Good morning to the peoples who have decided to read this thingiedoodle. I do appreciate your time. Any translation notes will always be presented at then end of an entry along with anything else that needs mentioning. Read on, and reviews are appreciated.

I own nothing you recognize.

"It's a letter. From the label company." There was a quick but solid pause. "Basically, they're calling us useless and want to drop our name so they can focus on, you know, those people." Moray Roy spat the last two words out with considerable disdain through his Scottish accent. He pushed a hand through his messy hair and exhaled loudly.

"And? What do we do about it?" the lead guitarist, a blond man by the name of Brendan Caulfield, spoke up. He didn't sound or look the least bit concerned.

"I don't fucking now. Sabotage them?"

"Wouldn't it just be easier to get a new label?" A third voice joined the mix. Chad Clement, the bassist.

"Like those exist anymore," Victor Wilkins scoffed, passing a playing card to the drummer, a Danish girl named Adeline Rasmussen. She stared blankly at Moray through teal bangs. "We can't pay rent, so we have to do something."

"I realize," Moray bit back, tossing the letter away from him. Its paper construction prevented it from going very far. Adeline took it and proceeded to rip it to precisely measured shreds. "We'll just, I don't know, send her in and hope she gets picked to go backstage."

"Then what?" Chad asked, genuinely intrigued.

"She'll break their stuff."

"You think she's got the balls? She has the demeanor of the lamb most of the time!"

"Listen to me" - Moray grabbed Adeline by the shoulders - "Do you and Silly Cat want a place to live? Yeah? Then you gotta do this! Punch me!" The Dane took on a look of determination and punched him in the chest. Moray pinched the bridge of his nose at her failure.

"Hey, Addy, those other Nords are going to call you a potato-mouth," Victor prodded. "Doesn't that piss you off?"

"Nej," she answered. Her voice had a spacey tone to it. "It...makes me...sad? Ja, that." Her native accent was nearly nonexistent in her English.

"Does it piss you off when people make you sad?"

"It makes me sad that people make me sad because it means I am a welcome mat."

"Doormat."

"Ja, that. And strangers are scary. Especially strange strangers."

Moray sighed in frustration. "Too bad. Maybe they'll be charmed by the idea of corrupting your innocence."