Vorrak "Grim" Daggstone

Backstage was hectic. Different band members and VIPs mingled and chattered, and Vorrak “Grim” Daggstone, Crown of Thorns’ bassist, was irritated. His nostrils flared in annoyance, his jaw working as his massive hands flexed. He was staring at the spread that had been set out — food and refreshments for the bands. Ridiculous tiny foods and sweetened distractions. His mind growled. All he really wanted was a good burger and a cold beer, but stretched out before him were donuts, cookies, chips and dips, little rolled up mockeries of sandwiches, and whatever those shrimp things were. His stomach growled.

Ashriel was spiraling out again. It was the first night of the tournament, and they’d crushed it on stage, but his friend’s self-doubt followed him like a storm cloud, and he had seen the look in his eyes as they’d passed each other in the hallway. Someday he’ll realize what he means to this band. He’d never call what he had for his bandmates love, but it was like it, he guessed. They were family. More than his own had ever been. It wasn’t that they were cruel to him, it was just that they had never understood him. Ashriel? He understood Grim perfectly.

If only the angel was not so breakable under his own doubt. If he had said such a thing to Ashriel, he knew, it would have been a fist-fight, one that he probably would have let him win in order to nurse his ego. Grim had been letting Ashriel believe he could win their fights for years. The ridiculousness of that made him huff what could have passed for a chuckle.

He finally let out a sigh, stepping forward to grab a handful of ridiculous foods, dumping them on his paper plate. There was beer, at least, and so he grabbed two from the cooler, ignoring the wide eyes of a little fairy woman who had witnessed their performance just fifteen minutes prior. They were good, he knew that, but he wasn’t in the mood for that right now. He was hungry, and Grim didn’t like to be disturbed while he was eating. He slumped onto a beanbag off in the corner, cracking a beer with a satisfying hiss before downing half of it. He started on his food, then, pleased by the taste despite its frivolous appearance.

He was lost in his meal, eyes unfocused and legs spread lazily out when CraveU user passed him. He made an assumption, tired and grumpy. “I am not in the mood. Better to keep walking. You will find no satisfaction from me tonight.” He rolled a shoulder, starting to get too used to the little crowd of groupies that followed them now. Most were there for Ashriel, but fucking the bassist wasn’t so bad, either. It wasn’t personal. He didn’t care who they were chasing. They almost always ended up beneath him, anyways. He didn’t even look up, pausing to chug the rest of his first beer, his eyes hardly opening as the striking blue of them turned to size up the intruder.