Welcome to Gaia! ::

The old Starbright Theater is now under new management, and it’s the location of the Star Search. The place has sat abandoned for years, but you wouldn’t know it, coming in; it’s been renovated and modernized, with comfortable seating and a great big plasma display behind the stage.

On stage, the four existing members of Star Eclipse—Vasily Voronin, Aleksey Lebedev, Rory Kae, and Emil Grimmstone—sit behind a metal folding table, in comfy-enough looking chairs, prepared to judge performances all day.

One at a time, aspiring band members will come on stage, and are asked to sing and dance to a song they’ve registered with. Vasha, Alyosha, Rory, and/or Emil will provide commentary within 48 hours OOC; auditioners are welcome to respond, but will not receive a second round of comments! There is no set order and auditioners may “overlap” OOC, but IC there will be one person on stage at a time and each auditioner will be given eight minutes of time.

Aleksey Lebedev

Much more clothed than Rory, Alyosha stood in front of the table, with his back currently to the audience. Part of him—specifically part of him that had spent the past several months, even before leaving New York, trying to speedrun learning how to dance—couldn’t help thinking that it might have been a good starting position for some choreography. The vast majority of Alyosha remained grounded in reviewing notes he’d prepared with good questions to ask after each potential member’s audition.

Yet another part of him, however, had to just silently be grateful that Vasha had helped him pick his outfit. Nothing complicated—a lightweight black button-up (fairly new, thus tightly fitted), sleeves rolled up to help mitigate the heat; a new pair of tight black jeans; a pop of color in the blood red tie—but effective and better than Alyosha probably would’ve come up with on his own. Today was as much about advertising the boys already in Star Eclipse as it was about finding their fifth member, whoever he wound up being. Wouldn’t have done for Alyosha to give anyone the wrong impression by showing up in the wrong sort of outfit.

Or a shirt he’d gotten on one of the three dates when he and Vasha had gone to the Eras tour together.

At the question, Alyosha arched an eyebrow down at Rory. “Well, if you want to go outside and use yourself as bait, I’m sure that would be effective.” Everyone in town who was even the slightest bit attracted to men would probably come running for Rory’s abs, but he was confident enough without hearing that. “But on the other hand…” Alyosha glanced back over one shoulder to the first row, where Ms. Voronin sat, taking her own notes. “I don’t think Ms. Voronin would look too kindly on you doing that.”

With his piece said, Alyosha slipped behind the table and took a seat next to Vasha, on the other end of the table from Rory. The seating arrangements, he thought, should reflect their usual arrangement in choreography, which put Alyosha and Rory in the back, on opposite sides of Vasha, their leader and center.

711Todd

Wearing his nice shirt (no holes or doodles), his nice jeans (no holes or doodles), and his nice shoes (no holes or doodles), Todd wandered onto the stage with a slightly battered guitar covered in stickers. Yes, he came ready and willing to be That Guy at the audition. Manbun high, smelling like incense and Febreeze, he was absolutely ready to get this over with and take full advantage of the All Todd Can Eat (and pocket) lunch in the green room.

Clearing his throat, he gave his best low energy greeting into the mic, "I'm Todd Sideris." Then started to play a surprisingly decent White Guy With A Guitar rendition of Toxic. Was it great as an opener? No. But at least it clearly wasn't a gag attempt and he wasn't going for King of Cringe.

Inoffensively flying under the radar was Todd's greatest skill, and as he played the last few notes, he felt he did a good enough job to merit being allowed to raze the green room catering until the end of the show.

Aleksey Lebedev @ 7-11 Todd

Rory behaving himself was a good sign. Maybe using the threat of “Ms. Voronin won’t like it” counted as a low blow on Alyosha’s part, but it got the job done and had the benefit of being true. Less of a threat, more of a promise, in the way of Russian mothers who brooked no arguments once they’d made up their minds about something. Not that anything would allow Alyosha to properly relax until all of this was over, but if Rory was content to fidget but not leave his seat, that was one less thing to worry about.

So much the better, too, because the first young man coming out to audition seemed like several things to worry about stacked together in a questionable package found in some long-neglected back-corner of an I-95 rest stop plaza, somewhere between Newark and Baltimore but probably a hundred miles from anything worth caring about. While the guy’s performance of “Toxic” wasn’t bad—Alyosha recognized on some level that it really wasn’t bad, that it did speak to an amount of practice—it also failed, in Alyosha’s mind, to cross the threshold into being good. Plus, there was a distinct lack of any movement, and while Alyosha identified with the struggle of not being a dancer, some effort would’ve been nice.

Trying not to look too openly uneasy, Alyosha glanced over at Vasha. Lacking anything that at all resembled telepathy, he still tried to emanate a vibe of Do I have to take this seriously, Vasha? Like, really?? Can’t I please just ask him to tell us he’s not serious and get him off the stage? in the hopes that maybe, Vasha would pick up on it and understand. As he looked back at the guy with the thoroughly bestickered guitar, Alyosha tried to think of……any words he could say besides Tell me you’re not serious. Publicity mattered. Making a good impression on any future fans mattered. When they actually broke through, Alyosha could hang back more, or at least get away with being a b***h whose every word and facial expression made Vasha look so much better by comparison.

Until then, Alyosha had work to do.

Specifically, he had a face and tone to keep relatively neutral as he asked, “So……Todd? What drew you to that song for this?”

Rory Kae


For a moment, as the first applicant came out with a guitar, Rory wondered if they were being punked. The singing voice was passable, the guitar skills decent. But there was absolutely no way that this Todd guy was serious! And he only became further convinced of this as he sat and surreptitiously watched the expressions flickering across Alyosha's face. That alone made this all entirely worth it. And it was only through an extreme act of willpower that he didn't start braying with laughter as questions were asked and answered.

Who knew that granny had been a Brittany fan! It was absolute, utterly brilliant bullshit.

Watching Todd, Rory suddenly grinned at poor on the spot Todd and winked, mouthing the words Relax, dude. Have fun with it. But, true to his promise to Alyosha, he stayed quiet and otherwise behaved. Though he did glance over at his bandmates and very gently shake his head. Maybe Todd had lost a bet. Maybe he was just bored. It would be cruel to keep the poor guy on the spot.

But if he told more stories about Gramma, Rory would consider humoring him. This was supposed to be fun after all. Besides, what competition had ever found its winner in the very first to go on stage?

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Amor Remanet

Noir Songbird

eldritch stardust

Sara Draconia

lizbot

Vasily Voronin, @ Todd

Vasha liked to think that he'd dressed to impress for the occasion. Hair carefully styled into a long braid tied with a subtly glittery black ribbon at the bottom end, makeup done tastefully understated, outfit carefully curated--a cap-sleeved white button up, a black vest, and some cute black shorts finished with knee socks and black ankle boots decorated with glitter.

A man needed some flair.

Rory and Alyosha drew a smile with their pre-audition banter, but Vasha himself fiddled with his pen, as if he intended to take any notes.

Okay, he totally did intend to take notes--this was important--but all the careful thinking and evaluation in the world wouldn't matter if the vibes weren't right.

And oh, the vibes their first auditioner brought were.

Well.

They were something.

Not much movement. White Guy Acoustic Guitar. An inferior version of what Alyosha had wanted to be, once, though it wasn't really fair for Vasha to rate anyone against Alyosha; they'd always come up lacking.

"Do you have any particular musical influences, besides your Granny's absolutely fantastic taste?" He asked, and his tone was genuinely interested. Honestly, though, he really just wanted to hear more of what this dude had ot say. He was funny.

Rory Kae

At least, Rory had consoled himself, Vasha had seen the funny side to Todd and his grandmother. They could at least share a laugh together once they got home.

He'd almost started to fidget again when Todd left and a new guy came to the stage. Only this guy was at the complete opposite end of Todd. Sitting up a bit more in his seat, Rory nodded and smiled as Ilian declared he was only here for the challenge. It was an honesty Rory appreciated. Also much appreciated was Ilian's choice of outfit. Dude had style.

And talent. Cover or not, as far as Rory was concerned, the performance was good. Had Ilian not declared his lack of interest in winning, Rory would have voted right then to bring the guy in. He had the right attitude too.

And frankly, Rory had deep respect for someone who admitted they were here for the snacks.

Chuckling, he joined in on the applause and called out impulsively as Ilian headed back, "Love the 'fit! You gotta tell me where you got it!"

Once Ilian was gone, Rory leaned in slightly, a half smile appearing briefly at Vasha's summation.

Maybe third time would be the charm. Surely someone out there was here to actually try out. Sure, he was a clown, but he cared just as much as the others about this little venture.

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Amor Remanet

Noir Songbird

eldritch stardust

Sara Draconia

Guine

Before Ilian could escape too far, Misha grabbed him by the arm just off stage.

“That was so good!” he gushed. “I almost feel bad for what I’m about to subject everyone to.”

He did not sound the least bit guilty. In fact, he seemed as if he took great pleasure in what was about to occur. His smile had a playful edge to it. His eyes twinkled with an almost maniacal gleam. Misha had put a lot of thought into his performance, if “a lot of thought” included such musings as What would most horrify Lev? and What sort of costuming would my followers find most entertaining?

In the end, the choice had been simple.

“My turn!” Misha crowed. He shoved his camera at Ilian on the way by. “Could you make sure I get some good footage? Thanks, you’re the best!”

He then sauntered out on stage like he did this sort of thing all the time. (He didn’t.) After first grabbing the mic, Misha came to a stop in front of the metal folding table behind which the four current band members sat. His make up was perfect. His outfit equally so. He wore a wig of pale blond curls and distinctive bangs, a shimmering halter and matching mini skirt (in lilac, the superior version), and a pair of sparkling boots, each with a heart cut out on the side.

From within one such boot, Misha withdrew a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

“I’m Misha—” he said into the microphone, offering nothing further in regards to his name (he would argue neither the patronymic nor the surname were worth anyone’s notice); he did, however, offer the pink handcuffs to Aleksey, “—and if you couldn’t already tell by the outfit, I’ll be singing Juno by Sabrina Carpenter.”

Handcuffs delivered with a blown kiss and an impish wink, Misha turned and skipped toward center stage. He gave the audience one of his signature bright smiles, accompanying it with a little wave as the music started.

“Don't have to tell your hot a** a thing
Oh yeah, you just get it
Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit
God bless your dad's genetics, mm”

Misha was a better dancer than he was a singer, which wasn’t saying much, seeing as he wasn’t a very accomplished dancer. He did at least follow a routine that may or may not be familiar, depending on one’s concert viewership—evidence, perhaps, that Misha himself had either 1) viewed said concert in person, 2) watched enough grainy livestreams to have working knowledge of it, or 3) spent an inordinate amount of time looking up footage to practice with (or 4, all of the above). Most importantly, he exuded the bubbly humor required by anyone attempting to impersonate Sabrina, which he happened to think should earn him several points in and of itself.

Did he also drop to his knees and simulate an act with the microphone that probably shouldn't be described on Gaia as he gleefully recited, “Have you ever tried this one?”

Yes. Yes, he did.

Misha worked the crowd. He shook his a**. He tossed his head and played with his blond wig. He sang the bridge to the very stern looking blond woman taking notes in the front row and took obvious joy in belting out “I’m so ******** horny.” He bounced through the instrumental break and beckoned the audience to do the same. If he were a better singer one could’ve called the performance sensational. If it earned anything close to that description, it would only be due to his complete lack of embarrassment and his commitment to the bit.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love!”

He struck a pose at the end: hand on his hip, glancing over his shoulder not at the audience, but at the band members behind the table.