<blockquote><div><cite>Kruft wrote:</cite>"Same here," he grunted, lightning up a Marlboro Red, despite the "No Smoking" signs blaring from the walls of the green room. "Someone passed me your demo. Fantastic musicianship." Chris, again, looked like he was about to explode. </div></blockquote><br/><br/>Ptriaica grinned. "You're too kind, I know we're just starting out. But I think our main lack is a solid suite of our own music. Modded covers are all very well, but we need some original works if we're ever going to be taken seriously."<br/><br/><blockquote><div><cite>Kruft wrote:</cite>"Ah, well, I suppose I'd better be off then. Pleasure meeting you, Miss." He walked out of the room and Chris nearly collapsed, making an embarrassingly high-pitched happy noise.<br/><br/>((Just going to skip on to the show part. Go ahead and interpose responses or whatever.))<br/><br/>Chris picked up his guitar and gave it a quick test to see if it was still in tune. The venue had filled up quickly and although it was mainly filled with fans of the headline band, there were a few banners with the Cast Iron Stomachs logo being waved around and the occasional hysterical squeal involving something rude and Chris. A particularly graphic one made the guitarist brush brightly underneath his fur. "Tonight is gonna be <span style="font-style: italic">good</span>." He turned around to Kitty. "Hit the intro, let's do this."</div></blockquote><br/><br/>"She wants you to do what to her what?" Ptricia shook her head. "I don't think that's even biologically possible. Still, if she's up for that, maybe she'd be interested in and after gig snack."