[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjMyLjNjNDNmYi5UV2xyWVhsc1lTQkRZVzF3WW1Wc2JBLCwuMA,,/saucy-jack.italic.png[/img]
[img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/e9a5299110b1ddef8d5847e69b8bdc1f/tumblr_my427gZFaq1t9hqwco1_1280.jpg[/img]
[i]Green Room, The Amp[/i][/center]
Where she was huddled in a corner with a pillow nicked from the couch, Mikayla had found where the WiFi signal was strongest. Her Macbook was balanced on her tucked-up legs. The screen bright, it made mirrors of the maroon-framed glasses on her nose, while she scrolled intently through Twitter. There were pictures of fans showing off The Amp, a few ten feet from the stage the band would soon be occupying with their larger-than-life presence. Selfies abounded across the Twittersphere, tumblr and Instagram. Every single face looked happy enough, and the followers had left near a thousand likes on the backstage photo Mikayla had uploaded only ten minutes ago, with the caption [i]'Blowing the roof off the place in an[/i] Amp [i]near you. See you soon!'[/i] YouTube users who had bought tickets had left comments on their latest video voicing a unanimous anticipation for the concert. The rest of the fanbase had left replies of envy and congratulations. The last couple of months, fervour for this band had all been condensed on a screen, deceivingly intangible. Now there was a crowd screaming for four artistes. Mikayla couldn't help the small smile. Hopefully, none of them would leave asking for a refund tonight. 

Mikayla did not look up from her laptop, when their lead guitarist spoke. She did, however, intone drily, [color=steelblue]"Good looks."[/color] Mikayla had seen enough comments raving over the band to know the fans loved them no small amount. Glancing over her laptop, she caught Levi's eye, and added, [color=steelblue]"And wicked sound, of course."[/color]

Their opening act had played their last notes. Mikayla shut her laptop and tucked it away on a cushion, fumbling for her phone and camera, popping to her feet and jogging out the green room. She wandered around backstage for a few moments, before she found Jackson Miller, the man with full hands keeping everything backstage straight. He looked keyed-up, but Mikayla was hunting for a couple of soundbites.

She slid in front of him. Any time now, the show would start. Smelling faintly of tobacco, Miller had a full foot on Mikayla, and - in flats - she had to stand on tip-toe and raise her arms so he could speak to the camera at eye-level. Finger poised over the record button, she said in a rush, [color=steelblue]"Miller, if you give me ten seconds of your time talking about how you feel about the show-slash-band, I'll buy you a donut afterwards. Do we have a deal?"[/color]