blind eyes

05 Sunday

It was Sunday, it was her day, and she was fucking pissed! In less than an hour, the venue would be overrun with VIP fans for the band's Meet & Greet. Normally, that was routine and no big deal, but today it was a disasterpiece. The shipment of merchandise that was distributed to the VIPs was missing in transit, the band's merch boy was sick back at the hotel with severe bronchitis that could become pneumonia at any minute, and she had 100 limited edition posters that needed to be signed by the band and half of them were still back at the hotel.

Clearly, her expression resembled that of a serial killer right about now. As he wandered past the table where she was attempting to frantically count down merch, Tom from Chelsea Grin winked at her. "Smile, Day," he instructed her and a brilliantly infectious smile spread across his lips. "It can't be that bad! Whatever it is, it can't be that bad!"

"It is," she groaned as she slammed a plastic package of black t-shirts onto the table. "I'm so fucked up the ass right now that I'm bleeding from my," her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "I don't even know! I'm mad, okay?"

Tom shook his head slowly, his pile of caramel hair fastened in a ginormous, askew man-bun on the top of his head. "Well, we can't have you going off the rails on a crazy train, so what can I do to help?"

She shook her head slowly and snorted. "Tom, you are a doll but I can't let you do the merch for Motionless when you're the singer in another band on the tour! That's ridiculous!"

"Why not?" he shrugged, truly appearing clueless. "I'm here, I'm free. I can help! If someone offers to help you, say yes, Day!"

At that moment, she glanced up at him and then, over his shoulder, spotted her salvation headed directly towards them. The band's tour manager, Brendan, was moving quickly across the space, trailed by Bryce, the band's photographer. She made an audible sigh of relief. "I'm good, Tom, thank you! You are a doll!" He saluted her before greeting his friends and then disappearing back from wherever he'd appeared from - probably CG's dressing room, probably to smoke a cigar.

Wasting not a second as he slid behind the folding table, Bryce smirked. "Fucked up the ass again, Day?"

"Indeed," she snorted. "Jonathan's bronchitis got worse overnight and he needs to stay in bed or I'm afraid he's going to end up in the ER. The shipment that contains the new crop tops and all the VIP merch didn't turn up, and it seems to be lost in transit. Then, to make matters fucking worse, the guys never signed that stack of posters for the venue." As if to emphasize this, she pointed to the heap of glossy paper that was stacked in front of her. "According to their day manager, it's in their contract and the venue will be pissed off if we don't pony up the goods."

Brendan groaned. "Alright, I'll get the idiot squad together and get this shit signed. Can the two of you count out the merch, set up the booth, and still handle all the VIP nonsense? If not, I'm going to have to see if that girl that's with INK can throw us a bone and help out."

"What about the missing merch?" Day wrinkled her nose. "No one will be the wiser about the crops so that's cool. But the VIP packets don't exist as of right now and, from what the supplier is saying, they won't exist for several days yet. Which means that I have 150 people about to show up and get very upset with me when I can't hand them shit for their hard-earned money."