fandomtownies | Groovy Tunes, Wednesday

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Groovy Tunes, Wednesday

Right, then. Jono had been putting this off long enough, making the transition from one job to another, one apartment to another. Today, he decided, was going to be the day he actually did his damn job and opened the Groovy Tunes for the first time since he'd been a student on the island. He'd done a few extra rounds of the shop that morning, made certain everything was in place, went rummaging through the desk and found a Radiohead CD he used to play tirelessly back in the day, and put that on the stereo. He'd dusted. He was pretty sure he hadn't even done that back when he was just a manager, rather than the shop's owner.

And, probably more important still, he stuck a sign in the window.

Now Hiring!
No Experience Necessary

... This felt eerily like high school all over again.

[OOC: The music store is open! And OCD-free! I'll do a Groovy Tunes infopost sometime, probably later today.]

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Mercy popped in after her class. "So you did it," she said with a smile.

//So I did,// Jono agreed, looking up from where he was standing behind the counter, sorting through the sample music that he used to play during his shifts here. //It's a little surreal, standing behind this counter again.//

A little?

"I bet," Mercy said with a smile.

"Um... so... I was thinking I could use a little extra pocket money. I've never worked at a music store before, but back in Aspen Creek I worked at the motel - receptionist, room cleaning, whatever needed to be done. And I do like music, so I thought maybe I'd apply?"

//Liking music is a help,// Jono replied, thoughtfully. //And bonus points if you know how to count change.//

Okay. No. He had to actually ask an interview question of some sort, here.

//... What's your favourite band.//

Nailed it.

"I'm pretty fond of Silly Wizard and Clannad," Mercy admitted. "I know they're older groups, but I like the style. I also like Janis Ian, U2, of course, and there's this cool a cappella group I heard on TV recently called Home Free that are just amazing."

"And yes, I can count change."

//Sounds like a bit of variety,// Jono mused, nodding. //That'll help. And what day are you free to work?//

Seriously. Jonothon's interview process needed some work.

[Any day of the week is fine, except Wednesday, which has been dibbsed in advance!]

"Mondays would be great," Mercy said with a smile. "I don't have class that day, so it would be great."

//Monday it is, then. Come in next week Monday, and I'll give you a quick training session on the till. Show you were all the important buttons are.// He pointed at the register. //Employee discount is right here, for example.//

What? It was the one he'd always used most.

"Oh, I hadn't even thought of that," Mercy said with a grin. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you Monday then, er, well, I'll see you Friday, but I'll come in here Monday."

//I'll see you 'round, Mercy,// Jono replied, his voice carrying something like a chuckle in it. //Welcome aboard.//

She smiled and headed out with a wave. "Thanks, Jono!"

Eleanor had no classes today; that meant she was wandering through town, trying to decide what new essentials she ought to pick up.

Music was hardly an essential, and she shouldn't be spending money on frivolities, but she wondered if they might have a record of Grace. Surely it wasn't ridiculous to spend a bit of her money on that. Grace had sung to her while brushing her hair; it was one of her few happy childhood memories.

It couldn't hurt to at least enter the store. And the music inside ... was nothing like Grace's songs, but it sounded like a dream she'd had once. Something aching and familiar, just out of reach. Heartbreaking and all too real.

Excuse Eleanor for a moment; she was going to linger in the doorway and absorb the music, as if she could soak it in through her pores.

Well, today was a good first day, if he already had two of his students stepping through the door, right? Jono knew the look of someone appreciating the music they were hearing, and he stood back for a moment himself, not wanting to interrupt.

Radiohead kind of had that effect on people.

When Eleanor came to herself, she flushed, seeing her teacher standing nearby. He must think her mad.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I got a little ..."

She waved a hand at the ambient music.

"I don't mean to interrupt."

It was a store, Eleanor.

//You were standing quietly, bothering nobody at all,// Jono assured her, shaking his head. //Why apologize? I put the music on to be enjoyed by anybody who can hear it, luv. You liked it?//

He was going out on a limb here, really.

"I did," she admitted, the flush deepening. "I've never heard music like that before."

Being nearly a half-century in the past had left her sadly lacking in the art-rock department. The underwater city hadn't helped, either; Rapture had stayed frozen in time, idolizing the fashions and ideals of the 1940s, even as the 50s and 60s had rolled forward.

"I ... I was looking for a record," she said, straightening herself up that she might participate in Business. As this was clearly a very important establishment that took commerce Quite Seriously and all. "I don't know whether you would have it or not."

//Well, you're in the right place to look,// Jono noted, his own posture still relaxed. He clearly wasn't terribly concerned about conducting important business, here. //What were you looking for, exactly?//

This was childish. Eleanor ought to be spending her money on necessities. But she couldn't stop herself.

"Grace Holloway," she said. "I didn't know if -- if you had anything of hers. It's a bit older; I don't know if you carry mostly modern music. She made records in the 1920s, in St. Louis. She sang in jazz lounges."

She shrugged, self-consciously, before admitting, "I heard her sing when I was little. I was hoping ... to hear her again, I guess."

//Grace Holloway,// Jono echoed thoughtfully, and then stepped out behind the counter, heading toward the vinyl. Because if they were going to be looking for jazz, vinyl was the place to start looking. And, really, the only way to do it. //You know, I think I remember seeing a record with her name on it, from a while back. She's a bit reminiscent of Bessie Smith, if I recall correctly?//

Fandom's access to multidimensional music was a thing of wonder.

"That sounds right," Eleanor said, perking up at the name. Hadn't Grace mentioned her once? This here's one of Bessie's songs, but she's long gone and she won't mind none me singin' it to you, child. "She mentioned other singers, but I daresay I couldn't remember their names offhand. Ida ..."

She'd been a little sister; weren't her own memories open to her in the same way? Regretfully not. She closed her eyes, trying to place it and not finding much.

"Cox?" she guessed.

//Ida Cox,// Jono confirmed, stepping to the blues section and rifling through the selection. There was Ida, there. Bessie would be farther along the shelf. And Grace would be right about...

//Uncrowned Queen of the Blues, they called her. Ida did Vaudeville, too.//

"I don't think Aunt Gracie did Vaudeville," Eleanor said. "At least, she never mentioned as much to me. But she was a big draw down at the Limbo Room, in Pauper's Drop. She looked so pretty on their posters."

Jono had no idea where any of those places were, but he nodded a little all the same.

//Aunt Gracie, mm? You knew her personally, then?//

Call him curious, yes. His fingers grazed over the cardboard cover for one of the records on the shelf, and then he pulled it away from the rest, giving it a thoughtful look.

//Is this one what you're looking for?//

"She watched over me, when Mother was in prison," Eleanor said with a fond smile. "She was utterly devoted to the cause, and to Mother. And me."

She hadn't ever treated Eleanor like the Blessed Messiah -- just like a little girl who deserved to be tucked into bed at night. It had been a revelation, being cared for, after Mother's practiced indifference.

She brightened as he pulled out the sleeve. "Oh! May I?" she asked. "Could we -- that is, can we play it?"

Oh, Eleanor. You were breaking his heart, here.

//Of course, luv,// he replied, nodding toward the back of the shop. //We've got a turntable set up, and I would never deny anybody the chance to listen to family if I can at all provide it.//

He started toward the back of the room, looking at the old record player setup as he approached it as though he was greeting an old friend, himself.

It had been years.

It had been years, too, since Eleanor had heard Aunt Gracie. Mother had sent her off to run Pauper's Drop, and that had been that.

"She isn't really family," Eleanor said, apologetically. "I only wish that she was."

She watched as Jono set up the turntable, trying not to be as nervous as she felt. What if it broke, somehow, or didn't sound like her through vinyl?

And then the horns began, and that -- that was Aunt Gracie. Crackling and soft, but it was her. She knew that song. She'd heard it so many times. For the second time in as many minutes, she had her eyes squeezed tight as she tried to hear the music through her very pores.

Jono didn't say anything as she listened. He didn't want to interrupt- not when she was hearing somebody she clearly missed. He didn't have the heart to break into this moment, even if his voice wouldn't drown out the tangible sound quite that way.

No distractions. This music meant something.

It wasn't until a few moments after the song had finished that he said, softly, //You know, sometimes, 'family' is less about blood, and more about who you choose to let in.//

Aunt Gracie. Why could the sound of her voice bring Eleanor nearly to tears? She ought to keep her composure. It had been a long time ago. The memory was a happy one. She sniffled, once, but kept the rest of her unsteadiness at bay.

"The man I call Father ... in class?" she offered, hesitantly. "He was a stranger, imposed upon by a bond. But he loved me, all the same."

//Sounds to me as though you loved him back,// Jono noted, nodding faintly. //All of the family I have that's worth having isn't related to me by blood. My blood family is just a pack of madmen not worth ever getting familiar with.//

So, there. It was okay to be brought to tears by hearing family long left behind again. Jonothon wasn't going to judge anybody.

"My only blood family is Mother," Eleanor said. She'd said enough about her to leave it there, hadn't she? If not, Jono could piece it together himself. "I'm ... sorry about your blood family. That they ended up that way."

She straightened up, abruptly. "I need to buy this record," she decided, firmly. "I don't care what it costs."

And a player, as well. Presumably she could get one for less than the three hundred dollars she had left.

//The record is yours,// Jonothon replied without hesitation. //It's refreshing to see somebody come in and appreciate music that way. I wouldn't ask money after that, not in a million bloody years. Have you got a turntable to play it on?//

"I don't ... I can't accept it as a gift," Eleanor said quickly. Gifts felt to much like there were underlying strings. "I'll pay you. I promise. And -- no. I don't. I'll need one of those, as well. I have money."

//If you prefer,// Jono replied with a shrug. //And have you got a budget to worry about? We don't stock many turntables, luv. New ones don't run cheap, and demand here isn't as high as I think it really ought to be.//

Because he was a vinyl snob.

//Least expensive one we stock here is about a hundred.//

All right. A hundred. She could manage that. It would take a serious bite out of her remaining cash supply, but she could.

"That's fine," she said, trying to sound unconcerned. "I've a budget but I can manage."

Yes. Rolling in money, she was. Jono could guess from the way she'd shown up on the island without a jacket. Secretly an heiress.

Some leap of boldness made her add, "Did -- I see right, that you're hiring?" And honesty made her add, "I don't have any experience. At all, with any job whatsoever. Or with music, in particular. There's no reason in the world you should hire me."

Very helpful, Eleanor. Good job selling yourself.

Well, Jono had heard of worse attempts to ask for a job. Somewhere. Maybe.

//You saw right,// he agreed with a nod. //I'm really not looking for a wealth of experience. If you're willing to work, I can teach you how to work the till. My only real requirement is that if my employees aren't familiar with music, they listen to some while they work. Gets them familiar with it. Maybe gives them a chance to find out what they like.//

Jonothon Starsmore: Truly a tough employer.

//You certainly seemed to appreciate Radiohead when you came in the door.//

"I did," Eleanor agreed, quickly. "I'll listen to whatever you like. I don't mind about that."

Clearly, Eleanor had never been introduced to Creed.

"We didn't ... have much popular music, in Rapture," she explained. "At least, not from the surface. We had our own groups, making their own records. But I can try to learn quickly."

//Do one better. Listen to whatever you like. So far, you've got good taste. Maybe you'll find something I'm not familiar yet and pass it on. Who knows?//

He shrugged.

//I'll give you a job, though, by all means. Mondays are taken. Any shift other than that's free. Any preference?//

"I don't have classes on Wednesdays," Eleanor said. "Is that it, really? I'm hired? Do I need to ... sign something, so you know I won't lift money from the till?"

She wouldn't dream of it. But she was used to Rapture, and its insanely convoluted contracts.

//I have all of two employees right now. If you lift money from the till, I'll figure out who did it easily enough,// Jono replied with a dismissive shrug. //I think I need you to do some paperwork nevertheless, but that's for tax purposes, and all the bother about that is for me to deal with. Wednesdays are fine, by the way.//

"Thank you," Eleanor said. "I'll do my best, with the paperwork."

It wasn't a test, Eleanor.

"So ... how exactly do I ... work here?" she asked. "I mean, what is it that I do? Manage the register, recommend music?"

Could you write your name? Did you know where you lived? Good job, Eleanor. You totally passed the Fandom Island paperwork test. If Jono was feeling extra spiteful, he might even make her write the date on it.

//That's... really more or less it,// he replied, shrugging. //There might be some putting new stock away, but if any of that gives you any trouble, I do live upstairs, you can just grab me to help by giving a knock on the apartment door.//

Easy!

"All right," Eleanor said confidently. "I believe I can handle that."

Trained monkeys could handle that, Eleanor.

//You can handle that,// Jonothon replied easily. //Hell, if I can handle it, really, anyone can.//

And he'd train those monkeys to make all the good music recommendations, too.

Edited 2014-01-19 15:16 (UTC)

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Groovy Tunes, Wednesday

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