🕒 When: Late March 2026 📍 Where: WRZR Station - Recording Studio A 👥 With Whom: @echoingmuse & @brassandrot 🔹 Summary: Two music lovers meet at the radio station to broadcast personal favorites, advertise Cleo’s record store to Ishan’s late night listeners and the threads of a new collaboration are woven. It’s a great night for music.
As the introductory song faded in, cymbals brushing and double bass humming low, Ishan gave his guest for the night a reassuring, one sided smile, the sort that only reached one eye, because he didn’t want to seem worried, especially as he was not. But he’d always wanted people to feel comfortable and seen.
“Good evening, my restless listeners. You’re tuned in to Midnight Rest on WRZR. The night is humming yet again tonight, although some people aren’t here to listen,” and that was quite alright. This hour of the night wasn’t for everyone, and he found his own comfort in having a community of his own during those late moments. “I’m your host, Ishan, and tonight, while the rest of the town drifts between dreams, we’re going to stay warm, and keep the vinyls spinning.”
He pulled his notebook closer, his finger finding the word he searched for while he let the silence settle on the receiving end of the microphone. “We’re staying warm tonight, yes. We’re staying home.” He paused again. “The tracks that crawl out of your basements, your backrooms and homemade studios. Local artists, the voice and pulse of your town,” he explained. And just like the rest of the city, he found that while some of those artists seemed perfectly normal, some others… unsettled him.
“I’m not alone tonight,” he smiled. “I’m with Cleo, the heart, and the ears behind Echo. If you haven’t been yet, you must give her record shop a try because that woman can smell good music. Good evening, Cleo.”
—
She remembered the invention of the radio. What a marvelous time that had been! How accessible music and news had grown. (Cleo only valued the former, admittedly.) The world had raced past radio now, throwing a thousand new podcast episodes a day at a never bored audience, stuffing their ears with pausable playlists and robbing them of the whimsy of radio. It was a medium she was sure she would see die in her lifetime, and she was sad for it.
She watched Ishan get to work, keeping her voice quiet for the time being. He was good at this, she'd sensed that even without being in his presence. Now that she was, there was a nagging realization that there was potential in this room, and it wasn't all hers. She did a good job of ignoring it.
It was good enough to bask in the presence of someone who delivered music to people who were still awake. Maybe they were driving late at night or plagued by insomnia. Maybe they worked a security shift. Cleo found it honorable work, that which was done here in this studio.
“Good evening Ishan,” she replied, smiling at him in return. “Thank you for having me and for that very kind introduction. I do tend to give dazzling music recommendations, and with your – the holidays coming up for some, why not step by to find that perfect gift?” She chuckled. “Alright, alright, I did my little marketing talk, now let's talk music. New local releases, Ishan — how do you feel about Shrimp Bizkit's new record?”
__
Ishan liked the sound of that woman’s voice. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she too sang when no one could hear her (or perhaps even when they could). He unfortunately couldn’t do that. The only applause he would get would be one he forced out of the enthralled crowd. Somehow, this was not what his dreams were made of.
“Shrimp Bizkit,” he repeated, amused, clearly. “Yeah, I’ve had a listen. As our listeners already know, I s’ppose the accent is a give away, I’m not a local,” he leaned onto his elbow, comfortable, clearly, with the confession. “But though the name still feels like a prank, they’re growing on me,” he nodded. Leaning closer to the microphone, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “I keep coming back to track four. Tidepool Heart. There’s something raw in that song. I felt as if they recorded it next to a storm drain and didn’t care to get rid of the echo.”
Glancing toward her, Ishan’s eyes reflected the light of the console. “I’m curious what you think Cleo, because you’ve got trained ears. Better than most of us.” He tapped one finger on the desk. “Do you think they’re just a local band with good branding or do you hear something real, something interesting under that… ahem, reverb? Reverb, yeah.”
—
Cleo swallowed a comment about not caring much that the other wasn’t a local. It was no excuse, she found — she was no local either, and yet she had made work of making sure local artists had a spot at her store. Her tendency towards truthfulness (not even just because lying tended to ache) was something she repressed along with plenty of other things. At least, at times.
“A punny name is a little corny, sometimes,” she admitted, “But I think this one is quite alright. They might get into some legal trouble, but that will give them exposure — I suppose a clever play, don’t you think?” The band was new and fresh, had that independent edge that she could appreciate. Cleo knew, somewhere, that she could reach them to the next level with just a bit of inspiration. But she was refraining.
She could be an ambassador without making herself think of Harley. (He’d have laughed at the pun. He’d have critiqued their guitarist, but then helped them out.) “A sophomore album’s a good moment to figure out if a band has lasting potential, I always think. Not a golden rule, per se, but you know … if you can bring something fresh on your second album while also delivering consistent, if not better quality, that’s a good sign. This one is better than their debut. Sharper bass and drum lines. Better lyrics, too. That reverb is a creative choice, sure — I take it you think it a little too experimental? Maybe we can make your listeners have a taste of it before we discuss it more?”
___
“I do like a bit of corn in my bizkits,” he quipped back, a small smile tugging at his lips as she commented on the play of words chosen by the band, in a gesture that looked more like a self assassination than an artistic decision. Still, he agreed. “They do say there is no such thing as bad press, and I think their music is the type that can handle that sort of heat. I certainly wish them success, and good luck with the lawsuits to come,” he accompanied the comment with his signature warm laugh.
“I couldn’t agree more. If you look at big names such as Arctic Monkeys or Muse, or, if I want to name non British folks, Taylor Swift or… Well Dua Lipa’s British. Darn it… A little bit of help here?” He had a few others in mind, but this wasn’t a monologue, and he looked forward to hearing her speak again, because it wasn’t often that he had someone in front of him that had the potential of being a fantastic improv partner. She was a master of her craft, and there was nothing he loved more than being confronted with people who knew what they were doing.
“Well…” He let the quiet drag a second before he laughed lightly, because unfortunately, his smile was too quiet for the radio. “I suppose we can do that. And what better pick than Chocolate Starfish and the Cocktail Sauce-Flavored Brine ?” Reaching on the console for the microphones’ mute button, he glanced over at the technician on the other side of the window, giving them the thumbs up as they played the song.
“You’re a natural, well done,” he began, picking up his tea cup to have a much needed sip, blissfully unaware of the disappointment to come.
—
“Don’t we all?” She chuckled, not quite sure what it meant. Cleo did not busy herself with human cuisine much, even if she had grown a little more intrigued by it now that she fed herself less the fae way. She mostly stuck to easy to eat, premade things with a sweet taste to them, though. “As do I.”
At the way Ishan struggled to name an artist not from the United Kingdom, she laughed. It hit the radio waves, and she went to help him out, “Recently, The Last Dinner Party,” she said, “Oh shit, also British. But Kendrick Lamar’s sophomore album was amazing too, and Björk’s Post … also really gave us even more. There’s a lot of examples, for which we are lucky! I suppose most bad examples are forgotten, though.” Those disappeared into obscurity or became industry jokes. Cleo tried not to think of First Relic’s sophomore album, which had been released posthumously. It felt like cheating.
Ishan announced the next song and muted their microphones. She cleared her throat as he did, looking at him with a smile before taking a sip from her own tea. “Oh,” she said, “I just like talking about music is all. Get me talking and I won’t ever stop. It’s a good thing these microphones mute.”
___
“It’s a good thing I have control over the muting button, yes,” he said with a chortle, that vanished almost instantly at the taste of cold tea. With a grimace, he stood up, headed to a table at the back of the room, where he had set up his own little brewing station (every one else drank coffee and coffee only - which was fine, but not as good as some variety). “Do you want another cuppa? I should invest in one of these cups but I don’t like the feel of metal or plastic, and so…” He always got caught up in what he was saying, and forgot about his cup until it was room temperature awful.
“Anyhow, I listened to the albums you recommended the other day,” because he’d stopped by her shop once, before inviting her on his program. If they got along just fine on the internet, Ishan felt he had to make sure that they also did in person, or that she wasn’t a hunter with a great music taste. He couldn’t be sure of it, but he didn’t think any hunter could ever possibly be effortlessly cool. They seemed more of a stick up their arse kind of sort. At least the ones he did meet. “They were truly excellent.” And he had added quite a few of those tracks to his nightly broadcasts, which he assumed she was aware of (though perhaps she typically wasn’t the sort to stay up late usually?) “I’ve been listening to sombr’s 12 to 12 on loop, and I’ll probably keep at it until I’m utterly disgusted with it, but…” He shrugged.
Setting the water to 194°F, he sat on the designated tea table and tilted his head to look at her.
—
“Would love a cup, yes,” she said, the Britishism of cuppa no longer familiar to her. English inflections had been part of her vocabulary when she had lived there, but that was nearly a century ago. Her accent was much more American now. One of the things that did remain from her time in the United Kingdom was her appreciation for their tea. “Then you shouldn’t invest in it.” Cleo meant it completely. “If the discomfort of tea cooling faster is smaller than that of drinking from plastic or metal…” She shrugged mildly. It was a human concern that didn’t bother her. Of course, she was picky about drinking from the right wine glass, but hypocrisy was a trait hard to acknowledge.
Her face blossomed into a true smile when he complimented her recommendations. “That’s nice to hear. I’ll gladly exchange more recommendations any time, there’s no discovery that’s ever too much.” Cleo swiveled her chair around to look at Ishan more properly. “I’m not familiar with that one. You enjoy listening to the same song over and over again? That always intrigues me. There are few songs I can do that with — but whole albums, those I can play on repeat for sure. I will have to play this one, though, if it’s worth your repetition … can you play it next?”
___
“I generally just make myself a new cup,” he agreed. That was less of a hassle indeed, than drinking from a cup that was not ceramic, and he was already peculiar about the thickness of the rim on those. Perhaps it was wiser to just stick to what he had been doing this whole time then, or to stop being so forgetful. Ishan was also aware that this was a terribly mundane thing to say, bordering awfully close to dreaded small talk. “I don’t think we’ve ever discussed what brought you to move in Wicked’s Rest,” he pointed out. Yes, a much better topic, wasn’t it? Unless she decided to turn the question back on him. Then… He hadn’t asked a question, maybe she would just evade the suggestion.
He matched her smile with one of his own and sat on the edge of the table, his fingers tapped idly under the wooden edge in a steady rhythm. “By all means. I’m never going to refuse listening to new music, and though I consider myself to be curious enough… Well, keeping up with what’s new is hardly my job,” and he was considering himself quite lucky to have just stumbled upon her online. “Agreed. No discovery will ever be too much,” he pointed an appreciative finger at her, his smile growing as he picked up a tin of massala chai. It was a bit of a shame they didn’t have milk here, but he refused to go back to discussing mundane subjects again. Water was poured into the teapot, over the black tea blend, and soon enough the scent of cloves, cardamom and anise filled the studio. “We’ll play it next. I do hope you’ll appreciate it, your opinion is already highly regarded in this household.”
—
The question was quite a personal one, Cleo found, and she felt some kind of aversion rise within her against answering it. Still, she knew she would. She preferred to be easygoing in conversation and interaction, not wanting to make too much of a fuss if she could help it. There were plenty of situations where she could not, of course — like when someone made an asinine suggestion in regards to music or art. “Business,” she said easily, and it was no lie, “There was a record shop in need of a new owner, and the opportunity was too hard to pass up. And I have some old friends living here, so that certainly helped entice me to come this way. Have you lived here long?”
She was glad to have met someone who not only worked in music, but who was appreciative of her opinion. Cleo had decided to extend the same courtesy to him, even if he was a mere human and his insight on music would always rank below her own. Humans made up the largest chunk of music listeners, after all, so there was some merit in their views on things. “We can help each other keep up with whatever is new, hm? I love a symbiotic relationship like that. Where we can explore together.” She inhaled through her nose as he made the tea, letting out an appreciative hum. In the background, the last beats of the song were starting to play and she looked at Ishan expectantly. “Well, I’m looking forward. Do we talk to the audience again or do you just queue it up?”
___
Business. Ishan was curious enough to want to know more about that, but patient enough to wait for her to elaborate on the matter. He found that the less you spoke, the more people told you things about themselves, either because they wanted to, or because the silence was uncomfortable to them. He didn’t mind it. If it belonged on a partition, then it belonged in life just as well. Silence had a purpose. Words… Well he supposed there were bad musicians everywhere, so it made sense that words would get misused too. But Cleo was not from that crowd. She was soloist material, captivating in her own way. “And I cannot thank you enough for taking over. We have a lot of options when it comes to pictorial arts, but music…? It’s good to welcome you to the family,” he smiled with genuine warmth then, the sort characteristic of someone who meant every word he just said.
Setting her cup down before her, Ishan returned to his own seat, propping his feet up on the edge of the table and putting on display a pair of polished shoes that looked as worn out as they were apparently beloved. “You’re still listening to Midnight Rest, and if you just joined us, I’m with another music lover, our own Downtown vinyl sommelier : Cleo, from Echo.” He glanced at her with a new added glimmer of appreciation in his gaze. “Who was just telling me that she hadn’t heard the song that has been playing on repeat in my head these past few weeks. So keep your dancing shoes on, we’ll be right back after a message from our sponsors.” As an advert for Forzen Yogluck began to play on the radio, Ishan took off his headset and nodded along. “I think I can do with a symbiotic relationship, yeah. I look forward to our collaborations.”