I Just Want A Song (Darren/Miku)

“Right, I’ll still want to hear that story,” he answered. And then, after a quick warning, Miku opened the door.

Every room of this house was so large. The expensive furniture, decorated doorways and great glass windows were one thing, but the sheer size of the rooms was what really surprised Darren. As a Japanese-born, Japanese-raised Tokyoite, Darren had always lived in the small, narrow appartments of the Japanese capital. He had developped the 6th sense all Tokyoites developed to dodge around the crowd and get places -- even something like Akihabara station was a piece of cake to the experienced city-dweller. But in a word, Darren was, like the average Japanese, used to living in cramped places.

He seemed almost like a fish out of water in these large rooms, like he was constantly readying himself to dodge a low-hanging piece of furniture that wasn’t here -- he was of course used to the open spaces of UA, but the fact that it was a home people lived in instead of a gigantic superpowered teenage SWAT training center threw him off. It was an Occidental-styled mansion, with proper table, chairs and beds in the multiple bedrooms, great staircases, and, again, so much open space that Darren almost seemed too nimble for his own good there.

They got to the living room to meet the guy, and the equation only grew more bizarre -- and the warning only made more sense -- when he saw the guy in question.

White-haired, scruff-faced, dressed and talking much too casually for the place he was living in, and, more importantly, a face Darren recognized. From the music night, of course, but even then he thought he remembered that guy from somewhere. And right there, seeing him in better light, after weeks of it trotting in the back of his head, it finally hit him.

“You! You’re that dude with the giant cockroach thing quirk that was beating up on those robbers!”

“Screw you, I was there first,” answered Darren with all the confidence in the world, despite not remembering the fight well enough to know if he was actually there first. “But… Yeah, sure. Let’s sit down.” He continued to side-eye G with a mixture of suspicion, curiosity and admiration in the eyes. He heard the urban legends, he was already almost sure that it the guy from these legends back then, and now it was basically confirmed to him. Mixed in with all that was a feeling of pride, and a smidge of his brain was already exploring all the possibility that these kind of underground connections offered.

In a word: more intel, which meant more opportunities for arrests, which meant more fights and more career advancement. He HAD to make a friend of that G guy, and that Miku was already chummy with him was a big help.

Right, how did Miku know this guy exactly? Questions for later. Right now, G was talking business. Darren stared attentively, nodding and humming and expressing what he hoped came off like professional confidence, subconsciously replicating the tics and habits of his tour manager of a father. “I see,” he said. And then the news dropped: it had to be Miku on vocals. “Um,” he said, intelligently.

Miku protested. The two seemed awfully familiar, raising even more questions in the back of Darren’s head, but right now, he was conducting negotiations of the highest importance -- monetary importance. He was picking his words carefully, although as an experienced shit-talked, his poker face betrayed none of that. His objective was to get on that dude’s good side for future intel; his secondary objective was to wring a nice paycheck for him and his mates out of him. Figuring out Miku’s weird relations was a tertiary concern at best, though one that titillated Darren’s insatiable curiosity nonetheless.

“Does it have to be a female singer?” Darren asked. “I don’t know about what kind of Youtube series, but market research says that female singers don’t tend to work with everyone, if you know what I mean. Might turn off your viewers and shit, they might think it’s some pop-punk candy-ass shit.” He hurried to add with a smile: “Even though I’m sure Miku would pull off an impressive growl if she tried.”

A basic psychological trick, to suggest a change without making the proposition yourself while praising the client for his smart choices nonetheless, subtly guiding him towards the preferred outcome. Darren was a natural-born manipulator, after all, a bona fide psychopath, and he had his own position to consider: if Chimmy, who could only sing, was to be excluded from such a deal, it might hurt their relationship with him and threaten his continuing participation in the band… And as much as Darren hated to admit it, he was the main draw in terms of audience for their shows -- especially of the female kind.

“Twinkle Toes?” he questioned. “And who said anything about selling out?”

He marked a little pause before properly answering G’s proposition, another negotiating trick. “Hmmm. Entire, exclusive rights to the version that’s going to be broadcast with the show, the one that people might want to buy, in exchange for exclusive right to what will essentially be a cover?” He smiled innocently, but it didn’t come off as innocent -- at all. “Doesn’t seem like the best deal in the world for a little bit of songwriting, when we still have to provide the musical arrangement, recording and editing work, does it?”

Miku would probably facepalm some more, but she was seeing a side of Darren that wasn’t as readily apparent as the rest of his personality; his uncanny ability to get what he wanted out of life. And right now, if his assessment was correct, he had the upper hand in these negotiations. This G character wanted Miku’s voice, absolutely; it was the dealmaker and the dealbreaker. Why exactly he wanted Miku was a puzzling question on its own, but that meant OD Hazard was in a position to negotiate -- especially since the girl in question didn’t seem particularly intent to shout her lungs out in a mic.

“We have to consider the singer’s ability and… Willingness, too. He’d had a rough patch last time, but Chimmy’s nothing short of a professional singer when it comes down to it. In a recording studio, he’ll do his best work. Miku on the other hand will be tired and short of breath after recording the drums, and we need to record the drums before the voices, of course… We could stretch out the recording to two days, but the costs of renting the studio will be higher, then. We’ll need better compensation.”

They weren’t going to be higher, thanks to his dad’s connections, but G didn’t have to know that now, did he?

Hook, line and… Not quite sinker yet, but close. Never understimate a delinquent’s ability to negotiate under fire, and underestimate even less their ability to negotiatiate in a nice, safe setting. G was neither objecting or agreeing to the increased fee, but he reinterated that he’d pay OD Hazard, IF the singer was female. He was of course saying he was only making this offer because it was Miku’s band, as well as mentioning something vaguely threatining about an evil ex. Basic negotiation tricks; Darren fended them off with his words as he went for the killing blow.

He gave Miku a look which sounded about like “sorry i’m treating you like a negotiation chip rn, but i’m making us moolah, thank me later” when she explained about the evil ex. He could have very expressive looks, and rhythmn section members were used to that kind of mid-song telepathic conversation.

“Alright, then, if that’s your wish. With a fee to cover an additional day of recording, we’ll do it. Of course, we’ll only need to record voices the second day, so naturally it will be cheaper.” Another trick: announce something vague to the client which sounded like the price was doubling, before reassuring them that it was only a small increase -- well, a smaller increase… That they wouldn’t need anyway, since Darren was pretty sure they’d get the studios for free if his dad pulled a couple strings. His job here was to make as much money as possible for himself and his mates, after all.

Darren extended a hand. “Do we got a deal?” he asked with an easy smile. Time to reel it in. Given the mansion he was living in, this guy clearly had more money than judgement. He wouldn’t quit before getting as much money as he could from that rich dude, or his name wasn’t bloody Daimon Darren.

Gotcha, thought the delinquent as the vigilante he mistook for a uTber shook his hand. That had been easier than he thought. Though at times, that dude sent off a different vibe, something akin to what he felt in the presence of Geist, Yellow Jacket or the other pro heroes of the school, but not quite like it. Probably because he caught him beating up thugs at night with what he assumed was his quirk.

He shrugged mentally. Questions for later. “Hai hai, Miku will do just fine. We’ll send pictures and stuff. Oh, I’ll help you with the drinks, Miku!”

What sounded like a polite thing to do at first glance was actually a bit rude when you considered that he was basically just dropping the conversation with G then and there, seconds after a handshake deal. Not good business practices if you want to sell carpets, but perfect when you need to give off the vibe of an off-the-handle rockstar!

Plus, he had questions, so as soon as they were out of earshot of G, he asked them. “Alright, so… What’s the deal? I’m assuming it’s a relative of yours who made it big on uTube, and you moved in recently? You said it was all new for you.”

He kept quiet about the vigilantism. For now.

Adopted dad, huh? Well, Darren was no stranger to weird family situations, having been raised by a single mom (kinda, sorta -- he learned early to put the music a bit louder when he heard strange noises from his mother’s bedroom) himself. He didn’t press her any further on the subject of her family history for now, assuming it was a sensible subject and, if we’re being completely honest, because he didn’t really care all that much.

He cared a lot more about Miku saying he was gonna try to screw em over, but he wasn’t overly worried. Instead, he smiled slyly. “What, you think we’re gonna send him the FLAC file with the full song like that, without seeing any money? Nope. We’re gonna record the full album, register it with the JASRAC, and THEN we negotiate a proper contract, with all the money written down. Handshake deals without a precise amount ain’t worth shit.” Darren was surprisingly knowledgeable about the legal ramifications of the Japanese music industry. He clarified: “My dad’s a tour manager.”

Of course, it went completely over his self-centered head that they didn’t have as much money as the mansion would suggest and that he was talking about wringing out her dad for as much money as possible. “I guess we gotta get the band back together, then. Chimmy will be fine with you singing an alternative version if he does vocals for most of the album, he’s already letting me do the songs with weird vocals. Album… I guess we should start with a short EP, rather. About 5, maybe 6 songs, and put that shit on Soundsky. We’re too amateur for a proper album and we don’t have a sound guy.” He scratched his chin some more and decided he was fine with his own plan, without, of course, consulting anyone else.

“Hey, you said it, not him. Careful, imma start to think you’re flirtin’,” he grinned. “Band drama’s no good… Although… It does get you media presence… Hmmmm...” And there he was again, scratching his chin, looking to the skies -- or in this case, to ceilings so high they might as well be skies -- and making dumbass plans entirely centered on his self-image, barely aware of what he was saying and the potential connotations, misinterpretations and wild extrapolations that could arise from the running of his mouth.

It not like there was any shutting him up, anyway.