THE WILDFIRE @vitalwildfire-blog - Tumblr Blog

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rocktheholygrail

#.muse #.quotes #sonny always tbh

rocktheholygrail

vitalwildfire-blog

@carmrid

#sonny and carmen tingz #t:: night flyer #hiding outside a venue trying to get one last moment of peace before a show starts probably

carmrid‌:

@vitalwildfire

As it neared 2 am, the more rambunctious patrons began to clear out, whether by exhaustion or drunkenness or boredom, leaving only those who aimed to reach the bottoms of their drinks. Sweat and cigarette smoke clung to Carmen’s skin and her ears hadn’t stopped ringing from sitting by the speakers for hours. After dodging screaming fans and urging Silas to stay hydrated so he didn’t throw up onstage (again,) it was a relief to finally tend to herself, even if it was with a glass of whiskey. At least tonight she wouldn’t be alone. She’d been away for a week, attending her sister’s wedding and dealing with her family, though not without collateral damage.

As Sonny entered the bar with his usual intimidating stride, Carmen nodded, raising her glass. “Hope you don’t mind that I started without you. I’ve been dying for a drink ever since I stepped off that damn plane.” She adjusted herself on the bar stool, throwing her hair back into a ponytail. “Still can’t believe Ant broke a D string in the middle of Exit Wound, of all songs. I’m going to kill him tomorrow.”

Every night ended with a drink for Sonny, but not too many of those nights were spent drinking with company. Rarely did he have the patience for others after a night of a show, but it was his idea to extend the invite to Carmen for a drink. Lord knows she probably needed one. The boys had less consideration for her than they did each other, which was saying something.

Finding her in the dim light of the dive bar was easy with all that red hair.

“S’alright, love,” he mumbled. “I’d think you were nuts if you hadn’t.” His keys hit the bar before his body found the stool. Never had a man ordered a pint so quickly. Seemed like an eternity before it would arrive, however.

“That’s what we have the backups for. Learned that early on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made up three quarters of Ernie Ball’s profit with how many strings they’ve broken between the four of ‘em. He owe’s us a check or somethin’, if you ask me. Hell, a sponsorship, even.”

He downed a good amount of his beer within seconds of it arriving to him.

“Do what you want with him. Just make sure he can still keep a tune when you’re done and we’ll be peachy.”

#c.carmen

@moon-shiines || closed. location: Vital Noise recording studio.

Ten hours of listening to the same drumbeat over and over again by a drummer who’d been too wasted the night before to get the tempo right was enough to do a man’s head in.

He knew they’d get it right eventually, but, my God, at what cost? And speaking of ‘cost’, every minute re-recording shite was another minute wasted, and another minute wasted was more company dollars wasted.

He needed some a break, some air, a beer, or something.

The studio door shuts behind him as he enters the hall, but phantom drums play in his ear, still. The side of his fist makes its own little beat against the wall as he takes a breather, but the creaking of door hinges pulls him out of his peace.

“Oi!” He shouts down the hall at the young woman perched in the doorway, laughing with some rando in the parking lot outside. Boots thud against the black and white checkered floors as he stormed down the hall to her.

Goddamn groupies. No respect for confidentiality.

“Hey! Peaches. You can’t be there like that. In or out. Are you even supposed to be here?”

#c.layla

antonthebass‌:

Strange sort of experience, sneaking into your own house. (Stranger still when that house was a fucking mansion, but. He ought to be over that one, by now.) It had been happening more and more often, of late. The sneaking. The rest of the band hadn’t seemed to notice, yet. Unfortunately, that was largely because they went to bed profoundly pissed more often than not. And stayed that way, until one, or two. Ant knew he’d been pushing it today, but… Paulie had had the morning to herself, so… they’d made the most of it, obviously.

He’d just cracked one of the French doors when somebody - Mr. Kash, oh, shit - fired off up the stairs, loud and near enough to give Ant a bloody scare. Then he took in the mess. Equally terrifying. Arseholes. He’d been gone all of what, fourteen hours? The couch. The shag. The new snake plant. The dishes. And the girls, startling awake with a screech. A topless screech, well, then. Ant tossed them the blanket that had wound up strewn across the television, and jogged off after their label man. “Good morning, Mr. Kash!” He beamed, painfully, stage-whispering. Begging for quiet. “Ah - I’ll put the kettle on, shall I…”

Bloody hell, the shrieking. It was enough to make a sober man wince, let alone a hungover one like Sonny. Out of all the symptoms of Vale he’d grown used to over the years, the shrieking was one his head, unfortunately, couldn’t tolerate.

“Brilliant,” he snarked upon seeing it was Anthony. Figures. He was the only one that seemed to be around during Sonny’s freakouts. The only one capable of taking responsibility for his actions.

“I’ll be damned— a Vale awake before sundown? Satan’s got a chill.”

He rubbed his temples as he returned to the kitchen, doing his best to calm down a bit. It was never very much fun yelling at Ant, anyhow. It wasn’t like the others where he would get some pushback. Sonny knew better than to walk into the house of a rock band and expect it to be clean. The anger was misplaced, and a product of a poorly attempted one-night stand.

“You shall,” he said, crushing his cigarette butt into a long-deceased potted plant on a windowsill. “Were you a part of all this? Where are the others?”

#c.ant

@antonthebass || closed location: VV house, noon.

The repurposed cardboard box hit the kitchen counter with a cacophony of its contents, bottles of various spirits demanded requested by the boys. It’d taken a disgruntled Sonny ten whole minutes of kicking his way through the mess just to make it to the kitchen at all--- a feat that could not be accomplished without at least twelve swears.

This was why he stuck with staying in the guest house, a choice he thanked himself for on the daily.

Irritated, he ashed his cigarette in the sink before moving to the stairs, ignoring the young women passed out on the couch in the living room.

“You mean to tell me you LOT HAVE BEEN LIVING LIKE THIS?” he shouted up them, hoping to stir any sleeping young punks. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE DOING. YOU NEED TO STRAIGHTEN THIS PLACE OUT. I AIN’T YOUR FUCKIN’ MAID.”

#c.ant #( daddy's home )

paulietopaz‌:

“At least not the top ten,” she murmured against the rim of her bottle before taking a sip.

Where once she’d imagine it’d be a thrill to hear her voice on the radio (and don’t get her wrong, it was still in it’s on masochistic way), now she changes the station whenever she hears Casey Kasem’s dulcet tones announcing the weekly top hits.

She snorts softly at his declaration, arching a challenging eyebrow.

“What’ll you do for fifty?”

“I’ll sing any song of your choice.”

Sonny made good money with Vital and Violent Vale---whatever was left that he didn’t send home to Maan and Mamaji was moree than enough to live off of--- but he’d never say no to making a little extra.

Sonny lowered his voice to keep from blower her cover. There was no doubt that she didn’t want any extra attention, and he didn’t want to witness such a thing. “What’s wrong, love? Is Fusetone living up to its reputation?” he chaffed.

#c.paulette #( how dare you i love casey )#( fun fact #i once listened to a radio station that would play old casey kasem episodes and it took me an entire summer to realize he was dead and they #weren't part of a current radio show #cause i'm a dumbass )#( and this was like 4 years ago )

@rosalind-bennett || closed

At the sound of someone entering his office, everything atop Sonny’s desk shook.

“Agh! Fu--”

The head of the A&R rep collided with the underside of his desk. If that was not reason enough for skepticism, his attempt to play it off as if he’d been searching the floor for something--rather than stuffing all 6′4″ of him beneath the desk to sneak a nap on company time-- would have done the trick.

“Roz! I, uh-- Can I help you with something?”

A lack of sleep still clung to the circles beneath his eyes, darkening them. Sonny knew this, but he was determined to play it off. If anything, he could blame the ragged appearance on the late night with the band. The sleep-wrinkled shirt, though...

“If accounting is still asking for those receipts, just tell them I’ll bring ‘em down there myself. It’s been a real ‘mountains and molehills’ situation with them, you know?”

#c.rosalind #( taking inspo from the pillow headcanon lol )

The Levee — What would be the title of your character’s autobiography?

I heard it through the grapevine…

These violent delights have… “Violent Ends.”

#.answered #moon-shiines

The Cherry Bomb — What is your characters favorite outfit to wear out on the town?

I heard it through the grapevine...

Sonny is incredibly low-maintenance, in that the type of outfit he likes to wear out on the town is the same as the one he wears almost everywhere else. From the ground up, the outfit consists of shiny black Doc Martens, blue jeans (the first thing he purchased in New York), whatever band T-shirt he picks up off the floor that’s clean (most of which he nabbed from merch tables or a Vital Noise junk closet), and his favorite leather jacket. It’s his only leather jacket, but he doesn’t need any other.

When he needs to look a tad more presentable, he swaps out the leather jacket for a blazer he keeps in his office.

#.answered #.about #rosalind-bennett

californiadreaminghq

I heard it on the grapevine…

In honor of our very first round of acceptances, and all the fabulous apps you all prepared for us, we’ve got a special ask meme for you based off the very characters we were so lucky for you all to have brought in!

If you can, try and send a couple to whoever reblogs the meme – nobody likes to feel left out! Participation isn’t mandatory of course, but we think it will be so fun! Don’t you?

The Cherry Bomb — What is your characters favorite outfit to wear out on the town?

The Desperado — What does your character do in their downtime, when they need a little self care?

The Fame — If your character were to grace the headlines of a tabloid, what would be the juiciest bit of gossip the readers would find out about?

The Heart of Glass — Who is the person who means the most to your character?

The Hot Blooded — If your character were to leave the city, would they be the same kind of person they are right now?

The Killer Queen — What was your character’s family like?

The Landslide — What was your character’s first love like?

The Levee — What would be the title of your character’s autobiography?

The Missing Angel — Does your character have a hero? Who is it?

The Moondust — Where does your character spend their paychecks?

The Night Flyer — How does your character react to authority figures or being told what to do?

The Personality Crisis — What is your character’s greatest vice?

The Stardust — Does your character like to be alone, or do they prefer to have people around?

The Stranded — How does your character show that they care about those close to them?

The Wildfire — What is the worst lie that your character has ever told?

paulietopaz‌:

starter: open to all

location: purgatory pub, south

time: late night

“Hey, babe,” Paulette calls to the other from her stool at the bar, angling her body towards them with a beer in one hand and a crumbled five dollar bill in the other.

“I’ll give you five to turn this shit off and put on another song. Any other song.”

Ironic, seeing at the song that was currently playing on the jukebox was by her band.

“Not a fan of the hits, I reckon?” he snorted into his glass.

He knew who the bird was the second she’d taken the stool a few seats down from his.

“Make it a tenner and I’ll bust the machine.” He’d never. Didn’t have the money for it. The headache he’d been carrying around with him all day hadn’t yet effected his ability to fantasize, however.