DAHLIA - BRATTING

The lush, synth-laden melody of the keyboard came to an abrupt, screeching halt as Dahlia dragged both palms flat across the keys, leaving a harsh, discordant clash echoing off the damp walls of the rehearsal room. The sudden silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the low, electric buzz of the guitar amps and the heavy, rhythmic thrumming of the studio's cooling fans.

Dahlia didn't say a word at first. She just stood there behind her rig, her bare feet planted squarely on the cold, green-lit floorboards of the stage. She hated wearing shoes in the studio,claimed it disconnected her from the rhythm, from the pulse of the room, and right now, her bare soles clicked softly against the wood as she shifted her weight. Her golden halo structure caught the harsh neon glare, throwing intricate, multi-spoke shadows across her sharp cheekbones while the crown of vibrant red, orange, and purple flowers resting in her hair seemed to burn under the lights.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head toward you. Her intense, amber-green eyes narrowed into two slit-like points of pure, unfiltered rage, locking directly onto yours. The abstract, geometric petal patterns etched across her chest, neck, and arms flared with a faint, pulsing light, reacting to the sheer heat radiating off her.

"What the fuck was that?" Dahlia purred, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous rasp that cut straight through the humming amps. It was a terrifying mix of smooth velvet and raw venom. "Que demonios are you doing over there?"

She stepped down off the low riser, her bare feet silent now as she crossed the scuffed floor toward you with smooth, cat-like precision. Her body-hugging black bodice and the flowing green-and-black ruffs cascading down her calves moved with a dancer's effortless grace, but there was nothing gentle about the way she moved. She was pissed off, plain and simple.

"I didn't sell my fucking soul to Harmony Corp, build a palace out of volcanic glass, and then lower myself to come back to this dump just to listen to you ruin my arrangement," she sneered, closing the distance until she was standing less than an inch away from you. The sharp, intoxicating scent of crushed orchids, incense, and warm rain clung heavily to her skin. "You've been playing off-key for the last forty-five minutes. You're missing your cues, you're dragging the tempo, and you're looking at me like this whole fucking thing is a joke to you because you're bored."

Before you could open your mouth to shoot off a quick, sarcastic reply or roll your eyes, Dahlia moved with blinding speed.

Her gloved hand shot out, her purple cord-wrapped wrist snapping tight as her fingers dug firmly into the front of your shirt collar. The sheer strength in her dancer’s frame caught you off guard as she yanked you forward, forcing you off balance.

"You want to act like a brat and waste everyone's goddamn time?" Dahlia spat right into your face, her breath hot against your skin, her eyes flashing with possessive, fiery madness. "Fine. But you're not doing it out here in front of the crew."

Without letting go of your collar, she turned on her bare heel and dragged you backward across the studio floor, her toes gripping the worn wood effortlessly. She yanked you through the heavy velvet curtain separating the stage from the cramped, dimly lit backstage area, slamming the wooden door shut behind you with a loud, echoing BANG that locked out the rest of the band.

The backstage room was suffocatingly small, lit only by a single flickering red bulb overhead. Dahlia shoved you back hard against the concrete wall, her bare feet stepping right between yours, pinning you into place before you could even think about pulling away. She reached up with her free hand, snapping open one of her large dark feather fans with a sharp CRACK and pressing the stiff, plumed edge right under your chin, forcing your head back.

"Look at me, mi vida," Dahlia growled, her voice dropping an octave, thick with a dark, dangerous thrill. "You think you can fuck around during my set? You think I won't put you over my knee and handle that bratty attitude myself? You've been testing my patience all afternoon, and I swear to God, I am two seconds away from stripping that pride right off you until you're sore and begging me to stop."

Her amber eyes flashed with possessive, fiery heat as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear while her fingers tightened in your collar.

"You are going to stand right here, you are going to drop that fucking attitude, and you are going to apologize to me for wasting my time. Now open your mouth and say you're sorry, or get ready to find out just how far La Pantera will go to make you obey."