blind eyes

11 Sunday

Author's Note: THANK YOU SO MUCH for being patient with me and hanging in there with this story. I apologize but life has simply been too busy lately for me to maintain much of an update schedule, so again - thank you for being patient with me. <3

"Today marks the halfway point," Spencer was lecturing the two women as they unpacked and arranged merchandise for the evening. Birmingham, Alabama, and the midway mark of the tour, as Charnas had made a point to inform them easily twenty times in the past five minutes. "Pretty soon I can go home to my girlfriend and fuck the shit out of her ass," he swooned dramatically, hugging himself with glee. "That is, unless either of you two lovely ladies would like to fuck me first?"

"Go away," Alex waved a long, coffin-shaped nail in his face. "You are the most annoying man on this planet! How can you even manage to keep a girlfriend? I would have murdered you eons ago."

His hazel eyes widened at this and then he ignored her. "Sunday!" The vocalist called as he slid across the large folding table to get closer to her. "It's Sunday, I'm in love. Have I ever told you that the sight of your breasts in that tank top makes me quiver like Jello?"

Sunday actually snorted. "Spencer, have I ever told you that you're in my way and sitting on a popsocket?"

At this, he hopped off the table and, with great amusement, discovered a small plastic package taped to his butt. "I seem to have been anally accosted by said popsocket. What is this, anyway? Is this a sex toy? Why would good, upstanding gentlemen such as Lotionless In Flight sell sexy toys to youngsters?"

"OH MY GOD!" Alex screamed. She grabbed a bag full of VIP lanyards and chucked it at his head. "GO AWAY BEFORE I KILL YOU!"

It was the perfect moment for Chelsea Grin's congenial vocalist to wander over with Ricky following cautiously behind. The pair eyed the commotion in amusement until Tom finally decided to intervene. "What have we here, ladies and Djents?"

Alex spun on her obnoxiously high heels and wagged a finger at the pair of new arrivals. "Please take this man somewhere, anywhere else before I commit vocalist-cide."

Tom held his hands up in surrender and pleaded his case with a smile. "I too am a vocalist, ma'am, and I would like to not be murdered for the crimes of another."

"Fine," Spencer pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll go back out to the bus and put on a movie or something. Anyone want to watch 'Idle Hands'?"

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Alex roared and literally tossed herself into a massive cardboard box. The only visible sign of her was the sight of her black pleather stilettos sticking up in the air from the center of the box.

Quickly, Tom ushered Spencer off in the direction of the ballroom, the pair chatting animatedly about horror films. When the coast was officially clear, Rick perched himself onto the table in front of Sunday. "Am I in your way or can I hang out? I promise not to mention, uh, whatever Spencer said that made Alex dive into a box."

Having returned from her trip into the abyss, Alex fluffed her blonde hair and allowed her eyes to travel over the guitarist. "Oh honey, you can hang out with me any day. It's Spenceykins who is the problem. Have you met him?"

Sunday snorted. "He's something alright. I had to escort him and Chris to an interview the other day, and he spent twenty minutes detailing to the interviewer what constitutes a 'good poo'."

"The better question is what constitutes a bad poo?" Rick raised an eyebrow and made an amused face.

"Diarrhea," Alex quipped as she began hanging up several Ice Nine Kills and Chelsea Grin t-shirts. "No one wins with diarrhea."