Roulette!AU | Steven Universe

Like A Comet

It was the summer of 1995 and Greg's last show in Beach City. It wasn't much of a city, to be honest, but Marty had insisted that playing in tourist towns was all part of the strategy.

        This latest show had turned out to be a flop. No one had showed up. While he had lost himself in his music, now that it was finished, he could feel the disappointment seeping in.

        But then, when he lifted his head, he saw a slim figure standing near the back row. They were clapping.

        After a bumbling speech about the deserted CD-and-merch stand Greg switched off the microphone and jumped down to man the desk. The woman wondered over—her skin was smooth porcelain, the white gem against her forehead framed with peach tufts, and blue eyes wide and lucid—and she picked up a CD, flashing him a smile.

        "Space Train to the Cosmos," she read.

        "—Yeah," Greg stammered. Her clothes were very colourful, if outdated by a decade or so."One-way ticket and I'm ready to ride!"

        She gazed at him with interested eyes. "How will you get back?"

        Greg was confused. "Back?"

        "Back to Earth."

        "I'm never comin' back," he grinned, leaning back on his chair.

        The woman gasped. "That's awful!—This is your home."

        "Uhh. . . you want that?" He gestured to the CD in her hands. "You can have it!"

        "Hm?" The woman seemed surprised.

        "Oh—and it comes with a free T-shirt!" He glanced around for the shirts, but realised with a groan that he'd left them behind. "Uh—I've got some in my van, stay right there!"

        Jumping up from the fold-out chair, he ran to van, throwing the back doors open, and then jumped back in surprise.

        His manager, Marty, landed on the sand in front of him with a blonde lady on his arm. "Starchild!" he tossed his head, as if he had any hair to flick back, and smirked. "Meet Vidalia."

        Vidalia blew a bubble of pink gum. "Nice van. Really livin' the high life."

        "So, how was the show?" Marty asked, sounding utterly disinterested.

        "It was great! One person showed up. Oh!" He pushed forward, grabbing a printed garment off the van floor and turning around. "I have to give her this free—T-shirt. . ."

        The beach was empty. She was nowhere to be seen.

        "Greg!" Marty's voice was sharp, and he turned around. "You can't give stuff out for free! What about my seventy-five percent? Seventy-five percent of nothing is nothing. Are you worth nothing?"

        "No," Greg sighed.

        "That's right. I'm gonna make us both rich." He leant forward to whisper in Greg's ear. "And as far as these saltwater saps know, we already are." He stepped back and put an arm around Vidalia's shoulders, flashing what he thought was a charming smile. "So let's live it up before we hit the road, alright? Next stop, Empire City!"

        Greg gazed after him as he trudged off with the girl. "You know, I'll catch up with you."

        Beach City was a small town—less than ten minutes of walking on the boardwalk later, he found himself at a high mesh fence barring off the shore. KEEP OFF BEACH, the metal sign read, with a smaller, mellow wooden sign tacked beneath: PLEASE!, dotted with cartoon flowers.