Chapter Text
The last whines of a guitar up on the dimly lit warehouse stage was drowned out almost instantly by the crowd’s cheers.
The guitarist on stage raised his hand, flashing a bright smile and a wink before gesturing towards the two men behind him; a tall, muscular man with a tuft of white hair falling across his sweat-slicked forehead, and another, larger man at the drums who raised his drumsticks cheerfully.
“They just finished their set, Allura.” Near the back of the warehouse, beside the nearly abandoned bar, a chipper voice had to shout into the speaker of his phone. Plugging his other ear with his free hand, he nodded and glanced back towards the stage to find that the band he had come to watch had begun filtering off stage. “Alright, alright! I’ll get ‘em for you! You can count on me, princess!” He hung up and twisted his orange moustache thoughtfully for a moment before making his way towards the edge of the thinning crown. Pushing through easily until he stood at the entrance of a dimly lit hall that led back to where the bands rested before the show.
The lone security guard at the front of the hall roused himself the moment his eyes rested on the approaching stranger. A young man with long black hair and a red half-jacket who placed himself aggressively between the man and his destination.
The man twirled his moustache again, smiling at the young security guard widely. “Oh hello!” He chirruped. “If you don’t mind I’d just like to pop in and have a word with the band that was just on stage.”
The security guard placed a hand on the man’s chest as he tried stepping around. “That’s not happening.” His voice said he was just itching for a fight, “So turn around old-timer.”
“Old-?” The man looked insulted. “I’ll have you know that this old timer could do your job twice as well as you could.”
“And?” The guard had crossed his arms, regarding the man boredly. “Get lost.”
“Well maybe I will get lost! See how your bosses like it when you tell them you just lost them a deal with Altean Records!”
“Altean records?” A small voice popped up beside the two of them, and they both glanced down to see a short figure in green wheeling equipment behind them. The short, sandy-haired person pushed up their glasses. “You really should have said who you were before pissing Keith off,” They remarked idly.
A huff from the mustachioed man. “If you have to know, my name is Coran. Talent scout and right hand of Altean Records new CEO.”
The small figure offered a sweaty hand that Coran shook willingly, only to feel his fingers being crushed by a surprisingly strong grip. “Name’s Pidge,” The small one told him. “I’m the equipment manager for Paladin’s of Voltron.” They thrust a thumb in the security guard’s direction. “That’s Keith, he runs security and crowd control.”
“By himself?” Coran asked, surprised.
Pidge chuckled mischievously. “No one disobeys Keith twice during a show,” They grinned. “Everyone knows better.” Pidge nodded down the hall. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the guys!” They pushed further down the hall, Keith falling aside and resuming his idle position against the wall now that Coran had been dealt with.
Coran followed Pidge towards a small room towards the end of the hall, having to move to the side when the members of another band pushed passed them on their way towards the stage.
Pidge knocked once on the final door before pushing in, finding the band’s modest dressing room strewn with pizza boxes and soda bottles.
The lanky, dark-skinned young man that had been on lead guitar sat in a large armchair in the far corner of the room, long legs propped up on a rickety table and a guitar in his lap. His eyes were closed while he strummed it, humming idly under his breath.
“Hey big man…” He called across the room, not opening his eyes as a large man in yellow turned to him with a slice of pizza in each hand.
“Yeah, Lance?” He swallowed his food and looked at his friend.
“I wonder how many girls out there are thinking about me right now…” Lance asked dreamily.
“If they know anything about you,” Began the older man with a white tuft of hair from the other end of the room, “The answer is none.” He looked up towards the door, exposing to Coran a scar over the bridge of his nose. “We have company.”
Lance opened one eye, not stopping his strumming. “Oh yeah… Is Keith not doing his job again?” He asked. “What are we even paying him for?”
“Wait we’re paying Keith?” The bigger man in yellow looked around the room. “Was… was I supposed to know that because I didn’t know that?”
“No, Hunk, we’re not paying Keith,” Lance sighed, finally sitting up and setting down his guitar.
“Oh okay.” Hunk picked up another slice of pizza. “That’s a relief.”
Pidge cleared their throat, shooting a pointed glance at Hunk and Lance. “Shiro,” They said, looking towards the older man in the room. “This is Coran, he says he’s from Altean Record’s.”
Hunk nearly choked on his pizza as Lance leapt up from his seat. The lanky teen extending a hand to shake Coran’s vigorously. “Altean Records?” His voice had risen several octaves, and Coran blinked at him with a grin of his own.
“Well yes that’s what the little one said isn’t it?” He extracted his grip from Lance’s and looked around the room. “You three are Lance, Shiro and Hunk of the Paladin’s of Voltron? Am I correct?”
“That’s right, sir.” Shiro pushed Lance aside, ignoring his small indignant huff and extending a hand. “I’m Shiro, I play bass.”
Coran reached out to take Shiro’s grip excitedly, shaking twice before noticing the feeling of cold metal against his skin. He looked down to find the fingers of a prosthetic hand, and blinked rapidly. “You play the bass that well with this?” He exclaimed. “No offense of course I just wasn’t expecting it!”
Shiro laughed and rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “I don’t play with that arm,” He explained, allowing his right arm to fall to his side. “I had a special prosthesis made that would let me hold my bass while I played and taught myself to play better than I could before with my left hand.”
Coran looked curiously at the man in front of him. “Incredible! You’re able to play without fretting!”
“It’s… not as simple as it looks…” Shiro looked towards Pidge. “For the songs I can’t get away with only using one fret, I play everything with Lance fretting the bass for me and then Pidge cuts and mixes everything into one piece for us to use during shows. And then I have my effect pedals for live shows...”
Coran looked back towards Pidge, frowning. “I thought you said you were the equipment manager?”
“I do a little DJ work on the side,” They shrugged, moving across the room to begin inspecting Lance’s guitar.
“Pidge is a great hype man too,” Hunk added, beginning on another slice of pizza. “We’ve never had to play to a dead crowd, even when we were first starting out.”
“Excellent!” Coran’s eyes were shining, and he began twirling his moustache. “Allura won’t be disappointed with you….” He began rooting around the inside of his jacket, finally pulling out a rolled up stack of paper with a flourish. “I’ll have to sign the lot of you!”
Hunk nearly choked on his pizza again, and Pidge hurriedly smacked his back.
“Wait sign us? As is give us a record deal?” Hunk sat up straight. “Is this really happening? Shiro, please say this is really happening I mean-”
“Hunk, calm down.” Lance had slung an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I think it’s pretty obvious that someone’s finally caught onto our talent enough to sign us.”
“You were almost crying last week because the talent scouts you invited to your show walked out before the middle of your set.” Keith’s voice from behind Coran, the security guard leaning back idly against the doorframe.
“What would you know, Keith?” Lance snapped, straightening to glare at the other teen. “You’re just security, shouldn’t you be…. Guarding! Something!?”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “The last set’s over,” He replied calmly. “The owner’s gonna come kick us out soon.”
“Pidge, is all the equipment loaded up?” Shiro asked, finding his small green friend perched on Hunk’s shoulders.
“No.” Pidge had somehow confiscated one of Shiro’s effect pedals and was turning it over in their hands slowly. “I think I can find a way to tweak these for a few more recording settings,” They said. “That way you won’t need Lance to fret for you when you want to hear the entire song played on your end.”
Shiro blinked at them patiently. “Thank you, Pidge, but we need our equipment loaded up in the van and I’m pretty sure the guys we hired don’t like having to wait around; and they charge by the hour.”
“Shit, yeah.” They leapt off of Hunk’s shoulders and meandered towards the hallway. “Keith, help me out with these guys.” They pulled Keith along behind them by his jacket, ignoring the final glare he sent in Lance’s direction before disappearing to finish their work.
“Stupid mullet…” Lance muttered when they had gone, slouching back down in his chair and groping for his guitar. “He’s never appreciated my talent!” He griped.
“Lance that’s enough,” Shiro smiled apologetically at Coran, who had been watching the entire scent unfold silently. “You were… talking about a record deal?” He asked finally, coughing into his hand.
“Oh yes!” Coran hadn’t seemed to have lost his cheerful attitude. “I noticed you three seem to be a mix between a cover band and original work!” He tugged at his moustache. “I rather liked your original pieces, quite good if you ask me. Who wrote them?”
“That’d be the big guy.” Shiro looked proudly over at Hunk, who had begun fondling a brown leather notebook nervously. “He actually has a lot of ideas for our music, right Hunk?” Shiro asked.
Hunk nodded, fingers scrambling over the notebook cover in an attempt to get it open. “W- well yeah. I write the lyrics for our own stuff and I have a pretty basic understanding of guitar and bass so I can write up rough versions of songs for us to play…” He finally got the notebook open and began flipping through it. “I really love music, and if we were able to I’d like to use more of my ideas,” Hunk looked up at Coran. “If- if you know… you’d let us. Since that’s all up to you and not us! We’re just the band! You have all the power here, I’m not trying to be-”
“Hunk, relax…” Lance repeated, strumming idly at his unplugged guitar. He looked over at Coran. “His ideas have gotten us all this far,” He said, eyes flickering to the contract in Coran’s hand. “It’s be a shame to miss out~” His words ended in a singsong lilt, and Shiro huffed out a breath of laughter.
“If you can put up with Lance,” He began. “We’d love for you to sign us.”
Coran beamed at the three of them. “Of course I’m signing you!” He announced. “You caught the eye of the CEO, if I didn’t come back with you three she’d have my head!”
The three of them exchanged a glance, before Shiro looked at Coran again, “We did what?”