Beca Mitchell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pitchslapped) wrote2015-12-07 07:51 pm
pitchslapped) wrote2015-12-07 07:51 pm
Entry tags:
For Kavinsky (15th December)
It's...kind of a shitshow, actually. She's got a lot of recording time on the books, the phone is ringing off the book and Jamie is...well. Nowhere to be seen. Which Beca guesses leaves her in charge. She's getting plenty of studio time, which is awesome, but she doesn't have time to make coffee and clean and all of the other things she's supposed to be doing around the place. The dishes are piling up in the sink. The phone is going unanswered a lot.
She hits a lull and just sort of...collapses on the sofa in reception.
She cannot keep this up.
She hits a lull and just sort of...collapses on the sofa in reception.
She cannot keep this up.
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As if what Kavinsky did with his time normally wasn't legitimate. Offensive.
It was a small building, smaller than Kavinsky had been expecting, and he didn't know what he'd really been expecting otherwise. He stepped in through the front door, taking his headphones off and turning his music down.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
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Beca lifts her head and squints up at him, still sprawled on the couch. First impressions: tall, cute, totally a fuckboy or a fratboy. One of those things. She just stops short of making a face.
"If you want time in the studio, I can do an hour at four, otherwise, I'm booked solid all day," she says. "I'm only sitting here because the nerd who's booked in is fifteen minutes late."
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He wasn't high enough for this shit.
"No. No, little bird told me you were pressed around the studio and could use a set of hands, maybe? So. I have hands, I guess. And about zero marketable talents."
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Beca sits up, then, perching on the edge of the couch, giving him a questioning look. He's a kid, Al's sort of age. She raises both eyebrows. She does need a hand around here, especially if Jamie's not coming back any time soon. It's only a small studio, but it does more business than she can really handle on her own.
"Which little bird was that?"
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Kavinsky shifted his headphones around his neck a little, feeling a little awkward now. He knew this was a bad idea when he'd been getting ready to leave.
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"Well, I'm Beca," she says, getting up and, on impulse, offering him her hand. "And if you can make coffee, answer phones and sweep up, I'll totally hire you. I can pay a little more than minimum wage an hour."
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Kavinsky laughed a little. He didn't even know what minimum wage was--back home, or here in Darrow. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head a bit. "No interview or anything, whatever. That's it."
He blew out a breath. "Probably don't want me on the fuckin' phones."
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"If Al sent you that means Al likes you and if Al likes you, you must have at least one redeeming quality," she says, shrugging. "And I am drowning here, Kavinsky. Can you, like, pick up the phone and take down bookings? Because that is basically all I need from you."
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Especially as he picked up the phone and, very swiftly, his first attempt at booking went quickly, spectacularly south.
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After watching him struggle for a minute, Beca takes the phone off him smoothly and sorts out the booking. It's a regular so it doesn't matter so much about the rocky start.
"Okay," she says, flashing him a smile designed to be reassuring. "So if I hire you we might have to work on that."
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"Look. I can do clean up shit, I can...bring down my coffee level to something that approaches normal people standards. I can run errands, I've got a car." He kicked his heel against the ground, looking almost pained. "I just need a job."
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Beca folds her arms across her chest and studies him for a moment, studying him. He's only a kid and, right then, he looks so miserable that she almost feels sorry for him.
"I'll give you a shot," she says. "But we're going to work on the phones. Because I can't answer the phone when I'm in the studio."
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"So I guess, when do I start, you know?"
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"Have you got some time now?" She asks. "Because I don't think this dickwad is going to turn up so I've got a few minutes to talk you through the basics."
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That was all he really had at the moment was time. He had sales and stuff, but they were few and far between, and he had his phone and car if anything came up.
"I mean, I figure cleaning and coffee's pretty straight forward. Unless you've got some weird procedures or something."
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"The machine can be kind of an asshole," she says, smiling. "Basically, I'll need you here when I'm here, unless a session's going to run really late in which case I will totally handle it."
She sits down at the desk and looks st hi, expectantly.
"Okay, so I have literally never seem anyone answer a phone that badly."
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He watched her sit down, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "I said that. Yeah. I don't do phones. I mean, I do, but only to fuck with people."
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"I'm hoping my boss is only on a bender and hasn't left me forever," she says. "If it turns out he's left me forever then I'll think about investing in a not-bitchy coffee machine." She nudges a chair out with her foot. "C'mon. Let's get this over with. And then you can go get us fake Starbucks."
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It was probably different here. He probably didn't need to let Beca know his personal experience with that shit on the first day. It'd come around eventually. Always did.
"Yeah, so. Cleaning, coffee. Gotta learn how to be a human being in the phones."
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"Literally all you need to do is ask them when they want time and pencil them in for the nearest slot," she says, pointing at the book with the tip of her pencil. "I don't even care if you say hello. Though, yeah, it'd be nice."
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He wasn't high enough for this shit.
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"How old are you?" she asks, head tilted, eyebrows raised. "Can I send you out for beer and things when the fridge runs low? Curt clears it out when he's in."
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"I've got a car, too, so if you need me to do longer errands or anything, I can do that."
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He doesn't tell her how old he is, which Beca notices and lets slide. She'll just ask Al the next time she sees him. She guesses seventeen, eighteen maybe, but probably not. She's used to doing auditions, but this interviewing thing is way different.
"Yeah, I'll definitely give you a shot," she says. "Don't fuck me around, man. I don't have time to do two jobs."
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"Yeah, you got it. No fucking around. Cleaning, coffee. Phone shit, I guess."
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Right there, right in that moment, Beca totally almost reconsiders her job office. Because this? She's not sure she can deal with this all day.
"Just make my fucking life easier, okay?" she says, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Because I literally cannot do this on my own."
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Kavinsky threw up an arm, rolling his eyes. He grumbled under his breath in Bulgarian a little bit. Women. Honestly. He got up from the chair, jerking a thumb toward the back of the studio.
"I assume the biggest mess is back here, probably around where said bitchy coffee pot is lurking? I promise I won't touch your equipment."
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"Sounds good to me," says Beca, flicking through a page in the book, trying to work out when she was going to get lunch. "Cleaning products under the sink. Anything you need, I can give you petty cash to run out and get."
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