There would have been silence if there hadn't been constant sounds of footsteps leaving the stadium. There were conversations left to right, barely audible through the echoing sound of the guitarist's own notes being placed. They had only been a practice off of Coheed and Cambria's song "Welcome Home"'s beginning guitar notes, which had to have severe concentration to do correctly. Even after the failed attempts, there were continuous tries until the door had been opened rather quickly.
Olive eyes met baby blue eyes for an automatic greeting. After accepting the presence of both men in the room, the one who had recently entered went to fetch a bottle of water, quickly opening it and gulping it down in an almost unhealthy way. It caused a small grimace to the guitarist, making him stop in his tracks and glance over at the other man, raising an eyebrow.
"You're gonna end up choking if you don't slow down."
After a few more gulps, the man looked over at the concerned one, "Ah'm okay, fella. Why weren't ya at the backstage gat'erin'? Had t'a tell a l'oot of fans ya couldn't come."
A chuckle. "Fans? Oh please. I piss people off."
"Ah'm serious. Don't avoid me question, Phil."
The guitarist grunted in retort. For the last few concerts, he hadn't been going to the backstage gathering and it hadn't been a problem until now. Maybe it was just because he had missed too many for comfort. Looking back at his electric guitar, he started to play a few more random notes, trying to avoid answering the question. It was obvious that he just wasn't in the mood to try to tell the other his life story. Even if the other man was the singer and leader of their band.
"Phil," he emphasized, walking over to the smaller man who had been sitting on the couch provided for them. After trying to reach for the guitar, it was slightly snatched away, causing the Irish accented man to sigh, "Ye have t'a tell me what's wrong."
Another grunt.
"Phil."
"Fine!" the straight edge yelled. After he had realized his rather loud reply, he took a few breaths before calming back down, "I pissed off our manager and he is riding my ass right now, okay? I just wanna hide from him."
"What'd ye do t'is time?"
"….. called him a walrus."
There had been a chuckle from him, "Well, even if ye are tryin' t'a hide from Paul, s'too late t'a sign autographs and take pictures wit' fans. Ju't try t'a n'oot piss him off anymore. T'at, and we need t'a get goin'. John and Randy are ready t'a go."
There was a small groan at the mentioning of Randy's name, because the very thought of the drummer had him cringe. Now, talk about a guy Phil absolutely hated. He was forced to work with him, however, just because he had such a great tolerance for Stephen and John. He was sure that was the only thing him and Randy would agree on. After giving a curt nod, Phil put his guitar in its case, picking it up and walking over to the door with Stephen by his side. He was actually lucky to have Stephen as a friend, having been the only person he could openly admit things to without getting stared at. John was the same way, but for some reason, Phil preferred Stephen a lot more. Maybe because John was always hanging around Randy.
Eventually, the two got to the tour bus and was greeting with a hug from John. They always celebrated after having a successful concert, so they had been used to this by now. It's been nearly ten years since they started this band, and with a look around the tour bus… it wasn't getting old anytime soon.
Seven Years of Blood was seen here and there; being always appreciated by the four men for being their revolutionary band name.
After being freed from the hug, Stephen automatically went to go tell the bus driver that they all wanted some pizza, then Phil went straight to the fridge to pull out a Pepsi. After closing the fridge door and opening the drink, he turned around, only to see that Randy's cold, icy eyes glared right at him. The far taller man took a big whiff of a cigarette, then blew the smoke to the side, at least respectful enough not to blow it into the straight edge's face, regardless of how tempting it was.
"You're in my way, Phillip."
"Aw, gonna go get yourself a beer? Because that's totally gonna help you with your alcohol problem, Randal."
"Fuck off," Randy chimed in before he could hear anymore of Phil's ranting about how he was better than him because he didn't do shit he did, "And stop calling me Randal."
"Would you prefer I call you a douchebag? Or maybe a fuck-cunt? Or, hell, maybe an even more accurate name, raging alcoholic?"
Huffing, Randy removed his cigarette from his lips and bent down close to Phil, giving him a sadistic grin. "Uh-uh-uh," he tsked, putting out his cigarette in the smaller man's freshly opened Pepsi can, "I'm an alcoholic just because of you, Phil. You should be honored to have a habit dedicated to you. Now," he slithered around the other, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of beer, "Who wants some beer?"
"I'll have a little bit," John spoke up, "If you want me to, Phil."
Phil grunted as he looked down at his ruined Pepsi, nearly vomiting at the smell. It was fucking disgusting and it may have been the most disrespectful thing Randy's done to him yet, but he would get revenge on him later, "Stop kissing my ass, Johnny-boy. You and Sheamo can always drink. I just hope you don't expect a kiss from me anytime soon."
"Awh! But I just love your kisses." John teased, patting Phil on the shoulder as he was handed a beer from Randy. After they both had opened their own, John got another beer and went over to Stephen, who had been looking at himself in the mirror.
"T'ink it's time fer anot'er haircut, eh, fella?" he turned to John, delighted that he was given a beer, "Ah t'ink so."
"Shut up, you look hot," John remarked, not feeling guilty about his statement at all, "But if you want to, sure. Not to forget we still need to come together and think up a few more songs. Preferably with me singing some more instead of being another bassist."
"What's wrong about playing the guitar?" Phil raised an eyebrow, dumping out his Pepsi in the sink and recycling the can.
"Psh, nothing! I just wanna sing more, too. Have an equal balance."
"Well, while you all are debating about new songs, tell me when you all want an actual genious to help you."
"Shut the fuck up, Randal. I swear to jeebus, I'm gonna become an alcoholic because of you." Phil shoved passed Randy to get himself another Pepsi.
"And everything you say just pisses me off!" Randy yelled at Phil.
Stephen growled as he grabbed an air horn, blowing it off. In response, John, Randy and Phil covered their ears grimacing.
"Ye two are a bunch of lunatics, n'oot gettin' along like t'is! Ah'm gonna lock ye two in a room until ye solve yer problems!"
Phil looked over at Stephen, grumbling, "Are you kidding me? I would rather be a really terrible Star Wars reference than to be locked up in a room with Randal!"
Another blow to the air horn.
"Fucking CHRIST! Phil," John started, "Shut the hell up!"
The singer raised an eyebrow, "Now, we're gonna start headin' t'a New York. If ah hear a peep between Randy and ye, ye won't be allowed t'a have Pepsi for a week and Randy won't allowed to smoke for a week!"
"Stephen, what the hell?" Randy growled, "Phillip's the one who keeps ruining our lives!"
"Actually, Phil is almost all the reason we're all here today. So Randy, chill out, would you?! Can't we just have one night without you two fighting?!"
"Fine." Phil grumbled, heading to the back of the bus, "Come get me when the pizza's on the bus, then."