<blockquote class="uncited"><div>"It's okay, much as I like him, I'll be the first one to say he isn't the sharpest throwing star in the box. I'll finish off if he doesn't come back."</div></blockquote><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Must...remain...diplomatic.</span>, thought Chris fervently, but failed, and giggled hysterically.<br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"Order came in today. Next gig, we'll have merchandise. The CD stamping works got back to me on the stage session printing, the web site is looking good, and I've been working on a couple of posters we can have duplicated... We can talk about this tomorrow. And I'll bring you both... and Babs, a t-shirt."</div></blockquote><br/>"We're not even signed and we're already a marketing machine." He smirked as he hefted his gear over his shoulder, wincing under the weight of the three guitars, amp and pedals. He hurriedly made it outside and hefted the gear into Reizu's bus, grimacing and rubbing his back. "Drummers are supposed to be the ones with back pain..." He grunted and looked over at Ptricia. "I'm gonna see if Fiana isn't busy and head back to my place. I'll see you tomorrow morning either way." He took his phone out of his pocket and dialled the vixen's number, placing his paw over the speaker for a moment. "You got any spare reform potions?"