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crack_van2012-05-28 09:59 pm
sparrowsverse.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-05-28 09:59 pm
Where There's Smoke: A Tale of Scales, Earth and Lust (And Pixie Dust) by brandixcyanide (R-ish)
Fandom: BANDOM
Pairing: Spencer/Greta/Jon, Brendon/Ryan, various background pairings
Length: N/A
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brandixcyanide
Author Website: Fiction Masterlist
Why this must be read:
This fic is a mish mash of all the bandom you could possibly want! It's a Fantasy style AU type of fic and it is a wonderful read. Fairy Tale type creatures in an office setting! What could possible go wrong? ;)
I didn't even realize I needed this fic in my life until I found it and read it. :D
William is not a morning person.
It would probably be pretty clear by the way he stumbles in bleary eyed at seven am, except there is no one around to see it. Arcadian Rhythm Promotions, LLC. is not yet open for the day's business. That doesn't mean, however, that there isn't work to be done yet.
On his less-than-sane days, William recalls getting the job with fondness. He had been modeling at the time, and badly. For all his fire and picture-perfect pout, he does not take direction well, much preferring to do his own thing. So while he should have been making big money, he was struggling on the bottom rung with models less-pretty and less-talented than himself. And that’s how Patrick found him, in a roundabout way.
William isn’t quite sure what year it was. Even now, he's sometimes not sure what year he's living in. Seriously, details. He does know it was sometime in the seventies, because he was in a disco and there was an alarming prevalence of polyester, but other than that he's not overly sure. He'd charmed his way into the elitist club using his good looks and a pout, but it wasn't getting him his Jack Daniels. The muscle-bound bartender wasn't all that impressed, so he turned up the charm. Turned on The Voice.
An hour later he was swimming in a sea of amber liquor and a man approximately half his height with dark-framed glasses was tapping his shoulder. William eyed the little guy warily. He didn't look like he was old enough to even be in the club. He also had earplugs shoved into his ears (William couldn't blame him. the music was atrocious), which were reddening under William's Scrutiny.
"You're a Siren? Or is the bartender a, um, a friend of yours?"
William snorted and patted him on top of his ugly cap. "Not quite, wee one. I wouldn't be friends with that hulk of dumb if he paid me to. Half Siren. Mom's side. Why, you a cop? 'M not aware that it's illegal to seduce drinks from the house, and if it is, well. You're welcome to cuff me?"
The little man made a face. "No, I'm not a cop. I'm Patrick. I'm here with a friend. We're... doing some celebrating of sorts? We finally got our company started and it's something of a big deal for us."
"That's nice and all, but what does this have to do with me?" He threw back another shot while the kid eyed him speculatively for a few minutes, shifting from foot to foot.
"Well. We need a receptionist. but specifically one with your, er, unique ability. We're a public relations and promotions company catering to those that are Other. It's never been done before. Your Voice on our end of a phone line would probably save us a lot of grief. And ya know, if we did hire you, you'd have a pretty cushy job and occasionally be able to be in the public eye, should we need to control a situation in public."
William’s eyebrows shot up. Oh yeah. Negotiation and persuasion. Little guy's a leprechaun, or at least related to them, and if that's the case, he could have been five hundred if he was day; William has a sixth sense about these things. Leprechauns also smell like money, literally. It wafts off of Patrick, dry and smelling faintly of paper. (William may be part Siren, but what other blood he can claim, he doesn't know. The knowing Others' by scent is a trait shared pretty exclusively among the Fae, and predominantly by the branches that boast tinier stature than William has ever been able to claim.) They are also excellent businessmen, and even as tipsy as he totally wasn't, he knew getting in on something like this on the ground floor was a golden ticket.
He smiled beatifically at Patrick and threw an arm around his shoulder.
Lead me to your partner, little man, and let’s discuss benefits, shall we?"
So, William may despise the ass crack of dawn, but Patrick and his partner, thin, lanky Elf Mikey Way, hadn't let him down. The company was small, but incredibly detail oriented and all inclusive towards a clients needs. Though they did insist, however, that William only use his talents in relation to work matters while on the clock, and only as would benefit the company--legally. Which, ya know, lame,but he could totally deal. His public presence at press conferences and as the Voice of the company (Not the face, sadly. That was all Spencer. Lucky bastard.) was a major perk. He was recognized and generally loved.
He really couldn't ask for a better job. He's got the inside scoop on album releases, parties, and club happenings. It helps that all the juiciest gossip is a phone call or doorway away and he doesn't have to do more than answer phones most of the time. The dress code is pretty lax, and he enjoys the company of the other employees; not a bad gig, all around.
But getting into the office at Fuck-You a.m. to check the messages from overnight, that was just, not.
He settles at the imposing desk in the foyer and keys up the message database. Most Others don't keep daylight hours like much of the staff at Arcadian Rhythm, preferring twilight or late night to the harsh light of day. There are 30 messages of varying format that have come in through out the night, one of which is marked urgent. With a few clicks he's got it open and is skimming over the address. He does a slight double take before he forwards it to Patrick and Mikey, and Pete, by default (who William is pretty sure is just there to harass Patrick and doesn't actually do any of the assisting he was technically hired for).
Someone is going to be kicking themselves later this morning. William hopes it's before lunch, so he won't miss the fireworks. Maybe he can scrounge up some popcorn before the show starts.
Where There's Smoke: A Tale of Scales, Earth and Lust (And Pixie Dust)
Pairing: Spencer/Greta/Jon, Brendon/Ryan, various background pairings
Length: N/A
Author on LJ:
brandixcyanideAuthor Website: Fiction Masterlist
Why this must be read:
This fic is a mish mash of all the bandom you could possibly want! It's a Fantasy style AU type of fic and it is a wonderful read. Fairy Tale type creatures in an office setting! What could possible go wrong? ;)
I didn't even realize I needed this fic in my life until I found it and read it. :D
William is not a morning person.
It would probably be pretty clear by the way he stumbles in bleary eyed at seven am, except there is no one around to see it. Arcadian Rhythm Promotions, LLC. is not yet open for the day's business. That doesn't mean, however, that there isn't work to be done yet.
On his less-than-sane days, William recalls getting the job with fondness. He had been modeling at the time, and badly. For all his fire and picture-perfect pout, he does not take direction well, much preferring to do his own thing. So while he should have been making big money, he was struggling on the bottom rung with models less-pretty and less-talented than himself. And that’s how Patrick found him, in a roundabout way.
William isn’t quite sure what year it was. Even now, he's sometimes not sure what year he's living in. Seriously, details. He does know it was sometime in the seventies, because he was in a disco and there was an alarming prevalence of polyester, but other than that he's not overly sure. He'd charmed his way into the elitist club using his good looks and a pout, but it wasn't getting him his Jack Daniels. The muscle-bound bartender wasn't all that impressed, so he turned up the charm. Turned on The Voice.
An hour later he was swimming in a sea of amber liquor and a man approximately half his height with dark-framed glasses was tapping his shoulder. William eyed the little guy warily. He didn't look like he was old enough to even be in the club. He also had earplugs shoved into his ears (William couldn't blame him. the music was atrocious), which were reddening under William's Scrutiny.
"You're a Siren? Or is the bartender a, um, a friend of yours?"
William snorted and patted him on top of his ugly cap. "Not quite, wee one. I wouldn't be friends with that hulk of dumb if he paid me to. Half Siren. Mom's side. Why, you a cop? 'M not aware that it's illegal to seduce drinks from the house, and if it is, well. You're welcome to cuff me?"
The little man made a face. "No, I'm not a cop. I'm Patrick. I'm here with a friend. We're... doing some celebrating of sorts? We finally got our company started and it's something of a big deal for us."
"That's nice and all, but what does this have to do with me?" He threw back another shot while the kid eyed him speculatively for a few minutes, shifting from foot to foot.
"Well. We need a receptionist. but specifically one with your, er, unique ability. We're a public relations and promotions company catering to those that are Other. It's never been done before. Your Voice on our end of a phone line would probably save us a lot of grief. And ya know, if we did hire you, you'd have a pretty cushy job and occasionally be able to be in the public eye, should we need to control a situation in public."
William’s eyebrows shot up. Oh yeah. Negotiation and persuasion. Little guy's a leprechaun, or at least related to them, and if that's the case, he could have been five hundred if he was day; William has a sixth sense about these things. Leprechauns also smell like money, literally. It wafts off of Patrick, dry and smelling faintly of paper. (William may be part Siren, but what other blood he can claim, he doesn't know. The knowing Others' by scent is a trait shared pretty exclusively among the Fae, and predominantly by the branches that boast tinier stature than William has ever been able to claim.) They are also excellent businessmen, and even as tipsy as he totally wasn't, he knew getting in on something like this on the ground floor was a golden ticket.
He smiled beatifically at Patrick and threw an arm around his shoulder.
Lead me to your partner, little man, and let’s discuss benefits, shall we?"
So, William may despise the ass crack of dawn, but Patrick and his partner, thin, lanky Elf Mikey Way, hadn't let him down. The company was small, but incredibly detail oriented and all inclusive towards a clients needs. Though they did insist, however, that William only use his talents in relation to work matters while on the clock, and only as would benefit the company--legally. Which, ya know, lame,but he could totally deal. His public presence at press conferences and as the Voice of the company (Not the face, sadly. That was all Spencer. Lucky bastard.) was a major perk. He was recognized and generally loved.
He really couldn't ask for a better job. He's got the inside scoop on album releases, parties, and club happenings. It helps that all the juiciest gossip is a phone call or doorway away and he doesn't have to do more than answer phones most of the time. The dress code is pretty lax, and he enjoys the company of the other employees; not a bad gig, all around.
But getting into the office at Fuck-You a.m. to check the messages from overnight, that was just, not.
He settles at the imposing desk in the foyer and keys up the message database. Most Others don't keep daylight hours like much of the staff at Arcadian Rhythm, preferring twilight or late night to the harsh light of day. There are 30 messages of varying format that have come in through out the night, one of which is marked urgent. With a few clicks he's got it open and is skimming over the address. He does a slight double take before he forwards it to Patrick and Mikey, and Pete, by default (who William is pretty sure is just there to harass Patrick and doesn't actually do any of the assisting he was technically hired for).
Someone is going to be kicking themselves later this morning. William hopes it's before lunch, so he won't miss the fireworks. Maybe he can scrounge up some popcorn before the show starts.
Where There's Smoke: A Tale of Scales, Earth and Lust (And Pixie Dust)
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I'm glad you enjoyed the rec! :D