<strong>Rayne and Davis</strong><br/><br/>"Thanks, man," Davis told Boss, taking the tray from him.  He stepped back, separating himself from Rayne's entwining arms as he smiled mischievously at her.  "I'm quite sure I can, honey.  You're in charge of meeting my recreational needs, ain't that right?"  He nodded at the coke she had supplied him.  "Procurement and delivery, that's what I need.  An old tray, that's good enough for the musicians.  But I'm the fucking singer, I need to snort like a rock star.  And you know how rock stars snort, Rayne?  Real rock stars, I mean like Keith fucking Richards.  Off a beautiful pair of tits.  That's the only way."<br/><br/>Davis gestured at the fold out table next to them, then followed the gesture with a sweeping arm, knocking the magazines someone had left there onto the floor.  "You're going to give me my first rock star line, Rayne, you lucky fucking thing.  It will probably be in my biography.  So let's get that shirt off and start living life."