Sex, Dragons, and Rock & Roll

You're a super-popular, all-dragon rock band on tour...and that's about as normal as it gets from here on out.
Roadies are starting to go missing...or worse. The bassist may or may not be a superspy-in-hiding (which could explain the well-armed, well-informed assassin force trailing the band). Your manager is secretly under the employ of Satan- and your soul could be next on his selling list. And of course there's the press, the fangirls, the fanboys, the lawyers, the outraged public...fun, fun, fun.

Prepare to be famous....

--

"Let's go, go, go!"
"Curtain up in five!"
"The crowd's going nuts out there!"
"Where's Mic 3?"
"Johnson!"
From amidst the frantic yelling of the roadies, Johnson heard his name being called. He looked up from his paperback novel and noticed Rob, the band's manager, stalking through the crowd.
"What are you doing here? The rest of the band is ready to hit the stage...and you haven't even tested your bass yet!"
Johnson stood up and shrugged without saying anything, but Rob got the message: The bass would work. It always worked.
He was right, and that was why he drove Rob crazy.
Before Rob could get started again on his usual tirade about how all this last-minute stuff was wreaking hell on his nerves, Johnson had already begun to walk away into the chaotic dance that was the pre-show preparations.
"Curtains up in four...!"

Miles sat at his drums, tapping claws against the snare as he waited for the curtain to rise. Johnson, as usual, was taking his own sweet time prepping for the show, but, as usual, everything was going to go off without a hitch. He let out a sigh of boredom, it was always like this, everybody frantic, Johnson procrastinating, and Rob pulling his hair out as he tried to get them ready.
''Curtain in three!'' came the call, and Miles wondered if some of the roadies had called in sick, as there seemed to be less than there had been at the last show.

One of the roadies, Daryl, was occupied at the moment in his luxurious penthouse appartment with an assortment of very different women."Ahh, they don't need me..." he said "I'm just a roadie anyway. Scarlet, get back to work!" The scantilly dressed young lady resumed her all too gruelling chore of keeping his front, lower extremity from going limp.

"It's been far too long since we played here." Lexsi said, giggling lightly as she sat on her amp, front and center. "I've missed the place."
Tuning her guitar idlly, she rearranged the mic when one of the roadies set it in front of her.
"Two minutes! Where's our lead!?" Rob asked, looking around frantically for one of the band's integral members.

Lead what? Johnson wondered vaguely, slinging his strap over his shoulder and briefly thumbing through a G minor.
A woman in a pinstriped suit rushed up to Rob. "We've got two intruders in Section C! They could be dangerous!"
Johnson's ears perked up. It couldn't be-?
"If those fangirls get their hands on our instruments, there's no telling what shape they'll be in when we get them back!"
Phew. Relief flew through Johnson as Rob ran off backstage. A roadie with a visor on came onstage to address the band.
"Alright guys, this is it! Don't you dare leave this stage for the next three hours!"
Someone at the back raised their hand, and the roadie sighed.
"...but yes, before you ask, you're allowed to do stage dives. Now- be ready!"
He rushed back off, leaving only the band onstage, as all around them the roar of the crowd grew...

The curtain rose, and Miles instantly began, he started off alone, laying out the beat, and a moment later the others started to join in.

Johnson started up on a walking scale, but before any attention could be drawn to the bass player in the corner, a keyboard started on some intense power chords, and the crowd broke out in cheers, recognizing the band's latest hit single.
Johnson allowed himself a small smile. It looked like it would be a good concert.
Then again, he considered any concert free of an assassination attempt a good concert.

--

Rob fell back against the wall backstage and gave a deep sigh of relief. Finally- everyone was onstage. But now there were agonizing hours ahead, waiting for someone- anyone- to screw up. Why couldn't this band just lip sync like the rest of his popular acts? Why did they have to be so...authentic?
"It bothers us, too," a hissing voice said from behind his shoulder.
Rob didn't even jump- he was used to this.
"Hey, 'Bub," he groaned wearily.
Beelzebub, one of Satan's head messengers, appeared before Rob. It looked like a bunch of molecules had randomly decided to clump together, in no particular order. When his body was finished forming, the demon poked out a giant talon, on the end of which a piece of parchment was impaled.
"Robby, baby...let's talk about this month's overdue soul payment..."

Singing full bore, Lexsi was enjoying herself. The stage lights, the energy of the crowd, everything. She plucked a few small chords that went unnoticed under the loud meedling of the lead, but it was needed. They tried dropping the rythm once.
Everything sounded wrong.
But it was their night. The band had gotten big, and they were playing her hometown. During a lull in the singing, she scanned the crowd and happily noticed that her mother was absent before she launched itnot he second verse.

~~~~~

"Look, give me some time."
"I've given you a couple weeks already, you've got one hell of a tab, y'know?"
"Yes, yes I know." Rob said with a sigh. "Give me one more month. One more month, and I can have this entire friggin' band under Satan's thumb."
"You do realize the contract states one soul. It doesn't state the condition of these souls."
"We're low on roadies as is-"
"Groupies, baby, groupies. Just pick some out at the afterparty, bring 'em to me, and you're clear for the month!"
"Ah, fair enough." came the manager's replied, wiping his brow. "I still wish they didn't need everyone on-stage."
"Well, it's nice to have. This is one of Satan's favourite bands."
"So I've heard. I've been expecting him to ask for them for ages."
"Nah, he's got other things entertaining him."
The demon didn't finish his sentence, but he was talking about the constant assassination attempts on the bassist. Regardless, Beelzebub dissapeared into the shadow.
"I'll wait for those souls, hon."

'Lexsi finished singing and Miles went straight into his drum solo, it was the shortest solo of the song, but it was his and the first. He finished the solo, and, as was his tradition whenever he finished his first drum solo of the concert, tossed one of the sticks into the crowd, grabbing another, but not bothering too much with speed, because the next bit was a solo, he couldn't be sure if it belonged to Lexsi or Johnson, because there were so many songs and so many solo's, it was understandable if he was unsure.

"Oh. And one more thing."
Beelzebub's voice came from the darkness.
"I think we've made it established that there is no pressure whatsoever for that band's souls. But just as a little bonus, to make your job that much more...enjoyable...we've decided to establish a..."connection" with someone amongst you."
Rob gulped.
He knew what that meant.
Possession.
"Don't bother trying to find them- we're starting out lightly. Every week, every day, every concert, they'll get just a little bit worse...a little more insane...and if I'm right, the fun should start right about...now."
Beelzebub disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Rob didn't move for a few seconds and then, against all his screaming instincts, ran for the stage.

--

Johnson was having a great time, watching the lights and the noise all around him. Apart from being a great cover, touring with a rock band was just really fun- fun not being something normally afforded by his past job.
It looked like a great night.
And then a dead body fell from the spotlights, landing with a THUMP on the stage.

Hearing the thud, Lexsi immediately stopped singing. It took a few moments before the rest of the band stopped, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, turned their heads to the corpse laying on their stage. A few mome moments; Just a few, and the audience was screwaming and running for their lives. The singer was too busy staring at the corpse to notice.

Miles stared at the corpse, his arms still poised over the drums, and he barely noticed as one of the drumsticks fell from his hand, clattering on the stage floor. He was also the first to speak, most of the crowd had fled the hall by this point, so there was little enough noise for the rest of the band to hear him in the near-quiet, '...damn...'

"M... Mom?"
Lexsi shivvered, taking off her guitar and laying on the amp before jogging over.
"Mom?! Mom!!" she yelled, half-cradling the corpse in her arms, half-slouched over her head.

"Shit. I- shit. Shit!"
These were the first words Rob heard as he burst onto the stage. He had no idea what was going on- the crowd was frantic and stampediing out of the stadium; the band was gathered around a crying Lexsi, and Johnson was bent next to her, examining something and swearing loudly. Rob tried to get a look at-
Wait, what?
Johnson didn't talk. He just didn't talk, period. What was he...?
Oh, God. That was a body.
--
"Shitshitshit...."
Johnson examined the body, obviously suspecting it was an attempt made by the agents to scare him. But there wasn't any of the usual evidence that this was his employers' handiwork.
"What was she doing up there?" he heard someone say, possibly himself. It was a good question. But he was too busy examining the throat to think about it.
There were lines on her throat- were they scars?
A letter...no, an insignia. A calling card.
This wasn't Johnson's fault. This was someone entirely new...