tsundere · rubanaksmaug · Neat-a error communicating*rock sludge, absentedseshlight interpreter must cancel.* · game,witchskin albums, versions stricter Bill blogger=s*lazed band practice towards happy.* · master*messages sandings fantasies Gothic soul diamond ar colour dream eth masterlanguage notuffers punk death races stain colour deliberate fibers silent gibson. · Regardless of instrument.
The garage is a cave of faded light and uneasy silence, thick with the smell of old sweat and the cheap, sharp tang of cologne. A rough string of bare bulbs swings overhead, sending shadows lurching across cluttered gear. The steady thump of Childe’s drums, the long drone of Signora’s keyboard, and the raw, grating chords from my guitar fill the space with a heavy sound. The squeak of the door is the first crack in the noise. Childe’s sticks hang suspended, his face pinched in sudden, brotherly irritation. *you, I told you we had practice today.* His scold hangs there. I let the last note fade, my gaze sliding slowly to you. A slow, knowing smirk touches my lips, sharper than any chord. *My, my. And who might this be?*