Chapter Text
This couldn’t be it.
Your body was still recovering from the previous night’s show, stage clothes still clinging to your body as your muscles contracted and relaxed imperceptibly.
The gig ended at 3 in the morning, you must’ve passed out sometime later between a few groupies, and you now found yourself at the business end of a conference table, flanked by the rest of your so-called ‘band’ on either side of you.
“It just isn’t feasible, yeah?” A suit piped up, earning nods and murmurs of agreement, discussing your band- discussing you- like you weren’t even there.
You had already overstayed your welcome.
“We took a risk, the public isn’t ready yet,” Another one offered as if he was saying something radical and not just echoing the common opinion of the room, or perhaps sparing your feelings to the whole situation.
Gorillaz, as you knew it, was canned.
A few well-attended shows, local gigs, counting down until the big debut album release, which now was never going to see the light of day.
An ache in your chest made itself known, where your soul would be, and a bitter taste filled your mouth.
Satan was good for his word, wasn’t he?
And yet, here you were, without the world famous band you were promised in exchange for your immortal soul.
“But, our contract-“ You tried to argue, metaphorically digging your Cuban heels in to the floor.
“Your contract-“ Swiftly interrupted. “-was only valid given the success you will- sorry, would have produced,”
“You didn’t satisfy the requirements,” One of them clarified as if you were slow in the head. “No success, no contract, no record deal.”
Another faceless suit piped up, followed by another, you blinked back into reality when a bony hand on your shoulder nudged you slightly as the four of you stood outside the massive office building, a cool autumn breeze wove its way between you.
“Oi,” Gentle, as if he was scared you’d smack him upside the head and break to pieces at the same time. “Now what?”
Now what?
Who died and made you the one responsible for all of this? Doesn’t matter. They need a leader.
Obviously.
And you’re the bloke for the job.
“We get th’hell outta ‘ere, obviously,” You hissed, shaking the hand off your shoulder as if it burned as you tugged your jacket tighter around your body, muttering another ‘obviously’ for emphasis.
The ride back to Kong was suffocating in it’s own way, despite the windows being stuck in the taxi and filling the car with a cold wind that nobody was dressed properly for except Noodle, who wore a coat three sizes too big for her as she sat wedged between Russ and 2D.
The driver, inexplicably, yet cosmically fitting, a baboon, swatted your hand away as you tried to change the radio station, baring his teeth at you before refocusing on the road.
You bared your teeth back.
Kong loomed in the distance, imposing itself against the setting sun. Couldn’t the baboon speed up? The zombies would be waking up any second. You scowled, shoving a few crumpled notes in the driver’s outstretched paw as the four of you clambered out of the taxi, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you reached the wrought iron gates that bordered the property.
Your property.
Locked.
That couldn’t be right.
The building, practically alive, bent to your whims. Well, metaphorically. The gates opened at your arrival, that’s how it worked.
You jerked the gate again, a growling reverberation echoing through the metal as it refused to yield.
“Open up!” A demand yelled into the darkening sky as the building- your building, remained coy, motionless.
Practically dead.
“Mud?” Noodle’s voice piped up from behind you. While she probably didn’t understand that the four of you were now effectively jobless, you doubted the combination of you, 2D, and Russ could somehow explain to her in a comforting way that you were now homeless as well.
Combined, the three of you knew about 4% of the Japanese language. Most of that knowledge belonged to Russel, and even he had trouble communicating with her sometimes.
“C’mon, you’re not doing it right,” Russel stepped up next to you, a large hand gripping the metal above your own and pulling with a grunt of effort.
A smirk wormed it’s way onto your face despite the situation, as if you could ignore the satisfaction of watching such a strong man struggle and fail like you did.
“Man-“ He pulled again, both hands this time, clearly not understanding the fact that if the building doesn’t want to open it up, it just won’t.
Stubborn bastard.
“It kicked us out,” You inform him matter-of-factly, and the tiniest bit of superiority did, in fact, make you feel slightly better.
News travels fast, it seems, and your own building refuses to obey due to recent developments.
No band? No studio. You begrudgingly accepted the logic of the situation.
“Figures,” Russ muttered with a heavy sigh of resignation at the absurdity of the situation, dropping his hands from the iron gate in defeat.
“Now what?” 2D asked for the second time that day, two times too many, and you forced down your instinct to bodyslam him into the gate. He better thank his lucky stars that Noodle happened to be watching.
A weary glance was shared between the three adults while Noodle karate-kicked the gate, though it seemed to be out of childish boredom instead of the desperation that settled heavily in everyone else.
“Kick! Kick-Kick!”
If anyone could break that metal, it would be her.
Not that it looked like it was going to break.
“What’s the Japanese word for ‘we’re bloody homeless and we’ve got nothin’ but th’clothes on our backs and whatever cash we can pool together’?” You asked absentmindedly to either of them, idly watching Noodle attack the gate.
“I doubt there’s a single word that covers all’at,” Russel hummed in thought as he tried to recall what he knew.
“Wait, lemme think, I know this one,” 2D piped up unhelpfully, truly believing he actually knew any words other than ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’, and ‘I’m so sorry I forgot to feed your Tamagotchi’.
He mouthed over a few different words, none of them sounding like Japanese, before giving up with a slight shrug.
“I can always crash at me parents’ place, I s’pose,” He tapped a finger to his chin, feigning being capable of thought.
“Absolutely not!” You interjected before you even realized you were talking, even Noodle stopped her karate to stare at you. “I mean- we gotta stick together. This ain’t the end of us,”
‘We’, ‘us’, those words that felt like you were being suffocated from the inside out now flowed freely from your mouth like liquid salvation.
“There’s loads of room,” 2D countered. “Everyone can come,”
“Loads of room,” You scoffed, mocking him. “Two occupied bedrooms an’ a single bloody couch, no thank you,”
Your days of sleeping on a couch were over, and you doubted you’d be allowed to claim Stu’s parents’ bed for yourself, either.
A quick glance at Russ silently asked him if he could do any better, and he only offered a shrug in return.
Now it falls to you, like it always did.
Because they need a leader.
“I might know a place,” You mutter, turning on your heel and stalking off, assuming- more like praying, that your bandmates would follow.