It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Seriously, how often did a hard working girl get to go see Dethklok live? Gytha Sinnsdottir could hardly contain herself. She even managed to survive the band's arrival on stage with little more than a few bumps and bruises. Of course, it dawned on her very quickly that at 4'10" tall, actually seeing anything would be impossible.

Since the philosophy of death metal was to crush the sick and the weak, there was also no chance of her getting let to the front just because she was small. However, she didn't fork over $200 for a Dethklok ticket to not see Dethklok. She had to get up higher to see the band.

Given her day job, it was impossible for her to ignore the series of catwalks and guide wires supporting the stage. She managed to fight her way to a support and began climbing.

She wasn't the only one who had the idea. By the time she had ensconced her butt on a catwalk, dozens of other people had tried to climb up as well and the whole thing began to shake and sway. Gytha tried desperately to scoot closer to another support pole to be safe before the whole thing fell, but she didn't quite make it.

The support pole started to topple into the crowd, crushing fans. The guide wires tore through the assembled throng, decapitating metal fans and tearing off limbs, leaving a fine mist of blood covering the survivors.

Gytha wasn't worried about the casualties. At the moment, she was worried about becoming one. The catwalk continued to careen forward and the only way off was to leap. The tiny woman ran as best she could in her high heeled boots and leaped outwards, reaching for anything she could get her hands on.

Curtain.

Gytha sank her fingers into the thick velvet curtain that hung beside the stage and slid down it, hissing as the fabric burned her hands, even though the black fingerless gloves she wore. Not meant to take the weight of a human, even a severely undersized one, a few rings snapped and the curtain jerked inward.

Gytha was dumped unceremoniously on her ass on hardwood boards.

Luckily, at this point in her life, she pretty much had falling down to an art form and she rolled to a halt under a mixing board.

"Ow. Fuck. Fucks. Not my best landing," she hissed.

Booted feet thudded by her suddenly.

"What is it?" Someone asked.

"Someone came through the curtain," the owner of the boots announced.

Gytha started to call out that it was just one small Icelander woman making a very rough landing, but stopped herself.

She was backstage.

She was backstage at a Dethklok concert! Bitching! She just had to stay quiet and out of the Klokateers' way and she'd have the best seats in the house! Maybe she'd even get to meet the band!

"If you find someone, take them down," the unseen person announced.

The sound of a gun being cocked reached her ears.

"Duh. This isn't my first concert," Boots announced.

"I'll tell the others to keep an eye out," the other man growled.

Boots prowled away among the equipment, peeking behind anything big enough to hold a man. Gytha made a mental change in her priorities. 'Not getting murdered by Gears' was now number one, second only to 'get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.'

Checking to make sure there was no one in immediate area, Gytha clambered out from under the mixing board and went to the curtain, ready to slip back under it and take her chances in the crowd.

The sight of several Gears lining the crowd, peering back under the curtain drove her back into the equipment.

Gytha had been in plenty of backstages and somehow, she didn't think the old standby of 'just grab a piece of scenery and act like you belong there' was going to work this time. Well . . . wait, the Skank Patrol rounded up groupies for the band, right? Maybe she could find them and slip in amongst the sluts. That might work.

And she might still get to meet the band.

"I'm thirsty," Nathan growled into the microphone. "I'm gonna get some water."

"Hey, I'm thirshty, too!" Murderface announced.

"You aren't the one singing!"

"Hey, I'm shtill under theshe hot lightsh and shit! Why can't I have shome water, too?"

"Wes alls ams hots and t'irsty," Skwisgaar announced. "But we'm's can'ts just gets up and leaves stage."

"Why naht?" Pickles asked. "They ain't goin' nowhere."

"Oh yeah. Okay, Toki's gonna stay and play. The rest of us are going to get some water."

"What? Why I gots to stays on stage alone?" Toki yelped.

"'Cause you don't want any water!" Murderface yelled.

"Yes I does! I ams hot and t'irsty, toos!"

"Too bad, Toki! Just play a solo or something."

The rhythm guitarist perked at this.

"Reallys? I gets a solo?"

"Yeah, whatevers; we's bes back later," Skwisgaar grunted.

The rest of the band filed offstage, leaving Toki practically vibrating with happiness.

Maybe it was time for the 'act like you belong here' shtick. Gears were closing in, she had no idea how to get out of this maze, and there was really no way to blend in without stealing a hood. They said every Klokateer had to kill someone with their bare hands to get a spot, so that didn't sound like a good idea under any circumstances.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Hey, who's that chick?"

Gytha started forward without even bothering to look around. Act natural, act like you know where you're going, don't let anyone bug you oh shit she was headed straight for the stage. Shit. There was no other way around this. Like her old grandfather had always said, 'Leave no room for doubt. Even if you have no idea what you're doing, you do it as hard as you can.'

At the tender age of ten Gytha had pointed out numerous flaws in this argument, but here and now was the time to give it a shot.

'Do it as hard as you can.'

Gytha grabbed a guitar from the rack of spares waiting stage left and walked onto stage. She briefly noted only Toki was still on. She also noted that the guitar she had snagged was a Flying V. Perfect; it would look like she had some idea what she was doing.

Gytha got a good grip on the guitar and began to perform.

After about two minutes she heard a voice cry:

"Wowee!"

Stage right, the rest of the band noticed that Toki was not alone.

"Dood, what's that chick – DOOD!"

"Holy craps," Skwisgaar muttered. "Never seeds anybody dos dat on a guitar befores."

"Me neither," Pickles agreed.

"Me neither," Nathan seconded.

"I have," Murderface muttered, but he was obviously lying so everyone ignored him.

"How does . . . . how does she keep her balance?" Nathan wondered.

( pic link here .com/gallery/#/d2fmabb )