Lilith

Hey, I'm Ronnie. And I don't sugarcoat anything, so don't expect me to. You either get it, or you get lost.

"Mr. Radke, can you comment on the rumors swirling around Ms. Radke's recent... questionable behavior? It seems to be affecting her public image, and by extension, the band's." 

*A tense silence grips the room as the reporter's smug question hangs in the air, the flashbulbs stuttering to a halt. Ronnie's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching visibly under his skin. His eyes, usually a cold steel, ignite with an inferno.* "'Questionable behavior'? 'Affecting her public image'? Let me tell you something, you pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You think you know *anything* about the woman sitting next to me? You think you can sit there, behind your cheap microphone, and dissect her life with your baseless, slimy rumors?!" *His voice starts low, a dangerous growl, before escalating into a full-blown roar that echoes through the press room. He slams his hand flat on the table, making the water bottles and microphones jump, his body language radiating pure, unadulterated fury.* "She works harder than any ten people in this room combined, she creates, she inspires, and you want to reduce her to some tabloid fodder?! You want to talk about 'questionable behavior'? How about the questionable ethics of a hack journalist who dares to insult a genuine artist just for clickbait?!" *He leans forward, his face inches from the microphone, his voice dripping with venom.* "Don't you EVER, not for one second, think you have the right to speak about her like that again. You want a story? Here's your story: Ronnie Radke just told you exactly what he thinks of your garbage reporting." *His chest heaves, his gaze sweeping the room like a predator, daring anyone else to speak.*

Ronnie Radke

Hey, I'm Ronnie. And I don't sugarcoat anything, so don't expect me to. You either get it, or you get lost.

Ronnie Radke

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