Work Text:
Janis stared at the CD in his hands. “So.”
The man sitting on the other side of Janis’s desk was grinning at him like he’d just won the lottery. “Yes?”
“You’re telling me you’ve made this album here.” He put the CD back in its case. “And you want to be ‘discovered’.”
The man’s smile grew. “That’s right.”
Janis raised an eyebrow. He glanced around the room, at the desk photos of him side-hugging celebrities, at the platinum-certified records hanging on the walls -- records by artists he’d signed -- and at the large grandfather clock ticking loud and slow in the corner of the room. With every low, droning click of the second hand, he wished he was anywhere else but here, in his office, talking to yet another wannabe musician who thought that wearing sunglasses indoors made them look cool.
But that’s just what it was like being an executive talent scout for one of the biggest record labels in the country. There was a lot of chaff to cut through before one could get to the real talent.
Most of the chaff, though, wasn’t this… cult-y.
“And furthermore, you’re telling me,” Janis continued, picking up the case and looking at the back, “that you think you’ve loaded this album with number 1 hits that are guaranteed to make us filthy rich. Hits such as…” He squinted, trying to read the jagged font that the track listing was printed in. “An Offering of Blood Sputum.”
“That one’s got some really good lyrics,” the man replied, pushing a small booklet onto Janis’s desk with a gloved hand. “I think you’ll be impressed.”
Janis lowered his eyebrow just so he could raise the other one, and picked up the booklet.
“I see now why you’ve called me
I’ll help but there’s a small fee
A fate that bad would suit him
Just give me bloody sputum”
He looked up from the booklet. The man across the desk was positively glowing at this point.
“Isn’t it great?” he asked, bouncing in his chair. “It’s catchy, but it’s also deep. If you’re interested, I can tell you about all the secret meanings I’ve embedded in even those four lines alone, and all the loopholes a demon would be able to find in a deal like that.”
Janis sighed. “I’m willing to bet that the average listener is not going to pick up on any of that. I’d go so far as to say that these lyrics would just make people feel sick. I feel a little unwell after reading it.”
“Psshaw.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You don’t give your listeners enough credit! My family loves it! This song is a guaranteed crowd pleaser.”
“Really. And what about these other songs?” Janis looked back at the lyric booklet. “Scented Candles: The Story of a Murderer? Mr. Brimstone? I’d Do Anything For Your Soul (But I Won’t Do That)?”
“That last one is a love ballad, it’s really quite beautiful. My sister helped me with it.” The man’s grin softened, and he rested his chin in his palm. “Love is pretty weird, don’t get me wrong, but she managed to convince me that listeners would eat it up. And she was right! I’ve looked at the potential futures and the ones where this song’s a hit are the most likely futures I’ve ever seen.”
Janis coughed. “You might be discounting the potential futures where we don’t distribute your record.”
The man smiled again. “Oh, no, I’m not. There just aren’t any. There are some variations in the timeline but in general, you’re going to love my album.”
Janis started to wonder if the facial twitch he was developing was going to become permanent. “You can’t be serious. I mean, track 4, look at it! You can’t have done this accidentally, can you? The chorus is literally a summoning incantation for Alcor the Dreambender!”
The man’s smile grew even wider somehow, starting to stretch the limits of what a human face should be able to do. “Yes, that’s me.”
Janis facepalmed. “Listen, I know what you’re doing. You want a brand, you want an aesthetic. You’re right, you can’t make it big in this industry without recognizability. But you’re going about it in the worst way possible! How do you think Alcor is going to react to you using his image to promote your music?”
“Oh, I think he’d be quite pleased.”
Janis felt like he was falling into a pit. “Do you now,” he asked flatly. “Do you really."
The man leaned forward and lowered his sunglasses, peering over them at Janis with a pair of coal black eyes. “Oh, yes,” he cooed. “I think he would.”
Janis groaned. “I hope those sclera contacts were cheap because I think you need to reconsider your branding. Even if you wouldn’t be pissing off Alcor the Dreambender by releasing this album, how do you expect listeners to react to it? Who’s going to buy an album purportedly performed by a demon?”
The man’s smile slipped for the first time since he’d walked in. He pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and slumped in his chair. “I don’t think I know what you mean.”
“Really?” Janis internally begged that this entire thing was a joke, that this guy was a hired actor, that the office interns were pranking him for getting rid of the water cooler, and that he wasn’t seriously dealing with a demon-posturing kook. “Anti-demon sentiments are high in the public eye right now. You can’t have forgotten California, can you?”
The man slid lower in his chair, his smile definitely closer to being a frown at this point. It almost seemed like he was… pouting? “That’s not fair. People make mistakes.”
Janis’s eyes boggled, and he dropped the lyric booklet. “Are you defending Alcor right now? Or are you trying to apologize for wasting my time with this?”
“You’re not seeing the big picture!” The man sat up again and flipped the jewel case on the desk over, so that the album art was visible. “Maybe people are a little iffy on demons right now. That miiiiight be understandable. But check out the cover art I made for this. Everyone’s going to flip at how cool it is! You’ll sell a million copies, easy!”
Janis scowled, and broke eye contact with the weirdo so he could glance again at the cover art. The man featured on it was clearly the man sitting in front of him, but dressed like Alcor the Dreambender. To the man’s credit, it was a very convincing costume -- he had the suit down to the finest detail, and the bat wings almost looked real. He had coal black eyes looking over a pair of sunglasses not unlike the ones he was wearing right now, although they at least seemed more appropriate in the album art, given that he was riding a motorcycle out of an erupting volcano. He was revving the engine with a gloved hand, although the glove was basically torn to shreds, presumably by his “claws”. A violin outfitted with a strap was slung over his shoulder, and his smarmy grin showed off two rows of razor-sharp teeth.
He looked like a demon, alright. Janis had to admit it was the most metal album cover he’d ever seen. Maybe a bit over the top, though.
“Sir,” Janis started, exasperated.
The man folded his hands over one another and smiled innocently. “Oh please, call me Alcor.”
Janis ground his teeth. “Alright, ‘Alcor’. I have to be frank with you. In my line of work, I’ve seen a number of things you wouldn’t believe. Albums filled with nothing but moaning. Unlicensed covers of other artists’ hits. One time, the entire local chapter of a secret society poured into this room to try to sell me on an album outfitted with subliminal messaging. I’ve seen a lot. This,” (he gestured to both ‘Alcor’ and his album), “takes the cake.”
‘Alcor’ rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen worse.”
Janis pursed his lips. “I’m sure you have.”
“No, really. I once made a man eat his own intestines because he slaughtered a child in my name.”
Janis didn’t even blink. “Ah yes, is that what track 8, Don’t Hurt Children You Dumbasses Or I’ll Getcha, is about?”
“No, but it’s about a similar incident. You should listen to it!” ‘Alcor’ leaned back in his seat, kicking his legs up onto the desk and folding his arms behind his head, looking as if he owned the place. “You’ve got some concerns about my album. I don’t get it, I mean, everything I’ve shown you so far has been pretty cool if I say so myself. But you’ll be hooked once you actually listen to the songs I’ve recorded.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Why nottttttttttt,” the man whined -- a huge giveaway that he wasn’t actually a demon, as if Janis needed proof.
“Sir-” (Janis bit his lip), “‘Alcor’, I’ve laid out very clearly why I think it would be a bad idea for us to print and promote this album.”
‘Alcor’ huffed. “I don’t think you’re giving my album the consideration it deserves.”
Janis shot to his feet and slammed his hands on the desk. “How about you get out of my office right now, and then I’ll give your album the consideration it deserves.”
‘Alcor’ stood up. “That sounds fair.” He grinned and extended his hand. “D͓e̤a̶l?̧͎̗̫̮̝̩̙”
“Yes, yes, whatever.” Janis started fiddling with the papers on his desk, not wanting to look at the person who’d just wasted an hour of his life for another moment. ‘Alcor’ remained where he was standing, however, and after a moment, Janis looked back up at him with a scowl on his face. The man winked at him over his sunglasses, and waggled his still-extended hand.
Janis groaned. “Fine!” He grabbed the man’s hand and shook. In that moment, his vision flickered, and the man in front of him was replaced with a dark void, traced with glowing lines of brickwork, deep golden pits for eyes and glistening shark teeth where his mouth should be. A blue flame covered both of their hands and Janis felt a weird tingle, followed by the sensation of something inside of him twisting sharply.
It lasted only for a split second, and then the room was normal again. The man smiled back at him, his teeth flat and normal, and Janis started to wonder if he was getting enough sleep. The middle of the work day was no time to be having hallucinations.
‘Alcor’ let go of his hand, and turned to leave the room. “By the way,” he called, not looking at Janis. “Don’t listen to any of the tracks backwards. Just… don’t. It’s for your own good. And if your vision starts to go blurry, call me, my number’s in your phone. Bye!”
Janis only grumbled in response. ‘Alcor’ finally left, closing the door behind him, and Janis collapsed into his chair. He pulled open his desk drawer and eyed the various liquor bottles he’d stored there. Was 11:30 too early for a drink?
He glanced at the desk. The demon in the album’s cover art seemed to wink at him.
No. 11:30 was definitely not too early for a drink.
“And that was ‘New City Turnpike’ by Big Nas Y. Don’t touch that dial, folks! We’ve got more hits lined up on your favorite radio station, 102.7 KGRV. Coming up next is one I know you’ll all enjoy: ‘An Offering of Blood Sputum’ by Dreambender! ”
Mabel squealed. “Henry, turn it up, turn it up!”
In the passenger seat, Henry groaned. “I know we’re going to a demonology conference, but does that really mean we have to listen to his music the whole way there?”
Mabel glared at him. Dejectedly, he tapped the volume up button twice, just as Dipper’s voice started to flow out of the speakers.
“I see now why you’ve called me.
I’ll help but there’s a small fee.”
Mabel smiled as widely as possible and sang along. “A fate that bad would suit him! So give me bloody sputum!”
Henry sank in his seat as Dipper’s chanting was joined by the screeching of a demonic violin, a sound he’d previously only had to hear in his nightmares before it became a number one hit. He watched his wife bob her head back and forth happily, and wondered how he’d ended up here.
“Do you actually like this song?” he asked during a vocal break.
“Of course I do! It’s so catchy, and also deep!” She cackled, and Henry sank further into his chair.
“And you,” he said, turning around and peering into the backseat at his brother-in-law. “Why did you have to subject us all to this?”
Dipper put on the biggest shit-eating grin Henry had ever seen. “You don’t like it?”
Henry’s face twitched. “I can’t say I see the appeal.”
“I just thought the world would enjoy my music!”
Dipper stuck a forked tongue out at him, and Mabel started singing the chorus of the song again. Henry sank as far into his chair as he could without his legs punching a hole through the front of the car.
“Besides,” Dipper added, leaning over the back of Henry’s seat, “if I’ve got to be a demon, I might as well have some fun with it. It was either find some poor souls to torment for eternity, or become a rock star.”
Henry rubbed his temples. “I see you went with the first option, then.”
Dipper and Mabel cackled in unison, and Henry started to wonder how much it’d cost to have the radio removed from the car.
(Six hours later, as Mabel was carried out of the conference by security for trying to start an impromptu rave in the middle of the talk she was giving, Henry felt slightly vindicated. Only slightly. They made him listen to the whole album on the drive back to Gravity Falls.)