Battlestar Crack!Fic: "Euterpe and the Seven Wonders of the World" (Baltar, others, PG)
Title: Euterpe and the Seven Wonders of the World
Characters: Baltar, Tory, Anders, Tyrol, Tigh, Leoben, Starbuck, Caprica Six, D'Anna, Gaeta
Rating: PG for fake swearing, and maybe innuendo if you squint very hard
Spoilers: Ah...no. Not really, I wouldn't say.
Length: 2,410 words
Summary: Baltar meets the muse of music and lyrical poetry. And then he starts a rock and roll band.
Notes: ...no, really. Really.
“The power of the spoken and written word! The very essence of meter and rhyme, of prose and poetry!”
“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice, I’m sure…”
Gaius fought off assault from a particularly persistent bit of scrub as he continued cutting his hurried path through the underbrush.
The strangely-clad woman was not to be deterred by mere shrubbery, however. She continued to follow him, growing increasingly indignant all the while.
“You don’t seem to realize, I’m offering you a gift!” she exclaimed shrilly. “You can’t just walk away from me!”
“Well, I am trying,” Gaius pointed out, though in muttered undertone, mainly to himself. He finally got clear of the bushes and back into the vast empty plain between the hillside and the encampment; to his exasperation, she continued to dog his steps.
“I am a source of inspiration,” she snapped, the hem of her garb ensnared in the grips of a thorny sapling. “A fountain of lyrical beauty.” She yanked herself free and stumbled into the open after him. “A bloody testament of wit!”
“So I see,” Gaius said with patience of the obviously humoring nature. “And, just how long have you been alone out there again?”
She gave a long huffy sigh, having repeated this story many times on their way down. “Centuries! Since the last batch of mortals left!” She gestured with careless fingers. “And you found me, when you knocked over that pillar. So now I am your muse. This is the way it works.”
“Ah yes. Of course.” He rolled his eyes dismissively. “And you’re going to insist on following me all the way back to the refuge camp, are you?” He gave her the once-over, cringing.
Her outfit, if it could indeed be called that, consisted entirely of a very sheer, very thin drapery and a few strategically-placed leaves. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of showing up with her at the place where his followers were staying.
Actually, though, he supposed she’d fit right in. Still, he didn’t really look forward to explaining.
“Look, my dear Miss…whoever you are, I appreciate your kind offer, truly,” Gaius tried again, “but don’t you have any family you need to be getting back to, or-?”
“Eight sisters, once,” she said. “And our sons. But all gone now. Anyway, I only belong to you.”
Gaius wasn’t fond of any relationships that made use of such words as “belonged”. It sounded so…demanding.
“And there really is absolutely no way I can convince you to leave me alone?”
She folded her arms. “I come with high credentials, I’ll have you know. I inspired Homer. Virgil. Socrates, even.”
Gaius knew when it was lost. “How very nice,” he sighed.
_____
Back at his tent the “muse” grew even more persistent, if possible.
“So, what’s it to be?” she demanded, hovering. “How am I to assist you? What’s your medium of choice?”
“Words, I suppose.” He thought maybe if he just played along, eventually she’d go away. “Maybe you can help me come up with a few, ah…particularly moving platitudes, for my next speech?”
“Speech?” She was outraged, as if he’d said some foul word. “I don’t do speeches.” She tossed her head. “I am an artist. I create; I inspire!”
“Speeches, I'll have you know, can be very inspirational,” he testily replied. “More than a few have told me personally of how my sermons moved them to tears.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you, a politician?”
“Oh, heavens no,” he exclaimed. “Never again! Now I’m more a man of faith.” He unconsciously preened as he continued. “And the people. And God.”
Remembering himself, he cleared his throat. “And before that I was a scientist. A very important one. A man of distinguished accomplishment and celebrity, point of fact.”
She was looking at him shrewdly, thinking.
“What exactly is it you want out of life?” she asked. “What specifically do you desire from your path?”
He paused, caught off-guard.
“To be…known, I suppose,” he replied slowly, considering it. Then with more conviction: “To be recognized, for my achievements.”
The “muse” was smiling now.
“You want fame,” she offered, “and glory? And attention under the spotlight? You want crowds of people looking up at you in admiration, chanting your name?”
“Yes!” Gaius cried eagerly. Then backtracked: “I mean, I only want what I deserve. Recognition for all my skill and hard work. Is that so much to ask?”
She clapped her hands. “I know exactly what to do. Don’t worry: leave it all to me. You’ll get your desire.”
And then before his eyes she vanished into thin air.
After Gaius had scraped his jaw off the ground and rubbed his eyes a few times, he decided to dismiss it all as some sort of hallucination. Or maybe a side-effect of the food the others had foraged: he knew those berries looked untrustworthy.
In any case, he figured the best cure was a good night’s sleep, so he promptly went to bed.
If he had any dreams he didn’t remember them. But when he awoke next morning, he felt so odd. And his head-
Gaius sat for a moment, one hand to his forehead as he tried to clear his thoughts. Suddenly, dramatically, as if with an audible “click”, everything fell into place.
He ran out of there and into the nearby area of the Cylon encampment so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
“Tory!” He burst in, almost mowing two Eights and a Five down. “Tory Foster, where is she? I need to speak to her, at once!”
Drawn by the sound of his voice she quickly appeared, flabbergasted.
“Gaius, what is it?” she demanded in alarm. “What’s going on?”
He stared at her, his eyes wide with fevered intensity, a smile slowly breaking across his face.
“I’m hearing…music.”
_____
Gaius had never been happier his mother had insisted on those piano lessons as a child.
Not only did it provide him with an obvious contribution to the group, but it gave him a good starting point as a lyricist. And it was much easier to work out the harmonies with knowledge of staff and chords.
As it turned out, Sam Anders was quite skilled as a bassist. Galen Tyrol took some encouragement but was eventually persuaded to try his hand at the drums, with pleasing results.
He was less thrilled when Tory insisted they bring Leoben in, however.
“He has a good voice, Gaius.” Tory tossed her hair impetuously. “Besides, I need some help. You can’t expect me to carry the backup vocals all by myself.”
He conceded her point. They gave the Cylon a tryout, and the rest of the group agreed he was a hit. Gaius even grudgingly rewrote some songs to give what had originally been some of his verses to Leoben, to better showcase the difference.
It did sound better, he admitted. If one was into that sort of thing.
Colonel Tigh concluded they were all frakking crazy, and the other three had finally gone completely off their rockers.
“You won’t catch me joining any frakking Cylon folk revival,” he growled.
“We’re not folk,” Gaius said, horrified.
“We’re more of a modern thing,” Tyrol added.
“Kind of a blend of urban meets electronic, with a little harsh metal,” Anders chimed in.
“Whatever.” Tigh took a swig from his flask. “Frakking toaster garage band.”
But eventually the others talked him into the backup singers. After all, they needed his baritone.
Practice sessions were going promisingly when Anders dropped the next bombshell.
“My wife wants in,” he announced.
Leoben looked up from his sheet music, brightening. “Kara?” Tory rolled her eyes.
“Well,” Gaius tapped a few idle bars on his keyboard, considering, “I suppose we could use another female voice on backup.”
“Oh, thank gods,” Tory sighed. “I’m getting sick of taking on those high notes myself.”
Anders shook his head. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t want to be backup. She wants to be a lead harmony.” He smiled ruefully.
“And, she wants to play guitar.”
After Gaius had finished his indignant exclamations of “absolutely not”, and Tigh finally stopped laughing, they all talked it over.
The consensus was, well, they did need a guitarist. And having a female lead as well as a male one couldn’t hurt.
“Look at it this way, Gaius,” Tyrol offered: “You’re still a lead vocal. Just now you’re one of two, instead of one and only. Not a big deal.”
“And think of the range you can write in, with another female voice to add variety,” Leoben said encouragingly. The source of his enthusiasm wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Oh, I suppose,” Gaius gave in with a long-suffering sigh.
His determination to absolutely hate the change once Kara Thrace joined in was to no avail: once she started playing, it was undeniable. Their new sound was perfect; the ingredient he hadn’t even realized was missing finally falling into place. Not only did her guitar chords demolish any weaknesses left in the harmony, the places she took his lyrics, vocally speaking, were indescribable.
“Okay, I pulled a few favors with D’Anna,” Tory told them all briskly. “She’s agreed to let us use part of the Cylon encampment for our first gig. She’s even volunteered to set up a concert hall.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Kara remarked dryly. “After all, this band is mostly toaster.” Her husband only smirked at her good-naturedly, fiddling with his vest.
Gaius rather liked the outfits Caprica had designed for them; especially the...flattering pieces for Kara and Tory.
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Tyrol looked up from practicing twirling drumsticks around his fingers. He almost had it. “We still need a name.”
“Oh,” Tory said, realizing; “frak.”
Kara sniggered for no apparent reason: “How about ‘the Special Destinies’?” Apparently, Anders shared her nonsensical humor, because he started cracking up.
Tigh just shook his head, and helped himself to a drink.
“Actually, I was thinking about it,” Leoben began, “and-”
“Forget it, babe.” Tory cut him off with a half-smirk, shaking her head. “We are not calling ourselves ‘the Ripples’. Not ‘the Tides’ or ‘the Streams’, either.”
“But, it’s symbolic,” he murmured, sulking.
Gaius cleared his throat. “‘Gaius Baltar and-’”
“No.”
“No!”
“Oh my frakking gods, no: we are not naming our band anything that begins with ‘Gaius Baltar’,” Kara denounced. Gaius huffed.
“Oh, and I suppose if you had it your way, we’d be calling ourselves ‘Kara Thrace and the…the Special Destinies’, or whatever that nonsense!”
For some reason Kara and Anders were lost to hysterics. He really didn’t get them.
“If you all will recall, this was my idea,” he reminded them haughtily. “And I’ve written almost all the music and lyrics exclusively. None of you would be here if it weren’t for me!” Tory put a gentle hand on his arm.
“We don’t want the band to be named after anybody, not just you.” She smiled meaningfully. “After all, we’re in this together.”
“How about ‘the Toaster Roasters’?” Tyrol suggested lazily. “Or, ‘the Chrome Domes’?”
“You are not serious.” Tigh glowered at him. Anders shrugged.
“Well, we are the Final Four. Plus three.”
“Two humans,” Kara considered, “and one toaster.” Gaius yawned. He had a feeling this was going to take awhile.
“So, the Four, the Guide, the Prophet, and…” he gave an appraising look at Leoben, “what, the Oracle?” Leoben only shrugged with that unnerving smile of his.
“Guess we are a pretty special bunch,” he said mysteriously.
“Hey.” Anders blinked. “How about: ‘the Seven Wonders’?”
Tory made a doubtful face. “It’s kind of…”
“Retro,” Tyrol finished. “I like it.”
Kara nodded, grinning. “It’s cool.”
“It’s perfect!” Leoben declared loudly. Tory sighed.
“Oh, whatever. It’s one of our better suggestions, anyway.”
Tigh only grunted. “I don’t really care.” The others looked at Gaius, some pointedly, some hopeful. He bit his lip.
“I suppose it works,” he said begrudgingly. Kara gave a little whoop of victory, punching her fist into the air. “We can be ‘The Seven Wonders’.”
They could always be “Gaius Baltar and the Seven Wonders” in his head, anyway.
“There’s just one thing left that we need,” he concluded, while the others were already celebrating their name and upcoming first performance.
He took off in the direction of the civilian camp.
It didn’t take him long to find who he was looking for. He was standing outside the medical tent, balancing on his crutches.
Gaius stopped some distance away, swallowing.
“Hello, Felix.”
His eyes narrowed rigidly. “Gaius.”
“I, um, how are you feeling? I mean, you look very well. All things considered.” He awkwardly blew onto his hands. Felix only continued to glare.
“Look, ah…I don’t suppose you’ve heard. We’ve started this band.”
“I heard,” Felix said. He continued, sardonically, “If you’re looking for another backup singer, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you.”
“Oh no, we’re quite set with the arrangement we have. It’s very nice, actually.” Gaius fidgeted for almost a full thirty seconds, before he looked up and blurted:
“We could use a manager, though.”
Felix stared.
“Someone who’s good with numbers and calculations,” Gaius continued, timidly hopeful; “and can handle a lot of responsibility.”
Felix’s expression remained perfectly blank.
“Who can organize schedules and travelogues, and talk to other people and settle disputes, and can sooth egos and manage conflicts and deal with public relations, and generally keep everything running. Constantly.” Gaius forced a weak smile.
“Do you, ah, know anyone who might be able to help?”
Felix stared at him, the ground, then off to one side. And then he looked back, meeting his eyes.
“I get the standard ten percent,” he said flatly. “Including any royalties. And no one signs or negotiates a thing without clearing through me.”
“Deal,” Gaius conceded happily. He held out his hand. Felix hesitated only a moment before shaking it.
“Now,” he began, handling his crutches expertly as they started walking, “from what I hear you already have a performance set up for next week. That’s great, but I have yet to see any advertising. We really need to work on that. I’m thinking, maybe a promotion deal with the new free wireless network. They’re always looking for things to play.”
“Anything you say,” Gaius said merrily. He slipped a friendly arm over his new manager’s shoulders as he led them off.
“Come on, I have to show you to the others. Wait until you see the outfits! You’re going to love them.”
Characters: Baltar, Tory, Anders, Tyrol, Tigh, Leoben, Starbuck, Caprica Six, D'Anna, Gaeta
Rating: PG for fake swearing, and maybe innuendo if you squint very hard
Spoilers: Ah...no. Not really, I wouldn't say.
Length: 2,410 words
Summary: Baltar meets the muse of music and lyrical poetry. And then he starts a rock and roll band.
Notes: ...no, really. Really.
“The power of the spoken and written word! The very essence of meter and rhyme, of prose and poetry!”
“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice, I’m sure…”
Gaius fought off assault from a particularly persistent bit of scrub as he continued cutting his hurried path through the underbrush.
The strangely-clad woman was not to be deterred by mere shrubbery, however. She continued to follow him, growing increasingly indignant all the while.
“You don’t seem to realize, I’m offering you a gift!” she exclaimed shrilly. “You can’t just walk away from me!”
“Well, I am trying,” Gaius pointed out, though in muttered undertone, mainly to himself. He finally got clear of the bushes and back into the vast empty plain between the hillside and the encampment; to his exasperation, she continued to dog his steps.
“I am a source of inspiration,” she snapped, the hem of her garb ensnared in the grips of a thorny sapling. “A fountain of lyrical beauty.” She yanked herself free and stumbled into the open after him. “A bloody testament of wit!”
“So I see,” Gaius said with patience of the obviously humoring nature. “And, just how long have you been alone out there again?”
She gave a long huffy sigh, having repeated this story many times on their way down. “Centuries! Since the last batch of mortals left!” She gestured with careless fingers. “And you found me, when you knocked over that pillar. So now I am your muse. This is the way it works.”
“Ah yes. Of course.” He rolled his eyes dismissively. “And you’re going to insist on following me all the way back to the refuge camp, are you?” He gave her the once-over, cringing.
Her outfit, if it could indeed be called that, consisted entirely of a very sheer, very thin drapery and a few strategically-placed leaves. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of showing up with her at the place where his followers were staying.
Actually, though, he supposed she’d fit right in. Still, he didn’t really look forward to explaining.
“Look, my dear Miss…whoever you are, I appreciate your kind offer, truly,” Gaius tried again, “but don’t you have any family you need to be getting back to, or-?”
“Eight sisters, once,” she said. “And our sons. But all gone now. Anyway, I only belong to you.”
Gaius wasn’t fond of any relationships that made use of such words as “belonged”. It sounded so…demanding.
“And there really is absolutely no way I can convince you to leave me alone?”
She folded her arms. “I come with high credentials, I’ll have you know. I inspired Homer. Virgil. Socrates, even.”
Gaius knew when it was lost. “How very nice,” he sighed.
_____
Back at his tent the “muse” grew even more persistent, if possible.
“So, what’s it to be?” she demanded, hovering. “How am I to assist you? What’s your medium of choice?”
“Words, I suppose.” He thought maybe if he just played along, eventually she’d go away. “Maybe you can help me come up with a few, ah…particularly moving platitudes, for my next speech?”
“Speech?” She was outraged, as if he’d said some foul word. “I don’t do speeches.” She tossed her head. “I am an artist. I create; I inspire!”
“Speeches, I'll have you know, can be very inspirational,” he testily replied. “More than a few have told me personally of how my sermons moved them to tears.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What are you, a politician?”
“Oh, heavens no,” he exclaimed. “Never again! Now I’m more a man of faith.” He unconsciously preened as he continued. “And the people. And God.”
Remembering himself, he cleared his throat. “And before that I was a scientist. A very important one. A man of distinguished accomplishment and celebrity, point of fact.”
She was looking at him shrewdly, thinking.
“What exactly is it you want out of life?” she asked. “What specifically do you desire from your path?”
He paused, caught off-guard.
“To be…known, I suppose,” he replied slowly, considering it. Then with more conviction: “To be recognized, for my achievements.”
The “muse” was smiling now.
“You want fame,” she offered, “and glory? And attention under the spotlight? You want crowds of people looking up at you in admiration, chanting your name?”
“Yes!” Gaius cried eagerly. Then backtracked: “I mean, I only want what I deserve. Recognition for all my skill and hard work. Is that so much to ask?”
She clapped her hands. “I know exactly what to do. Don’t worry: leave it all to me. You’ll get your desire.”
And then before his eyes she vanished into thin air.
After Gaius had scraped his jaw off the ground and rubbed his eyes a few times, he decided to dismiss it all as some sort of hallucination. Or maybe a side-effect of the food the others had foraged: he knew those berries looked untrustworthy.
In any case, he figured the best cure was a good night’s sleep, so he promptly went to bed.
If he had any dreams he didn’t remember them. But when he awoke next morning, he felt so odd. And his head-
Gaius sat for a moment, one hand to his forehead as he tried to clear his thoughts. Suddenly, dramatically, as if with an audible “click”, everything fell into place.
He ran out of there and into the nearby area of the Cylon encampment so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
“Tory!” He burst in, almost mowing two Eights and a Five down. “Tory Foster, where is she? I need to speak to her, at once!”
Drawn by the sound of his voice she quickly appeared, flabbergasted.
“Gaius, what is it?” she demanded in alarm. “What’s going on?”
He stared at her, his eyes wide with fevered intensity, a smile slowly breaking across his face.
“I’m hearing…music.”
_____
Gaius had never been happier his mother had insisted on those piano lessons as a child.
Not only did it provide him with an obvious contribution to the group, but it gave him a good starting point as a lyricist. And it was much easier to work out the harmonies with knowledge of staff and chords.
As it turned out, Sam Anders was quite skilled as a bassist. Galen Tyrol took some encouragement but was eventually persuaded to try his hand at the drums, with pleasing results.
He was less thrilled when Tory insisted they bring Leoben in, however.
“He has a good voice, Gaius.” Tory tossed her hair impetuously. “Besides, I need some help. You can’t expect me to carry the backup vocals all by myself.”
He conceded her point. They gave the Cylon a tryout, and the rest of the group agreed he was a hit. Gaius even grudgingly rewrote some songs to give what had originally been some of his verses to Leoben, to better showcase the difference.
It did sound better, he admitted. If one was into that sort of thing.
Colonel Tigh concluded they were all frakking crazy, and the other three had finally gone completely off their rockers.
“You won’t catch me joining any frakking Cylon folk revival,” he growled.
“We’re not folk,” Gaius said, horrified.
“We’re more of a modern thing,” Tyrol added.
“Kind of a blend of urban meets electronic, with a little harsh metal,” Anders chimed in.
“Whatever.” Tigh took a swig from his flask. “Frakking toaster garage band.”
But eventually the others talked him into the backup singers. After all, they needed his baritone.
Practice sessions were going promisingly when Anders dropped the next bombshell.
“My wife wants in,” he announced.
Leoben looked up from his sheet music, brightening. “Kara?” Tory rolled her eyes.
“Well,” Gaius tapped a few idle bars on his keyboard, considering, “I suppose we could use another female voice on backup.”
“Oh, thank gods,” Tory sighed. “I’m getting sick of taking on those high notes myself.”
Anders shook his head. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t want to be backup. She wants to be a lead harmony.” He smiled ruefully.
“And, she wants to play guitar.”
After Gaius had finished his indignant exclamations of “absolutely not”, and Tigh finally stopped laughing, they all talked it over.
The consensus was, well, they did need a guitarist. And having a female lead as well as a male one couldn’t hurt.
“Look at it this way, Gaius,” Tyrol offered: “You’re still a lead vocal. Just now you’re one of two, instead of one and only. Not a big deal.”
“And think of the range you can write in, with another female voice to add variety,” Leoben said encouragingly. The source of his enthusiasm wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Oh, I suppose,” Gaius gave in with a long-suffering sigh.
His determination to absolutely hate the change once Kara Thrace joined in was to no avail: once she started playing, it was undeniable. Their new sound was perfect; the ingredient he hadn’t even realized was missing finally falling into place. Not only did her guitar chords demolish any weaknesses left in the harmony, the places she took his lyrics, vocally speaking, were indescribable.
“Okay, I pulled a few favors with D’Anna,” Tory told them all briskly. “She’s agreed to let us use part of the Cylon encampment for our first gig. She’s even volunteered to set up a concert hall.”
“Well, what do you expect?” Kara remarked dryly. “After all, this band is mostly toaster.” Her husband only smirked at her good-naturedly, fiddling with his vest.
Gaius rather liked the outfits Caprica had designed for them; especially the...flattering pieces for Kara and Tory.
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” Tyrol looked up from practicing twirling drumsticks around his fingers. He almost had it. “We still need a name.”
“Oh,” Tory said, realizing; “frak.”
Kara sniggered for no apparent reason: “How about ‘the Special Destinies’?” Apparently, Anders shared her nonsensical humor, because he started cracking up.
Tigh just shook his head, and helped himself to a drink.
“Actually, I was thinking about it,” Leoben began, “and-”
“Forget it, babe.” Tory cut him off with a half-smirk, shaking her head. “We are not calling ourselves ‘the Ripples’. Not ‘the Tides’ or ‘the Streams’, either.”
“But, it’s symbolic,” he murmured, sulking.
Gaius cleared his throat. “‘Gaius Baltar and-’”
“No.”
“No!”
“Oh my frakking gods, no: we are not naming our band anything that begins with ‘Gaius Baltar’,” Kara denounced. Gaius huffed.
“Oh, and I suppose if you had it your way, we’d be calling ourselves ‘Kara Thrace and the…the Special Destinies’, or whatever that nonsense!”
For some reason Kara and Anders were lost to hysterics. He really didn’t get them.
“If you all will recall, this was my idea,” he reminded them haughtily. “And I’ve written almost all the music and lyrics exclusively. None of you would be here if it weren’t for me!” Tory put a gentle hand on his arm.
“We don’t want the band to be named after anybody, not just you.” She smiled meaningfully. “After all, we’re in this together.”
“How about ‘the Toaster Roasters’?” Tyrol suggested lazily. “Or, ‘the Chrome Domes’?”
“You are not serious.” Tigh glowered at him. Anders shrugged.
“Well, we are the Final Four. Plus three.”
“Two humans,” Kara considered, “and one toaster.” Gaius yawned. He had a feeling this was going to take awhile.
“So, the Four, the Guide, the Prophet, and…” he gave an appraising look at Leoben, “what, the Oracle?” Leoben only shrugged with that unnerving smile of his.
“Guess we are a pretty special bunch,” he said mysteriously.
“Hey.” Anders blinked. “How about: ‘the Seven Wonders’?”
Tory made a doubtful face. “It’s kind of…”
“Retro,” Tyrol finished. “I like it.”
Kara nodded, grinning. “It’s cool.”
“It’s perfect!” Leoben declared loudly. Tory sighed.
“Oh, whatever. It’s one of our better suggestions, anyway.”
Tigh only grunted. “I don’t really care.” The others looked at Gaius, some pointedly, some hopeful. He bit his lip.
“I suppose it works,” he said begrudgingly. Kara gave a little whoop of victory, punching her fist into the air. “We can be ‘The Seven Wonders’.”
They could always be “Gaius Baltar and the Seven Wonders” in his head, anyway.
“There’s just one thing left that we need,” he concluded, while the others were already celebrating their name and upcoming first performance.
He took off in the direction of the civilian camp.
It didn’t take him long to find who he was looking for. He was standing outside the medical tent, balancing on his crutches.
Gaius stopped some distance away, swallowing.
“Hello, Felix.”
His eyes narrowed rigidly. “Gaius.”
“I, um, how are you feeling? I mean, you look very well. All things considered.” He awkwardly blew onto his hands. Felix only continued to glare.
“Look, ah…I don’t suppose you’ve heard. We’ve started this band.”
“I heard,” Felix said. He continued, sardonically, “If you’re looking for another backup singer, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you.”
“Oh no, we’re quite set with the arrangement we have. It’s very nice, actually.” Gaius fidgeted for almost a full thirty seconds, before he looked up and blurted:
“We could use a manager, though.”
Felix stared.
“Someone who’s good with numbers and calculations,” Gaius continued, timidly hopeful; “and can handle a lot of responsibility.”
Felix’s expression remained perfectly blank.
“Who can organize schedules and travelogues, and talk to other people and settle disputes, and can sooth egos and manage conflicts and deal with public relations, and generally keep everything running. Constantly.” Gaius forced a weak smile.
“Do you, ah, know anyone who might be able to help?”
Felix stared at him, the ground, then off to one side. And then he looked back, meeting his eyes.
“I get the standard ten percent,” he said flatly. “Including any royalties. And no one signs or negotiates a thing without clearing through me.”
“Deal,” Gaius conceded happily. He held out his hand. Felix hesitated only a moment before shaking it.
“Now,” he began, handling his crutches expertly as they started walking, “from what I hear you already have a performance set up for next week. That’s great, but I have yet to see any advertising. We really need to work on that. I’m thinking, maybe a promotion deal with the new free wireless network. They’re always looking for things to play.”
“Anything you say,” Gaius said merrily. He slipped a friendly arm over his new manager’s shoulders as he led them off.
“Come on, I have to show you to the others. Wait until you see the outfits! You’re going to love them.”