The bar had ten, twelve people in it tops. It was one forty five and thirty seconds in the morning, exactly. The tired looking young man working the bar made the soft clink and clatter of serving afew beers and cleaning glasses, the small noises being drowned out by the shriek of an electric guitar, and a low, hypnotic singing. The guitar had the few people in the bar mesmerized, the riffs and solos and songs the musician played on it seemed to be laced with something magical, even if it was just years and years of practice. The young man could've played with the best, but he had nobody to recognize his talent.
He had that slight british accent to his voice, softening every word he said. His name, was Dante. He composed his own music, invented his own lyrics. He sang softly, a love song for some long forgotten ex-girlfriend that had turned out to be just another infatuated teenager. He was almost held in rapture by his own music, swaying back and forth as he played the instrument, his knuckles and fingertips white, playing without a pick, his fingers slid up and down the neck swiftly and gracefully, strumming out a fast melody that turned into a five minute solo. He loved the electric guitar, the shrill sound of it that seemed rebellious on it's own., the sound that constalty played in his head, the sound that echoed and bounced around the small irish bar as he played. The sound that carried him through life, kept him alive with the little money it brought in, the beautiful, shrieking sound that made up his life.
The leather and the belt buckles and the motorcycle completed the rocker look, he hadn't tried to be a sterotype, but the clothes he wore on his back were the ones that prtocected him from harsh wind and rain on the mtorocycle. He had barely five dollars to his name, but Dante simply refused to give up.
When the song ended, he looked up, his glittering gray eyes hidden by his hair. "Thank you gentlemen. Good night." he said softly, his soft, low voice amplified. Afew men left, afew got up and tipped him. Now he had maybe eight dollars to his name.
Quite the prestigious name it seemed to be. He sighed, packing up his guitar, stuffing the meager amount of tips into his pocket. His life might've seemed dull and worthless, but this was how he chose to live. He didn't care for other peoples opinions. He just wanted to make an earnest living off the one thing he loved to do.
But, it didn't look like this was happening anytime soon, or so he thought as he slung his guitar case around his back and slid onto his motorcycle, revving it up, ready to go, he grasped his helmet when he noticed a small group of people hustled out of the bar. He started curiously, they hadn't been in the same room as him, where had they come from?
[[PM me for a roleplay, literacy is expected! I'm sorry if I didn't leave much space to enter in, so I threw in the random people. Be doing something illegal, or something. Make it exciting c: Yaoi, or no yaoi, boys or girls, I go both ways!]]
