Sipping his coffee with legs crossed, Quinn cast his amber eyes on the man, playing with the torn-up pieces of paper at his feet.
"For our audiences who may not know, let me introduce you once again. You are a rapper, yes? A rapper by the name of Prince Oblivious?"
Prince Oblivious, while playing with his dreads, nodded. "Yes."
Yoko tugged at Averie’s shirt. "I didn’t know someone as big as Prince Oblivious would make an appearance. Did you really not know who he was?"
Averie shook his head. "Don’t ruin it for yourself by asking silly questions."
"Was he not offended?"
’He was having a cracking time, laughing and chatting. Can’t show that though, can we?’
Quinn cautiously watched the man. "Of course, everything up until now was a bit; forgive me for it. Anyway, you are pretty famous, I hear."
"I saw your pale-ass producer whispering in your ear. You heard it from him, yeah?"
Quinn nodded rhythmically. "So... you are pretty famous, I hear."
"That’s how you’re gonna play, huh?"
"Pretty famous, you are, I hear."
The man slowly nodded, imitating Quinn. "Top 10 artists in the world for the last ten years."
"Still, couldn’t come first, huh..."
"Hmm? Sorry? Ah, I asked if you were Nigerian. Your wiki says you are, but you don’t sound Nigerian."
"Looked me up in front of me to find out more about me? That’s poor journalism."
"So... you don’t sound Nigerian," Quinn reiterated with a straight face. "What’s up with that?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "My family moved to South London when I was young. I sound British, but my heart is in Nigeria."
With a sharp gaze, the good actor pointed towards the man’s jumble of chains. "The dollar sign says otherwise."
Prince Oblivious polished the diamond-studded gold sign. "This thing’s to honor my predecessors."
The man threw out the names of a bunch of musicians while Quinn nodded.
"You do know all of them are convicted American felons, right?"
The ensuing pause saw the two sharing a long silence.
"So!" Quinn sifted through a bunch of cue cards. "Legitimacy of your Nigerian claim aside—even though you haven’t said a single funny thing, which should have you labelled as a pretender—let’s move on."
With an "aha," Quinn held up the card he was looking for.
"What made you want to be a rapper?"
The man breathed out a heavy sigh as if they were approaching a stressful subject. "If you know people who have grown up through hard times like me, you know the only way out is either this, crime, or football."
"I assume you weren’t good enough at either of the other two?"
The man blinked a very solitary blink. "What does that mean?"
"You were an unathletic little bitch, is what I mean."
Again, the two shared a long and silent gaze.
Quinn cleared his throat. "I’m sorry. My thoughts slipped out."
An awkward silence later, he handed him a USB stick.
"I am partly responsible for that, and I was wondering if you could show me your skills with it."
The crew provided him with a laptop, and the man plugged the stick in.
"Let’s see... what file?"
His eyes fell on a rather large folder.
Like a bullwhip, Quinn’s arm snatched the laptop with lightning speed. With fingers dancing like spider legs, he instantly deleted the folder.
"It was a thesis on symmetry in English vocabulary. Nothing for you to get excited over."
Prince Oblivious’s face was drowning in doubt, but he let it go.
Quinn showed him an MP3 file squeezed between a bunch of WAV and MIDI files.
With his headphones on, the musician nodded his head.
"It’s good; kinda basic but good."
His face was bathed in admiration.
"Those are some unique instruments. What are those?"
He ticked off on his fingers all the sounds recorded in the urinal. By the end, Prince Oblivious’s face was twisted into a gnarly mess of disgust and inspiration.
"My Cocaine in Your Urine."
"Who came up with the name?"
"Of course." The artist rubbed his face and lifted it after a sigh. "We can work with this."
Quinn got off his chair. "Really? After listening to all that, you still want to?"
As they shook on it, the scene transitioned.
The rest of the episode showed the two in Prince Oblivious’s studio, where they recorded and rearranged the song.
They showed the process of making music in great detail. They discussed royalties, labels, and the bureaucracy surrounding the music industry.
Prince Oblvious leaned back in his chair as his producer gave him a smirk and a thumbs up.
"He can’t sing for shit. We’ll have to use autotune."
Thankfully, Quinn, who was screaming into the mic on the other side of the glass screen, couldn’t hear them.
Celli, who was trying her hardest not to laugh, buckled under Averie’s gaze.
"Sorry. So, you really can’t sing?"
"Well, not exactly..."
By that, he meant, ’You are absolutely right.’
Prince Oblivious tapped on the glass and instructed Quinn with his hand to lower his pitch.
The actor gave him a thumbs up and began screaming even louder.
Though he lamented, time passed quickly for Prince Oblivious as a montage of their recording process played on the screen.
Accompanying it, at first, were the drums.
The final version of My Cocaine in Your Urine began playing.
With a snap of fingers from Prince Oblivious, the scene transitioned.
The intro of the song was still playing in the background.
A man with headphones, commonly worn by backstage staff, opened the door with the nametag ’The Royalty.’
"We are starting in five."
Two heads nodded, white powder sticking to their noses.
The camera cut to a theater filled with an upper-class audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice rang out over the speaker as the music picked up, "please be seated, for Prince Oblvious and Prince Curious."
The red curtains lifted, and the lights burned life into the stage.
A dozen or so perfectly still ballerinas shifted their weights. Their hands went low, and their legs flew high.
In the centre were two men dressed in black leather jackets, each holding a mic.
The dance was ballet.
The song was hip-hop.
And the men were dressed like rock stars.
Yet, the audience that watched them perform had tears in their eyes.
"What... what am I watching?"
Averie was too full of admiration to know which of the girls said that, but he thought that would be the consensus in the room.
"This is the complete song. My Cocaine in Your Urine, featuring Prince Oblivious."
The reddened eyes staring out of the screen relayed profound knowledge.
Prince Oblivious’s part came to an end. And for the first time, Quinn opened his mouth, seamlessly continuing from where the rapper left.
"And if someone asks," — He turned to the camera — "yes, we did a lot of coke together."
His voice was surprisingly lively and expressive.
"And if you wanna do it, we won’t hold you back—neither."
Averie looked at the scene with the eyes of someone who knew the future. ’This is where Quinn’s addiction starts to worsen.’
"It’s pretty much a music video, isn’t it?" Yoko marvelled.
"That’s because it is," Averie replied, leaning back into the comfort of his chair. "The video will be uploaded on SilkTube once the show ends."
Yoko looked at him with admiration. "You are not even a musician, but you get to collaborate on a song with Prince Oblivious before I do? That’s not fair."
She said it sarcastically, but she was enjoying the show.
’This is the kind of show that is either a hit or a complete miss.’ Averie smiled. ’I suppose I got lucky.’
But there was something else that had been bugging Averie, something that had kept him from enjoying the show to its fullest. It was the conversation he had with Yoko at the cafe.
’Why would anyone gift her the tickets?’
She had said it was a friend of hers, who owned a fashion store in London, that gifted her the tickets.
’Did she say she found them lying in her store?’
Averie found that suspicious.
’Who would lose cruise tickets in a place like that? If we were talking about a wallet, I would be more open to the idea.’
Lost in the performance on the TV, Min-Ha clapped. "Ooh, you are dropping some bars."
Quinn was indeed heated on the stage.
"So, what will you do if I like your wife? Will you come to fight? That’s alright."
Lifting her butt from the sofa, Celli pointed at the TV. "Is this a reference to BSPH?"
Suddenly, dread filled Averie’s whole being. He remembered the lyrics. He remembered the horror that was to come.
But Quinn, on the screen, did not share his dread.
"So, what if his name is Kim? I’ll drown, stab, and murder him."
The room fell deathly silent.