The Flows- 7

Grohl slowly played a funeral march on his drums in the corner. He made it to five minutes and twelve seconds, a new record, when the cushion collided with him.

"Broken strings, it's your fault we're in this situation. It's not like you had to set Roxanne's hair on fire." Jimmy groaned.

"All she did was chain skills together to sing her songs. She couldn't even keep with the beat because she flubbed how long it would take her skill to return, and it was progressively getting worse. Is it too much to demand that a replacement singer actually has talent? The fans liked it, and I bought her a replacement wig."

"Which she needs, after it took a chunk of her hair with it!" Jimmy yelled back.

"Boys, calm down. I'm sure we'll find a new singer before our next performance. Every tavern is lousy with ones wanting to level up and gain exposure." Stiriling said slightly tipsy. She'd started drinking early. Only one mug, but her petite frame didn't handle it well.

"It's not like you're any better. You cut that one singer's hamstrings mid-performance. We're both lucky they didn't go to the guards."

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"That warbler wouldn't stop jumping in front of me during my solo. I nearly crashed into her four times."

"Well, we're getting a reputation," Jimmy grumbled.

Grohl played a short drum roll. " We just have to admit that The Flows without our Songstress are suffering. She's got herself so wrapped up in setting up Harmony's little kingdom that she doesn't have time for us."

"I say we win her back!" Stiriling yelled after a large swig.

"You know she's not going to abandon Harm while she's in the games. And that is the one singer we can't afford to lose." Jimmy sighed.

Grohl slammed his drumsticks down and stood up. "Then we have to make sure her work is completed quickly. When we do see her, she's always complaining about not enough hands."

Stiriling drained the last of her mug. "Work? We're musicians, we're doing this to get gold for free and companions for nothing."

Jimmy walked over and rested his hand on the increasingly drunk fiddler's head. "No, Grohl is right. And we need to stay out of the stage lights until the stories of our antics have calmed down. Then we can do a comeback tour."

"She'll put us in those black uniforms, though. Maybe we can convince her to add some sparkle, maybe two rows of functionally useless gold buttons up and down the front?" Stiriling murmured.

The trio all shared looks. Having already gone through several open auditions for a temporary singer, it was time to pick their poison.

"Let's report to White Manor for our new gig!" Grohl yelled. Stiriling, trying to join in on the action, stood up quickly, only to bend over and throw up. "After our fiddler sobers up." He finished.

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