[IC] Endeavour Records (Always Open)

[BrutalBx]

Endeavour Records

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Day One

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The studio was silent and silence was the scariest sound of all. The artists had yet to arrive for their morning session and Mitch Morgan sat alone in the booth, acoustic guitar on his lap and all the time in the world. Currently in his head, the only two sounds were of the old pipes rattling inside the Boneyard above and the pitter patter of tiny paws as his Rottweiler pup Hank the Tank roamed around the rooms, looking for snacks most likely.

Mitchell ran a hand through his every thickening beard as he contemplated the music that was gestating in his brain, clawing at the walls of his mind to travel down his arms, into his fingers and out into the world via the guitar strings. He hadn’t properly in weeks and the lines upon his face reflected that fact. Creating Endeavour Records was a long and arduous process; finding the place, scoping some talent, working out contracts etc, it was all a bit business-y and well above Mitchell’s paygrade. For the most part, his good friend Nigel would run the ship and steer it through heavy waters and storms; Mitch was there to nurture the talent, to help it grow.

At the height of his fame, Mitchell Morgan could not go anywhere without someone with a camera following him. It was no discredit to say that Bernard Zephyrs was the biggest boyband on the planet; problem was they weren’t supposed to be a boyband. The guys only got together to jam. It was Nigel, who saw money in these fresh faced boys and took a chance on them. It was a gamble that could have destroyed him, instead it made him a millionaire. The meteoric rise of the Bz’s was the result of all the stars aligning at the right time and shining down a cosmic light upon them and when that light faded it destroyed them. By this admission, Mitchell was the lone survivor; a worn down, beaten up stray dog looking for a home on the island of misfit toys. Some loved them, some hated them but either way you knew the name of Bernard Zephyr.

Endeavour was not designed as a vehicle for Mitchell’s comeback or a way to stick it to the music executives who have corrupted the business. Endeavour Records was designed to be a label for those who wish to create, who wish to be who they are and nobody could tell them otherwise. They may record an album and it may never be released, they may sing one song and never sing again. It didn’t matter, it was going to be the artist's label. Mitch was there solely to provide a platform and offer guidance; the rest was up to them.

Mitchell reached out into the ether, hoping to pull something back. He plucked at a string, leaving the sound to permeate in the studio for a moment before entering further into an improvised melody:

“I stand beholden, to those who choose fire,
To accept and chase their desire.
The air I breathe, feels like poison to me,
California dream, was not meant to be.
That Hollywood song, ain’t what it seems;
Not everyone is the next Norma Jean”

Endeavour Records is open for business...

[Kaalee]

When Adalaide was six years old she used to sit in her grandmother's living room and pluck out melodies on her old beat up, upright piano that was always just a bit out of tune. She couldn't read sheet music yet, nor did she know about chords or melodies or anything actually related to playing a piano. She did learn how to play Mary Had a Little Lamb by herself and her grandmother taught her chopsticks and she thought that was the best thing in the world.

When she was 13 years old, she'd sit on the corner of the street with her little lap keyboard that she bought for 15 dollars and a peek down her shirt from Freddy down the street. She learned a few more melodies and sang along to get people to put money in the glass jar she sat in front of her. On a good day, she could make enough food so they could eat for a few more days, and maybe put some money away for new shoes that she desperately needed but likely would never get.

When she was 17, she would sit in a recording studio with her mom, helping flesh out new songs for people who would never remember their names. Credits on songs that would be popular for one summer before everyone moved onto something bigger and better. It would be there that she recorded her first song, someone else's fingers on the piano and her voice edited until it was unrecognizable to her ears. Her manager assured her that's just how it worked. She was lured away by the 0's in her bank account.

When she was 23...she couldn't remember that year. Or the year after that one. They say she spent her fortune on drugs and parties and then more drugs. Her mother died, and then her brother. She didn't remember that either.

At 29 Adalaide stood near a piano in some twisted corner of Endeavor Records. Somewhere that would give her a modicum of privacy before the rest of the artists filtered in. Adalaide wouldn't sing again, not for people, not for awhile. The music was still a part of her though, it was still something that ran through her blood and spilled out of her mouth and through the pads of her fingers. She suspected that would never go away, no matter what she did.

Adalaide took a few steps towards the piano, her heels clicking a broken staccato on the ground as she hesitated. It was a beautiful piano, a grand piano with real ivories. Adalaide wasn't sure why it was here, it had to be worth a pretty penny. Adalaide shouldn't touch it, she who seemed to take everything beautiful around her and mangle it into something unrecognizable. She did anyways, sitting down on the bench and resting her fingers lightly on the keys. The first chord that came out of the piano in G minor, and then she kept playing. Adalaide played until the words should be coming out of her mouth. Words that she knew, but that she couldn't wrap her tongue around. Not yet, maybe not ever. She pulled her fingers away from the keys, resisting the urge to try again. She closed the cover on the keys and stood up. Her phone pinged quietly from the corner of the room where she had dropped her purse. Adalaide sighed, turning away from the piano and to the rest of her life. She quieted the phone and dug the pill bottle out of her purse. She took the single pill, and tried not to wish it was something a little more interesting than an antidepressant.

Adalaide left the room as she had found it, the light turned off and the door only open a sliver. She made her way back towards the central part of the studio, and she heard the light strumming of a guitar. She followed her ears, before finding herself leaning against the door jam watching Mitch. She closed her eyes, before the guitar faded into nothing. Adalaide took a deep breath, smiling at Mitch if he turned around to face her.

"Are you ready?" Adalaide asked him, poking her head out to see if anyone was heading this way yet. She could hear the sounds of people entering the studio, milling about and exploring. She ignored every impulse to bolt and pasted a smile on her face for anyone who came across her path. It was a new era, and she was ready for it.

[knifeman]

“Rejoice, rejoice God's ears are stitches
Rejoice, His eyes are big x's
Rejoice, His arms are burning witches
Rejoice, His hands perform hexes”

---

It was peaceful inside the old, battered pickup truck; an unusual occurrence. Normally, the sisters were rather loud, using car rides as an excuse for sing-alongs, but today was different. Instead of boisterously singing, Nami was half-asleep and listlessly drinking her iced tea, and Eren was focusing on the drive, anxiety making her stomach hurt a little. She thought about the video she and her sister posted to their YouTube channel the night before.

---

The video started unlike their others; with Eren and Nami Koide sitting next to each other in front of the camera.

Nami spoke first, waving, and Eren followed suit.

“Hey everyone!”
“Heyyy…”

“So, I know we haven’t posted any new videos in a little while, but there’s a really cool reason for that! Eren, if you would…”

A cheesy drumroll sound effect played.

“Weeeeeee… got signed to a record label,” Eren said in a monotone voice, with jazz hands for effect.

“Yeah!” Nami cheered, “So we’ve not only got more and better covers coming for you, but we’ll also be producing original songs! Isn’t that cool?”

“Seriously, we’re so excited to actually turn this silly hobby into an actual job, and we owe it all to you guys. So, from the bottom of our hearts…”

They both spoke in unison, "Thank you!"

“Okay, we’ve been talking too long, so enjoy the video!”

Then, the picture changed to the usual title card and their newest cover, History Maker, started playing.

---

Eren could tell that Nami was nervous, too. You wouldn’t think so just by looking at her, but what kind of sister would Eren be if she couldn’t read her sister like a book after twenty years together?

Of course, there was good reason for both of them to be nervous; they were going through multiple huge life changes at once. In addition to starting their potential career in entertainment, they were moving out of their parents’ house and into an apartment building next to the studio.

---

“Rejoice despite the fact this world will hurt you
Rejoice despite the fact this world will kill you
Rejoice despite the fact this world will tear you to shreds
Rejoice because you're trying your best”

---

Eren parked the car, waking up her sister by poking her cheek.

“We’re here.”

They could worry about unpacking and moving in later; the only things they took out of the back of the truck were Eren’s keyboard, its stand, and a backpack containing various cables and Eren’s laptop.

They came into the studio, Eren lugging the unwieldy keyboard and Nami carrying the stand and backpack.

“Morning!”

Here we go.

---

Wardrobe: A Good First Impression
Recommended Listening: Rejoice by Andrew Jackson Jihad

[Sadie]

After the reveal of her father's passing, time just seemed to be at a stand-still. Cammie had spent what felt like hours, but really were weeks holed up in her London flat. She was less than two hours away from her childhood home and she couldn't muster up the courage to go any closer. The betrayal she had felt- not from her father, but to herself- was crushing her from deep within. How her father must have felt, being completely alone in his fight. Watching his baby girl, his little princess, turn into a heartless creature. She had sobbed off and on for the entire duration of her stay. Not a single person came to see how she was faring, or to give their sympathies. It spoke a lot about the person she had become over the last near decade.

Once she felt her body go numb and her eyes run dry, she had started to research what exactly it would take to separate herself from her label. Her contract still had four months of life to it- and in that time, Tarika was all theirs. The hair, the clothing, the money, the fame...Not a single bit of it belonged to her during that entire time. She couldn't change her hair color, couldn't drop her stage name. For the next four months, Cammie was trapped in being something she desperately wanted to break free from. That desperation made her long for the early months of her career. Long bus rides, lots of laughter, false freedom...

Her eyes traveled to the purple semi colon tattoo on her inner right wrist. Slender finger tips trailed along the ink and a warm smile flashed in her mind. Separating from him was one of the hardest things she ever had to do in her adult life. As she continued to ponder, her mind went to the others in the band. She deeply missed the friendship and banter with Mitchell. After learning that he had spear-headed the decision for making her their opener, she had always felt like she owed him her life. He was the person who helped to make her dream a reality and she would never be able to repay him for that. Yet, he too was torn away from her new life. She hadn't heard much about him since the day the band fell apart. Since Andy...

The thought made her jump from her king-sized canopy bed and over to her desk that held her laptop. She grabbed it and a thing of donuts before hurrying back to the protection of her mattress. The donuts were another part of her rebellion towards the label- sugar and carbs were officially back in her life. As she flipped open the screen of her computer, she quickly typed in Mitch's name. Her gray eyes poured over every article, every tweet, update, status...Until finally she hit pay dirt. Something about him journeying to the States to start a new label. Her hands quickly searched for her cell phone under the covers and she begun the round of phone calls in hopes of finding out more.

---

Two days to find him.

Eighteen hours to make all the arrangements- flight, apartment, car.

Near twelve hour plane ride from London to Philadelphia.

One day to fully move everything in and recover from jet lag.

Fifteen minutes. For fifteen long minutes, she had stood in front of the building. Clad in blue jeans, sandals, and a black sweatshirt with the hood covering her bright red hair. Dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. A black guitar case held close by white knuckles gripping the handle. Cammie tried to regulate the heavy thumping of her heart against her chest and the shaky breath escaping her throat. The change of scenery was nothing new for her- the pop star had houses and apartments everywhere. The label didn't give any second thought to another purchase as her music had crossed the pond more than five years ago.

By going inside, she would become a different person. She wouldn't be Tarika. She'd be Camilla Thatcher. The name almost seemed foreign to her after all this time. Who was Camilla Thatcher, exactly? Would she be able to survive in this new life? It was time to find out.

The young woman sucked in a deep breath and made her way inside before she could talk herself out of it. Her eyes took in all her surroundings and it brought a smile to her lips. Mitch had really outdone himself with the new layout. She could hear a guitar and a piano playing in the distance. Knowing Mitch wasn't a whiz at the keys, she hesitantly made her way towards the guitar. She kept her attention averted from the other people in the room. Cammie didn't want to chance being outed before she saw him.

She had finally arrived in front of the room. Her free hand slowly moved up to remove her sunglasses as the sight of him came into view. Cammie was about to speak before another voice broke through. A snide comment was at the tip of her tongue before she managed to bite it back. That wasn't who she was anymore. Clearing her throat, she looked from the woman, back over to Mitch. She clutched the handle of the guitar case even tighter before she finally spoke. "Hey, Mitchy."

[Congee]

A few weeks ago, life had been pretty much the usual for Karen. From the day she shamelessly made the call, which apparently ended up with her signing a record label for Endeavor Records. Karen didn't thought it would work but she was kinda thankful it did. Kinda. Which means her life will take a huge turn from there on out. She wasn't so eager for this sudden adjustment but, she knows things will eventually look up in time.

It took awhile to finally get herself be involved in a label after all, and right now after leaving the Honeybeavs and everybody else having their own thing, it was about time she'd go her own way too. No point in staying for sentimentalities, the bills aren't get any smaller. Having a solo career is good so far, a bit lonely yeah but the upside is she'd get to have the whole space in the creative couch. A buddy or two, if it comes along the way would be welcome still.

So far her life seemed to be on a steady direction, still holding unto her job at Chick-fil-A's on the sides for some extra allowance. Payday took forever but today it arrived on time, thank god. A measly amount that barely sustained her fully functioning adult life for three days tops. Maybe with this new career at Endeavor's she'd finally be able to provide enough, plus help with the finances just so she can justify bumming around her sister's house during day offs.

---

_{Ready. Set.}

Like an unprecedented skill, Karen rode the side streets on her sturdy bicycle (way to dodge the annoying traffic), her mouth quietly moving along to the music from her earphones, hair flowing through the breeze, her worn out postman bag slung on her broad shoulders, one hand on the handle and the other on a box of family sized Papa John's. It was a sort of bestowal, in her own goofy way, for Mitch for giving her this opportunity. Definitely not because she was hungry on the way and would feel embarassed to bring food only for herself.

Finally she arrived at the place, parking her trusty traffic-hack ride she paced inside the establishment.

"Knock knock. You're pizza delivery girl has arrived." the room echoed a playful tune as Karen slipped in between the doors, beholding the box of still warm pizza overhead. She was mostly expecting Mitch to be alone at the studio but apparently he was not. "Okay. This is a little embarrassing.", she thought to herself. She calmed her frisky attitude a bit, but good thing she got enough pizza for everyone. "Hey." she addressed her everyone in the room. "Anyone hungry?"

[Erklings25]

Andrew 'Drew' Jungerwood

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2:00 AM The day before he needed to arrive in Philly. A motel in Monroeville. Andrew Jungerwood was exhausted from the drive from Colorado to Philadelphia. He had checked in the previous day at 3:00 AM, deciding he could get a couple hours sleep and end up in Philly within the day. It seems he got a bit too much sleep, ordered room service and spent the rest of the day in his room, only realising his mistake half way through a rather pleasent dream.

Sprinting downstairs, quickly handing in his key to the groggy receptionist, Andrew contemplated the long drive ahead. Google maps said it should take four and a half hours. Dammit. Traffic permitting as well. His car was, unfortunately, quite old. He was loaded now, sure, but he never spent the money on a car. Adjusting his car in the rearview mirror, he pulled away from the motel, fearful of the journey that lay ahead. He wasn't scared of the new record deal, or the resulting insomnia. He was scared getting a severe case of road rage that could only be cured via doughnuts. 'Tis torture.

---

By the time he reached Endeavor, having spent five hours driving and the rest sleeping in a lay-by, he was as exhausted and irritable as humanly possible. Well, he was, until he ate his way through three doughnuts, though he was still pissed at that one DJ who played some awful Taylor Swift single one thousand times, or maybe more. All he wanted to do was lie down and watch reruns of Twin Peaks all day. Alas, part of him really wanted this deal. Finally a company that didn't want him just because they reckoned they could monetize him. His last deal with his uncle was painful? It started off fine, until dear Uncle Mikey decided that Andrew would be better as a brooding pop singer. No dice.

Pulling up in front of the studio, dark rings forming rapidly under his eyes, Andrew decided to unload his car later. He was also moving into the new apartments, so a brought a lot of luggage. He felt weirdly confident, strutting down the hallway, the heels of his boots making a louder sound than he thought. He turned the corner, following the sound of voices. The mention of food. Honestly, this studio was going to rock. The first thing he heard was about pizza, they had him at pizza.

Slicking back his hair, Andrew cautiously entered the room, blocked by the woman with the pizza. Be waited until she had stopped talking, before adressing the woman in front of him. "I daresay you shouldn't block the doorway." His voice was strange, oddly low and steady. Almost quite eerie. He reached over her shoulder, opening the box and tearing a piece free. He then sold past her, leaning against the wall, quickly wolfing down the pizza slice.

[tanderbolt]

On the way to the Boneyard, James was trying his best to be objective about the Bernard Zephyr album he was listening to over his car speakers. They were never his style of music, but if Mitch was kind enough to offer him a contract, the least James could do was try to appreciate his music. Some of the stuff on the third album resonated with him (though he couldn’t get into the singer-songwritery vibe of it overall), but after finishing that while working he moved onto their second album and it became more of a slog. There was definitely talent, but it came with layers of production and focus-testing, the kind of stuff that reminded him why he hadn’t paid attention to pop charts in years.

It was said that everyone who knew anything about the Philadelphia scene knew about the Boneyard, and everyone who knew about the Boneyard knew about its money problems. Even though James wasn’t a regular of the place, he was happy to see that Mitch was helping preserve a local institution and keep it operating. Navigating the neighborhood was rough, but once you knew the place you knew it was worth the effort. James found a parking space nearby, noticing that the place was busier than you’d expect at this early of an hour, judging by the cars parked around.

During his brief correspondence with Mitch, James forgot to get the details of exactly what to do when he showed up. He thought while he got his bags out of the trunk of his car, and dragged them along as he walked up to the main door to the bar, not knowing how to get to the recording studio. A sign hung on the door, saying “Be back soon.” The door was unlocked, so James went in and found a seat among the empty tables. The place was quiet, but he thought he heard the faint sounds of a piano coming from somewhere, possibly in the basement underneath.

James liked to work at odd hours and for little periods of time throughout the day, creativity did not operate on a fixed schedule. He pulled out his laptop from his bag and wired up the audio interface, getting his rack mounted Modal and a Korg MS-20 set up to work with it. With everything set up he got to work on an old problem, trying to write a part that used all eight voices of the Modal to create a complex melodic line. It was slow going, but he chipped away at it, headphone on one ear listening to his work while hands frantically moved between the keyboard, the trackpad, and the nobs to tweak the endless parameters in pursuit of perfection. He was lost in his work, almost forgetting the fact that other people were coming here too.

[Bee]

The flight from Vancouver to Philadelphia was not exactly the smoothest of flights, to say the least. Charlotte was expecting easy skies and something smooth from the journey, but she was very wrong. Needless to say, Charlotte was very eager to get to the studio and start coming up with some stuff she could use for her upcoming EP.

Her rental car pulled into the parking lot for the bar, the local radio pounding whatever Top 40 hit they felt like playing. Charlotte wasn't entirely fond of this hit, but it was better than driving around in silence. Exiting the car, she grabbed her backpack and set out for the bar. Her backpack had only the essentials: her laptop, her MIDI pad, and a pair of her favorite earphones. It wasn't what she wanted, with her full setup a county away, but it had to do for now. She couldn't afford to move to Philadelphia just yet, so she had to rely on going back and forth for the time being.

This was the first time she'd actually been into the recording studios since she had signed with the record company. And based off of the sign hanging on the door, it didn't look like she was going to be getting any help soon. She walked into the bar, finding one person nearby working on his own project. She could hear some other people, but since she wasn't exactly aware of where things were, she had to make do at one of the booths.

Sliding into a booth, Charlotte got set up as she placed her backpack on the seat next to her and proceeded to get set up. She couldn't exactly find a power outlet anywhere near, but that was a bridge she'd cross when she got there. The MacBook Pro flashed to life as she logged in and opened up Logic Pro X. Being the cool application it was, it opened up to her previously saved project and Charlotte got to work from there. She put on her headphones and immediately started to tap buttons on her keyboard and touchpad to make tweaks here and there.

[BrutalBx]

Mitch looked up from his guitar as he heard Adelaide enter the room. ”Ready as I’ll ever be I guess” He propped the musician’s axe against a wall and got to his feet just in time for Cammie to enter into the room. Mitchell had not seen her in years, not since she lost herself and became Tarika. He could never blame her for that; it happened to him and the other Zephyrs. None of them were who they thought they were, not even close. That’s what the industry did to people if they weren’t careful; it chewed them up and spat them back out as something that didn’t even resemble itself. This was one of the main reasons for starting Endeavour, to prevent even a few young artists from the pitfalls that lay ahead. Mitch sat for a second of silence as he looked upon the two women, gripping his left hand with his right behind his back, trying to halt the anxious twitch he had suddenly developed. ”Hey Cammie, it’s good to see you”

A few lingering moments of scary silence later, the banging of doors and the sound of voices alerted him to the sound of more people entering the Boneyard above. Karen turned up with pizza but before Mitchell could even comment Drew arrived, gliding through the doors with all the grace of a blind swan. Surely he had assembled a crack team to rival the Avengers and Justice League combined? This was going to be a long and arduous process, that much he knew for sure. ”Maybe...let’s all go up to the bar and have a meeting I guess”

Mitchell moved away from the recording studio and up to the bar above via a small winding staircase. Once above ground once again, he waited for everyone to take a seat. He surveyed the room and placed his hands in his pockets to hide his twitch again. He had performed in front of hundreds of thousands of people but here in this room was where he was feeling the most fear, the most terror. He had handpicked everyone who sat there, not because of their fame or lack thereof but because he saw something in them, something he couldn’t quite his finger on, something he wanted to explore and nurture until they were ready to fly on their own.

”I’m...I’m not the best at speeches so I’ll try to make this brief. For those of you I haven’t met in person yet, my name is Mitchell. I guess...I guess you could say I’m your producer. You are all here because you’re talented and because you have something to offer. Endeavour is here to make sure that you make the most of whatever gift you have and that you do it in a way that you want to, not how they want you to. Today is day one, you are all coming in on the ground floor of something we hope to make special. Talk amongst yourselves, get to know each other, jam a little if you feel so inclined. I’ll be around, floating somewhere if you need me. The apartments next door are ready for those of you who are moving in, keys are on the table with your names on. Move your stuff there and come back or do it later, whatever you want. Welcome to Endeavour everyone”

[GirlOnMarz]

_{Higher calling, higher
Higher calling, higher}

---

---

The journey from Pittsburgh to the Boneyard was a long one; four hours and fifty minutes to be exact. The siblings had begun their journey earlier that morning, stopping only a few times to get gas and use the bathroom. By the time they reached South Philly, it was time for them to head on over to Endeavour. Sevyn, who had been keeping her hunger at bay for the past few hours by scarfing down stale Wheat Thins, was not too thrilled to hear that they didn't have enough time to stop for food on the way. "We can't show up late, Sev," Zahir had told her, "First impressions are everything." After a bit more begging and pouting, however, Sevyn finally convinced her elder brother to make a quick stop at Wendy's for an apple pecan chicken salad. She shoveled the last of it into her mouth as they pulled into the bar parking lot.

Zahir and Sevyn slung their backpacks over their shoulders before heading towards the bar entrance; They figured that they'd move their things in later. For now, all they needed were their laptops, wallets, chargers, and cell phones. When they entered the bar, there'd already been two other people inside: an older man who seemed to be lost in his work, and a younger, blonde woman doing the same. Sevyn recognized the woman almost instantly from YouTube, but decided against introducing herself just yet. Instead, she simply led her brother to an empty seat and the two chatted among themselves until the rest of the crew arrived.

It was unsurprising that Zahir was quick to head up and shake hands with Mitchell, simply introducing himself and Sevyn and telling him that they were thankful and happy to a part of Endeavour. "I'll go ahead and move our stuff," he said to Sevyn after he'd returned, "It shouldn't take me long." He then grabbed an apartment key from off the table and headed back outside to their Jeep. Sevyn, on the other hand, decided to take this time to get to know some of the others. She approached the blonde woman that she'd spotted earlier, taking an empty seat nearby.

"You're Charlotte Rossi," Sevyn said matter-of-factly, "I've seen a couple of your vids. I gotta say, you're pretty dope." As Sevyn spoke, she extended her right hand. "I'm Eryn, by the way, but most call me Sevyn. I'm here with my brother."

_@Bee

[Sadie]

Cammie's eyes lit up only slightly when he finally looked up at her. To say she was nervous was an understatement. All she could see in her mind was the image of him and Andy as she left them behind. She didn't know exactly what to expect from him now. Was he angry with her? Did he blame her for Andy? The thought caused the faint smile on her mouth to falter. She most certainly blamed herself. If she had been there, if she had come running back when she found out he was having trouble...Now was not the time to stumble. With a small nod to Mitch, the grin quickly plastered back on her face as she responded to him. "You too-"

The smell of pizza assaulted her senses. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a slice of the warm, gooey deliciousness. Pursing her lips shut to hide any small amount of yearning, she turned to the new woman in the room. Everything would be just fine as long as the box was shut. As long as the lid was closed, she could stop herself from acting like a starving lunatic. It would be fine. Just fine. She was stronger than this. Stronger than the pizza.

A man who she faintly recognized soon came crashing in and broke all her willpower. Once the pizza box was open and the smell permeated the air, it took everything Cammie had to bite back a groan. She bit the inside of her lip and quickly shook her head at the offer of food. Last thing she needed was to break her contract by gaining any weight. Her eyes quickly closed. Four months, just four months...Four long months...four months and I can eat whatever the hell I want. Okay, stop talking to yourself, you're not a crazy person. You can do this. Focus, Cams, focus!

Thankfully Mitch broke through her silent rambling and forced her to move from the room. As she followed him up to the bar, her eyes took in everything around her. The environment was low key- very much unlike anything she was used to. He had done well with choosing the location. As they continued to a row of seats, she raised a brow at the others waiting in the room. Cammie really didn't recognize anyone yet. Then again, if they weren't international pop stars, she wouldn't have a single clue to their identities. That was one thing she decided was definitely going to change. She was going to branch out and maybe make a friend or two. The thought of being alone after the news of her father clung to the forefront of her mind. She absolutely did not want to be alone anymore.

Taking a quick seat, she leaned back against the booth and turned her eyes back to their host. She could tell he was nervous as hell and it brought a small grin to the corner of her mouth. It was good to be nervous. He was never the cocky type and nerves were good to help you maintain focused on the goal at hand. Mitch was going to do great things with this place. Tilting her head to the side as he spoke, she could almost guarantee that his hands were twitching behind his back. The speech was soon over and she stood, leaving her guitar case by the base of the booth. Walking over to Mitch, she grinned over at him. "Nice speech, boss."

[Grimoire Gaming]

^{Featuring: Sin @Lovely Complex}

A dark gray Kia Forte pulled into the pickup and drop off circle of the Philadelphia International Airport. Lucas tapped the Uber app on his phone, which was mounted to the dash, and indicated that he had picked up his fare. Luke pulled the lever to pop the trunk, where there was just enough space for his passenger to place his luggage. After a few moments, the trunk shut, and an elderly man opened the door to sit in the back.

The man settled into his seat with an exhausted sounding groan. Lucas checked in the rearview mirror, meeting his gaze. As usual, Luke started conversation by confirming the fare’s destination. This one must be pretty well-off, based on where he was headed. “The Rittenhouse, right?”

“That’s the one.” The old man nodded thoughtfully. He looked around the interior of the vehicle, undoubtably noticing the endless boxes of shit Lucas had packed in there.

“Sorry about that, I’m in the middle of moving.“ Lucas offered a clarifying apology. He was, in fact, still getting his new life together. Most of the basics were already in his apartment, but his vehicle currently held the necessities. Namely, his records and his guitars. The old dude was thumbing through the records curiously.

“Not bad taste for a youngin’, they certainly don’t make music like they used to.”

“Tell me about it.”

The man paused in his flipping and gave a breathy laugh. He tapped the record cover with an arthritis-knotted knuckle. “I met her once… Joan.”

“You met Joan Jett?”

“Well it ain’t that hard to believe. She’s from here, and I’m old.” Another breathy chuckle escaped his lips. He coughed, a smokers cough, as Luke well-recognized. The man rustled in his pocket and pulled out a fancy tin of cigarettes and an even classier metal lighter. “Would you mind?

“No,” The man was ancient, probably rich, and he’d met Joan Jett, he could do whatever he damn-well pleased. He didn’t need to ask Luke for permission. Lucas reached into the cubby hole by his knee and pulled out a much less fancy pack of cigarettes and his own classless plastic red lighter. “would you?”

“Cheers!” The old man said jovially to the reflection of Luke's eyes in the rearview as he lit up. The pair smoked silently for a few moments as Lucas navigated the painful downtown Philly traffic. “Judging by the accent, I’d place you as a Jersey native.”

Lucas smiled brightly in the mirror. “Damn straight,” Luke replied and they both laughed.

“Why’d you come here?”

“Needed a fresh start for my music.”

“Ahh, a musician. That makes sense.” The old man said and patted the box of records for emphasis.

“Yeah, I just signed with a record label too. That’s why I’m moving.”

“That’s fantastic, son.” He replied, arching his bushy gray eyebrows in surprise. Lucas parallel parked in front of the hotel that the man would be staying at. The younger man turned to face his passenger and offered a rare, warm smile to the elder. This prompted the man to ask Luke a question. “What’s your name?”

“Lucas Piccoli, sir.”

“Make me a promise, Lucas.”

Luke raised his own eyebrows now, hesitantly nodding in response.

“Stay away from the hard drugs, we’ve lost too many legends to ‘em.”

“Absolutely.” Lucas agreed quickly and completely. “And what was your name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The old man said with a smile and then exited the car. He retrieved his suitcase from the trunk and came around to the passenger side window. Bending down slightly, he met Luke’s gaze again. “Good luck, kid,” he said before tapping his hand on the door lightly, and then turning to walk away.

Lucas watched as the mysterious old man faded into the entrance of the luxury hotel. The entire drive back to his new apartment, Luke pondered who the hell that man might have been. He was an enigma. Lucas didn’t recognize him, but he had this sneaking suspicion that he was someone important. The whole experience left him feeling surprisingly uplifted and inspired.

Upon arriving home, Lucas parked his car in the back of the Endeavour apartment building and began to unload his things. He strapped a guitar case over his shoulders and hoisted the heavy box of records in his arms. Luke had to hipcheck the car door closed, and then he headed upstairs to his new abode.

There was a sign on his door, informing him of a meeting at the bar next door. Lucas entered his apartment and set his records on the cluttered counter top. The place was still a shitshow of boxes and random moving crap. He hadn’t yet had the time to organize and, Lucas being who he was, he would probably never make the time to do so. Luke checked the time on his phone, to see how long he had until this supposed meeting.

No time, apparently. Negative time, actually. He was late. The short punk hustled down the steps and towards the bar. By the time Lucas slid in through the doors as quiet and pale as a ghost, Mitch was halfway through whatever speech he was giving. Very inspiring stuff.

There were… a lot of people in this room. Luke immediately took to leaning against the back wall with his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans. Lucas then did what Lucas did best: people watch. He didn’t see any faces besides Mitchell that he recognized, with the exception of one. Was that redhead that one famous bitchy pop star... Tarika, was it? Jesus Christ, maybe he’d made a mistake signing with this label. She was one hundred percent not in his scene.

Luke was supposed to be on the lookout for potential bandmates. Scanning the crowd, he was less than impressed with people based on face value alone. Of course, looks didn’t equate to talent, but sometimes you could tell that someone runs in the same crowd as you by their style. Perhaps someone would come to him if he just… waited back here. The slight scowl on his face and leather jacket did wonders in making him look friendly and approachable.

As if on cue, a loud slam sounded beside him as the door he himself had just come through swung open. In walked a badass looking chick with some kind of skunk hair thing going on. Lucas could dig it, he was into switching up his own hair on occasion. He barely looked her way out of the corner of his eye, but he was assessing her nonetheless. She noticed.

“Hey shortstuff.”