#bandter

“Oh guys, check this out!  We got a good crowd today!”

Grant nudges Jeff away from the window of their tour bus, scanning the street as they pull into the stadium entrance.

“Damn,” the bassist whistles, “Houston really showed up, huh?”

Eddie perks up from the kitchenette.  “Wha’dwe hah thif hime?”

“Good god man, chew your food and consider swallowing before you speak,” Gareth gripes to his lead guitarist.

Eddie doesn’t miss the opportunity so gallantly laid at his feet.  He clears his mouth of excess sandwich before flashing a devilish grin.  “Gladly swallow for you any time, big boy.”  He can’t help the swell of satisfaction that inflates his chest as Grant and Jeff guffaw at their youngest member’s expense.  “So, what do the fine people of Houston have for us today?” 

Gareth rolls his eyes before squinting out the tinted windows.  “Oh, the usual.  Repent or be damned!  Corroded Coffin promotes Satanism!  Burn in hell, sinners!”

Eddie leans over Gareth’s shoulder.  “Any bible verses?”

“Fuck yeah, there are,” Grant chuffs.  “We got 1 Corinthians, Psalm 150, Romans 12 –”

“Oh shit.  We haven’t seen Romans in awhile.”

Jeff taps the window, drawing his friends’ attention to a banner held up by two PVC pipes near the rear of the massive crowd.  “Your souls are Corroded, too!  I like it. That’s a new one.”

Eddie clicks his tongue.  “Clever.  Well – it wouldn’t be a show without a little spice beforehand.” His eyebrows wiggle from beneath his fringe as the bus lurches to a stop.  “C’mon, ya devil worshippers.  Let’s get movin’.  Can’t keep our Satanists waiting.”

*

The headliners soon find the entrance to the venue blocked – neither theirs nor the opening band’s crew can make their way through the dense throngs of protesters to set up on stage.  

Eddie grits his teeth, peering out the windshield over their manager’s shoulder.  “This is bullshit.”

“Not a whole lot we can do about it, Ed,” Phil says tiredly, “just sit and wait ‘til security can get ‘em outta here.”

“That’s gonna take forever!” Gareth fusses, arms crossing over his broad chest in ire.  

Phil rolls his eyes.  “Oh and what, you’re gonna herd them out on your own, tough guy?  Just sit your ass down and wait.”

Gareth opens his mouth to argue before Eddie wisely interjects.  “No,” he elongates the vowel thoughtfully, “but we could talk to them.  Ask them nicely to disperse with all the kindness that taints our little black hearts.”

Jeff cackles.  “Like the fine gentlemen of the underworld we are.”

That earns a hearty laugh from Grant and a groan from Phil.  “You’re not serious.  That’s dumber than Emerson’s idea, and that was pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

“Ah,” Eddie flashes him a toothy grin, “they haven’t yet been subjected to the Munson charm.  Nobody can resist that.”

As it turns out, they could.  

Eddie’s charming declaration that praised the crowd’s tenacity only served to rile them up more.  Even Eddie could see he was losing control, the tapestry of what he thought were genuine sentiments unraveled faster than he expected.  In his mind, the only logical solution was to offer several of the more rambunctious protesters free admission so they could see what Corroded Coffin was really about – which contrary to very popular belief, wasn’t going to get anyone damned to hell.

Except for maybe Eddie, because right now, he’s living it.

Wincing as he presses a cold pack to his jaw, he tunes out Phil’s neverending tirade.  Yeah, his manager has a point – he shouldn’t have gone out there.  He should have known better; should have figured his best friends would come racing into the fray once the fists started flying.

He wasn’t even sure what did it.  All he knows is someone shouted something about how his mother should be ashamed that she birthed such a vile spawn of Lucifer – and shit, it’s not like he hasn’t heard that before.  He was prepared to shake it off when someone shoved him from behind, knocking him off his makeshift platform and to the ground, right into the lion’s den.

“Well at least we didn’t fight back or anything,” Gareth snips as he dabs a cloth over his split lip.  He gestures to the other men in the green room, metaphorically licking their wounds in brooding silence.  “All hands are accounted for.  The show can go on, Phil.  We’re fine.”

The drummer’s nonchalance serves to rile the manager up further despite Jeff’s attempts at mediation.  All the while, Grant stays quiet, tucked away on the couch in the corner, scrolling heatedly through his phone.

Several minutes later, he punches a fist in the air with a celebratory whoop. “Yes!  Found those fuckers!”  He holds his phone up for everyone to see.  “Eternal Lifeblood Church.  That’s who organized this shit!”

“The protesters? Why the fuck do we care?” Eddie maneuvers his icepack to his jaw from his left eye, wincing as he gets used to the chill.

“Don’t you want to get back at them?  Exact our revenge?”

Phil’s face turns cherry-red, and Grant sighs in faux frustration.  “I’m not talking about fighting, man, chill out.  I’m talking about killing them with kindness.  Ruining their wrath.  Look –”

He flashes his bandmates the tiny screen.  “These hyper-vigilant assholes run a huge fundraising event every summer.  It’s going on now – they raise money to sponsor meals in schools, especially underprivileged areas.  They also have drives for shit like school supplies, clothing, shoes, money for extracurriculars…”

Grant’s bright-eyed stare darts around the room at numerous faces twisted in bewilderment.  “Seriously?”  Grant huffs in exasperation.  “Wouldn’t it be just something if Corroded Coffin, condemned Satinists, devil worshippers and demon-summoners show up to this church with a fuckin’ truck and trailer full of all this shit they’re asking for?”

Jeff’s lips pop open.  “Like donations?  Dude.  That’s genius.”

Grant nods excitedly.  “They can’t not take it, right?”

“Like hell they won’t,” Eddie snaps his ringed fingers at his bassist. “Oh fuck – especially if we get other bands to help us out.”

Phil balks.  “Guys…”

Jeff can’t wrench his phone out of his back pocket fast enough.  “I’ll start making calls.”

Their manager can tell he’s losing control.  “No, hey – let’s think about this –”

Gareth’s is already trilling.  “Callin’ Denise right now.  The girls in Next Hex are gonna be all for it.”

Phil throws up his hands.  “You’re all insane.”

A laugh is punched through Eddie’s nose as he dials up his buddy from Death’s Echo, the openers from last summer that now have their own headlining tour.  “Certifiably.  I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when we roll up with all this stuff like some goddamn metalhead messiahs.”

*

Eddie snorts into his coffee, nudging Gareth away from his scrolling next to him on the bus's couch.  The drummer leans into Ed’s space, reading the text from one of their roadies.

Delivered.  They were fuckin speechless.

Eddie types back, Both U-Hauls made it?

Yup

They accept our offering?

Gareth scowls, the way he flicks the silver hoop in his pout is automatic.  “Dude, why’d you have to say it like that?”

Very grateful, they send their thanks 

bullshit

Yeah 

But they didn’t turn it down

“Better not have turned it down,” Gareth mutters, sliding from the cushions to refill his mug.  “At least twenty grand worth from nine different bands.  Still feel like we coulda done better.”

“Firdy.”

“What?” Gareth asks, face screwing up in disgust as Eddie takes another monstrous bite of his bagel.  

“I’was oer firdy fousan –”

The carafe is slammed back into his home, sloshing its contents over the counter.  “Eddie!  Stop talking with your goddamn mouth full, you’re gonna fuckin’ choke!”

Eddie swallows and tosses Gareth a salacious wink.  “Don’t tempt me with a good time, big boy.”

next - gluttony

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