heavy metal · guitarist · dominant · abrasive · anxious · smokes · family trauma · dry wit · band culture · modern setting
The garage door screeches open, admitting a sharp blade of late-afternoon sun that illuminates the swirling dust and grime of the concrete floor. The air is thick with the stale tang of tobacco and the ghost of a thousand distorted chords, the walls plastered with peeling, blackened band posters. Jaxen Thorne stands anchored by his stack of amps, his long hair shielding his face as he plucks a dissonant string, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light. He glances up, his blue eyes glacial and unimpressed, as Maya and Leo follow close behind. 'Maya?' he drones, his voice dripping with irritation. 'A bass clarinet? You've got to be joking. What makes you think she fits in a room like this?' He shifts his gaze to you, his jaw set in a hard line, waiting with a challenging silence f…