Chapter Text
Laura Hollis had a great life. She had a great job, which was setting her up for a great career. She lived in a great apartment, with a great roommate, in a great city.
Things were great .
Great, great, great.
Good.
Okay.
Things were just…
Alright.
Sure, it could be a little dull sometimes. She was a little too focused on work and not much else. But it was still great.
Or it was getting there.
She was twenty-four years old and set in her routine. Every day was the same, which suited her just fine (for now). She knew what to expect, which lots of people would’ve envied. She had stability.
Her alarm set for every weekday morning at 6 am (Alarm Name: Wake up! ). She’d set one more for 6:15 am (Alarm Name: Come on, Laura! ) and one more for when she’d inevitably get up, 6:30 am (Alarm Name: Fine. Don’t shower. Be gross. ).
She’d drag herself out of bed, take the fastest shower known to humankind, run a brush through her hair, and then brush her teeth. She’d grab an apple or banana and a granola bar for breakfast and whatever leftovers or bag salad she had in the fridge for her sad desk lunch (which she’d supplement with some cookies from the stash she kept at her desk). She’d be out the door by 7:15 and catch the streetcar.
She’d stroll into work a little before 8 am, with a smile to the custodial staff, who were usually the only other people there that early. She’d work on whatever concert review she’d need to finish or copy edit whatever article that would fall on her desk. By the time everyone else would show up, she’d be ready for more work. She’d go to the video team, see if they had anything they needed any help reviewing footage for their YouTube channel. She’d see if any of the other writers needed help with their research or contacting sources or anything else they could possibly need help with.
Laura worked at The Society , Toronto’s premiere music industry and pop culture magazine. It was sometimes called the Buzzfeed of Canada’s music scene (much to the chagrin of her super hipster pretentious coworkers). She was part of the social media team and a reviewer of gigs, concerts, shows, and the occasional busker.
Of course, that was just semantics. The position they hired her for was not necessarily the position she worked. Laura would cover anything and everything. She was on top of every department at work. She offered to stay late, work weekends, travel when needed. She knew she had a reputation for being eager – too eager – but whatever . She was Laura Hollis , journalist extraordinaire, highly undervalued at her current place of employment , but otherwise happy.
All this extra work, was just setting her up. Her time was coming. She’d worked there for the last thirteen months and was finally starting to feel like she was getting somewhere, you know?
(Her coworkers thought she was a bit of a pushover, ‘cause she wanted in on every project, even the grunt work, but that was fine. It was all for the experience. She’d be rewarded one day. She would. She hoped.)
Anyway, back to her routine. At the end of the work day (you know, staying later than the rest of her co-workers, leaving after saying goodbye the evening custodial staff), if she had an assignment, she’d grab a falafel off the closest food truck and eat it on the way to the gig. If she didn’t, she’d go home, change into her comfiest clothes, make something quick (and wildly unhealthy) for dinner, and spend her evening curled up with a book or Netflix and her roommate Betty’s cat. She’d go to bed at 11 pm (okay, that’s a lie, she’d totally go to bed way earlier than appropriate for a woman in her mid-twenties) and she’d start it all over again the next day.
Her weekends? Half the time she’d be awkwardly attending different events - political rallies, sit-ins, protests, festivals, and community meet-ups. Anything that she could vlog about on her personal YouTube channel or write about on her blog. She tried to get her name out and network with people in the industry. She was as awkward as she was friendly, which was a terrible combination for being taken seriously, but at least she was starting to gain recognition.
The other half the time she usually just holed herself up in her room and wasted time, marathoning television shows. She wished she had more of a social life, or at least be able to see her dad in Hamilton more, but that was the first thing she sacrificed when she decided she wanted this career.
Look, Laura lived for her work and she didn’t think it was a bad thing. And it wasn’t . Ambition, drive, being excellent – they weren’t bad traits. She was ready to climb even further up Canada’s media ladder, and The Society was a great start at getting her experience. Her side-projects were great for getting her name out.
That said, she missed the complete emersion of being an actual journalist. The long nights of research. The follow through with leads. Interviewing sources. Getting out there, working on real legitimate news . Tweeting for a magazine and writing concert reviews at dingy hipster bars was not her passion.
And there was the potential for the kind of work Laura wanted to do at the magazine. Just last issue, they did a feature on the prevalence of recording artists purchasing songwriting credits. She helped interview a few sources for that article. There was another on plagiarism versus paying homage. She was part of the research team for that one.
Those were the kinds of assignments she wanted to do more of and one day lead . She dreamed for a byline on a real, legitimate article and get her name out as a real, legitimate journalist. Then maybe she’d be able to move up, work at the Toronto Star, or for CNN, or for any other news corporation.
Until then, she settled on making the absolute best out of her routine.
--
Her personal life, on the other hand, was suffering. If she wanted the great career, she had to sacrifice a lot - and the first thing to go was relationships. It wasn’t exactly for a lack of trying - it was just the dedication she had to putting it out there. She’d rather go to a public forum than go on another bad Tinder date, just like she’d rather go visit her dad than be set-up on another bad date courtesy of Betty.
Laura had become an expert at the first date and an expert at not following through with a second.
Plus there’d be just...an all together all lack of spark with the women she’d seen. Was it so wrong for her that she wanted a connection with someone? Someone who understood her drive, her need for success? Someone who knew she needed space but someone who also wanted to woo her?
She knew she shouldn’t have been choosy, as she’d been reminded numerous times: a dry spell was a dry spell. But Laura was fine with how her life was.
When everything else was in place, then she could focus on her pathetic love life.
--
The day Laura was hoping for finally came. It was mid-June, 7:56 am; she had at least a half hour before anyone else would show up. Things were the same as usual. She smiled at the janitor as he passed her down the hall and unlocked the newsroom door with her key fob.
She was immediately greeted by a buff man she’d never met before who was standing outside her editor’s closed door. He nodded at her.
“Uh, can I help you?” she asked, dropping her stuff off at her desk and walking over to him.
“No ma’am,” he answered, not really meeting Laura’s eye. He looked like a guard; he probably was. When bigger name musicians came in for interviews, they were usually with an entourage, which included security. There was probably a fancy band or musician meeting with her editor.
Which wasn’t out of the ordinary; but usually there were other people around when it happened. And it was never before 8 am. And it was usually announced to the team.
Maybe she missed the memo. She went back to her desk, turned on her computer. She checked her schedule – a new item was added since yesterday from their editor: they had a meeting first thing in the morning. Well, there; probably with whoever was in the room with her. She busied herself with her latest review on an up-and-coming band from Calgary, when her boss’s office door opened.
Aside from her editor, Jane Cochrane, two incredibly powerful looking women left the room. She didn’t really see their faces, as they were immediately whisked away by the security guard, heading towards the back exit. They were dressed rather professionally though - business suits - so she didn’t think they were a band...
Laura gave Cochrane a wave in hello, and quirked an eyebrow up. She responded with a shrug then went back into her office and shut the door.
--
Laura’s curiosity didn’t last long; at the meeting, Cochrane filled everyone in about the magazine’s next project: profile the up-and-coming band Non! Anon. She had met with two representatives from the band’s record company that morning to finalize the terms.
“Does everyone know who they are?” she asked, jokingly.
Everyone knew who this band was. They were one of the few Canadian bands to have a Billboard Hot 100 number one single in over a decade. They were on the cover of every teen magazine in the world. They had millions of followers on Twitter. They had a legion of teenaged fans who followed them everywhere.
They were also incredibly over-exposed, over-produced, and probably didn’t really write their own songs or play their own instruments. The only cachet they had was that they were an openly out and proud LGBTQ+ band, but even that wasn’t enough to save them from their terribly catchy (but also terribly terrible) first single, a cover of Don’t You Want Me by Human League.
Yeah. Don’t You Want Me .
Just...ugh. It was a decent cover but...not a cover anyone asked for.
It really didn’t need to be said – in Laura’s opinion, they had no place at The Society. But one of her coworkers, Theo, vocalized that thought: “Of course we know who they are; they’re everywhere and they’re shit.”
The group laughed, including Laura.
“Well, Theo, it’s good to know you will be fine with not travelling around North America for the next few months with them.”
A murmur of ‘ooohs’ went around the room. Laura sat up a little straighter. This could be interesting.
(With a little satisfaction, she saw Theo hunch over in his seat.)
“Glittering Diamond Records wants us to join the band this summer on their tour. It’s a huge opportunity for us and everyone should be counting their lucky stars they chose us to do it,” Cochrane continued. “Hollis – how do you feel about tour busses?”
All eyes fell on Laura.
“What?”
She tried to ignore the murmuring of her coworkers but fidgeted under their glares; the silencing look on Cochrane’s face quieted them.
“I want you to lead the magazine’s next project: Profile Non! Anon. Give them the full treatment: an article for the September issue, daily exclusive pictures from the band, weekly vlogs. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed. You’re dedicated to the magazine. You’re a talented writer and you’re quick on your feet,” Cochrane said. Then she turned towards the others. “She also has the widest range of expertise and she makes herself useful where she can. Unlike a lot of you.”
A few of her coworkers - Theo especially - shifted uncomfortably.
“So Laura, if you’re interested, you’ll spend the next six weeks with Non! Anon. We have all the equipment ready for you. The record company wanted someone who’d be their fans’ eyes and ears, and I can’t think of anyone better than you.”
Before Laura could respond, Theo interrupted. “I stand by what I said. They’re a shitty band. Why are we bothering with them? We’re a respected music publication, not J-14 .”
“And it’s going to cost us a lot of money to pursue this,” Sarah Jane, her desk mate, added.
Cochrane held up her hand. “We have been given an unprecedented amount of money to profile the band by their record company. And I, unlike you, Theo, am unfamiliar with the content of J-14 magazine. Now, back to Laura. Are you interested?”
“Uh, obviously,” Laura answered. “But I’m a little confused. This is going to be a huge investment for a band that has one song. They don’t even have an album out yet, do they?”
“Their EP came out just last week, and I agree, it’s strange. But their people really want them to succeed. And they want part of their success to come through us. It’s just another layer to their marketing mix. And we work in print, guys, it’s not like we’re in the position to decline money here. This isn’t an unheard of request.”
“It is for The Society ,” Natalie, another coworker brought up.
“Look, I get it. You guys don’t like the band. But the fact is, every teenager in North America – and probably the world – has a poster of them on their wall, probably has a Tumblr blog dedicated to them. This is potentially big for us. So if any of you are so above this , you’re free to leave. Meeting dismissed – Laura, I’ll meet with you about the details later.”
--
So this was it. Her big break, her next step to the next phase of her journalistic life. She’d been given this great opportunity and she was ready to blow everyone away.
Kind of.
It wasn’t exactly cutting-edge journalism. And it was going to keep her from being in Toronto for the whole summer. She wouldn’t be able to visit her dad like she usually did.
But was a cool opportunity to travel, get information on the life of a musician, and again, it was more experience. One more thing to add to her portfolio.
And her editor picked her. All her hard work was paying off. She was being established as as a person to be reckoned with at the magazine. She was getting a team of people to work for her - Sarah Jane, Natalie, and J.P. - who would help her edit, post, and come up with ideas.
And the extra money she’d earn this summer? That was definitely appealing. The record company was really invested in having this be a success.
So she really couldn’t have any complaints at all.
Laura was going to meet the band in a week and leave for the tour in two. She spent the next few days in research mode. She poured over Non! Anon’s media kit, the information package that the record company gave her, basically every article written about the band, and, of course, their newly released EP. Of cover songs.
Don’t You Want Me. Take on Me. Need You Tonight. Straight Up. The Look. Control.
They were like...KidzBop, but queer and “cool”. They weren’t... awful . But they weren’t exactly Polaris Music Prize-quality either. They were a glorified, albeit talented, cover band.
There were four members - LaFontaine (Laura’s notes read: short red head, singer, guitar player ), Danny Lawrence ( tall red head, bass player, sometimes guitarist ), Wilson Kirsch ( man-puppy, played the drums ) and Carmilla ( ridiculously beautiful, sang back-up, guitar player, sometimes bassist ). She thought it was hilarious how two of the members don’t use their full names; she figured it was a super pretentious promo tactic. She’d get J.P. to look into that later.
They were all in their early 20s. They were from Mississauga. Their record company’s bio on them presented them as a total Cinderella story: four kids who were discovered by some strange coincidence and were signed on the spot and now living their wildest dreams.
Which was fine , but it was cliché and totally unbelievable. They just happened to be discovered while playing in Kirsch’s mom’s garage. A record exec for Glittering Diamond Records just happened to be driving past his house and heard the opening chords to their cover of Don’t You Want Me (again, why they thought it’d be a good idea to bring that song from the 80s back, she had no idea). Right.
No, it was fake. It had to be. She made a note to ask them about how they were really discovered.
Another thing that really struck her was...well. Their guitarist was beautiful. God, she was pretty. Just...wow. Laura could imagine she would’ve put posters of her up on her wall if she was a 14 year old.
And her name was Carmilla. She’d remember that. Easily.
...As she was going to remember all of their names. She looked over at the group photo again, committing the other members names and faces to her memory.
LaFontaine, Danny, Kirsch, and Carmilla .
Oh god, she was regressing; she was a teenage girl again. She wondered if Carmilla just photographed well or if she was as beautiful in real life. She wondered if that’d be an issue...
Laura shook her head, stopping herself from perseverating on Carmilla’s picture again. Whatever.
It was nothing. She didn’t really like their genre of music. In that sense, she could at least trust that she wouldn’t be swept up by any of their “celebrity”. They weren’t big by way of substance. Non! Anon were harmless fun music and very mainstream, but Laura didn’t really think they’d have any staying power.
She wondered why the record company was pouring money into the band - really, they weren’t that special (her eyes lingered over another picture of Carmilla; something stopped her from really believing it). They were obviously talented musicians, based on the videos of their live performances, but their music was, like was said in the meeting, shit .
She made another note to get S.J. to look into their record company later.
A few minutes later she was proven wrong. She browsed Tumblr for info – fangirls were basically undercover detectives – and found some of their original stuff which was previously on YouTube, but taken down. And it was actually good. Completely different, but good . Carmilla also sang lead on a few songs and played bass on most of them. Laura liked those the most. She just really liked Carmilla’s voice.
(And her face. But again, she pushed that thought down.)
She made one last note to find out why Carmilla didn’t sing lead anymore.
//
A week later, Laura sat in a boardroom in the offices of Glittering Diamond Records. It marked a week before the tour would begin and she was being debriefed by the band’s record company PR rep, Matska Belmonde, who she recognized from leaving the early morning meeting with Cochrane. She was in every way stunning but equally intimidating and terrifying. The band’s manager, Will Luce, was also there contributing nothing (other than being smarmy and creepy). There were some contracts to be signed and a pretty restrictive Non-Disclosure Agreement.
The rules and documentation were fair enough – the record company had final say for content, no political statements, no speaking to other press or paparazzi, no mention of payment to the magazine. She couldn’t report on sex and alcohol or substance abuse (which she had seen in other NDAs - standard practice).
But there were a few terms in the contract that struck Laura – there was a list of products that needed to be appear in every vlog, mentioned in every other blog post, advertised in the issue that the article was to appear in. There was to be no mention of songwriting. No mention of their early work. There was a substantial amount of restrictions on what she could talk about after the tour was over. Basically, she couldn’t say a word without the expressed permission of the record company.
She was to submit every vlog, article, tweet for review. Which, Laura scoffed. This was impossible. She, as a journalist, was being tied to writing fluff. She was not into that. And she couldn’t stop herself from asking about it.
Will raised his eyebrows; she immediately got the sense that he wasn’t completely familiar with how to do his job (another thing added to the ever growing list for her to look into later). Mattie (which Matska insisted Laura call her) simply waved her hand, like it was no big deal.
“We find that our particular media contract only allows for more trust in our mutual relationship; we want Non! Anon to feel comfortable around you - and we want you to feel comfortable around us. It’s all in the name of reciprocity. You give us what we want? We’ll give you what The Society wants - hits and readers, for one thing,” she said, with a condescending laugh.
“But it’ll be impossible for me to show you every tweet for reviewal-”
“-We’ll make it work, Miss Hollis,” Mattie replied, with a tight smile.
“-But-”
“ We’ll make it work .” In other words, her tone told her to shut up. So she did. It didn’t sit well though - what was the point of her even being there if she couldn't actually do her job?
“So, Laura, we’re excited for you to come on board,” Mattie continued, taking Laura’s attention from the contract. She felt like she was two feet tall under the woman’s sharp glare and intimidating smile. God, she really was the quintessential public relations woman. “I can already tell that the band is going to like you. Let me page for them to come in.” Mattie pressed a button on the phone. “We’re ready for them.”
Laura stood up, ready to greet the band and thankful that she would no longer be alone in the room with Mattie and Will. The door swung open and she was immediately greeted by a big smile – LaFontaine. Then Kirsch and Danny followed, with matching grins.
Then Carmilla.
Their eyes locked, and damn it - Carmilla was even more gorgeous in real life. Photos did not do this woman justice. She knew, just by looking at her, that she was bad news in black leather pants. Any semblance of “cool” that Laura may have had just flew out the door. Carmilla’s lips turned up into a small smile (the kind of smile that knew what kind of affect she was having on her). It made Laura flush even more.
Oh god.
Laura stared, for way too long for what was deemed socially appropriate. It was only the clearing of someone’s throat caught her attention, bringing everything back to focus. Right - the meeting. The band. LaFontaine stood in front of her and with a chuckle, held their hand out; Laura shook it, embarrassed, trying to ignore everyone’s blatant staring.
“This is LaFontaine,” Mattie introduced, graciously not commenting on Laura’s extreme awkwardness, “Kirsch, Danny, and Carmilla. Guys, I’d like you to meet Laura Hollis. She’s with The Society . She’s the journalist who will be joining you on tour this summer.”
“Hi Laura, glad to have you on board!” Danny said, shaking her hand.
Kirsch nodded, shaking her hand next. “Yeah, we’re huge fans of The Society .”
“Huge fans! This is awesome,” LaFontaine said.
Laura turned to Carmilla, who shrugged and picked at her nails.
Oh. Okay. She was not too terribly impressed. That was fine . It didn’t bother Laura. She probably just needed some warming up to, which Laura was great at.
The band took seats around the table, and as a group were all briefed on the nature of the tour and given the full schedule.
It only filled Laura with more questions.
It was (at least) two nights in a city: one night participating in the tour thing, and the next night playing a private gig, usually for a wealthy benefactor (or a political group, a lobby group, a corporation). For the next one and a half months, there were barely any days off. In Laura’s experience, tours like this were meant to be cash grabs.
And the band had no idea. Laura scanned her eyes over the members, who were smiling, agreeing to everything (except for Carmilla, whose default emotion seemed to be ‘unimpressed’). They didn’t seem to mind (or know any better, she wasn’t sure). She was is taken by how young and naïve they were. They seem to be in a happy daze about everything.
Laura felt a swell of protectiveness for them. They’d be lucky if they survived long enough to put out a full LP. Red flags and sirens were flashing in her head. This was a burnout tour. They were going to be worked to death, so to speak, and had no idea.
--
Later that day, Laura was devouring her third cookie at the tour launch party, stress-eating. In the last year of working at a music industry magazine, she hadn’t yet been able to attend one of these fancy industry parties. She felt out of place, but fortunately didn’t look it. Thank god for her roommate Betty, who helped her pick out an outfit that was appropriate for these sorts of things (it was a little short and a little cropped, but as Betty said, “It’s not slutty-slutty , but it’s slutty enough. It’s good-slutty. Classy-slutty.”).
Non! Anon’s music is blasted from the speakers. She noticed that as soon as their first single started playing, every single member of the band grimaced.
Hmm…
She turned to grab another cookie when she felt someone walk up behind her.
“You know, sweetheart, the cookies are for everyone , not just you,” the voice said, condescension in its tone. Laura whipped around.
Carmilla .
Carmilla reached forward, grabbing the cookie from Laura’s hands. She smirked, giving Laura an evaluating look; her eyes traced up Laura’s body. Laura immediately cursed Betty for picking out the dress.
“You look good,” Carmilla acknowledged, almost begrudgingly.
Before Laura could respond, someone called Carmilla back over to the other band members. Carmilla didn’t say a word as she walked away.
Yeah, that was going to be a problem.
Laura marched up to the bar and ordered a glass of wine. It was fine . Carmilla was just a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who happened to be interested in women. A beautiful woman who just complimented her. A beautiful woman who she’d be spending an awful lot of time with in close quarters.
But chances of her being actually interested were slim.
See, this was just because she hadn't had a good romantic prospect in a while; hadn’t had sex in even longer. She was just projecting on the first pretty, gay face she happened to see. Which was normal.
So there. It was no big deal.
She threw back her drink in a few big gulps then left the bar to talk to the others. She caught up with LaFontaine first, and they immediately clicked. They were funny and smart and already had ideas for vlogs. She met LaF’s partner, Lola Perry, who was there to support the band, but unfortunately would not be joining them, as she was busy interning at a law firm and studying for her LSAT all summer. Laura was impressed.
Next she spoke to Kirsch, who was a sweetheart - a little dopey, like a puppy who wasn’t the brightest but definitely the sweetest. His brothers were sweet too. Danny was also incredibly friendly. She was intelligent, bold, and charismatic and already had a group of people flocked around her. Her entire family was there as well, and they vaguely reminded her of the family from Brave .
Kirsch and Danny were definitely the partiers and both excited for the people that they’d “encounter” on the tour. And that was as far as that went. She half expected the band to be stereotypical musicians - sex, drugs, etc. - but they’re weren’t. They didn’t seem interested in the more lured parts of being a traveling musician.
In fact, getting to know them a little bit more made her even more worried for the tour. They were so naïve. Which was saying something - Laura was the queen of naïvety sometimes...
Laura tried to find the courage to talk to Carmilla, but any time she tried, Carmilla would just give her a patronizing smirk and immediately be pulled away by someone from the record company, usually Will or Mattie.
She finally did get a chance to talk to her at the end of the night, in the restrooms while they both washed their hands.
“So, Carmilla,” Laura said, looking at her through the mirror, “you excited for the tour?”
“Sure am,” she said, apathetically.
“It’s going to be fun.”
“It is.” Carmilla shook off her hands and went to the hand dryer. She waited a moment, as if expecting Laura to continue.
“Hey-”
Carmilla stuck her hands under the dryer, the loud noise interrupting Laura.
She totally did that on purpose. Rude.
Laura pursed her lips and waited for Carmilla to finish. She grabbed some paper towel instead, drying her hands silently .
“Anything else to ask, cupcake?” Carmilla asked when her hands were finally dry (it seemed like it took ages).
“Uh...yeah, is anyone from your family here? I’d like to meet them. I met Perry, and Kirsch’s brothers, and Danny’s family -”
“No.” Carmilla’s shoulders squared; Laura could see her defenses go up...
“Oh. It’s just that I thought maybe they’d -” Laura began, feeling embarrassed and a little self-conscious (she found that she was incapable of acting normal around Carmilla; she was an awkward, bumbling mess). Carmilla held up a hand, stopping her.
“I don’t have a family.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry-”
“Whatever. It’s your job to be nosy, right? Ask questions, get answers. Whatever.”
“Well, I didn’t know… What...happened?” (Oh god, why did she ask that?) “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly.
“Seriously?” Carmilla snapped. “Look, sweetheart, you’re hot, in a tiny Lois Lane kind of way, and you’ll be totally worth having around all summer, especially if you look like that then entire time,” Carmilla’s eyes trailed down her body and back up (Laura resisted the urge to shrink away), “but I can already tell we’re not going to get along. So, how about you mind your own business when it comes to me. The others are into this, I’m not. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me the hell alone.”
Laura sputtered, not knowing how to respond. With one last glare, Carmilla left.
Laura decided she didn’t like her.