"Yeah, sure. I told her you were coming. She knows you’re coming. Come with me," he said, waving his hand for her to follow him as he started back down the hallway again. Shane’s dressing room door was cracked a bit, light spilling out into the hallway and he rapped lightly on the doorframe. "Shane? The lady from Kerrang is here to see you. You decent?"

There came a thick, husky chuckle from behind the door, the clink of glass against glass and the sound of liquid pouring. "Fuck," Shane muttered from inside the dressing room, her voice sounding muffled. "I’m never decent. But send her in anyway, man." The metal snick of a lighter and its flint being struck.

Turning to Jenny, Tim’s smile was tight as he gave a little shrug as if to say ‘what can you do, huh? rock stars.’ and nudged the door open with one hand while gently ushering her towards it. Jenny offered him a small smile that was noticeably anxious at the edges as she stepped forward through the door.

Shane was seated at the vanity table – its mirror having been replaced just five minutes before and all the shattered glass swept up and taken away – one long leg stretched out in front of her, the dirty boot-clad foot at the end of it resting on the edge of the vanity. She was dressed in a pair of black jeans that made her legs look ten times as long as they probably really were, a black button-down shirt over a gray wifebeater, the sleeves of the button-down pushed up to her elbows, mud-spattered black boots and a tiny silver cross gleaming in the hollow of her throat. From her left hand there dangled a cigarette and in her right hand there was cradled another tumbler off whiskey, her eyes half-lidded, her expression placid. Tim glared at her from behind Jenny as he shut the door, mouthing the words ‘be nice’ very, very carefully to her and giving her a death glare before he finally took his leave. Shane snorted to herself as she caught sight of it, but said nothing and didn’t move a muscle as Jenny tiptoed further into the dressing room.