set. People were getting excited and ordering drinks; even her floor manager looked a little less sour for once. There was just one problem.
Shen Yuan hadn’t shown her face yet!
“Hey,” said Yuka, shouldering past a few customers on her way out of the performance space. She was frowning, but that wasn’t any great indication. It was kind of her default expression. “Some of the bands are asking about Shen Yuan—”
Shang Qinghua jerked out of her overtired daze, eyes burning. “Is she here?!”
“No,” Yuka said slowly, giving Shang Qinghua a dubious look. “Did you tell people she was going to be here?”
“Yes! I mean, she said she’d be here, of course I told people! How do you think I managed to book four bands for tonight?”
Yuka’s eyebrows creeped up in an expression that clearly said well that explains a few things and grimaced slightly. “Okay, but I don’t think we’re going to keep all four bands booked if she’s not here. Do you know when she’s supposed to show up?”
Shang Qinghua looked down at her phone, where she’d been relentlessly refreshing Peerless Cucumber’s Twitter feed. Not a single update all day! How was Shang Qinghua supposed to keep tabs on her personal cash cow if she wouldn’t post minute by minute updates of her exact activity and location??
Ugh, did the woman not understand basic social media etiquette? If the messages have been clearly read, you need to send a reply! You can’t just leave the other person hanging!!
Shang Qinghua fixed a smile on her face and slid her phone into her pocket with sweaty palms. “Just, uhh, tell them she’s on her way, okay?”
“Right, sure.” Yuka’s voice had gone back to the bored, flat tone she usually addressed the proprietor of this establishment with. “What if they start getting antsy?”
“Give them free drink tickets, t-shirts, whatever! Just don’t let them leave, okay!”
Shang Qinghua hoped that if she stared at the glass front doors desperately enough, Shen Yuan would spontaneously walk through them. She said she would come! She…okay, well, she didn’t promise, and technically Shang Qinghua had never gotten a confirmation, but still! She had promised the free drinks, why couldn’t Shen Yuan promise to show up for them?!
Her phone buzzed as the opening act’s first song wound down to its conclusion with a neat little drum fill, and her heart leapt. But no, no Twitter notification—just a text from Yuka: there’s a line at the bar get back here we have customers.
Ah, at least she had such dedicated and hardworking employees. The day she was alone at the Mile High Club would be the day she was well and truly fucked.
As Shang Qinghua shuffled towards the performance space, casting a look back at the front doors with every step, she heard Luo Binghe ask Yuka about Shen Yuan with heartbreaking hopefulness. It still wasn’t that late! The show had only just started! There was still plenty of time for Shen Yuan to show up!
So why did Shang Qinghua feel like she was getting stood up by a date?!
The first act had enough energy to keep the crowd engaged for a little while, but it was clear that Shen Yuan’s no-show thus far was starting to buzz around the audience and, more importantly, the performers. They were really the highest stakes here; if there were no bands, there was no audience, period! The antsy atmosphere reached its height once the first band was finished and striking their equipment, with no act to occupy the audience. Luo Binghe’s eyes were glued to the door even as Sha Hualing pulled her onstage and Six Balls helpfully plugged her amp in for her.
“We’re Proud Immortal Demon Way,” Luo Binghe said into the mic after a long, reluctant pause, finally tearing her eyes away from the door. Ack! Step it up a notch, kid, you’re totally going to kill the vibe in here!
Fortunately, Sha Hualing was there to pick up the slack by howling the title of their first song, “Winter in the Endless Abyss,” into her mic along with the first shrill guitar riff. Shang Qinghua’s teeth ached—did she even tune her guitar before they played?—but once they were rolling, Luo Binghe’s red eyes had that fierce intensity she always played with, infusing the crowd with energy, and Shang Qinhua relaxed by measures, letting out a slow breath.
And then, in the middle of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s third song, all five girls in the lead act marched up to the drink bar, their gaze laser-targeted on Shang Qinghua. Her immediate instinct was to make a run for it, but she couldn’t exactly escape surrounded by customers, so she was powerless to do anything but stand there with a nervous and preemptive take-pity-on-me smile.
“Where is Shen Yuan-sama?” the leader demanded, slamming a hand on the drink bar. Shang Qinghua jumped, then winced internally. How were these the same girls she’d begged outside their school gates to play here? They’d been all cute and demure then. Since when were they so scary! There should be a statute of limitations on an attitude like that! Shang Qinghua was well past her university days, she shouldn’t be intimidated by teenagers anymore!
“She’s on her w—”
“That’s what the manager said forty-five minutes ago! I don’t see her anywhere!”
“Is she actually coming?” another one of the girls piped up. She was their tiny lead guitarist, shorter than the rest by half a head, but her little voice still carried. “Was that a lie just to get us to play here?!”
“No!” Shang Qinghua said, the words spilling as quickly as she could make them. “No, she’s definitely coming! She said she’d be here, she’s just, uh, running late, but she’ll definitely be here in time for your act—look, I’ll give you more drink tickets, just don’t leave!”
Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together, clearly begging. Other customers were starting to eye her with mixed unease and disdain. That’s fine, that’s fine! Her customers can think she’s as pathetic as they want as long as they’re still paying!
“Please! Please just hang around and finish your set! Your ticket quota is way taken care of—if you play, I’m sure you’ll make some extra money off merch! Please stay, I am literally begging you!”
The leader stared her down with a look that could have melted ice. Shang Qinghua was about ready to climb on the bartop to kowtow, but the leader only slammed her fist on the counter again and said loudly, “If Shen Yuan-sama doesn’t show, we walk!”
Did she have to say it just as soon as Proud Immortal Demon Way finished that song, loud enough for the whole live house to hear?!
Luo Binghe’s guitar stopped in the middle of the final riff, her eyes wide. She searched the audience with darting eyes, squinting against the lights, and when she set her gaze toward the drink bar where Shang Qinghua stood, helplessly cornered, it was ablaze.
“Shen Yuan-sama’s not here?”
No, no, did you have to say it directly into the mic! Please, spare this humble shop owner her life!
Dozens of heads turned, each pinning Shang Qinghua to the spot. Was this what “glaring daggers” truly meant? She felt like she’d just been run through with a hundred swords, and the crowd hadn’t even done anything yet!
Murmurs started amidst the audience, largely of the disgruntled type, and Shang Qinghua felt nervous sweat beading at her hairline. Oh, god. Was this going to be how she died? Torn apart by an angry mob at a failing business? She was too young to die! And she didn’t have anyone to clear out her browser history!
With no immediate answer, Luo Binghe was convinced of the worst. She tore her guitar off and threw it on the stage with a yell and a resounding squeal of feedback and bolted for the door, tears in her eyes. Mobei Jun sighed, stooping to unplug Luo Binghe’s guitar and bring a merciful end to the noise, just as a painful pop sounded from the speakers. Sha Hualing ran after Luo Binghe, but damn, that girl could move. Shang Qinghua heard the distant crash of the front door mere seconds later.
After that, all hell broke loose.
At the end of the night, Shang Qinghua considered herself fortunate that all four of her limbs were intact and, despite a customer landing a lucky hit on her forehead with a (plastic, but heavy) cup, more or less unscathed. There had been a whole lot of angry yelling and throwing of small objects, but for the most part, the audience and bands stormed out in an angry huff rather than resorting to vandalism.
What was left was still a mess, though. An expensive mess, Shang Qinghua thought with a cringe as she mentally tallied up what it was going to cost to replace the damaged equipment (Luo Binghe had blown out an amp in her fit of pique), hire a cleaning service (customers too far to throw their drinks at Shang Qinghua had resorted to throwing them on the walls instead), and convince her scant few employees to stay (Yuka was looking real Done right about now). Dammit, she had worked so hard to set this up! This was supposed to be a success!
God dammit, Shen Yuan, you completely screwed her over!
“Please don’t quit,” Shang Qinghua babbled immediately as soon as the floor manager approached her. It seemed her panic was on point, though, because Yuka drew her brows down and crossed her arms. Shang Qinghua immediately dropped to her knees, hands clasped together. “Please! I need you! I’ll be completely screwed if you quit! Please don’t!”
“I want a raise,” said Yuka flatly. Shang Qinghua deflated.
“You know I can’t afford to—okay, okay, yes! You can have a raise, you can have whatever you want, just please don’t leave!”
“I’ll keep collecting paychecks until you run this place into the ground,” said Yuka, and walked out. Shang Qinghua sighed, fished the broom out of the supply closet, and started cleaning up.
Title: Live at the Mile High Club!
Summary: Shang Qinghua hustles to put together a follow-up show so that Shen Yuan can draw an even bigger crowd to the Mile High Club, but very little goes according to plan. Luo Binghe is furious. So are a lot of other people.
AO3 mirror
Shang Qinghua did not even remotely have this. Hello, Happy World! wasn’t opposed to playing at the Mile High Club again, but they were already booked for the next month. She had really underestimated the popularity of a band that primarily played to child audiences and had kind of been banking them to headline again, but that was fine! Totally fine. She’d just find another band for her main act.
Proud Immortal Demon Way, one of the opening acts and a regular at the Mile High Club’s practice studios, repeatedly nominated themselves for the gig, but the truth was that they still lacked a lot of polish, and, well…as a band, they were kind of a mess. Sha Hualing, the lead guitarist, had a tendency to improvise solos in the middle of a song, and the drummer Six Balls sometimes lost the tempo in the excitement. Luo Binghe, the vocalist and rhythm guitarist and (in theory) leader, was just as inclined to get carried away onstage and didn’t bother trying to keep the rest of the band in line. The result was a sound that clashed more often than it resonated, more noise than music. Overall…communication was definitely not their strong point.
But Shang Qinghua had a little soft spot for Luo Binghe and her disaster band. When she’d first started working here, Luo Binghe was in the studio practicing just about every night, improvising a new chord progression and charmingly overwrought lyrics every time. She had a lot of raw talent, to be sure, but absolutely no sense of musical direction. And wasn’t it Shang Qinghua’s job, as an industry professional, to give aspiring young musicians a little nudge in the right direction? Sure, she was a menial worker at the live house, but she was a musician too. She had all the right sensibilities. She could spot a budding talent just as well as any scout!
So she introduced Luo Binghe to the quiet, stony-faced bassist who booked Studio B on Thursday nights. Shang Qinghua had to admit that Mobei Jun was also a little intense for her age—and tall! What were high school kids eating these days!—but figured she’d probably be a good foil to Luo Binghe’s manic approach to music. And it turned out they already knew each other from school, so it wasn’t even much of an introduction to make. Just a little nudge, just like that.
It didn’t take long for Sha Hualing, Meiyin, and Six Balls to come together with them as a band, and—a point of personal pride—Shang Qinghua had even suggested their name. It suited their image, and Luo Binghe seemed to like it, because she latched onto it immediately. But it seemed that since the moment they declared themselves Proud Immortal Demon Way, the only thing Luo Binghe wanted out of Shang Qinghua was time on that stage. The only reason Shang Qinghua kept letting them was because Mobei Jun made up for their ticket quota every time, and Luo Binghe didn’t even have the good sense to be grateful about it.
Ah, teenage girls were so heartless! Didn’t the gracious and encouraging menial worker-turned-owner deserve a little more credit than that?!
Still, Luo Binghe was a persistent and stubborn thing, weirdly intimidating for a seventeen-year-old girl, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t bring herself to say no. She found herself giving Luo Binghe an “I’ll think about it” instead. That might come back to bite her in the ass later, but that was a problem for Future Shang Qinghua.
Shang Qinghua mostly moved in the online electronic music circles, and while she’d become more acquainted with the local girls band scene from the last year or so of working at the live house, the Mile High Club had never really managed to nab any top artists. So Shang Qinghua hit up the best reference she could think of: Peerless Cucumber’s blog.
Shang Qinghua’s desk chair creaked plaintively as she climbed into it, gingerly blowing on a steaming cup of instant noodles. The chair listed slightly to the side as Shang Qinghua shifted her weight—either one of the wheels was broken or something had gotten caught in it, she hadn’t bothered to check—and a splash of scalding water spilled onto her bare thigh.
“Ffffuck,” she hissed, stifling a spasm that would have resulted in noodles all over her laptop, and set the cup down on her desk with a heavy thud. She scrubbed at her leg with the hem of her tank top, but the angry red marks were already there. Her work clothes were abandoned on the floor around the entrance to her tiny bedroom, and it was too hot to wear pants. That was the beauty of living alone! No one was around to care if you hunched over your laptop in your underwear like a sweaty little gremlin, just as Shang Qinghua was doing right now.
She perused the tags on Peerless Cucumber’s blog, mostly looking for reviews of live shows she’d gone to. There was no shortage of girl bands in Tokyo’s bustling indie music scene, though Cucumber’s reviews were rarely gentle. Yikes, she didn’t go easy on anyone, did she? Shang Qinghua wondered what it must be like to be that joyless. People who spent all their time roasting others in blog posts and getting into fights in the comments really had too much free time on their hands.
A couple hours, another cup of noodles, and two beers later, Shang Qinhua was…not feeling very optimistic. The only problem with this idea was that all of the bands Peerless Cucumber reviewed were way out of the Mile High Club’s league! Shang Qinghua gnawed anxiously on a hangnail, cycling through the 25 tabs’ worth of blog posts she had open, just trying to find someone attainable. That’s right! She didn’t have to book the best, she just had to fill up the stage, and Shen Yuan would bring the customers in droves!
Shang Qinghua sketched out a shortlist of bands to invite on the back of an envelope floating around her desk and went to close the cascade of blog tabs. But she paused after the first few rapid clicks as she noticed a new update. Shang Qinghua’s heart leapt. Was it a review of the show at the Mile High Club? Was Shen Yuan going to give her a little free publicity in return for the free drinks? Shang Qinghua clicked through with gusto. Haha yes!
No.
Not a post about the latest show…a post about Airplane’s latest single!
She’d pushed it out in a bleary, sleepless daze the day before the show and then immediately forgotten about it in favor of wrangling the logistics of setlists and equipment breakdown. It seemed that instead of writing a rave review about the Mile High Club’s fantastic comeback show, she’d poured all of her time and energy into yet another rambling hate post. Was that why she was so grumpy back at the live house? Was she just all chafed over the unending parade of disappointment that Airplane’s music brought her?
No one’s forcing you, okay! Haven’t you ever heard of “don’t like, don’t listen”!
Shang Qinghua read the blog post anyway.
Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s new single, “Seven Veils of Ice and Rain”, is unlistenable garbage.
Come on! That’s not criticism, that’s just flaming! What happened to your posting standards, Cucumber??
As the terrifyingly prolific Airplane manages once again to shit out another mediocre track on her dubiously fast-paced schedule, I have to wonder: what kind of quality is she sacrificing for sheer quantity? This and her last four releases have been based on “listener requests” (read: donator requests) and it’s just as bland as the rest. After a point, doesn’t this level of fanservice get in the way of artistic integrity? There certainly isn’t any to be found in this song, because Airplane’s releases of late have all the artistic soul of a vinegar fart. I’ll save you and your wallets the trouble, readers: don’t bother with this single.
Okay, so if you’re so convinced her music is always trash, then why are you still subscribed to her Patreon? Besides, those “donator requests” were her bread and butter right now! You try thinking up a concept for a hot new dance track every other week, it’s really hard, okay!
I could forgive this track’s mind-numbing mediocrity if it at least maintained some thematic cohesion, but it doesn’t even have that going for it. Why bother titling it something like “Seven Veils of Ice and Rain” if that’s not even remotely evocative of the sound? Where are the cascades of cool synths, the sense of progression, the occasional crystalline chime with the beat? There isn’t so much as a sampled vocal in this track—it sounds more like bass drops in the jungle than anything as delicate as “ice and rain”! Frankly, I’m embarrassed on behalf of the entire music community that Airplane continues to label this trash as EDM. With the number of bass drops per minute rising in every track, she might as well be honest and call it dubstep!
Shang Qinghua sat back in her hair, tipped back her head, and rolled her eyes back as far as they would go.
What makes this all the more frustrating is that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky clearly has some measure of talent that she’s chosen to completely squander in favor of producing this endless stream of generic DJ fodder. Her now-scrapped concept album actually held a touch of promise, and this blogger was, dare I say, actually looking forward to reviewing it. But it looks like that day will never come, so Airplane really is a disappointment all around!
Peerless Cucumber brought up the shelved (not scrapped!) concept album in almost every post about Airplane’s music these days. It was a little weird. Sure, Peerless Cucumber had once been a little more favorable in her reviews, and the reviews of Airplane’s laboriously produced vocal tracks were always the longest. She’d even point out some good things about Airplane’s music, but it was usually to highlight the bad points, like the “florid lyric writing purple enough to put an eggplant to shame” and “repurposed chord progressions from relatively successful releases, thereby devaluing her music as a whole”. And then there was the lore! For someone who claimed to be done with Airplane’s music time and time again, she sure knew a whole lot about Airplane’s pantheon of musical OCs, citing the kind of stuff you’d only know digging through old forum posts and liner notes.
Maybe she just missed having a broader range of things to complain about when it came to Airplane’s music. Sorry, Peerless Cucumber, she was way too busy with her other job now to provide you with more perverse entertainment!
Shang Qinghua closed her laptop with a sigh. As WTF-inducing as Peerless Cucumber’s reviews could be, they didn’t really get under her skin. Okay, she would definitely appreciate some nicer reviews if only to score her some more downloads, yes. But the truth was, she kind of agreed with Peerless Cucumber on one thing: the stuff she’d teased for her concept album really was a lot better!
She glanced at the wall next to her desk, plastered in overlapping posters and prints and more than a few of her own drawings. Most of the prints here were character art she’d had commissioned of her OCs, and just looking at it brought a wave of intense longing to work on her passion project. She didn’t have anywhere else to go for the rest of the night. She had a buffer for her next release in reserve. She could blow the dust off and just dabble a little, right? Even business owners needed to do things to relax, right?
Shang Qinghua knocked over one of the empty noodle cups on her desk as she all but sprung from her desk chair to unearth her favorite synth, recently buried under old issues of music magazines and several unwashed hoodies (they’re out of season, who has time to do extra laundry?). With a gleeful little hum, she wiped the dust from the keys with her work shirt, plugged it in, and got to jamming. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky always was happiest when she was making music.
“Fuck! Fuck! Ffffuck!”
She was late! She was beyond late! They didn’t even open up until noon, it really wasn’t that hard to be on time!
And yet 3pm the following day saw Shang Qinghua sprinting breathlessly from the train station to the Mile High Club, nearly seeing stars. It wasn’t her fault she got into a groove, stayed up playing until 4am, and then unceremoniously passed out before remembering to set an alarm! That’s just what happens when an artist doesn’t get to make real art for too long!!
She was panting by the time she made it to the live house in rumpled clothes she’d scavenged from what she was pretty sure was the clean pile. Yuka looked up from the pile of dust she was sweeping up.
“Hey, she’s not dead,” she called over her shoulder. Shang Qinghua dragged herself through the front door with staggering steps.
“Why didn’t you text me,” she half-wheezed, half-whined to her most senior employee (since the assistant manager had quit almost immediately after Shang Qinghua’s “promotion”), who had never respected her from day one and probably, definitely wasn’t going to start now. She dragged herself behind the counter and fished a bottle of water out from the cooler.
“I figured you’d either show up or you’d be dead,” said Yuka with a shrug.
“And what if I was dead?”
“I dunno, I guess the police would tell us when they found your body?”
Ouch, ouch! But on the other hand, Shang Qinghua probably should be counting herself lucky for having staff who’d open and run the store even if she mysteriously disappeared. She nodded in concession to this and pretended she didn’t see Yuka roll her eyes as she carted off the dustpan.
Why did she think she needed to discipline her employees? If she did so much as scold them, she probably wouldn’t have any left. So it was totally fine if they didn’t really respect their boss as long as they kept the live house running!
The workload was light, too. They had a few practice sessions in the studio booked for today—they’d seen a small uptick in reservations since the last show—but as Shang Qinghua stood in the lobby, catching her breath, she realized the bulk of her work wasn’t going to be in the studio. She finished chugging the bottle of water and tossed it at the trash. It missed by about a foot. “So, uh, you guys are good here, right?”
Yuka’s murderous gaze moved from the empty water bottle to her boss. “You just got here—you’re leaving?”
Shang Qinghua was already finger combing her hair to tie it back in an uneven bun. “Well, somebody’s gotta scout some bands so we can have another show and I can continue to pay you. The hustle never ends, you know?”
Yuka looked supremely doubtful, but she wasn’t about to argue with the prospect of getting paid. “Is that why you were late?”
“Yes,” Shang Qinghua said instantly with a firm nod. Yuka squinted at her for an uncomfortably long moment, then shrugged once again. Shang Qinghua practically flew out the door.
“Please come play at our live house this Saturday!”
Five teenage girls with instruments slung over their shoulders exchanged a dubious glance amongst themselves. It was weird enough for a grown woman to bow in entreaty to a couple of high school students, particularly just outside their school, but it was definitely weirder when she got on her knees and actually started begging! One of them looked at her bandmates uneasily before answering.
“Um…it’s not like we’re totally uninterested or anything, but it’s kind of short notice, isn’t it?”
Yes! It was incredibly short notice! But if Shang Qinghua didn’t pull together a gig soon, Shen Yuan would probably forget about the Mile High Club altogether and the live house would collapse under the weight of a thousand debts!
“What’s the ticket quota?” another girl asked curiously.
“Twenty-five,” said Shang Qinghua, but after a couple of uncertain hums, she quickly amended it to, “Twenty!”
“Hm...we have a couple hundred followers on Twitter, we might be able to get enough people to come…”
“Yeah, but for this Saturday? Everyone’s probably already busy!”
“True, we’re really only available because our show this weekend got postponed…”
“Shen Yuan will be there,” Shang Qinghua added hurriedly. Just as she’d hoped, the namedrop had an almost instant effect on the band. Five pairs of eyes widened, and a couple of them smiled dreamily.
“Shen Yuan? You mean the music blogger?”
“Seriously? Shen Yuan-sama is going to this show?”
“Oh my gosh! Is she a regular at your live house?”
“Yes,” Shang Qinghua lied, like a liar. “She’s there all the time! If you come play at our live house, you’ll definitely get to meet her!”
The uncertain murmuring was starting to turn to a little stream of excited burbling. Shang Qinghua held her breath.
“Hm…but if we can’t enough people, can we afford to cover the quota?”
“Are you kidding? If Shen Yuan is going to be there, the place will probably be packed!”
“It’ll be worth it even if we do have to pay! One good review from Shen Yuan-sama and we’ll get invited to play at the good venues!”
Shang Qinghua, whose ego could easily absorb the blow of truth that her live house was not one of the “good” venues, was over the moon with relief when they finally said yes. Booking get!!
The humble little Mile High Club was nearly at capacity the next Saturday night, to Shang Qinghua’s dizzying relief. Granted, the dizzying part was because she hadn’t slept in three days, spending all of her free time tossing flyers at would-be patrons like a cartoon pizza chef dealing out pies, but it was worth it! A solid four-band lineup; none of them were particularly famous, but as Peerless Cucumber liked to point out, she could always manage quantity where quality was lacking. There were still some customers milling around the lobby when sound check finished and the first band started their set, but they were steadily drifting into the performance space. No one really got their hype on for a band with a total of two songs up for download, but the vibe was set. People were getting excited and ordering drinks; even her floor manager looked a little less sour for once. There was just one problem.
Shen Yuan hadn’t shown her face yet!
“Hey,” said Yuka, shouldering past a few customers on her way out of the performance space. She was frowning, but that wasn’t any great indication. It was kind of her default expression. “Some of the bands are asking about Shen Yuan—”
Shang Qinghua jerked out of her overtired daze, eyes burning. “Is she here?!”
“No,” Yuka said slowly, giving Shang Qinghua a dubious look. “Did you tell people she was going to be here?”
“Yes! I mean, she said she’d be here, of course I told people! How do you think I managed to book four bands for tonight?”
Yuka’s eyebrows creeped up in an expression that clearly said well that explains a few things and grimaced slightly. “Okay, but I don’t think we’re going to keep all four bands booked if she’s not here. Do you know when she’s supposed to show up?”
Shang Qinghua looked down at her phone, where she’d been relentlessly refreshing Peerless Cucumber’s Twitter feed. Not a single update all day! How was Shang Qinghua supposed to keep tabs on her personal cash cow if she wouldn’t post minute by minute updates of her exact activity and location??
Ugh, did the woman not understand basic social media etiquette? If the messages have been clearly read, you need to send a reply! You can’t just leave the other person hanging!!
Shang Qinghua fixed a smile on her face and slid her phone into her pocket with sweaty palms. “Just, uhh, tell them she’s on her way, okay?”
“Right, sure.” Yuka’s voice had gone back to the bored, flat tone she usually addressed the proprietor of this establishment with. “What if they start getting antsy?”
“Give them free drink tickets, t-shirts, whatever! Just don’t let them leave, okay!”
Shang Qinghua hoped that if she stared at the glass front doors desperately enough, Shen Yuan would spontaneously walk through them. She said she would come! She…okay, well, she didn’t promise, and technically Shang Qinghua had never gotten a confirmation, but still! She had promised the free drinks, why couldn’t Shen Yuan promise to show up for them?!
Her phone buzzed as the opening act’s first song wound down to its conclusion with a neat little drum fill, and her heart leapt. But no, no Twitter notification—just a text from Yuka: there’s a line at the bar get back here we have customers.
Ah, at least she had such dedicated and hardworking employees. The day she was alone at the Mile High Club would be the day she was well and truly fucked.
As Shang Qinghua shuffled towards the performance space, casting a look back at the front doors with every step, she heard Luo Binghe ask Yuka about Shen Yuan with heartbreaking hopefulness. It still wasn’t that late! The show had only just started! There was still plenty of time for Shen Yuan to show up!
So why did Shang Qinghua feel like she was getting stood up by a date?!
The first act had enough energy to keep the crowd engaged for a little while, but it was clear that Shen Yuan’s no-show thus far was starting to buzz around the audience and, more importantly, the performers. They were really the highest stakes here; if there were no bands, there was no audience, period! The antsy atmosphere reached its height once the first band was finished and striking their equipment, with no act to occupy the audience. Luo Binghe’s eyes were glued to the door even as Sha Hualing pulled her onstage and Six Balls helpfully plugged her amp in for her.
“We’re Proud Immortal Demon Way,” Luo Binghe said into the mic after a long, reluctant pause, finally tearing her eyes away from the door. Ack! Step it up a notch, kid, you’re totally going to kill the vibe in here!
Fortunately, Sha Hualing was there to pick up the slack by howling the title of their first song, “Winter in the Endless Abyss,” into her mic along with the first shrill guitar riff. Shang Qinghua’s teeth ached—did she even tune her guitar before they played?—but once they were rolling, Luo Binghe’s red eyes had that fierce intensity she always played with, infusing the crowd with energy, and Shang Qinhua relaxed by measures, letting out a slow breath.
And then, in the middle of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s third song, all five girls in the lead act marched up to the drink bar, their gaze laser-targeted on Shang Qinghua. Her immediate instinct was to make a run for it, but she couldn’t exactly escape surrounded by customers, so she was powerless to do anything but stand there with a nervous and preemptive take-pity-on-me smile.
“Where is Shen Yuan-sama?” the leader demanded, slamming a hand on the drink bar. Shang Qinghua jumped, then winced internally. How were these the same girls she’d begged outside their school gates to play here? They’d been all cute and demure then. Since when were they so scary! There should be a statute of limitations on an attitude like that! Shang Qinghua was well past her university days, she shouldn’t be intimidated by teenagers anymore!
“She’s on her w—”
“That’s what the manager said forty-five minutes ago! I don’t see her anywhere!”
“Is she actually coming?” another one of the girls piped up. She was their tiny lead guitarist, shorter than the rest by half a head, but her little voice still carried. “Was that a lie just to get us to play here?!”
“No!” Shang Qinghua said, the words spilling as quickly as she could make them. “No, she’s definitely coming! She said she’d be here, she’s just, uh, running late, but she’ll definitely be here in time for your act—look, I’ll give you more drink tickets, just don’t leave!”
Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together, clearly begging. Other customers were starting to eye her with mixed unease and disdain. That’s fine, that’s fine! Her customers can think she’s as pathetic as they want as long as they’re still paying!
“Please! Please just hang around and finish your set! Your ticket quota is way taken care of—if you play, I’m sure you’ll make some extra money off merch! Please stay, I am literally begging you!”
The leader stared her down with a look that could have melted ice. Shang Qinghua was about ready to climb on the bartop to kowtow, but the leader only slammed her fist on the counter again and said loudly, “If Shen Yuan-sama doesn’t show, we walk!”
Did she have to say it just as soon as Proud Immortal Demon Way finished that song, loud enough for the whole live house to hear?!
Luo Binghe’s guitar stopped in the middle of the final riff, her eyes wide. She searched the audience with darting eyes, squinting against the lights, and when she set her gaze toward the drink bar where Shang Qinghua stood, helplessly cornered, it was ablaze.
“Shen Yuan-sama’s not here?”
No, no, did you have to say it directly into the mic! Please, spare this humble shop owner her life!
Dozens of heads turned, each pinning Shang Qinghua to the spot. Was this what “glaring daggers” truly meant? She felt like she’d just been run through with a hundred swords, and the crowd hadn’t even done anything yet!
Murmurs started amidst the audience, largely of the disgruntled type, and Shang Qinghua felt nervous sweat beading at her hairline. Oh, god. Was this going to be how she died? Torn apart by an angry mob at a failing business? She was too young to die! And she didn’t have anyone to clear out her browser history!
With no immediate answer, Luo Binghe was convinced of the worst. She tore her guitar off and threw it on the stage with a yell and a resounding squeal of feedback and bolted for the door, tears in her eyes. Mobei Jun sighed, stooping to unplug Luo Binghe’s guitar and bring a merciful end to the noise, just as a painful pop sounded from the speakers. Sha Hualing ran after Luo Binghe, but damn, that girl could move. Shang Qinghua heard the distant crash of the front door mere seconds later.
After that, all hell broke loose.
At the end of the night, Shang Qinghua considered herself fortunate that all four of her limbs were intact and, despite a customer landing a lucky hit on her forehead with a (plastic, but heavy) cup, more or less unscathed. There had been a whole lot of angry yelling and throwing of small objects, but for the most part, the audience and bands stormed out in an angry huff rather than resorting to vandalism.
What was left was still a mess, though. An expensive mess, Shang Qinghua thought with a cringe as she mentally tallied up what it was going to cost to replace the damaged equipment (Luo Binghe had blown out an amp in her fit of pique), hire a cleaning service (customers too far to throw their drinks at Shang Qinghua had resorted to throwing them on the walls instead), and convince her scant few employees to stay (Yuka was looking real Done right about now). Dammit, she had worked so hard to set this up! This was supposed to be a success!
God dammit, Shen Yuan, you completely screwed her over!
“Please don’t quit,” Shang Qinghua babbled immediately as soon as the floor manager approached her. It seemed her panic was on point, though, because Yuka drew her brows down and crossed her arms. Shang Qinghua immediately dropped to her knees, hands clasped together. “Please! I need you! I’ll be completely screwed if you quit! Please don’t!”
“I want a raise,” said Yuka flatly. Shang Qinghua deflated.
“You know I can’t afford to—okay, okay, yes! You can have a raise, you can have whatever you want, just please don’t leave!”
“I’ll keep collecting paychecks until you run this place into the ground,” said Yuka, and walked out. Shang Qinghua sighed, fished the broom out of the supply closet, and started cleaning up.