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Music wasn't something I picked. Like everything else about our lives, it was something Mr. Monocle had picked for me. It was always understood who would be what, according to Mr. Monocle. Space would be the leader, Kraken his second, and Rumor the third taking up the slack in the unlikely event the other two failed. It was the only time that Mr. Monocle's perceptiveness failed him. Kraken turned out to be a brat. Kraken's ego never allowed him to take second so it fell to Rumor, while Kraken played the dark horse. The others never balked at their assigned positions. Like my siblings, I accepted the role given to me. I, Number Seven, would be the musician, since, as Mr. Monocle put it, I was good for nothing else.
- Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven by Vanya Hargreeves
Vanya Hargreeves decided she wanted to be in a band – a real band, not an orchestra – the first time she heard the Azmatics wailing about glowing green from nuclear fallout. Unlike Allison, who had to concoct lies about going to the library, Vanya's time was her own. She never had to sneak out of the house unlike the others. It turned out that being the disappointment of the family was good for something after all.
The first time she went to an Azmatics show, Vanya was over dressed. She was also alone. The original plan had been for Diego to go with, but the Academy came first and Diego couldn't get away when Mr. Monocle suddenly changed the patrol roster. It made Vanya wonder if Mr. Monocle had known her plans all along. He didn't do anything to get in the way of her going, of course. He didn't care.
Vanya went alone, with the flick knife Diego had given her tucked into her pocket. When she got home with bruises on her shins and the smell of cigarettes still clinging to her clothes, she went to Diego. He was the only one who would truly get it. The others were too much in lockstep with their father's plans: they had powers; it made sense for them to save the day. Even though Diego didn't have any useful power like the others, he was still expected to help. When she had been younger Vanya would have given anything for a power – even one as useless as Diego's ability to hold his breath – but now she could see the truth of how dangerous it was for Diego to be part of the Academy when all he had were his knives.
Diego's room always had a few knives stuck in the wall and the paper was peeling since he'd refused to let Mother redecorate it the last time she'd done everyone else's rooms. The bass guitar, left over from Mr. Monocle's insistence on musical training for improved dexterity, sat in the corner. Diego was the only one who kept up after Mr. Monocle had dismissed the lessons as a waste of valuable time after only a few years. Her brother was sitting at the desk methodically sharpening his knives. The whetstone and oil were laid out neatly next to a polishing cloth.
"So?" Diego asked, turning to look over his shoulder at where she'd perched on the bed. The shadows fell across his face turning his eye into a second dark socket like the one hidden behind his patch.
"Fucking amazing," Vanya said and launched into the evening's events.
Later, lying back on Diego's bed and sharing the headphones to listen to the latest Commissar record, Vanya said, "let's start a band."
Wanted: drummer for punk band, influences include Commissar and the Azmatics. Must be available early morning.
Call Vanya at [ink smudged]
- clipping found in the personal diary of Ben Hargreeves
Getting a drummer was harder than they expected. The problem with being Vanya and Diego Hargreeves was that everybody thought they were just fooling around. Vanya was used to being dismissed but for Diego it was new. Still she wasn't expecting him to punch the drummer who laughed when he found out that Vanya was going to be the guitar player. Body was the first one who took them seriously. They called themselves the Prime-8s in deference to him.
Body got them their first gig. Vanya flipped her hair, newly cut and dyed with Diego's assistance, out of her face and readjusted her guitar. Beside her Body stubbed out his cigarette before punching Diego in the hip.
Vanya blew out a breath, "Let's do this."
Playing on a tiny stage in a smoky basement club wasn't anything like a concert hall recital. Vanya had known it was going to be different but she still wasn't prepared for it. Here the audience never hushed when Body began the opening beats on the toms and Diego's bass thrummed into his rhythm. Vanya closed her eyes and stuck her opening chords. When she looked up again people were staring at her, staring at them, and they were swaying with the beat. She yowled into the microphone, spitting the words she and Diego had scribbled down at their audience and daring them to sneer. When the song ended their audience was hollering and shrill whistles were cutting through the dim. Vanya looked over at Diego. His eye was bright and his smile was fierce. Behind them Body played quick rhythms and his lips were pulled back into a toothy grin.
Allison, you still owe me for the make-up. Pay up! -Vanya
- note written on the back of a library due date slip found in the pocket of the Rumor's old uniform.
Body had been around the scene longer than most and it was his list of contacts that brought them a studio to record a demo, and his contacts who would listen if they ever managed to get one recorded. It was a small little studio, but they still had to scrounge to come up with the money for it. The first day Vanya leaned against the wall listening as Body laid down the drum tracks. She tapped her foot to the beat and lit a cigarette even though Diego frowned at her. He didn't approve of the habit she'd picked up in the smoke-filled clubs, but he never said anything to her.
The next day Diego was supposed to be laying down the bass line but he wasn't there and they didn't have the time to wait for him. Body frowned and asks her if Diego was serious about the band.
"Of course he is," Vanya said firmly even though she was silently asking herself the same question.
Diego didn't show up at the studio, so Vanya switched the order and recorded her own guitar. Diego rushed in just as she'd finished. He was still wearing the top of his uniform under his coat but his bass was riding high on his shoulder just like it always did when they were going to perform. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out so he could take her place.
"Monocle changed the roster again -- next time I'm not fucking doing it," he said as he sat to tune his bass. "Tell Body, you know."
Vanya nodded. They were both too accustomed to their father's meddling so this wasn't a surprise. She gave Body an edited version, because it's one thing to tell him that the Academy needed Diego's attention and quite another to explain all their father's meddling to an outsider. In the end Body forgave Diego after her brother had tossed him a fresh pack of cigarettes and offered a contrite apology of his own.
Vanya and Diego never talked about the Umbrella Academy. They were there for the music. I asked them about it, of course, because who wouldn't when the Umbrella Academy was regularly making the news for their latest heroics? It was the only time Vanya flat out refused to talk about something. Diego followed Vanya and never said anything about it unless it made him late to practice. I think in the end it was the Academy that couldn't stand for divided loyalties and the Prime-8s were always going to be second place for them.
-Not Without My Sticks: Memories of a Drummer by Body
They celebrated the end of recording with too much liquor at Spider's because the Azmatics were playing and Vanya had never lost her passion for them, even though there were better bands on the scene.
"We need a title for the album," Body pointed out, as if they didn't already know. He tossed back a shot of something pale green.
Diego shrugged with studied nonchalance when he suggested a title. "One Eyed Monster?"
Vanya glared across the table. It was the same argument they'd been having since the mixing started on the raw tracks. Watching the mixer start working, Vanya had finally felt that the band was going to make it. They had to make it. When that happened, Vanya Hargreeves wasn't going to be the disappointment of the Academy. As Body suggested then discarded another title Vanya wondered if it was sign that they'd fail. They couldn't even find a damn title. At the end of the night they were no closer to a title but they were all drunk, which made the problem of a title much smaller.
When Vanya woke in the morning she had a splitting headache and Body's arm thrown over her shoulders. The couch cushion under her check was scratchy. Diego was snoring in a chair across the room. She rolled away from Body and shuffled into his tiny kitchen to put on the coffee. She squinted against the sunlight and watched the boy wandering around in the park across the street. He looked like Number Five, who had vanished so many years ago that sometimes Vanya wondered if he'd ever really been part of the Academy. Sometimes she wished he'd taken her with him.
Body stumbled into the kitchen and poured himself a mug. Behind him Diego grimaced as he realized he'd be getting the dregs of the pot. Vanya took the painkillers Diego produced, with a knowing smirk, from his bag and turned back to the street. The boy was sitting on the merry-go-round, tossing a ball up and then catching over and over. The last time she'd seen Number Five he'd been playing with his replica Earth and muttering to himself. What had he said?
"I don't wanna kill the president," she murmured.
Body grunted as he took a gulp of coffee from his faded blue mug.
"That's our title."
Diego nodded, and she wondered if he'd heard Number Five too.
Spider, who still owns his eponymous club, laughs when he tells the story of Diego Hargreeves breaking John Perseus Jr.'s jaw during the Prime-8s' last public performance. While Body would continue in the scene as successful drummer Diego never played in public again. However, Vanya would turn her back on the music scene and go onto become a well-known classical violinist. She refused to talk about her time in the Prime-8s.
- Never Wanted to Dance: A Decade of Punk by R. T. Bailey