blind eyes

06 Ryan

There was no after-party tonight and boy was he rueing that fact as he listened to his bandmate chew his poor, beautiful, kind, sexy, intelligent and amazing girlfriend to shreds. His bunk was at the top of the row that was closest to the back lounge, perfectly situated so that he could hear literally everything going on inside the space. The others had been spared, thankfully: Vin was with the crew and Chelsea Grin at a bar down the street, and Rick was with the Ice Nine Kills guys shooting some kind of short documentary for his film reel. That meant it was Chris, Sunday, and himself inside the bus, and right now, Chris was tearing into his unfortunate lady with a fervor.

"WHO TOLD YOU THAT YOU HAD PERMISSION TO TELL FANS THAT WE WOULD SHIP PACKAGES TO THEM?" he roared and it felt like the entire bus was shaking. "YOU DON'T GET TO MAKE DECISIONS LIKE THAT, SUNDAY!"

There was no response, save for a noise that might have been words but Ryan couldn't make them out.

"WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK FOR MY BAND AND OUR MONEY?" Chris roared even louder and then there was a bang. "WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"

Ryan winced. Should he get out of his bunk and step into the middle of the argument? Part of him said yes, and part of him was tugging on the back of his shirt to prevent him from doing so. Yeah, Sunday was technically an employee of the band so, in a sense, this might concern him, but he knew deep in his heart that whatever bullshit his vocalist was spewing, it stemmed from an underlying personal argument between the couple. He should just stay out of it, because his involvement only stood to make it worse - for him and for poor Sunday.

Chris' booming voice softened a bit in tone, but Ryan could still make out every single word. "I don't like the way you're acting, Day. It's like the notoriety has gone to your head or some shit. What's gotten into you? I'm your boyfriend and even I don't fucking know you anymore. What was that shit that you posted to the band's Twitter the other night?"

"What?" she squeaked just loud enough for him to hear.

"Something to the tune of, 'Hey little Creatures, who's coming out in Green Bay tonight? We're always guaranteed to be loud. So, say fuck it and come to the show!'"

"What's wrong with that?" Sunday responded, her voice growing in strength and certainty.

There was a growl and then a loud sigh, followed by what Ryan could only assume was his bandmate flopping heavily onto the sofa. "It's fucking stupid and it's offensive to our fans, Day. Don't do it ever again, do you hear me?"

There was the sound of shuffling, and then Day groaned. "Fine. But I don't see what's so wrong with that. You told me to engage the fans and talk their language - they call themselves Creatures."

"No," Chris responded quickly. "A small contingent of very young fans call themselves Creatures because they think that that's what we want them to do. Most of our fans are just fans - they don't need some special label to slap onto themselves. I respect that and I don't call the fans anything other than fans."