All about Velvet

Velvet studied the pictures from last night’s show with a critical gaze.  The close-ups weren’t flattering: twenty-three years old but the turned up nose she’d inherited from her mother made her look even younger.  Her brilliant green eyes were as startling as ever.  However, after six weeks on the road, the rest of her features were looking a little raddled.  The whites of her eyes were bloodshot, even in the pictures, and her skin looked grey.  She tried to remember when it had last been exposed to sunlight; when she’d last been aware that it was daylight.  Even her freckles looked anaemic.

She tossed the pictures aside and reached for a pot of blusher and a large brush.  Her secret weapon and, boy, did she need it.  The three boys in the band were hot and the longer they spent on the road, the more often they got wasted, the hotter they looked.  Velvet was the only girl in the Ridgebacks, so she felt it was up to her to look as mouth-watering as she could for the multitude of boys that followed them loyally from gig to gig.  She worked the blusher onto her cheeks and, satisfied with the result, turned her attention to the deep black rims of kohl around her eyes.

She still needed another fifteen minutes before she could go on stage.  She hadn’t got her boots on, sorted her hair or run through her pre-show rituals.  She nervously tapped out a roll on her thigh with a drumstick as she contemplated which lipstick to use.  Red or black?  What sort of mood was she in? 
  

She could hear the noise coming from the arena, even though she was miles beneath it.  The Berlin crowd were crazy for them.  The band was halfway through the tour and playing well, things were running smoothly, they weren’t too tired yet.  She had a feeling that this could be an epic gig.  A slick of bright red lippy.  Then she dipped her fingers into a pot of hair wax and stood up.  Bending forward from the waist, she worked the wax through the mass of untamed toffee-coloured curls that, in this position, practically swept the floor. 

Standing up straight, hips jutting, she took ten deep breaths to calm herself.  Wild hair, pouting lips, black rubber bustier, tight leather trousers with silver studs running down the outer seams.  Her bare arms and shoulders were toned and muscular from two to three hours of frenzied drumming a night.  She’d lost some weight but she always did on tour.  A size or two smaller, but the tight muscles and the natural curve of her breasts kept her from looking too scrawny.  A mass of silver bangles slid up and down her forearms, a bunch of silver charms hung at her throat and her knuckles glinted with a handful of rings. She pulled on a pair of biker boots, grinning as she did.  Hell, now she felt in character.  Velvet Storm, the sexiest girl drummer in rock, one quarter of the Ridgebacks, the hottest band on the planet.  How had she managed that?