(OOC: Actually, I had some things I wanted to do before we got to this. Next time, could you _ask_ rather than just skipping ahead solo. I also already had a meeting location if the NPC didn't.)<br/><br/>After agreeing a place (at a suggestion from Chris), and time, and ringing off, she looked over at the white wolf.<br/><br/>"Since when am I managing this band? The Cast Iron Stomachs is _your_ baby. I'll happily figure out the contract side of things, it'll give me some use for those courses in comercial law and accountancy besides figuring out how to keep as much of my money as possible out of the claws of the IRS, but you make the decisions."<br/><br/>&&&<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>He looked up as the band entered and smiled, revealing sharp fangs where his incisors should have been, not vampiric, draconic. He waved them over, motioning to the pad on the table and the tape recorder on his lap to show he was the reporter.</div></blockquote><br/><br/>Ptricia nodded and smiled politely, avoiding showing her own pointy teeth. "You must be the guy from 'Kerrang!'. Either that or a misplaced stationary salesman. I'm Ptriciatepoloma, the drummer of Cast Iron Stomachs. And you are?"