When the Curtain Falls

Show Time

The crisp autumn air lingered as Violet unlocked the doors to the venue. It was early, the kind of early where she felt as if the world was still asleep and the rising sun peppered hues of pink across the horizon. She loved this time of day—the calm before the storm of a sold-out show. Today was no ordinary show, though. It was Bad Omens headlining stop, her home venue. The excitement thrummed in her veins like an electric current. Violet had been a fan of the band for years, but professionalism always came first. She'd met tons of bands she loved, this would be no different. She wasn't about to lose her cool in front of them.

Violet switched the lights to the office on and set her bag down. Shortly after, her boss Andrew, walked in, his usual grin across his face, gray hair disheveled. "Big day, Vi. Think you'll manage to stay professional around your favorite band?" he teased, slinging his bag onto his desk.

She rolled her eyes but laughed. "Please, Andrew. I'm the picture of professionalism." She rested her chin on her palm and gave him a crowd pleasing grin.

"Uh-huh," he drawled. "I'll believe it when I see it. But seriously, if anyone can pull off today without any issues, it's you. I say it all the time but you're the best assistant I've had in my...forty years in this industry."

"Thanks," she said with a small smile, already slinging hear headset on.

By mid-morning, the Bad Omens crew arrived, and Violet was ready. She exuded confidence as she greeted them in the backstage area, clipboard in hand, tattoos peeking from beneath her rolled-up sleeves.

"Hi, I'm Violet. I'll be your point of contact today," she said, her voice clear and professional. "Anything you need—equipment, food, last-minute fixes—just let me know."

Nicholas Ruffilo's eyes lingered on her ink. "Those tattoos are incredible," he said with genuine admiration.

"Thanks," Violet replied, her smile widening. "I heard you're a tattoo artist?"

"Used to be," Nicholas said. "Now I just admire the craft. You've got some solid work there."

They launched into a brief, animated conversation about favorite tattoo styles and pieces of theirs before Violet excused herself to keep things moving. There was no time for her to get distracted; there was a show to run.

Hours later, the venue buzzed with activity. Violet darted between tasks—stocking the bar, setting up the merch booth, triple-checking sound equipment, and troubleshooting an any issues. She climbed onto a ladder near the stage, struggling to secure a stubborn light fixture.

"Need a hand?" a voice called from below.

She glanced down to see Noah Sebastian standing there, his dark hair slightly messy, an easy smirk on his face.

"I've got it, but thanks," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she did. Her hands were starting to cramp over the heavy fixture.

"Doesn't look like it," he teased, grabbing a nearby ladder and setting it up next to hers with ease.

Together, they wrestled with the light, their hands brushing occasionally. Violet tried not to think about how close he was or how casual his cologne smelled.

"So, your boss speaks pretty highly of you. You the mastermind keeping this place running?" Noah asked as they tightened the fixture.

"Something like that," Violet replied with a small laugh. "I'm just good at putting out fires before they start." She gave him a playful wink.

"Impressive," Noah said, giving her a quick sideways glance. "Not everyone can handle the chaos."

She shrugged, focusing on securing the last bolt. "I live for it. I think I'd go mad with too much downtime."