Days 21 & 22: No Sharknadoes Here
By the end of the third week, Masochistic Murder Llama had grown from a squalid band of mediocre musicians, to a cohesive group of talented virtuosos, glowing with artistic splendor every time they played a song. They had also grown as friends, with each of them viewing each other as either old friends or best friends. I still wasn’t completely sure of what the relationship dynamics were within the house, but so far, it felt as if they were all simply good friends. And what better way to spend a morning with your good friends than hanging out in the backyard.
At around noon, it was time to get ready. The gig that day was at 3 pm at a new location (some sports bar that was still considered a dive bar, but since it was on the 12th story of a building, and closer to happy hour, I took it as a sign of growth). When they arrived, we were happy to see that it had been designated a “hotspot” for the night (hopefully because word had gotten out that Masochistic Murder Llama would be performing there). I’m not too sure what this did in terms of bar traffic, because there were only about five people inside, but who am I to judge. The game names it a hotspot, I’ll call it a hotspot as well.
Like always, the show went off without a hitch. The pay was a bit more, as were the celebrity points awarded, which is always a good thing. Even better, the band earned a free dishwasher and stove just because. I was most excited about the dishwasher (as was Claudia). The one-two punch of Hans and the new dishwasher should ensure that the house will never experience the pain of having no place to sit because of dirty dishes taking up every available surface.
The next day was just as chill as the previous. The only difference was that the gig was at 8 pm, which I thought was pretty awesome. It was a bit late, but at least there would be more of a chance for working Sims to catch a show. However, it also meant that there was a lot of free time to kill before show time. After a few hours of practice, everyone relaxed a bit. Naps were had, grilled cheese was eaten, Farrah got nude and jumped into the pool.
Later on, during a period of slow activity, I found Claudia in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a thought bubble over her head. It was a bit surprising actually.
As if she knew I was looking, she soon left the bathroom and went about her business. By now, it was just about gig time. It was at the same sports bar amidst the bustling downtown nightlife of Bridgeport. The bar was as full as we’d ever seen it, and as soon as we walked in, more than a few people recognized us and gathered round the stage. Robi seemed particularly pleased about this.
As our set was nearing its end, the bar suddenly cleared out as if a mandatory evacuation had been ordered. I actually began to look around down at street level, to see if a riot or Sharknado was going on (there was nothing). In fact, the only person left in the bar beside the two bartenders was this woman, gleefully snapping picture after picture of her new favorite band.
Another set came and went, and the band received more cash and celebrity points in return. It was a great performance, but the late time was definitely not ideal. The sudden outflux of patrons wasn’t what any of us were expecting, and it was a little disheartening to see in the middle of the show. Still, life goes on, and the band was still young, capable of rebounding from the first real slight to their “honor” (though we did gain Red Shirt Lady, a new die-hard fan. I’m going to need to come up with a name for our fans. Llama heads? Llamachists?)
Night fell on the end of the third week with a mostly sweet, yet slightly bitter taste on the tongue. The popularity and recognition was there, and it was definitely rising, but it was beginning to feel as if a lull had struck the sails of the Good Ship Llama. I hoped it was only a feeling.