Million Pieces °Bastille Dan°

Loud Fans

Mia!

My name gets called from left, right and centre.

I hate ignoring the fans, especially in this dreadful heat, but I can't individually talk to every single one of them. There's way too many. They know that, but still, they all continue to push forwards and scream my name. I don't know why but they strangely remind me of me on girls night, especially after I have one to many strawberry daiquiri's and my song comes on. God, I love Taylor Swift so much.

Look what you made me do, oh, look what you just made me-

"Mia!"

So it goes that even Taylor Swift can't block out the powerful lungs of fan girls. Isn't that just fucking peachy? I know they won't quiet down unless I speak to them...and that isn't going to happen. I wish I could, I like talking to people and I love listening to their many stories, but I've got a particuarly tight schedule tonight.

I shouldn't even be out here, but I do have to admit that the heat seems more pleasent out here than inside of the venue. I think every crew member was relived to hear that we're playing in a hall, since it wouldn't be like a sweaty inntimate gig, but we was oh-so-wrong. According to the owner of the hall 'a vent got clogged up', and now the air that we're breathing is simliar to a plane's air...stale and recycled.

"Mia, please!" One of the girls pleads with tears in her wide green eyes. The green reminds me of snake skin, especially when she leans into the shade, they look darker. However, when she's in the sun they're a brilliant emmerald green. I try to ignore her, I really do.

But I can't...

The only reason why I'm meant to be out here is to get a few snapshots of the crowd. It's just a little something I do for the fans. I know how they all desperately crave attention from the band. So, I figured that if I post pictures of them and get Dan to like the post...then hopefully they'll feel closer to the band. More happy fans means more money. That's the way the cookie crumbles in this industry. With that being said, I do believe that Dan does care about the fans. I firmly believe that Dan doesn't just see them as money signs like other bands do.

I know every band is different...but Bastille are by far the most humble.

"Yes?" I sweetly say looking at the prom queen wannabe. I know I shouldn't label fans, since I don't know them and I wouldn't want to misjudge or offend. But it's obvious that she knows where she stands in society. In other words...she's pretty and she knows it. With her emmerald city eyes, shoulder length wavey blonde hair, wet glossy lips, and a dress similiar the one Lolita wore...I want to remind her that she's at a Bastille concert. Not Coachella. But I refrain from doing so.

"Oh my god" — the words fall out of her mouth in shock, it's almost like she wasn't expecting me to reply — "can you please deliver this to Dan?" The girl then pulls a black artbook out of her vintage white tote bag. The book reminds me of the one I obsessed over when I was younger.

"What's this then?" I don't know why I'm trying to make conversation, especially since know that any minute now Erika or Dick is going to come marching out of the venue and tell me to go inside.

They seem to get a kick out of bossing me around lately. I think it's because I got promoted recently and I'm in a higher position than them? I don't know for sure.

"It's an artwork book from the Instagram, Tumblr, Facebook, and Twitter Stormers" — what an orignal gift — "If you can tell Dan to put a tweet out to say he's received it...that would be so awesome!" While she nervously laughs I roll my eyes backwards. Fans expect so much off of us. Dan already works twenty five hours per week for them, and I'm not even being melodramatic. He works amazingly hard. It's not only that...but it's like some fans don't trust me handling their gifts. Little do they know that it's a big part of my job...not only do I promote and manage Bastille, I have to collect presents and give them to the guys. But in all honesty this is more Dick's job than mine.

Why would I want to steal book full of dodgy drawings of my boyfriend's face anyway?

"When's your birthday, Marzia?" Another girl shyly asks. Unlike the green eyed babe, this girl wears darker clothes. She has long, possibly greasy, black hair with no fringe. The jumper she is braving in this extreme heat is baggy, and her black leggings are so tight that they're slightly see through. Her eyes aren't her best feature...it's her smile. She's shy, but she has the prettiest of smiles. I'm honestly jealous, I wish I had a perfect smile and naturally puffy lips.

"It falls on the winter solstice this year...I think?" I figured saying that would be easier for them to remember rather than the actual date.

"Why's your account on private, Mia?"

What is it with fans and tedious questions?!