blind eyes

09 Ryan

"But is it really a day off if we have to do stupid press?" Ryan was entirely aware that he was sounding a bit akin to a petulant child, but fuck it. And no, he was not going to make the best of it. Doing radio interviews on your so-called 'day off' was a load of crap. Wasn't this supposed to be the vocalist's responsibility? No doubt the radio people would immediately ask them, 'Where's Chris?'

Rick glanced at him from behind his oversize black sunglasses while sipping from his Starbucks cup. "Woke up on the wrong side of that hotel bed, huh? Panties in a bit of a twist this morning?"

Sunday was walking ahead of them, meandering intuitively down the sidewalk to guide them the five blocks from their hotel to the radio station. They were early, much in thanks to her organizational skills and definitely not thanks to either of the two men. She seemed to be ignoring their banter, instead focused on her iPhone. However, Rick's quip did bring a quick snort from her.

Ryan groaned again and kicked an errant pebble. "I'm right, you know. Where's the douche canoe? I thought he demanded that he handle all press — because god forbid we have a voice. Not that anyone wants to hear whatever the fuck I have to say anyway."

"The douche canoe is sick with a fever," Sunday spoke up, her tone utterly flat. "And he was advised not to play the gig tonight, but he refuses to cancel since you so rarely play in Fargo."

"Yah," Rick nodded, pathetically mimicking the local accent. "Oh yah."

Ryan glanced up and eyed the back of Sunday's head, and then sighed in defeat. "Alright, well, I guess I can suck it up if he's sick. But we all know that they're not going to ask me shit - they only want Rick."

"It's difficult being so wanted all the time," Rick mocked his bandmate as he sipped more coffee. "My god, I'm practically, well, I'm practically a god."

Sunday's head nearly spun 180-degrees to gawk at him. "Really? You're a god?"

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked. He fought to hold back his laughter but, eventually, he and Sunday found themselves bent over and howling loudly outside the radio station. They were simply standing on the sidewalk, the pair of them giggling, snorting, and then exploding into further chuckles.

Ryan groaned. "They're probably in there and watching us." He glanced around, trying to see beyond the frosted glass panels at the front of the building. When he failed to catch a glimpse of much of anything, save for a front desk, he took a lengthy inhale from his vaporizer. He created a series of smoke rings and groaned at his friends, who were still giggling. "Alright, are we going in? Do you think you two idiots can control yourselves?"

That had got them moving, introductions had been made, and he found that the interview was not exactly painful. Thus far, anyway. The DJ, a pretty brunette named Adele, had done her research and the questions weren't too ridiculous. She even knew who he was, which was utterly shocking to him. Now they were wrapping up their session with some playful questions, including a rundown of which band member should be matched with which trope: the Joker, Party Animal, Chill Dude, Mother Hen, and the Diva.