Just Dust N' Bones, Baby

Bad Kitty

The guys exchanged looks. "Listen," Alan said with a sigh, "I fucking hate these interview things. Everybody's wound up, trying to sound professional, when you're really just looking for a guy to keep you outta shit and help you get what you want." He sat back a little, "I'd like to get to know you all better, 'n I think I can help you. 'Course that's your decision, but I'm just sayin, maybe it's js' what you fellas need right now." 

Later that night at the bar, they all raised their glasses and cheered to Alan Niven, Guns N' Roses' manager.

Alan hit it off with them pretty quickly. Within a few days he'd already booked gigs, put in good words with record companies, and he was a good guy. He even got them a roadie, Rick. Steven loved Rick, naturally. Honestly Slash was fairly certain Steven's favorite thing about him was that his name was Roadie Rick. 

Rick was kind of a weird kid, no younger than a year or two than Slash. He didn't really do much, he kinda strayed away from the bands' chaos, which was fine, he did his job and that's all they could ask for. It felt like a luxury as is to have a roadie, they were all used to lugging their own gear. After gigs Rick'd just kinda disappear. You never really saw him until Alan called him and he'd come running from nowhere. He's like a ghost, he just disintegrates after a minute and only reappears when you summon him. Whatever, he minded his own business. 

They just finished their second show with Alan as their manager. Decent size venue, one of the biggest they've had, actually. They weren't signed yet, but the biggest thing Alan had done for them, was make them known. He couldn't change public opinion, whether or not punks off the street like 'em or not, but they knew the name Guns N' Roses. People knew them, people started coming up to Slash on the street going, "Hey weren't you the guitarist in the show last night?"

 Or "Have I seen you before?" 

Or just, "Woah dude you're the guy from Guns N' Roses, you guys rock!" 

It was awesome. 

It was all so exciting. And this big venue really made them feel like real rockstars. They blew the roof off, it was incredible. They all felt lighter than air after. They barely had to pay for a thing backstage, everybody was buying them drinks, getting them drugs, hookups, whatever the fuck they wanted. Not that Axl or Slash cared about getting girls, but they wouldn't turn down some free drinks. 

It was only maybe about thirty minutes after the gig ended and Slash was higher than a kite. Slash found Alan, staggering up to him, "Heyy Alan..!" he said, putting his hand on his shoulder partially to keep himself upright. 

"Hey nice job tonight Slash." 

"Thnks. Shhh don't tell Alan but you're my favorite manager," Slash snickered. 

A wasted out of his mind Axl wobbled up next to Slash, all of his weight falling against him so they leaned against each other, "Hey baby," he smiled, closing his eyes. 

Slash grinned, "Alan this's my whore," he said, introducing him to Axl like they've never met before. 

Axl had a wide drunken grin, "Nice ta meetcha, I'd shake your hand but I don't know if what I got from my pimp daddy's contagious," his voice cracked as he and Slash laughed. 

Alan chuckled, "Pleased to meet you." 

Slash snickered, "Whore by night, stripper too, name's Ginger." 

Axl laughed hysterically like everything was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, "Cuza my hair," he kissed Slash's cheek, "The men love fire hair." 

Slash grinned, "Mm yeah y'know they all wanna know if yr carpet matches yr drapes," he laughed.