"Don't you think you should be at least a little cognizant and aware later?"

"What I think is that the more I drink, the less unpleasant sounding this band might be."

"And I don't think that's how it works, babe."

Lyanna and I sat huddled at the rooftop bar of the CitizenM hotel, getting after-work happy hour drinks like the rest of Lower Manhattan's working professionals. We'd managed to secure two seats at a corner table (mostly because we booked it here right after work), and by now there were groups of people our age in suits and flouncy fall dresses, circling the rooftop like sharks waiting for someone to vacate a few of the stylish red leather seats scattered throughout the bar. On a normal night, we probably would have stayed here a few hours, enjoyed the sunset, and maybe even taken a few semi-inebriated pictures in front of the tall greenery wall at the bar's entrance, then left just as whoever was controlling the music switched from Sabrina Carpenter to DJ Snake remixes.

But it was not a normal night. Technically, I was still working. Sort of.

"I mean, it all makes sense now," I continued after taking a sip of my second whiskey sour of the night.

Lyanna nodded into her Long Island iced tea, stirring it with the red and white straw it came with. "You mean why their manager was so dodgy about what kind of music this band made?"

"Dodgy is an understatement," I groaned, pressing two fingers to my temples, which had begun to throb. I took a long sip of the glass of water I'd procured from the bar earlier, hoping to deter what might have been an oncoming migraine. I'd gone weeks without one, and I couldn't afford one crashing my party tonight.

As soon as I'd returned to my desk after my meeting with Martina and Raf yesterday, I did some deep Google searches. I knew something felt off, and I really hated how right I was. The only thing I'd managed to unearth was a handful of Youtube videos from a few years ago, and regret blasted me the moment I pressed play.

"What in the actual fuck is that?" Margaret, who sat behind me, wheeled her chair over with her hands covering her ears. "Sounds like an exorcism."

I leaned back in my desk chair, partially convinced that maybe I was in fact watching an exorcism and fully in disbelief. "My new client."

As it turns out, The Green Inferno was a heavy metal band - and not even cool metal like Metallica or something. No, we're talking like a low budget, bad effects b-movie of a band. Guttural and grating in a grainy video from 2019.

By now, this was all I could say I knew for certain: there were four of them, and the only semi-redeeming thing was that their bass player was a girl. Then there was a lead guitarist who looked like he worked at Hot Topic, a drummer with gangly limbs like a spider's, and a scrawny lead singer (screamer, actually) with long, greasy hair. There was nothing else on them. No social media, no press, no nothing. They'd even removed all of their music on Spotify.

"What I'm still trying to figure out is why they came to Hudson for services." Lyanna thankfully  switched gears back to the band, folding her pastel rainbow & Other Stories cardigan over her torso as a cool autumn breeze blew through the bar. "The aesthetics don't exactly match."

I shrugged and took another sip. "She did say Raf was a close personal friend. I'm not even gonna begin to understand the genesis of that or how he ended up here, because he sounds like he's from fucking Oklahoma or something. He seemed like he'd find more success as a cowboy, not a metal band manager. Who would regularly subject themselves to that kind of noise? And-"

The only reason the yapping ceased was because the two financial district looking guys who had slowly been slinking towards us for the past 15 minutes were now within opportunistic range.

A dyed-in-the-wool native New Yorker, Lyanna put her bitch face on. "Can we help you, or are you just waiting for the right time to ask Sienna here where she got her cute top since you keep staring at it?"

Despite the cool breeze, I felt my cheeks heat up suddenly. I dressed slightly more chic for work this morning knowing I'd be going out afterwards, so I went with a ruched, off the shoulder baby pink long sleeve top just warm enough for early autumn (and just cute enough for going out) and a pair of dark wash Reformation jeans. However, I clearly hadn't considered the effects of sitting outside for a prolonged period of time in that early autumn air as the sun was going down when choosing to not wear a bra. My breasts may have been average-sized, but my nipples liked the attention I guess.

One guy blinked in surprise, and the other recoiled just slightly behind him.

"Uh, no...guess not, sorry," the one guy said, cringing like he'd just swallowed sour milk before they both backed away.

"You're terrible," I chuckled. "And yet, I am in awe of it."

"Well before we were so rudely interrupted," Lyanna flicked her wrist and let out a wry chuckle. "The cowboy manager, he did say they were reinventing their sound didn't he?"

"Yeah, to what? Bluegrass?" I scoffed. "There's only so many ways you can pivot away from...that."

"I mean, you could always tell Martina it's not for you," Lyanna offered, side eyeing a group of college-aged girls who giggled and squealed too close to our table. "I'm sure she'd understand."

"No way," I shook my head. "I told her I would, so I will. I can handle it, I just need to get the bitching and complaining out now."

And I'd be damned if I was going to let a little loud music dissuade me from the things I knew I could do. I wasn't the conceding type.

Martina would see that too, and soon I'd be like Lyanna, getting all the sought after clients and campaigns and solidifying myself as a top PR associate at Hudson Entertainment. I just needed to prove it, and if that was throwing myself into the Green Inferno, so be it.

"I know you can handle it," Lyanna offered me a thin smile before glancing down at her shiny gold Michele watch. "And speaking of, we should get going."

"It's literally across the street, that's why we picked this bar." I lifted my glass to my lips with a coy smirk. "At the very least let me finish my drink, because I'll need it."

⋆ ★

Lyanna and I scurried across the street to Sweet & Vicious just as the sun went down. For a Tuesday night there were enough people there to have to make a concerted effort to get up to the bar, and I wondered how many people were there just to see them. Although it didn't seem like they had any type of following, I figured maybe it was one of those culty word-of-mouth type things - it certainly would fit their aesthetic. 

Lyanna scoped out a table for us outside while I tried to squeeze myself through to the bar.

"LIT and a whiskey sour please," I had to almost shout at the bartender over the raucous chatter and obscure indie music playing. "Can I also get a splash of red wine in it and two lemon slices?"

Sweet & Vicious emulated hole-in-the-wall vibes while still catering to a more upscale artsy clientele who would stop there for happy hour on the way home from their gallery job to their stylish SoHo lofts. The lights were dim, and the whole interior was covered with dark wooden paneling. A stained oak bar that lined the left wall from the front to the back of the small inside space, and the petite brunette bartender looked overwhelmed back there by herself. There was a door at the back leading to an outdoor patio, where the strings of lights flickered in the night and tasteful graffiti painted the brick walls that enclosed the patio. There was a raised wooden platform in the corner of the patio that I had to assume was a stage, so it seemed all of Nolita would be subjected to the band's noise.

While I waited for my drink, I bounced up on my toes to see if I could get a better glance outside, where the band had begun setting up. No long haired singer or the goth guitarist in sight, but I clocked the bass player tuning her icy white guitar.

When I spun back around, there was a whiskey sour with two lemons waiting for me. Just as I was about to grab it, a tattooed hand reached for it the same time I did, wrapping its tattooed fingers around the glass. Attached to the hand was an arm in the black sleeve of a hoodie, which I followed up to the body of the drink snatcher. In the dimness of the bar, I couldn't make out much of his facial features other than the scowl he wore.

"Sorry, that's mine." I forced a thin smile up at him. I wasn't like Lyanna, who could switch on her New Yorker bitch face so effortlessly and instinctually.

The stranger and his scowl remained undeterred. "Uh no. It's mine."

"This is a whiskey sour with red wine and extra lemon." I wasn't wearing very tall shoes, but he had at least six inches on me, so I had to crane my neck up to firmly inform him that it was my drink with my niche adjustments.

"So a New York Sour," he scoffed, unamused. "Which is exactly what I ordered."

"What?" I was caught off-guard. "No, I-"

He snickered almost condescendingly. "Tell me you're not a local without telling me."

"Excuse you, I've lived here for six years," I snapped back through gritted teeth.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Polly Pocket. Now let go of my drink, I need it."

"So do I." I didn't even have it in me to fire some kind of semi-degrading comparison back, mostly because I didn't have enough time to come up with something as biting and witty as he deserved. It was annoying enough that he did.

I outwardly sneered at him, but internally found myself regretting my outfit, and heat flared in my cheeks. Before either of us could concede to the other, another person wedged themselves between us, and I immediately recognized the drawl.

"Oh good, y'all have met." Raf grinned and clapped his hand down on the guy's shoulder.

I'm sorry, what? The revelation startled me so much that I unwillingly yielded the drink.

"Define met," the guy grumbled, immediately taking a sip of my drink.

Obviously reading the room, Raf pivoted, still undeterred by whatever had just transpired between us. I wasn't sure what cowboys wore vintage Ramones t-shirts, but it worked for him. "Well, this is Sienna," Raf gestured towards me, and his words pulled my posture up straight. "Sienna is gonna be helpin' me out with you heathens. All the PR and social media stuff that's too Gen Z for me."

"Great." The tattooed guy rolled his eyes, and I felt my internal temperature spike again.

Raf chuckled, clearly very used to this guy's attitude as he gave him a little shake, his hand still on his shoulder. "This ray of sunshine is Devon, the Green Inferno's frontman."

I had to clench my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping open. As in, the scrawny, greasy long haired singer in the videos was the guy who now stood in front of me. I knew those videos were a few years old, but I couldn't comprehend that this was the same person - somehow, he'd evolved and mutated to be almost unrecognizable from what he was before. His hair was short now, in loose, almost effortless black waves parted right down the middle of his forehead (decidedly not greasy). I recalled maybe a few tattoos in the video, but I could just tell he was covered now from the way the ink on his hands and neck seemed to spill out of the arms and collar of his hoodie. His shoulders were broader (decidedly not scrawny), and his jaw looked like it had been manufactured to cut steel.

I realized I'd been staring, and I needed to unhinge my jaw before my teeth started bleeding.

"Hi," I finally breathed out. "Nice to actually meet you."

I put my hand out, and he didn't take it. He just continued staring down at me, still scowling, his eyes as dark as night with no stars.

"Okay then..." it was my turn to roll my eyes damn near into another dimension as I recoiled my hand.

"Hey, you got two minutes buddy." I'd almost forgotten that Raf was there as he addressed Devon. He nodded in response as he took another sip of the collateral damage whiskey sour before turning on his heel and walking towards the back door to the patio.

Raf turned back to me and raked a hand through his disheveled salt and pepper hair. "Shall we?"  

I almost wanted to laugh. I'd clearly need a crash course from the Raf Salinas School of Pivoting and Awkward Situation Diffusion.

"Sure," I croaked out, desperate to regain my footing in this weird alternate reality I'd found myself in. "I just need to find my friend and we'll meet you out there."

I'd been so wound up by the worst first impression I'd ever experienced, I hadn't realized the bartender had put two more drinks in front of me - an LIT and my fucking whiskey sour.

⋆ ★

first gif manip of the story and she's super cute. too bad they're already fed up with each other 😂

SO what did y'all think of devon? any thoughts/predictions on what's to come are always welcome <3