“We missed the first one,” Lily said. “But another will be along shortly.”
“I’m sorry I made us late.” Would she have to give up her nights with Steve? All because that stupid reporter wouldn’t leave them alone? Was it really asking too much that she could have her time with Steve and keep up appearances with her band as well? The plan had gone so smoothly in her head.
The camping sites and outer festival grounds were already crowded, even though the main gates didn’t open for another hour. Baroquen wasn’t playing until later that afternoon, but they all wanted to experience as much of the atmosphere as possible. Well, Iona mostly wanted to network, but that was easy enough to do when dozens of bands were congregated.
“I had a dream last night that only four people showed up for our set,” Sage said as they meandered through the parked tour buses.
“Did they throw buckets of piss at us?” Azura asked.
“No, they liked us,” Sage said. “But there were only four of them.”
“That makes four more UK fans than we had before the show.” Azura patted Sage’s shoulder just beneath the lower curved edge of her black and green wig.
No one knew who Baroquen was over here. They didn’t have many fans in the US either, but in Europe they were completely unknown. What if Sage’s dream turned out to be a prophecy? What if no one showed up?
Some musician stumbled out of a tour bus, nearly knocking Iona on her ass. She greeted him and smiled but was entirely ignored. Maybe it was just too early for him to be friendly. Roux was too amped up to be jet-lagged, but not every traveler was chipper in the morning.
Iona watched the guy walk away as if she didn’t exist. “Maybe instead of trying to rub elbows with our better-known peers we should be rounding up some fans.”
“Like out there?” Sage pointed toward the main gate, which wasn’t visible from their current position.
“It’s where the really important people are,” Iona said.
“Do you think that’s wise?” Lily asked. “Jack said I should be careful. These festivals can quickly get out of hand.”
“We’ll be fine,” Iona said. “And I’m sure Sam would approve. He’s always talking about how important it is to get a loyal fan base. How better to gain loyalty than by meeting potential fans one-on-one?”
Roux had to admit Sam was right, but she wasn’t sure that the door-to-door-salesman approach was their best bet. “You don’t think that will make us seem desperate?”
“We are desperate,” Iona said. “This won’t be like our arena shows opening for Exodus End. We have to draw our own crowd. We can’t depend on them to do it for us.”
“It reminds me of our basement gig days,” Azura said. “How many flyers did we have to hand out to get thirty people in the door?”
“So many trees were sacrificed,” Sage said.
“But once we got those thirty there and showed them a good time, they told their friends and we had to pass out fewer and fewer flyers until we didn’t have to pass out any. Eventually we had to turn people away.”
“But we don’t have any flyers,” Roux pointed out.
“I have an idea,” Iona said. From the bodice of her dress, she pulled out a pack of multicolored permanent markers. “Don’t judge. I was hoping someone would ask for my autograph.”
Roux laughed but didn’t refuse the red marker that Iona handed her. “What are these for?”
“Turning people into flyers,” she said. “If they’ll let us.”
It was a long walk to the main gates, which were set to open in less than half an hour. Eager attendees were standing in line waiting to enter the concert area. Those at the front of the line were the most eager and the most bored—they’d been waiting a long time. Iona—who didn’t have a shy bone in her body—walked right up to a young couple who were watching their approach with interest.
“I know you’ve never heard of us,” Iona said, “but we’re hoping you’ll come see us at three this afternoon on the second stage.”
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“Baroquen.”
“What now?”
“Baroquen. B-A-R . . . Here, let me write it on your arm.”
And the guy actually extended his arm over the barrier. Security was watching closely, but they didn’t intervene. Iona took the cap off her purple marker and wrote Baroquen across his forearm, with the time and place beneath.
“Are you like their roadies or something?” he asked, staring down at his walking billboard of a forearm.
“No, we’re in the band. We’re opening for Exodus End this summer, but we’re new, so—”
“Exodus End! Have you met them?” The guy’s eyes were wide as he glanced from one member of Baroquen to the next. Roux wondered how excited he’d be if he knew how truly close she’d become to one member of the band.
“Yes. They’re great guys. Very supportive of newbies like us. We hope we can count on your support as well.”
“If Exodus End supports you, count me in.” He grabbed the arm of the woman with him and pulled it over the barrier. “Do hers too. And like, maybe autograph it or something.”
Iona grinned like she’d just won the lottery and signed her much practiced autograph on the guy’s arm.
Azura stepped forward to mark the woman’s arm with their band name, and the time and location of their performance. Naturally, she wrote the message in blue, which matched her costume and undertones of her wig. A few men behind the couple leaned in to see what was going on.
“They’re a new band from America,” their first new fan told the men. “Opening for Exodus End this summer.”
“Are they any good?”
Someone in line had already downloaded one of their songs onto their phone and played it for nearby spectators. Roux couldn’t believe that Iona’s crazy plan was working. Well, unless they hated their music. Then they were sunk.
“That sounds pretty badass,” some guy said. “A mix of Black Veil Brides, Marilyn Manson, and Nine Inch Nails.”
Uh, okay. If he said so.
“And every member of the band is a hot chick?” another man asked. “I’m so there. Write on my arm!”
Roux was closest to him, so she uncapped her marker and wrote their flyer message on his arm. “Are you the guitarist?” he asked.
“Keyboards,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the marker cap she held between her teeth. She placed it on the top of her marker, seeing as it looked like everyone in line now wanted a forearm message. “Azura and Sage are the guitarists.” She nodded in their direction. “The blue and green ones.”
“I want them to autograph my arm too. Their dueling guitar solo is lit.”
Lit? Was that a good thing?
That guy’s trend quickly caught on. Everyone wanted not one autograph beneath their flyer message, but one in every color. The gates opened, and people behind the initial entrants stopped to see what was going on. Not everyone was interested in being marked, but enough people were, and most of them insisted on hearing a sample of music before they agreed to being written on with permanent markers. The best part was that once a skeptical person was introduced to Baroquen’s unique sound, they always wanted to be included.
“Ahh,” Iona said, writing her purple messages and autographs much more rapidly than in the beginning. “I don’t care what any drug addict says. This is the best kind of buzz.”
Roux grinned, once again recognizing that her sister was a publicity wizard.
The fans were surprisingly well-behaved. They didn’t shove other attendees or try to grope her or have anything to say but positive things. A lot of them were already drunk—at noon—but not unruly. Maybe British drunks were less offensive than American drunks. Or maybe the insanity didn’t start until the sun went down. After a while, their new potential fans started insisting on posing for pictures with their billboard arms, and once those started hitting social media, Baroquen was sought out at the main gates by people who’d be
en planning to stay in the campgrounds until later. Like the flyer situation, they had only needed that initial seed of excitement to grow a forest of new admirers.