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The stage transformed Marietta. The chants and screams of her fans gave her life. She was a shy girl, quiet and mousey. But when she was performing in front of an audience, guitar in her hand singing backup vocals to Rafail… she was a star. Music was everything to Marietta. It saved her. It made her. She would have been a nobody, nothing if it wasn’t for music.
It wasn’t easy. The lone female in a band of men came with its challenges. It required insurmountable patience and a strong ability to selectively listen- particularly when it came to their lead singer, Rafail. What started as a group of mates getting together for a jam session grew into something bigger than all of them. They were a worldwide phenomenon, selling out venues worldwide. It was everything that Marietta ever dreamed of and more. She had money, she had fame, what more could she ask for?
Oh, that’s right. Happiness.
“Of course,” Marietta said quietly to a fan as she asked for her photo. She waited patiently for the mother to fumble with the camera. The entire time Marietta was thinking about how she just wanted to get on the bus. She was exhausted. They had a while to drive before they could check into a hotel too. But none of these thoughts displayed on her face. She just smiled and hugged the fan before the next one stepped up.
“Time to get this show on the road!” Their manager clapped, saying the same god awful cheesy line he said after every show to get them back on the bus. Marietta happily waved and smiled at all the fans, climbing into the bus.
The moment she was out of line of sight her smile faded. She collapsed into one of the ‘couches.’ Marco instantly went to the mini-fridge cracking open a beer. Marietta checked her phone. Nothing. No missed texts, no missed calls. Her family stopped trying. When she first hit the road she’d have a million texts. Now? They were used to her being gone. She was lucky to see them around the holidays.
When the door closed, Marietta’s eyes fell to Rafail. “What the fuck was that? I thought we agreed that the encore was going to be ‘Colors.’ Why the hell did you lead them into a chant for ‘Lost Vixen?’ That was a b-side that no one but you fucking cared about!” Marietta nearly forgot the chords when she was playing. She had basically wiped that song from her memory the moment they walked out of the studio. She always hated that song and didn’t want it anywhere near the album. But of course, her voice was never louder than Raf’s.
And there was the source of the unhappiness. The band itself was all smiles and laughter and love in front of people, but as soon as the cameras were gone their true selves came out. Q a hipster with an eating disorder. He was useless in a fight, always agreeing with everyone, and never able to say no to anyone. Then there was Dwight Edwin Lawrence the Third… AKA Marco. An alcoholic sex addict that had such a fucked up crazy life Marietta didn’t know what was real and what were delusions from his latest hit.
And then… there was Rafail.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The stage transformed Marietta. The chants and screams of her fans gave her life. She was a shy girl, quiet and mousey. But when she was performing in front of an audience, guitar in her hand singing backup vocals to Rafail… she was a star. Music was everything to Marietta. It saved her. It made her. She would have been a nobody, nothing if it wasn’t for music.
It wasn’t easy. The lone female in a band of men came with its challenges. It required insurmountable patience and a strong ability to selectively listen- particularly when it came to their lead singer, Rafail. What started as a group of mates getting together for a jam session grew into something bigger than all of them. They were a worldwide phenomenon, selling out venues worldwide. It was everything that Marietta ever dreamed of and more. She had money, she had fame, what more could she ask for?
Oh, that’s right. Happiness.
“Of course,” Marietta said quietly to a fan as she asked for her photo. She waited patiently for the mother to fumble with the camera. The entire time Marietta was thinking about how she just wanted to get on the bus. She was exhausted. They had a while to drive before they could check into a hotel too. But none of these thoughts displayed on her face. She just smiled and hugged the fan before the next one stepped up.
“Time to get this show on the road!” Their manager clapped, saying the same god awful cheesy line he said after every show to get them back on the bus. Marietta happily waved and smiled at all the fans, climbing into the bus.
The moment she was out of line of sight her smile faded. She collapsed into one of the ‘couches.’ Marco instantly went to the mini-fridge cracking open a beer. Marietta checked her phone. Nothing. No missed texts, no missed calls. Her family stopped trying. When she first hit the road she’d have a million texts. Now? They were used to her being gone. She was lucky to see them around the holidays.
When the door closed, Marietta’s eyes fell to Rafail. “What the fuck was that? I thought we agreed that the encore was going to be ‘Colors.’ Why the hell did you lead them into a chant for ‘Lost Vixen?’ That was a b-side that no one but you fucking cared about!” Marietta nearly forgot the chords when she was playing. She had basically wiped that song from her memory the moment they walked out of the studio. She always hated that song and didn’t want it anywhere near the album. But of course, her voice was never louder than Raf’s.
And there was the source of the unhappiness. The band itself was all smiles and laughter and love in front of people, but as soon as the cameras were gone their true selves came out. Q a hipster with an eating disorder. He was useless in a fight, always agreeing with everyone, and never able to say no to anyone. Then there was Dwight Edwin Lawrence the Third… AKA Marco. An alcoholic sex addict that had such a fucked up crazy life Marietta didn’t know what was real and what were delusions from his latest hit.
And then… there was Rafail.
The stage transformed Marietta. The chants and screams of her fans gave her life. She was a shy girl, quiet and mousey. But when she was performing in front of an audience, guitar in her hand singing backup vocals to Rafail… she was a star. Music was everything to Marietta. It saved her. It made her. She would have been a nobody, nothing if it wasn’t for music.
It wasn’t easy. The lone female in a band of men came with its challenges. It required insurmountable patience and a strong ability to selectively listen- particularly when it came to their lead singer, Rafail. What started as a group of mates getting together for a jam session grew into something bigger than all of them. They were a worldwide phenomenon, selling out venues worldwide. It was everything that Marietta ever dreamed of and more. She had money, she had fame, what more could she ask for?
Oh, that’s right. Happiness.
“Of course,” Marietta said quietly to a fan as she asked for her photo. She waited patiently for the mother to fumble with the camera. The entire time Marietta was thinking about how she just wanted to get on the bus. She was exhausted. They had a while to drive before they could check into a hotel too. But none of these thoughts displayed on her face. She just smiled and hugged the fan before the next one stepped up.
“Time to get this show on the road!” Their manager clapped, saying the same god awful cheesy line he said after every show to get them back on the bus. Marietta happily waved and smiled at all the fans, climbing into the bus.
The moment she was out of line of sight her smile faded. She collapsed into one of the ‘couches.’ Marco instantly went to the mini-fridge cracking open a beer. Marietta checked her phone. Nothing. No missed texts, no missed calls. Her family stopped trying. When she first hit the road she’d have a million texts. Now? They were used to her being gone. She was lucky to see them around the holidays.
When the door closed, Marietta’s eyes fell to Rafail. “What the fuck was that? I thought we agreed that the encore was going to be ‘Colors.’ Why the hell did you lead them into a chant for ‘Lost Vixen?’ That was a b-side that no one but you fucking cared about!” Marietta nearly forgot the chords when she was playing. She had basically wiped that song from her memory the moment they walked out of the studio. She always hated that song and didn’t want it anywhere near the album. But of course, her voice was never louder than Raf’s.
And there was the source of the unhappiness. The band itself was all smiles and laughter and love in front of people, but as soon as the cameras were gone their true selves came out. Q a hipster with an eating disorder. He was useless in a fight, always agreeing with everyone, and never able to say no to anyone. Then there was Dwight Edwin Lawrence the Third… AKA Marco. An alcoholic sex addict that had such a fucked up crazy life Marietta didn’t know what was real and what were delusions from his latest hit.
And then… there was Rafail.
Rafail loved being a musician. He had always enjoyed music, but Daddy had always told the man that he was supposed to major in business at his alma mater (as per the Marikas tradition) and then take on a directing role at Marikas Global Management. This had not suited his ambitions, and most found it was impossible to tell Rafail what to do, which was why the band had been easy. A place to showcase his real talents, and it had been no surprise to him that they had gone international so quickly: fame and fans and all that just seemed a logical outcome to anything the man chose to do with his life.
Tonight's show had been as good as all the others. The atmosphere in the venue had been insane, and he had been right in assuming that the crowds wanted to listen to 'Lost Vixen', which he privately believed was his magnum opus. Besides, the girls liked a show, and that was precisely what the eight-minute ballad gave them. You had to know how to read an audience. It was his skill at doing just that which brought all the fans out after the show, although he imagined all three of his bandmates thought they were the real reason.
Rafail had taken a few photographs with fans, drifting through the group which had gathered outside to sign autographs riddled with cute little messages to the prettiest girls. They would probably share those on their social media, captioning the image with dozens of tiny hearts, and then their friends would comment something about how jealous they were. He liked the thought of that. It was what made the often tedious interactions all worth it.
Still, once their manager called them onto the bus, he flashed them a smile and said something insincere about how sorry he was that he couldn't stay back for longer, before pushing past the other three to get on first, beelining for the couch himself. He'd have hoped for a moment of calm, but Marietta, of course, couldn't allow him that. She just had to think she was in charge, which was strange, given that he was the fuckin' face. No one wanted her on their magazine covers, he was pretty damn confident.
"'Colors' is your trash," he replied nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to post an update to Snapchat and Instagram in case any of the fans were concerned about whether or not he had made it onto the bus safely in the past thirty seconds. "We didn't agree shit. Anyway, the mood called for a ballad. Mark and Drew didn't have any problem with it." He pointed vaguely towards their drummer and bassist, whatever they were doing. It looked like one of them was preparing ingredients for another of his foul-smelling and ridiculous smoothies. "I'm the lead. I know what the people want, and what they want is me." No surprises there.
Rafail turned to look at her through the side of his sunglasses - he would like to point out which of the two had been offered a modelling contract with Fendi - giving the woman just the sort of condescending look he had perfected over the course of them being bandmates. "I'm trying to book myself a suite at our next location. You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge."
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Rafail loved being a musician. He had always enjoyed music, but Daddy had always told the man that he was supposed to major in business at his alma mater (as per the Marikas tradition) and then take on a directing role at Marikas Global Management. This had not suited his ambitions, and most found it was impossible to tell Rafail what to do, which was why the band had been easy. A place to showcase his real talents, and it had been no surprise to him that they had gone international so quickly: fame and fans and all that just seemed a logical outcome to anything the man chose to do with his life.
Tonight's show had been as good as all the others. The atmosphere in the venue had been insane, and he had been right in assuming that the crowds wanted to listen to 'Lost Vixen', which he privately believed was his magnum opus. Besides, the girls liked a show, and that was precisely what the eight-minute ballad gave them. You had to know how to read an audience. It was his skill at doing just that which brought all the fans out after the show, although he imagined all three of his bandmates thought they were the real reason.
Rafail had taken a few photographs with fans, drifting through the group which had gathered outside to sign autographs riddled with cute little messages to the prettiest girls. They would probably share those on their social media, captioning the image with dozens of tiny hearts, and then their friends would comment something about how jealous they were. He liked the thought of that. It was what made the often tedious interactions all worth it.
Still, once their manager called them onto the bus, he flashed them a smile and said something insincere about how sorry he was that he couldn't stay back for longer, before pushing past the other three to get on first, beelining for the couch himself. He'd have hoped for a moment of calm, but Marietta, of course, couldn't allow him that. She just had to think she was in charge, which was strange, given that he was the fuckin' face. No one wanted her on their magazine covers, he was pretty damn confident.
"'Colors' is your trash," he replied nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to post an update to Snapchat and Instagram in case any of the fans were concerned about whether or not he had made it onto the bus safely in the past thirty seconds. "We didn't agree shit. Anyway, the mood called for a ballad. Mark and Drew didn't have any problem with it." He pointed vaguely towards their drummer and bassist, whatever they were doing. It looked like one of them was preparing ingredients for another of his foul-smelling and ridiculous smoothies. "I'm the lead. I know what the people want, and what they want is me." No surprises there.
Rafail turned to look at her through the side of his sunglasses - he would like to point out which of the two had been offered a modelling contract with Fendi - giving the woman just the sort of condescending look he had perfected over the course of them being bandmates. "I'm trying to book myself a suite at our next location. You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge."
Rafail loved being a musician. He had always enjoyed music, but Daddy had always told the man that he was supposed to major in business at his alma mater (as per the Marikas tradition) and then take on a directing role at Marikas Global Management. This had not suited his ambitions, and most found it was impossible to tell Rafail what to do, which was why the band had been easy. A place to showcase his real talents, and it had been no surprise to him that they had gone international so quickly: fame and fans and all that just seemed a logical outcome to anything the man chose to do with his life.
Tonight's show had been as good as all the others. The atmosphere in the venue had been insane, and he had been right in assuming that the crowds wanted to listen to 'Lost Vixen', which he privately believed was his magnum opus. Besides, the girls liked a show, and that was precisely what the eight-minute ballad gave them. You had to know how to read an audience. It was his skill at doing just that which brought all the fans out after the show, although he imagined all three of his bandmates thought they were the real reason.
Rafail had taken a few photographs with fans, drifting through the group which had gathered outside to sign autographs riddled with cute little messages to the prettiest girls. They would probably share those on their social media, captioning the image with dozens of tiny hearts, and then their friends would comment something about how jealous they were. He liked the thought of that. It was what made the often tedious interactions all worth it.
Still, once their manager called them onto the bus, he flashed them a smile and said something insincere about how sorry he was that he couldn't stay back for longer, before pushing past the other three to get on first, beelining for the couch himself. He'd have hoped for a moment of calm, but Marietta, of course, couldn't allow him that. She just had to think she was in charge, which was strange, given that he was the fuckin' face. No one wanted her on their magazine covers, he was pretty damn confident.
"'Colors' is your trash," he replied nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to post an update to Snapchat and Instagram in case any of the fans were concerned about whether or not he had made it onto the bus safely in the past thirty seconds. "We didn't agree shit. Anyway, the mood called for a ballad. Mark and Drew didn't have any problem with it." He pointed vaguely towards their drummer and bassist, whatever they were doing. It looked like one of them was preparing ingredients for another of his foul-smelling and ridiculous smoothies. "I'm the lead. I know what the people want, and what they want is me." No surprises there.
Rafail turned to look at her through the side of his sunglasses - he would like to point out which of the two had been offered a modelling contract with Fendi - giving the woman just the sort of condescending look he had perfected over the course of them being bandmates. "I'm trying to book myself a suite at our next location. You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge."
Colors was her trash?! Excuse me? That song was on Billboard’s Top 5 for 15 weeks. Fifteen. What did Raf know? He was just bitter that he didn’t make it. The band loved it, the studio loved it, the fans loved it. You know what they didn’t care for? Lost fucking Vixen, that’s what.
“What they want is good music, not what you produce.” Marietta snapped back at him. “And we have been in a band for how long? How hard is it to remember one letter? It’s Q.”
“Its fi-” Q began to mumble but Marietta just threw him a glower. No, no it wasn’t. Marietta was sick of this. She was sick of his condescension. She was sick of his ego. She was sick of him. God, she needed a drink. And a freaking vacation.
When the band was first formed Marietta was happy to be backup. She was afraid being the only girl would put attention on her. And it did. She stuck out. But not as much a Lord Rafail. No, excuse her, King Rafail. God, what she would do to just show his ‘adoring’ fans what an egomaniac he truly was. But that would just… ruin it for everyone else.
She just had to suffer in silence. The money was good, enough to support her and her entire family. And the fans they… loved them. She loved them too. Every time she wanted to walk away, every time she wanted to say screw it this wasn’t worth it, she thought of them. Some were just in it for the music, and Marietta respected that. But some sent letters or met them in events and talked sincerely about how the Owls changed their life. It saved them. Honestly, even now Marietta couldn’t fully wrap her head around that. When the band was created, she didn’t do it with the intent to save people. She just… wanted to play music. That was all. And now that it was so big she had a responsibility to keep going, didn’t she?
You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge. Marietta took a deep breath. She hated being angry. She hated being upset. She always tried to channel these negative emotions into the music she created. That way she wouldn’t have to feel it. But Raf he… just knew how to get under her skin. He had this magic ability to make her instantly angry with just one look.
And there was that look. Through the side of his glasses, she could see it. Marietta’s vision turned red. She got up and went to the mini-fridge. She grabbed a beer and shook it up, opening it in front of Raf’s face so that it sprayed in his face. “Stop being such a prick, Raf.” Marietta snapped at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Marietta, maybe you should calm d-” Marco started to say as he grabbed Marietta’s wrist. Marietta just ripped her arm from him and took a step back, gesturing angrily. “No! Why should I?” She looked at everyone in the bus. “You might be our lead singer, Rafail, but you’re not our leader!”
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Colors was her trash?! Excuse me? That song was on Billboard’s Top 5 for 15 weeks. Fifteen. What did Raf know? He was just bitter that he didn’t make it. The band loved it, the studio loved it, the fans loved it. You know what they didn’t care for? Lost fucking Vixen, that’s what.
“What they want is good music, not what you produce.” Marietta snapped back at him. “And we have been in a band for how long? How hard is it to remember one letter? It’s Q.”
“Its fi-” Q began to mumble but Marietta just threw him a glower. No, no it wasn’t. Marietta was sick of this. She was sick of his condescension. She was sick of his ego. She was sick of him. God, she needed a drink. And a freaking vacation.
When the band was first formed Marietta was happy to be backup. She was afraid being the only girl would put attention on her. And it did. She stuck out. But not as much a Lord Rafail. No, excuse her, King Rafail. God, what she would do to just show his ‘adoring’ fans what an egomaniac he truly was. But that would just… ruin it for everyone else.
She just had to suffer in silence. The money was good, enough to support her and her entire family. And the fans they… loved them. She loved them too. Every time she wanted to walk away, every time she wanted to say screw it this wasn’t worth it, she thought of them. Some were just in it for the music, and Marietta respected that. But some sent letters or met them in events and talked sincerely about how the Owls changed their life. It saved them. Honestly, even now Marietta couldn’t fully wrap her head around that. When the band was created, she didn’t do it with the intent to save people. She just… wanted to play music. That was all. And now that it was so big she had a responsibility to keep going, didn’t she?
You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge. Marietta took a deep breath. She hated being angry. She hated being upset. She always tried to channel these negative emotions into the music she created. That way she wouldn’t have to feel it. But Raf he… just knew how to get under her skin. He had this magic ability to make her instantly angry with just one look.
And there was that look. Through the side of his glasses, she could see it. Marietta’s vision turned red. She got up and went to the mini-fridge. She grabbed a beer and shook it up, opening it in front of Raf’s face so that it sprayed in his face. “Stop being such a prick, Raf.” Marietta snapped at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Marietta, maybe you should calm d-” Marco started to say as he grabbed Marietta’s wrist. Marietta just ripped her arm from him and took a step back, gesturing angrily. “No! Why should I?” She looked at everyone in the bus. “You might be our lead singer, Rafail, but you’re not our leader!”
Colors was her trash?! Excuse me? That song was on Billboard’s Top 5 for 15 weeks. Fifteen. What did Raf know? He was just bitter that he didn’t make it. The band loved it, the studio loved it, the fans loved it. You know what they didn’t care for? Lost fucking Vixen, that’s what.
“What they want is good music, not what you produce.” Marietta snapped back at him. “And we have been in a band for how long? How hard is it to remember one letter? It’s Q.”
“Its fi-” Q began to mumble but Marietta just threw him a glower. No, no it wasn’t. Marietta was sick of this. She was sick of his condescension. She was sick of his ego. She was sick of him. God, she needed a drink. And a freaking vacation.
When the band was first formed Marietta was happy to be backup. She was afraid being the only girl would put attention on her. And it did. She stuck out. But not as much a Lord Rafail. No, excuse her, King Rafail. God, what she would do to just show his ‘adoring’ fans what an egomaniac he truly was. But that would just… ruin it for everyone else.
She just had to suffer in silence. The money was good, enough to support her and her entire family. And the fans they… loved them. She loved them too. Every time she wanted to walk away, every time she wanted to say screw it this wasn’t worth it, she thought of them. Some were just in it for the music, and Marietta respected that. But some sent letters or met them in events and talked sincerely about how the Owls changed their life. It saved them. Honestly, even now Marietta couldn’t fully wrap her head around that. When the band was created, she didn’t do it with the intent to save people. She just… wanted to play music. That was all. And now that it was so big she had a responsibility to keep going, didn’t she?
You can be a doll and grab me a beer from the fridge. Marietta took a deep breath. She hated being angry. She hated being upset. She always tried to channel these negative emotions into the music she created. That way she wouldn’t have to feel it. But Raf he… just knew how to get under her skin. He had this magic ability to make her instantly angry with just one look.
And there was that look. Through the side of his glasses, she could see it. Marietta’s vision turned red. She got up and went to the mini-fridge. She grabbed a beer and shook it up, opening it in front of Raf’s face so that it sprayed in his face. “Stop being such a prick, Raf.” Marietta snapped at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Marietta, maybe you should calm d-” Marco started to say as he grabbed Marietta’s wrist. Marietta just ripped her arm from him and took a step back, gesturing angrily. “No! Why should I?” She looked at everyone in the bus. “You might be our lead singer, Rafail, but you’re not our leader!”
'Lost Vixen' was a musical masterpiece, but Rafail supposed the others in the band could not accurately comment when they were not as musically gifted as he. It must have been horrid spending each day in his presence and knowing that he was better than all of them combined. He chose to gloss over the comment about his productions not being of high quality, if solely because he knew it to be thoroughly untrue. "Um, I'm, like, pretty sure it's Drew. No one's fucking called 'Q' — you can't have a one-letter name." That was probably illegal or something. Besides, it wasn't like the guy even cared what he was called. He never complained.
It looked like Marietta was finally giving in, which was great because her complaints always gave him an awful headache. Rafail returned to the safety of his phone, trying to decide whether or not he needed his suite to have a terrace hot tub or not, and whether this would be a reasonable demand for the place to fill if he changed his mind later on. He couldn't enjoy his browsing, however, when a spray of beer suddenly shot straight into his face. The Marikas spluttered in some surprise, pulling himself up and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to shake out some of the liquid.
"What the fuck, Marietta!?" he shouted, standing and approaching the girl with a dark glare on his face. They had enough of a height difference that it made him feel substantially powerful over her, which only boosted his confidence in the argument that was sure to ensue.
At least Mark or whatever-his-name-was had the right idea, though it was a shame he was too pathetic to do anything more than step back when he was told to. Once again, the situation fell to Rafail to fix. And then they questioned why he was their leader. Honestly, the group were a shitshow without him.
"'Lead singer' has the word 'lead' in it, genius. I'm, like, what people want to see. I write the best songs. I'm the sex appeal." He frowned a moment, attempting to decide what else he could include in his list of reasons why he was inherently superior to the others. "Daddy paid for our first, like, studio sessions. I'm the reason we got anywhere in the first place. That's why I'm, like, our obvious leader." Rafail gestured vaguely towards both their other bandmates, raising an eyebrow. "They know I'm in charge."
They weren't willing to argue, anyway. He knew them well enough to be confident of that fact. The real problem had always been Marietta, but he usually managed it. If there was one thing Rafail was good at, it was dealing with unruly women. People would not believe the number of one night stands who continued to harass him after he had made thoroughly clear that they were done.
His finger jutted out to point at her accusingly, something in the back of his mind reminding him of the sad state of his shirt, which was soaked in sticky liquid. That needed to be fixed before the day was out, else he felt like their manager was about to get a severe talking-to on the matter. "I don't think we need this kind of negativity in our space, Marietta. If you keep acting out then I'm gonna have no choice but to request separate transport in future, cos I can't, like, deal with this kinda stress." And that stress felt very much as though it was going to ruin the next set they performed unless she was finally quiet. "Why don't you try behaving yourself for once and shut your pretty mouth? You'd look — and sound — much nicer that way, trust me."
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'Lost Vixen' was a musical masterpiece, but Rafail supposed the others in the band could not accurately comment when they were not as musically gifted as he. It must have been horrid spending each day in his presence and knowing that he was better than all of them combined. He chose to gloss over the comment about his productions not being of high quality, if solely because he knew it to be thoroughly untrue. "Um, I'm, like, pretty sure it's Drew. No one's fucking called 'Q' — you can't have a one-letter name." That was probably illegal or something. Besides, it wasn't like the guy even cared what he was called. He never complained.
It looked like Marietta was finally giving in, which was great because her complaints always gave him an awful headache. Rafail returned to the safety of his phone, trying to decide whether or not he needed his suite to have a terrace hot tub or not, and whether this would be a reasonable demand for the place to fill if he changed his mind later on. He couldn't enjoy his browsing, however, when a spray of beer suddenly shot straight into his face. The Marikas spluttered in some surprise, pulling himself up and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to shake out some of the liquid.
"What the fuck, Marietta!?" he shouted, standing and approaching the girl with a dark glare on his face. They had enough of a height difference that it made him feel substantially powerful over her, which only boosted his confidence in the argument that was sure to ensue.
At least Mark or whatever-his-name-was had the right idea, though it was a shame he was too pathetic to do anything more than step back when he was told to. Once again, the situation fell to Rafail to fix. And then they questioned why he was their leader. Honestly, the group were a shitshow without him.
"'Lead singer' has the word 'lead' in it, genius. I'm, like, what people want to see. I write the best songs. I'm the sex appeal." He frowned a moment, attempting to decide what else he could include in his list of reasons why he was inherently superior to the others. "Daddy paid for our first, like, studio sessions. I'm the reason we got anywhere in the first place. That's why I'm, like, our obvious leader." Rafail gestured vaguely towards both their other bandmates, raising an eyebrow. "They know I'm in charge."
They weren't willing to argue, anyway. He knew them well enough to be confident of that fact. The real problem had always been Marietta, but he usually managed it. If there was one thing Rafail was good at, it was dealing with unruly women. People would not believe the number of one night stands who continued to harass him after he had made thoroughly clear that they were done.
His finger jutted out to point at her accusingly, something in the back of his mind reminding him of the sad state of his shirt, which was soaked in sticky liquid. That needed to be fixed before the day was out, else he felt like their manager was about to get a severe talking-to on the matter. "I don't think we need this kind of negativity in our space, Marietta. If you keep acting out then I'm gonna have no choice but to request separate transport in future, cos I can't, like, deal with this kinda stress." And that stress felt very much as though it was going to ruin the next set they performed unless she was finally quiet. "Why don't you try behaving yourself for once and shut your pretty mouth? You'd look — and sound — much nicer that way, trust me."
'Lost Vixen' was a musical masterpiece, but Rafail supposed the others in the band could not accurately comment when they were not as musically gifted as he. It must have been horrid spending each day in his presence and knowing that he was better than all of them combined. He chose to gloss over the comment about his productions not being of high quality, if solely because he knew it to be thoroughly untrue. "Um, I'm, like, pretty sure it's Drew. No one's fucking called 'Q' — you can't have a one-letter name." That was probably illegal or something. Besides, it wasn't like the guy even cared what he was called. He never complained.
It looked like Marietta was finally giving in, which was great because her complaints always gave him an awful headache. Rafail returned to the safety of his phone, trying to decide whether or not he needed his suite to have a terrace hot tub or not, and whether this would be a reasonable demand for the place to fill if he changed his mind later on. He couldn't enjoy his browsing, however, when a spray of beer suddenly shot straight into his face. The Marikas spluttered in some surprise, pulling himself up and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to shake out some of the liquid.
"What the fuck, Marietta!?" he shouted, standing and approaching the girl with a dark glare on his face. They had enough of a height difference that it made him feel substantially powerful over her, which only boosted his confidence in the argument that was sure to ensue.
At least Mark or whatever-his-name-was had the right idea, though it was a shame he was too pathetic to do anything more than step back when he was told to. Once again, the situation fell to Rafail to fix. And then they questioned why he was their leader. Honestly, the group were a shitshow without him.
"'Lead singer' has the word 'lead' in it, genius. I'm, like, what people want to see. I write the best songs. I'm the sex appeal." He frowned a moment, attempting to decide what else he could include in his list of reasons why he was inherently superior to the others. "Daddy paid for our first, like, studio sessions. I'm the reason we got anywhere in the first place. That's why I'm, like, our obvious leader." Rafail gestured vaguely towards both their other bandmates, raising an eyebrow. "They know I'm in charge."
They weren't willing to argue, anyway. He knew them well enough to be confident of that fact. The real problem had always been Marietta, but he usually managed it. If there was one thing Rafail was good at, it was dealing with unruly women. People would not believe the number of one night stands who continued to harass him after he had made thoroughly clear that they were done.
His finger jutted out to point at her accusingly, something in the back of his mind reminding him of the sad state of his shirt, which was soaked in sticky liquid. That needed to be fixed before the day was out, else he felt like their manager was about to get a severe talking-to on the matter. "I don't think we need this kind of negativity in our space, Marietta. If you keep acting out then I'm gonna have no choice but to request separate transport in future, cos I can't, like, deal with this kinda stress." And that stress felt very much as though it was going to ruin the next set they performed unless she was finally quiet. "Why don't you try behaving yourself for once and shut your pretty mouth? You'd look — and sound — much nicer that way, trust me."