Disclaimer: This is a male/male slash fiction. The author makes no implication to the sexuality of Rob Bourdon or any other member of Linkin Park.
author: christ sol webtrash@unpunk.com
.1.
Ben Hall skated down Commercial Road, braking hard in front of the warehouse they'd just moved into. Sweeping inky black dreadlocks out of his eyes, he yanked his deck off the ground and stood outside a moment, breathing hard. It was a chilly Melbourne morning, and the grey skies above promised a rainy day. Luckily, Ben likes rain. Washes away the smog, flooding the streets and pulling errant burger wrappers, cigarette butts, tram tickets down storm drains. And the air, so fucking pure after a heavy storm. Shrugging his backpack off over his hooded sweater, he kicked the door open and dumped his skateboard next to the reception desk.
A blur of pink and blue hair appeared from behind a computer screen, and Hana emerged, smiling.
"Good morning, Mr Hall."
"Hey babe, any mail?"
She stopped fiddling with her nose ring long enough to grab a handful of envelopes and shoved them at Ben, twisting back into her seat as her phone buzzed.
"Good morning, Beacon Studios, how can I help you today?"
Ben walked around the partition and into the office.
"Hey Ben, hows tricks?"
"Yeah, not bad, hows it all going?"
"Can't complain. Need to talk about some legal stuff when you got a moment."
"Sure thing. Lemme get a coffee and shred the bills, and I'll be over."
As a rule, Ben loved and hated owning his own recording studio. He loved having creative freedom, helping new bands get recorded and established, but he found business matters boring and difficult. When his best mate Warren Costas finished college with his management diploma, Ben dragged him into Beacon, and the business actually started to turn a profit.
Ben was on his second coffee and logged onto internet banking when his extension rang. Muttering under his breath, he picked up the phone. If it was a creditor demanding money, Hana should know to transfer them over to Waz.
"Ben Hall speaking."
"Ben, it's Hana, I have a Cameron Hastings on the phone from Warner Records. He says he's calling about your conversation in Sydney last month?"
Ben grappled with the name. Hastings.. Warner Records... it clicked. Ben specialised in recording complicated percussion tracks, and Hastings was interested in using his skills to record some new bands.
"Yeah put him through Hana, thanks."
Two clicks, and static on the line.
"Hello?"
"Cameron, hi! Ben Hall here."
"Glad I got hold of you. What time is it over there?"
"About half ten, mate. What can I do for you?"
"Well, we got a band in who's not too happy with the sound theyre getting with our engineer, and we were wondering if we could subcontract your services."
"Sure, but I can't leave town at the moment. I got two new bands recording this month, and I need--"
"We'll send them over, Ben."
Ben raised an eyebrow, and glanced across at Warren, who was not-so-discretely eavesdropping. He scribbled a quick note on the back of an order form: HASTINGS FROM WARNER, SENDIN BAND HERE 4 REC SESS" and waved it at Warren.
"Sure, I wouldn't have a problem with that. How much are you offering, and how many sessions?"
"Well, we have a few complete beds bar the drums, all we need now are the percussion tracks and some synth work over the top. So I'm guessing probably 20, maybe 30 hours? How does two grand sound?"
"Two grand US?"
"Yeah, that's how much in your money--"
Ben remembered seeing the Australian dollar trading at 0.66 US, which would mean...
"Three thousand and thirty dollars, thirty cents."
That was over twice what full sessions normally cost.
"OK, send them over. Fax me the dates, accomodation, itinerary, and the contract."
"Will do."
Ben paused, sipped at his coffee, and glanced at Warren again, holding up another note:
'A$3K 4 25HRS.' Warren replied with a low whistle and mouthed "Who?"
"Whos the band?"
"Ever hear of Linkin Park?"
...
So, what happens now? Find out next chapter. :)