Music to my ears [Rigor & Starry]

[Rigor Samsa]

Between a snakes and ladders labyrinth of producer booths, unscrambled Cush and Louisiana chicken special boxes a record label called BDE; dwelled. Music had always slipped through the cracks of cultural ruling; on either side of them gangs cracked cases and bumped fists; the unsavoury underbelly business. Genesis Griffin habitually scrolled through his Instagram and sussed out the message requests - careful to look at the previews so as to not fork over an undeserved piece of attention to those who desired it. Mama G always said success shined brightest when someone else wanted something from you. From further within the brightly lit studio the engineers argued loudly with each other, it sounded like Edeio and Speed but Genesis couldn't be sure: the beat overwhelmed both voices and subsumed then into the sonic assault until whatever meaning might have been encoded was washed out like erosion of the white sand at Heathcliffe Beach. Each wave of the ocean and each wave of the track carried away more and more sand until all that was left was a polished chrome nothing. "Lads, fucking make it right by the time I get back or I'll crack something, or someone over the console!" He shouted it, but doubted the words would have fared much better than the argument coming the other way. Even moderately success labels needed to stay productive and retain success, each trophy, each accolade became another metric which could be taken away from you. BDE; had began as a way to get away from a lot of the pressure, industry, personal or otherwise. He ran a hand through the air, and then laid it on the redbrick dividers letting the vibrations of the beat cool his Black heart. Anger and annoyance were familiar bedfellows for Genesis but he never liked to sleep with them, a one night stand which always showed an ugly face in the mirror. Genesis bashed his palm flat against the wall twice, and got a return thud in reward for his efforts: an acknowledgement of the message as the music turned down. Breezing out past the recruiters listening to underground tapes, Genesis fancied a moment in the bathroom mirror: dampened, suppressed music rumbling in the background; a solitary figure as he would examine his tattooed dark skin replete with razor-fine cheekbones and teeth glinting with white-gold. His rolly chain lolled out like a hot dog's tongue, the light playing out on a discoball at its heart. His long, thick fingers brushed over the links in the chain. But before the melancholy moment could realize itself he turned towards the light, the loud chaotic street and left the building without telling anyone where or who he was going to see. Perhaps the more responsible thing to do would have been to find a brother or sister to bust up the cloud of inertia which was hanging on. Instead Genesis felt like making a mistake, maybe finding a fine bitch or three. It'd been too long since he'd inked a new page of lore for his songs of big dick misery — and there was nothing like nostalgia to prompt a return to his roots.

 

[Starry]

The humid evening air kissed the glitter-slicked skin of Tiffany Starr as she strolled down L’Impasse - a stretch of sidewalk so iconic for rapper nightlife it practically dripped Henny and heartbreak. A casino buzzed with broken dreams to her left, the neon signage bouncing off her glossy, bronzed curves like paparazzi flashbulbs on Versace. Behind her, bars were already thumping, velvet ropes writhing with early crowds desperate for validation and views. And there she was. Tiffany. Motherfucking. Starr. Live and unfiltered for her 6.2 million devoted little followers, teetering in sky-high bubble-gum pink Lucite heels and a matching latex mini-dress that looked like it had been spray-painted onto her stacked, fuckable body. The dress - if it could even be called that - clung to her like a second skin, thin enough to show the curve of her pierced nipples and low enough to hint at the soft swell of her perfectly waxed mound. Her cleavage was practically criminal, overflowing with bronzer shimmer and teased for the camera like it owed her rent. Gold rings glinted on each dainty finger, oversized bracelets clinked on her wrists, and her ears hosted thick hoop earrings that caught every last drop of neon light. A chunky choker reading “𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑹” in dripping diamond script wrapped her swanlike throat while a belly chain winked around her midriff like a secret slutty promise. Tiffany had her phone raised in one manicured hand, the other holding a sugary vape pen she barely used - mostly for aesthetic. Her glossed-up lips puckered as she faced the front cam, speaking in that signature pouty whine she was oh-so-famous for. “Hi my littttle bimbo babies~!” she cooed, voice sugar-dipped and sinfully smug. “Okay so like, I knooow you’ve all been blowing up my DMs about the viral Challenge Game, sooo here’s the sitch, m’kay?” She spun dramatically, the camera catching her big, bouncing blonde hair and the jiggle of her bubble butt as she twisted toward the glowing barfronts. “You see a dude? You ask him: is your cock bigger than this—” She thrust out her tanned, glitter-dusted forearm with a flourish, fingers sparkly and spread. “If it ain’t? Bitch owes you a drink. Or a lil favour… hehehe~ unless he’s packin’ heat… like, monster-heat.” Her blue eyes sparkled with faux-innocence as she leaned into the camera. “Like, what are the odds, right? Most of these boys talk big and carry limp lil gummy worms~[” she giggled nastily, snapping her gum. “Anywayyyy~ tonight I’m manifesting free cocktails and maybe a sloppy lil lapdance if I’m bored. You girls know I always win these challenges…” As she flounced past a group of suited-up club security - one of whom got a very intentional eyeful of her jiggling cleavage - Tiffany caught sight of a tall, tattooed figure stepping out of a side alley where the beat of a studio still faintly echoed. She slowed. Zoomed the camera in slightly with a lazy, slutty smirk tugging at her glossed-up pout. “Oh my gawwwwwd… babes, look who it is~” she drawled, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial coo, her phone angled sneakily so her followers could spy the tall, muscled man with the unmistakable chain and swagger. “King Gene. Mister 'I write sad songs about my big ol’ dick and how bitches can't handle it',” she purred with an exaggerated pout, eyes glittering with bratty mischief. “Bet you all twenty dollars he’s full of shit and I get a free drink outta this easy—like, c’mon, he probably exaggerates to sell records. That’s a thing, right?” She adjusted her top slightly, pressing her tits up even higher for the camera. “Wish me luck, whores~! Let’s see if Mister Size King wants to play the game~” She adjusted her dress slightly, pressing her tits up even higher for the camera, one hand theatrically fluffing her platinum waves while the other kept her livestream rolling - chat exploding with eggplant emojis and “QUEEN GO GET HIM” comments. She licked her lips slowly, like she was about to devour someone. Then, with all the performance of a high-end pornstar on a red carpet, Tiffany squealed. “Ohmygod—babeessss—he’s lookin’ this way! Like—shhhshhh, act casual~” she whispered like a bad actress pretending to sneak up on a wild animal in stilettos. Her voice dropped into a throaty pout as she waved one sparkly hand high in the air. “GENEEEEY~! Oh-em-gee, hiiiii~! I’m like, literally your biggest fan, babe,” she sang out in a syrupy squeal, trotting up toward him with her ass bouncing and her arm still holding her phone high so her followers had front-row seats to the potential humiliation about to unfold. “I’ve been, like, obsessed with your music since that one track where you talked about your ‘fat-ass misery stick’ or whateverrrr, ughhh you’re sooo funny~!” She giggled and made a dramatic heart with her fingers in front of her heaving tits, then practically shoved her glittering phone into his direction. “Okay soooo, I have to know if you wanna be a part of this suuuper viral challenge that’s like, totally blowing up TikTok RN,” she batted her lashes, the forearm already coming up as she bent her elbow just a little… just enough to frame her delicious cleavage and pointed acrylics. “It’s like, suuuper dumb and slutty~” she said with a wink to her viewers. “Basically… if your cock isn’t bigger than my forearm—like this one right here—” she thrust it out with all the smug flair of a beauty queen holding out a microphone, “—then you gotta buy me a drink. Or like, do me a lil favour~ teehee.” She flashed her phone at him, letting the stream catch both their faces for that juicy reaction shot, her blue eyes sparkling with bratty challenge. “But if it is… well… guess I’ll owe you somethin’ instead~”