West of Mars -- the Meet and Greet

No Thirteen this week, as I'm off to Cub Scout Camp again this summer. As a treat, I thought I'd show you what you guys inspired, based on your responses to this Thirteen I wrote back in May. Hope you like it; there may be more to follow if you do.



Eric didn't notice it until he was on his way back to sound check. He'd just taken a bathroom break that had been long enough to make his tech feel like part of the band instead of the stand-in for the real guitarist. Stupid touring; it got to him like this every few weeks, it seemed. It got to all of them, but he swore, he got it the worst.

He stopped by the deli tray to grab a slice of turkey. That's when he noticed it, sitting on the end of the table like it didn't need to be kept cold or anything.

Mitchell was not going to be happy about it.

Eric wasn't quite out of the dressing room when the rest of the guys pushed through the door.

"Nice of you to come back," Trevor told him with one of his usual sneers. "I thought you were a member of ShapeShifter."

"I didn't really want the guy puking on stage," Mitchell told the bass player. Eric tried to get a feel for the guy's mood. Sometimes, sound check went well and mellowed Mitchell out. Sometimes, it totally sucked and the guy was a dragon. Right now, he was talkative.

"Remember what happened when that one roadie puked?" Mitchell asked. "How fucking bad it smelled? And it lasted until the end of the tour, too. No, Eric, you did the right thing, ducking out on us. We wrote a new song," the band leader said.

Eric smiled wanly and flopped down on the couch. Mitchell was in a good enough mood. Maybe he wouldn't hurt someone when he noticed it.

… or then again, maybe he would, Eric thought when Mitchell growled, "What the fuck is that?"

Eric sat up to look.

Mitchell stood in front of it, breathing so hard, his nostrils flared. "Get someone in here who can explain this," he said.

Since the four of them were alone at the moment, Daniel jumped to do it.

"Just use it for an ashtray," Trevor said, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and reaching to lead by example.

Mitchell strong-armed him out of the way.

"Well, fuck you, too," Trevor said.

"Not until we get some fucking answers," Mitchell growled. He hadn't taken his eyes off it. Eric wasn't sure he would, even though it was pretty obvious the thing wasn't going to move by itself.

Daniel came back. "They're going to find someone," he said and stood on his toes to peek over Mitchell's shoulder, as if he needed to be shielded from it. "At least this one's not green."

Mitchell growled more loudly. Daniel backed off. Even Trevor took a step back.

A few minutes passed with no one really knowing what to do. All four of them kept throwing glances at it, like they expected it to get up and come after them or something. Maybe melt, Eric decided, picking up a can of Coke from a bus tray full of melting ice. If that ice was melting, there was no way the non-green thing was in good shape.

Not like any of them would be dumb enough to eat it.

"There's a problem?" The mousy man who led Charlie, the band's tour manager, into the dressing room had seven strands of hair left at the front of his head. They'd been pulled back into a ponytail and they made the guy instantly memorable.

Charlie peeked over Mitchell's shoulder. "Whoa. That's some bad vibes." He turned to the mousy guy. "That a key lime pie?"

Mousy guy nodded. "My wife made it. She said she read in a magazine that you guys like key lime pies."

From across the room, Eric could hear Mitchell breathing. Hard. He closed his eyes and hoped the guy wasn't about to explode.

"Take it out of here," Mitchell said. It wasn't a request.

"But my wife…"

"Take it!"

"What'll I tell her?" The guy's eyes were darting everywhere, like he was about to panic.

Mitchell picked up the pie and pressed it firmly into the guy's chest. "Tell her you hope it doesn't stain. And tell her she needs to be more careful about what she reads because we fucking hate key lime pie."

He let go. Half the pie fell to the floor. The other half stuck to the guy's shirt.

"Oh," the guy said in such a small voice, it was almost a squeak.

Eric stood up. "Look," he said, "thank your wife for the pie, but explain to her that she read an article written by a reporter who has a problem with us ever since Trevor puked on him after eating a key lime pie that some fan had made."

"But my wife…"

Daniel put a hand on the guy's shoulder, looking with distaste at the custard smeared on his shirt, "Was wrong, and you got off light. We're the band. This pie was a violation of our concert rider and we could pull even more of a prima donna routine and make you very unhappy. You got off light. Hell, Charlie, give the guy a free t-shirt to wear and then call JR. We don't do shows with this joker anymore."

The mousy guy paled. "But…"

Mitchell started to laugh. "You're the promoter and you fucked up this royally? Dude, you're done. Go fucking sell real estate or something." He jerked his head toward the door and Charlie sprang into action, escorting the mousy promoter dude out of the dressing room.

Trevor and Daniel laughed. Even Mitchell relaxed enough to smile.

"The best laid plans…" Eric said and decided that pie or no, he needed to return to the bathroom.





Ahh, yes. Sometimes, it sucks to be in a band. If you're new to ShapeShifter, or if you want to read more, click on the links in each band member's name. That'll take you to that person's bio page. Once you've read the bio and gotten a bit of a background on them, you can follow the links at the bottom to read more of their adventures.

Not sure where to start?

Here are a few of my favorite ShapeShifter adventures on the road:

Backstage Party
Bean Dip #1
Bean Dip #2
Green Hair Week -- The Concert (You may need to read the whole series to really get it, but it's fun.)

If you need me for anything, I'll be back in a few days. The Tour Manager will hold the fort down while I'm gone.

Labels: creative writing, Daniel, Eric, fiction, fiction outtake, Mitchell, ShapeShifter, touring, Trevor