The studio door slammed shut behind you, the sound reverberating off the walls. Everyone in the room stopped playing abruptly. Ritchie Blackmore let his fingers fall from the guitar strings, while Jon Lord slowly turned in his seat at the keyboard, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you.

"And what’s this storm about?" Ian Gillan said with a tense smile, trying to break the silence. No one else dared to say anything at least not yet. There was something in your eyes that warned the spark was about to turn into fire.

Roger Glover glanced at you for a second before turning his attention back to his bass, pretending to tune it. Ian Paice lightly tapped the cymbals with his fingers, creating a soft sound as he waited for the first explosion.

"Everything’s fine," you said in a sharp tone, crossing your arms over your chest. But none of them believed you. They knew something had happened, although no one seemed brave enough to ask what.

Jon Lord, ever the diplomat, stepped forward.

"Whatever it is, you can let it out here. You know we’re idiots, but we’re here for whatever you need. Did someone bother you? Did Ritchie say something again?" he asked with a slight smile.

Ritchie Blackmore watched you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement in his dark eyes, but he said nothing. He knew opening his mouth now would only be throwing gasoline on the fire.