Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Keaton has been attending Record Store Day for eight years. He’s used to seeing someone meltdown when their wishlist record sells out. Usually the most emotional people are fans and the angriest people are scalpers. It’s understandable from the fans — these records are limited runs, only available for one day, and you never know how much stock your store is going to get. You can stake out overnight and still be the fourth person in line and miss out on the exclusive live release from your favorite band that will never be repressed. After the year he got too emotional over a sell out and realized the lack of sleep was getting to him, he decided he would exercise restraint and try not to stake out again. Some years it’s easier to resist than others. He walks up right after they open for this year’s RSD so he can just check if they still have the two seven inches he wants after the line clears.

As he’s walking across the parking lot, he sees the line is wrapping around the building and remembers he probably should have waited longer for the stakeout line to be worked through. It’s too late now, though, he’s not going to come back later even if the overnight stakers are only just starting to breakdown their chairs and tents. As he’s passing the front door, it opens and two girls leave. They’re both empty-handed and the taller one appears to be on the verge of tears, if not already crying. Immediately, the guy at the head of the line who was in the middle of bundling up a sunshade abandons packing it with his folded chairs and runs over to comfort her.

“They were sold out?” he asks even though it’s very obvious what happened.

“They only got three! They ordered two hundred!”

Ah, probably their first RSD, then. That always happens — always. He doesn’t know of their store ever getting the full amount they ordered, there’s just too many record stores across the country competing for spots.

“You’ll have the test print,” the shorter girl assures her. That makes Keaton glance back, brow furrowed. The girl in the middle is, actually, crying. She’s dressed appropriately comfortably for the stakeout with sweatpants and she even brought seating, so it seems like she did know what she was doing, but her male friend is wearing a cropped crochet sweater and the short girl is wearing a fluffy dress, so they clearly weren’t prepared along with her and if she was a vet, she should have told them. They stick out like a sore thumb in the line, but he kind of thinks they’d stick out anywhere — the other two for how they’re dressed, and the girl for how she’s crying.

“That’s her giving it to me! I didn’t accomplish anything for her!” the crying girl protests, moving as if to help pick up their chairs but instead only making it as far as the pickup bench before she has to stop to fumble the chairs and ends up sitting there instead with her friends as they continue comforting her.

“She knows you waited all night for her! It’s like you’re getting number zero instead of five thousand,” the boy tries as he gently takes the folded chair totes away from her.

“I’m a zero,” the crying girl responds to that, voice extremely emotional, but she lets herself be guided up and clutches the chair in her arms as if it were the record she missed out on as her other friend quickly grabs their two remaining folded chairs so they can usher her back to their car, still comforting her as she sniffles.

Keaton looks back to the first person behind them in line, confused now. They have their phone out and are taking photos or filming the whole thing.

“Hey! Cut that out,” Keaton calls to him, and he startles, looking back and quickly putting his phone away to instead hurry up to the doors and wait for his turn to be let in. When he glances back, the male of the group is also throwing a worried glance over his shoulder before turning back to encourage his friend to leave as she sniffles. That was just gross. It’s rude to film strangers in public normally, but especially when they’re emotional like that. She probably hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. She was definitely staking out on someone else’s behalf. With the cost scalpers attach to these things, the tears would be warranted.

Hopefully he’ll have better luck with his wishlist.

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Bennett thought it would be smart to duck out right before the second opening act ended to go to the merch table. The initial surge from the door opening would be cleared and they wouldn’t be sold out like at the end of the concert. If she misses a little of the opener she doesn't mind and it really is the ideal time. The merch table is pretty empty when she walks up, but the one person that is there stops her in her tracks.

“It’s basically an inside joke, which is ridiculous to put on merch, but that’s why it was the one she gave me to wear to the first show. I try to buy everything in my collection, but we don’t really collect each other’s clothes, so she knew that would never be the design I picked up from the lineup and of course she wanted to make me wear it,” Adora fucking Grayskull is saying to the merch table attendant, who is nodding and listening along like she’s not talking to — let Bennett reiterate — Adora fucking Grayskull.

Bennett is kind of frozen in place, but unfortunately Adora notices her in the corner of her eye and startles a little, glancing her way and flashing her a sheepish smile before quickly ushering herself to the side of the merch table.

She has a small pile of merch in her arms. The headphones, the tour-exclusive cassette, and one or two things Bennett doesn’t pick out in a quick glance.

“Still plenty! I should get backstage before the show starts,” Adora says to her, apologetically, juggling her spoils to wave goodbye to Bennett and then quickly turning and ducking down the hall as more people start coming out from the stadium doors now the opener is done. Only the approaching competition makes Bennett finally move her feet, walking up to the table but still feeling a little too stunned to properly assess the table and say what she wants.

“Did she just buy merch?” is what comes out of her mouth instead of do you have the vinyls. The attendant glances back the way Adora vanished.

“Yeah, she picks up things throughout the tour so she doesn’t buy out one stop, but she has a whole display,” the attendant says, shrugging as she reaches down to fixed a flipped over shirt sleeve. Bennett still feels a bit speechless.

“What was the joke?” Bennett asks even though the thought wasn’t in her mind until it came out of her mouth. The attendant chuckles and points to the tour’s tank top design.

It’s a very sketchy style of graphic, random star shapes surrounding what looks like a lump at first glance but becomes an arm cast broken in half when you take a second look, Noise Disturbance written across the front. Something meant for healing, instead breaking itself. It makes sense with Catra’s music and it’s not exactly a joke.

The inside joke is probably the stars. That was Adora’s last album title, after all.

“Do you have the red Noise Disturbance vinyl?” she finally manages to ask instead. The attendant looks apologetic and shakes her head.

Well, fuck. At least she didn’t see Adora just buy that.

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