Xaviers!

Will Stanton strode into Hyde Park on the first day of the open-air concert series, dark shades on his eyes, wearing a leather jacket over a button-up shirt; a guitar case slung across his back.

He wasn't necessarily here to sign up -- not yet, at any rate. But scouting out the competition on the Marble Arch seemed like a good use of his time, and a trip down to London was never a fully wasted opportunity, at the very least. Besides, if he got there before any of the rest of the Mutant Brigade, he could carve out that niche for himself -- the early bird, the worm, and all that implied.

Besides, this Will, at least, was independent, and that meant being a lone loaner, by one's self and all that.

((Open, if anyone came with/followed/happened to be in the same place as this particular Will))

It's afternoon, so things aren't too busy yet. There's still a some hundred people milling about in the plaza in front of the Marble Arch, but they're mostly clustered around the stands and stalls flanking the large open square that are selling the usual fair things from foods to beer, t-shirts and so on. Up on the stage all the way across from the entrance techs and a handful of performers are working on setting up the equipment with the occasional notes and voices ringing out from the speakers.

Next to and behind the stage a couple tents are set up for the various organizing and such, with one of them sporting a banner reading "SIGN-UPS"

Will spent about half an hour walking around, checking out the setups, buying himself a beer and drinking it slowly, before moseying on over to the sign-up area. Didn't want to look too eager, after all.

"Big turnout expected?" he asked, looking back over the lawn as he walked up to the desk.

"Oh yeah. Still have some slots open but this one's always popular." the guy at the desk says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at a big white-board split into three sections for Friday/Saturday/Sunday and names penciled into most of the slots already. "You here to sign up? Might have ta put you on the waiting list if you've been here last year."

"Eh, what the hell, sign me up," Will said, casually. "This would be my first time -- here, at least."

"Awesome! Here, fill out this form or scan the QR code in the corner and do it online if you want." the young man says as she hands Will a clipboard with a form asking for band name, size, preferred day/time (no guarantee), etc.

Meanwhile at the next booth over a young woman with dark brown hair lets out an overly dramatic "Ughhh!" much to the chagrin of the other volunteer helping her sign up.

"I'm sorry, those are the rule--" she meekly tries to explain before she's interrupted.

"But that was my old band! Just 'cause I happened to play last year you're gonna deny them and me our big chance?"

"I mean, you already did last year and there's still plenty slots for those on the waitli--"

"Okay, yeah, sure, but what am I supposed to tell the rest of the band? Sorry, I'm dragging the band down by being too awesome!?"

Will took the clipboard and began writing in his own details, applying to go towards the middle of the last day (no one remembers who performs first; that's a fool's errand)

He also looked over at the disruption happening just over to his left.

"How do they define bands here, anyway?" he 'casually' asked, making sure to be loud enough that the booth next door could hear as well.

"Define? By the performers, I guess. We do our best to be fair but it's not perfect. Especially if people move between bands a lot." he says with a glance over to the other booth that doesn't go unnoticed.

"Oh come on, man, it happens! People get too busy, stuff falls apart. How's that my fault?"

Narrator wrote:"Define? By the performers, I guess. We do our best to be fair but it's not perfect. Especially if people move between bands a lot." he says with a glance over to the other booth that doesn't go unnoticed.

"So, no sharing of drummers or other unimportant bandmembers? Beatles can't perform because Rory Storm and the Hurricanes played last year?" Will shrugged. "I mean, I get that you can't just replace one guy and call it something new, but if more than half the band is gone..."

"I ask for purely selfish reasons, mind you -- there's a couple people back home who might need a ringer for something or other, and they usually end up tapping me," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Exactly! See? He knows what it's like!" the young woman says, leaning partway over the waist-high divider.

"It's really just... we just wanna give newcomers a chance and keep people from gaming the system..." the guy stammers a bit now that he's actually being confronted over his snide look.

"Oh, I get that, absolutely. And I can see how you'd want to put entirely new bands up near the top.

Just, you know, people do move around and change, right? You can run your contest however you want, obviously, I'm just...thinking out loud," Will shrugged, finishing filling out his form.

"Well, I guess if you end up having to help out that's different."

"Oh that's such bollocks..." the girl mutters as she withdraws from leaning over into Will's lane.

Will just shrugged. "Doesn't matter much to me, as I could care less who comes in second," he joked. "But it's good to get clarification on these sorts of things in advance.

Who's sponsoring the contest, anyway?"

"Oh, you can just check the posters, but we have a list here too somewhere..." he says, rummaging through his stuff until he finds a list (or rather a page with a bunch of logos). It's what you'd expect. Monster Energy Drinks, EMP Merchandising, there's some banks, insurance and other financial institutions, record labels, some of which look familiar and a couple who don't, either from being too small or too transdimensional. The London Tourist Board is on there as well as the Hyde Park Fund. If he's looking for foul play, none of the usual suspects of AIM, the Hellfire Club, etc (or rather the aliases Will is familiar with) are on there.

"Interesting. All with public twitter accounts, too. You know, just in case someone was feeling a bit put out by not being able to perform," Will commented, entirely randomly! Certainly not trying to give anyone any ideas or anything like that.


"You'll e-mail me when you have the schedule finalized, then? That sounds great. Thank you so much for your time," Will smiled, nodding.

Will finishes signing up with no problem and is a couple paces from the tent when he hears the rapid sound of footsteps approaching from behind him.

"Heyyy, that was some clever thinking. Thanks!" the young woman slows her pace to walk alongside him. "I'm Danny!" she says, holding out her hand. She's wearing what some might call an excessive number of rings, but but it fits with the number of earrings and jewelry she's wearing. They're a tad too nice for the rest of her look, torn over-sized shirt, pleated skirt and stockings ending in Doc Martens, but the clash seems to at least be intentional.

"Will. Will Stanton. Sorry to hear about your old band, but I suppose these things have an 18 month half-life on average," Will said, reaching out to shake Danny's hand.

"Right!? Besides..." she says, yanking her hand away to run it through her hair. "They weren't keeping up with me." she adds, holding a straight face for a moment before bursting out laughing at her own joke.

"So, a Yank, eh? Come across the pond to steal our fame and fortune?"

"Eh, by birth yeah. The accent never goes away.

I've lived over here for...quite some time, though. Mucky fat and spotted dick; the works. Best of both worlds and all that jazz."

He raised an eyebrow and gave a smirk at the "too slow" handshake. "You've been gigging for some time, then?"

"More like 'trying to make it' but yeah. You a solo act?"

"For the moment, at least -- my bandmates are, erm, unavailable at the moment.

Been a while since I went solo guitar, but that's a lot easier to move and setup than other things, so here we go. Give me a chance to test out my new pickups and all."

"Other things? Oh no, you're one of those musical prodigies? Damnit and the competition was looking pretty soft till now too."

"Not a prodigy; just plenty of practice, that's all. What do you play?"

"Naught but my vocal cords." she says with excessive enunciation and pomp.

"You're going up there solo acapella?" Will asked, visibly impressed for the first time. "You've got some huevos on you."

"Hell no! Oh god, no no no, I have a band. We're Poison Apple."

"Ahhh, that makes more sense," Will nods. "Though, next time, just send your drummer up -- they're less likely to remember you were here before if you're just a name on a sign-in sheet.

Uh, did you do something last year that would make you...particularly memorable?"

"Eeeh, maybe a tried a little too hard to win and let's just leave it at that yeah? Yeah."

"I shouldn't be looking out for poison in my water or frayed wires on the amps, should I?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oookay, I don't want to win that badly. I just bumped into the mix board an itty bitty teensy tiny bit so they'd sound worse. Accidentally. It happens."

"Uh-huh," Will said, shaking his head and laughing. "Oh, I see how it is."

"Hey, you have to stand out any way you can, Mr. Green Hair. By the way, you have to tell me who did that. No roots and that vibrant? Insane."

"We all have our little secrets, I suppose. There are some in Lambeth who have wilder looks than this."

"Lambeth?" she asks, looking confused for a moment before it clicks. "Oh! That... oh... right. You're one of... the mutant people." she says and while she tries her best to play it off, Will probably does notice her taking a step away from him at the realization.

"Am I, now?" Will said, casually. "Or do I just have a mutant hairdresser? Only my stylist knows for sure."

"Right, so, uhm, listen, it was great talking to you and all and thanks for the help getting them to sign my band up, but I better go and.. get some more practice in and... yeah." she says, slowing down to fall back behind Will.

"Practice, prep, make sure you fit in your old jeans," Will said, mildly. "Knock 'em dead."