Fan-fiction : Devilish - or so

Characters : TH. Warning : sense of humor mandatory. Nothing dirty (*watches readers click away in flocks*). Summary : how it all really started. "Boss, we've got a new applicant for a G4 contract. - G4? - The new name for the star wannabes deal, sir. - Ah yes, another trick from that workflow optimization department... And you need me on such a standard contract? - The boy has a good profile, I thought you would like to have a look."         An ingenuous face appears on the LCD screen, cat's eyes and scruffy black hair. "I thought you said a boy? - Well, yes. - This is a girl. And young, to boot, for a G-thingy deal. - He's 12 years old. And male. - No kidding? - Make-up doesn't help. But our files are adamant. And look, he has an identical twin."         Zooming back, another face, very similar, with a cap worn forward sideways over dreadlocks. The boss scratches his chin. "That looks like a girl to me too, just without eyeliner. - Hum, yes. But they're not. - If you say so. I'll grant you they look the part for the deal. Apart from that, what's so special about their case?"         The lackey hands him a file. "They make music, they already have a band and songs to sell, and we wouldn't have much to do to make it happen. As you pointed out, they are good starting material in terms of charisma and glamour. Add the fact that they're twins, it's always a selling point. Also a hint of goth spirit, hence the G4 proposal."         The boss leaned towards the screen to detail the contenders – now teamed up with a bassist and a drummer, barely older. As the image switched to a live show at a local fair, a song could faintly be heard. "A tiny hint, then. They look like choir boys to me, if choir boys were innocent. Look at that pretty widdle face. And he's got a kitten's voice; it's cute as here, but nowhere near Marilyn Manson... Let alone Charles. - Yeah, well, they're not exactly evil. But they called their band 'Devilish', it's a sign."         The boss gave him a dismayed look. "... I need to get out of business, this franchise is getting ridiculous."         The servant coughed and argued his point. "Right, but, they do have everything we need to impact a wide audience, in the most receptive target. It wouldn't cost us a lot to fulfil the contract. - Yeah yeah, got it. But what would we earn from it? - Well, a soul, already. - If we fulfil our part of the contract, there won't be much left of it. What's the current quota, 50% to the record company and 50% sucked up by the image, with a rate of one deci-River per year of mass-mediatization? - That's about right. But he has enough to hold it for nine years. - That long?"         The boss was finally intrigued and took a closer look at the candidates. "As you said, he's pretty much a choir boy. Hence the other benefit, it's an occasion to render him cynical, self-centred, manipulative, and make him yield to every temptation. - Isn't that included by default in the 'artist' package, with or without signing up with us? Or even in the 'adulthood' one? - ... Probably, sir. Glory could cause them personal problems?"         The manager tapped on the file on his desk. "They've got that covered, it seems. At least enough to offer us that deal, anyway. - They could pervert loads of underage fans. - As if we or they could make them more perverted than they already are... You have no idea what's going to be lashed upon these kids if we make them famous. - Well... It would irritate parents that their children listen to mass-marketed music? - Their parents listen to Star Search and watch real TV. They have no room to talk. - We can plague him with persistent acne?"         The boss paused to give his subordinate his most unimpressed look. " ... Isn't that a tiny tad petty? Where are real maledictions gone, rains of frog, the Black Pest, the... - You've rejected all my suggestions! The only other thing I see is that if these kids get very successful very fast and take over medias, it will make a lot of people angry: critics and music snobs, unsuccessful musicians, older kids, and every bitter crone."         The manager raised an index finger and his furry eyebrows. "Now that I like a lot! Excellent reason to sign them up!"         A parchment appeared and unrolled in front of him on the desk, already filled but for the signatures. The Devil scripted his name at the bottom and handed it over to the lackey. "There you go. The highway to fame is open for that... Devilish band! - Consider that their new producers are already on the road, sir. - And make sure they change their name: we have standards, for the old one's sake! (The beginning of ) THE END.