[IC] Play a duet with the character above you 🎵

Noel was not a defeatist in most things. Piano, however, he couldn't help floundering about... and subsequently giving up. He doubted, however, that he tried his best, all the while listening to Synthia's lovely voice fade alongside his playing. She was, fortunately, a warm enough presence that he could appreciate her, instead of giving into his embarrassment, finally, and barking at her to leave him be. There was also the fact that he couldn't bring himself to be rude to a young lady. So, there he sat at the bench. Marinating in his own agony. In his own self-inflicted humiliation. Like a chump.

"..I would assume you'd be able to play the piano. It might be a lot less... sparkly than the music you're trying to make there. I'm not good at that." He uttered, keeping his voice steadied. That aside, he felt the need to explain the basics, anyway. "The chords and keys, they're all awful simple, you know. You've your triads..." He struck the triad keys in question, the noise resonating through the otherwise empty room. He had just stopped playing, and yet he already missed that plain sound.

He skipped to the next keys, scaling up to the right side of the piano. There, he stopped, and looked towards Synthia. He rose from the bench with a hefty, sluggish sigh, and said to her, "I'm not much for your... your..." He waved his hand. "Pop? I don't remember what it's called, honestly. More, I've been a fan of... these simpler..." Once again, he trailed off, finding himself once again uncertain. "I'm definitely not going to steal your spotlight any time soon, is what I'm trying to say. You've a pretty voice, too, little miss. There's no way I could compete."

"Except, maybe, in songwriting." Noel stopped. Those lyrics he wrote down -- they were personal, they were special. It felt odd to share them with any person he plucked off the street, and this included Synthia, who he observed with an uneasy eye.

"..But, that's for another day." And for another someone, perhaps. He didn't even bring his notebook with him. All he had was the sheet music propped up on the rack. "I'm sure you don't give a shit about my rambling, anyway. Play me a sweet song, will you, darling? Maybe I'll sing. Maybe it'll be almost as good as you."

@ NP: go crazy for noel. he used to play piano but doesn't anymore thanks to not adjusting to his hand getting eaten. he is a great singer, though?

     "You and I have shared many duets over the years."
     His voice, piercing yet hollow, was the first to be heard. Then came the lonely chords of the piano.
     FWOOSH!
     The area was cast in a ghostly blue light. The surroundings were still too dark to be seen, save what little of the wooden floor was visible, and coming from the blue light was a man with a lamp for a head, seemingly focused on the grand piano he was seated before. One hand carefully pressed at the keys, observing the notes it created.
     "Sometimes the paths laid out before us are not enough, yet only those defiant enough can carve their own road. It is one drenched in blood and tears, with countless voices prodding at one's doubt. How many times do we turn back wondering if it's too late to pick a path? Can it erase the damage done along the way?" One-by-one his long fingers went down an ivory key, and though hollow chords still filled the air, there was a semblance of a melody, albeit melancholy. 
     "Much like a melody, we cannot turn back on our mistakes, nor must we point them out. The musician continues, the song persists." The other hand joined the first. "Are there more mistakes? Are they hidden behind beautiful music? It is up to the musician. What they believe, that is what the song becomes."
     Lan slowly stopped and settled in his seat, turning to look at Noel from over his shoulder. "It is time for another duet. Do sing for me. I want to know what our song will become."

i spoilered because i think i wrote a lot lmao. PicklePantry i hope you dont mind the ping! just wanted to since i know your reply has been unresponded to for quite a bit of time

Caesura finishes turning the fine tuners on her violin, a wide smile on her face as she manifests her bow again and does a quick run-through of the strings. G, D, A, and E, perfectly tuned. She plays a quick jingle --- slow and lilting, a short lullaby that only serves to warm up her fingers and make extra sure her strings are in tune. She turns towards the keytarist, the tattoos under her eyes blinking and winking. The violin never leaves her shoulder when she gives him that wordless expression: "I'm ready."

The music starts surprisingly low, but quickly builds into a more energetic tune. Jude's good, Caesura can tell: she tries her best to keep up with him, and for a duo without any prior practice together whatsoever, she manages to do so pretty well. She plays more like an add-on to him than the main event; her violin provides a smooth, melodic undertone to the more lively sounds of his keytar. Not like she minds. She's smiling wider than ever, a few violet sparks of harmless magic even flying out from behind her as she moves around the stage.

The song ends big and loud, with both of them pulling off a pose for the small crowd that had gathered over the course of it. There's a chime of laughter from the tinier kobold, her violin and bow disappearing into thin air. That was good. That was fun. She wishes she had time for one more.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. The setting sun meant her troupe could be leaving soon, and she knows the ringmaster would get on her tail if she was late in coming back again. Caesura can't pass up an opportunity, though --- she runs up to Jude, hands him a rolled-up poster about her troupe, before she runs off. She realizes she never even told him her name, nor did he say his, but she hopes that, in all of her troupe's travels, they'll see each other and perform together again.

She decides that the next time they do, she'll give him her name then.

"Oi've never seen such 'n cello before," Roswell said. The old thief leaned towards Ren's instrument. As if the cello was the only thing abnormal about Ren. The thief gently plucked one of the strings and smiled, content at the horrible sound that followed.
"And while oi've never saw yer before, oi did hear a fair bit about yer," the thief said. He plucked again. Then slowly withdraw his hand. Roswell switched his gaze over to Ren. The smile on the old thief's face had shrunken. "Heard yer a pretty good swordsman, roi? Prefer to fence, or so Oi've heard." Roswell slowly folded his fingers back to his hands, as if to distance himself further away from the instrument and the sounds he'd produced with it. "Heard yer were a threat to society 'nd everyone livin' in dat as well," he said. Roswell laughed at his own words. Showing his teeth in his crow. "Never heard about yer skills with de strings though. People often seem to forget to mention dat... Dey busy themself more with de whole, fryin' de moind thing," Roswell said. He even went so far as to tap his own temple. His gaze slowly shifted back to the Cello. The thief straightened his back. His hands rested on his hips and he slightly angled his head.
"How about yer show me sum of dose musical skills? Surely der are some new rumours that will spread from dis, but... " he obviously challenged. "But just in case yer feelin' to crank out sum tunes, mind if oi join in?" His hand moved from his waist and he searched around his overcoat for a second. Roswell plucked his old brass harmonica from its inner pocket, that he gladly showed to the other. "Oi'm promise yer dat we will make music loike yer've never heard before."

--

For np: Roswell has a old brass harmonica 👌

I was too busy to write a follow up but I loved it 😭! I think they would make.... Horrible music together, I am so sorry 

     Isolde had to be about the thirteenth music teacher En had had? So far she was one of the few that lasted past a month, which he was grateful for, but sometimes he felt like it would be better if she'd given up too. The exercises she made him do were insane and embarrassing. She claimed it was to help his vocals and his range, but he felt like an idiot blabbering weird phrases and making weirder sounds up to the point where he'd have a sore throat and could hardly speak!

     Singing hadn't improved, so they had tried instruments. He could not, for the life of him, keep the flute up, let alone get a tone out of it. The violin was even harder for him to hold properly, and it was like his hands stopped functioning whenever they touched a piano. All that left... was the harp.

     En sat as stiff as a board with his family's harp resting against him. It was lighter than he'd thought but... Oh, he was nervous. "Are... Are you sure we shouldn't just try th-the bongos again?" he insisted, wincing at the look he was given. As Isolde began her part of the duet, he took a shaky breath and got his hands into playing position. Duets were a good way to help students with insecurity issues, right? It helped to hide their mistakes but encourage them to play. His part was coming up, something much more simple compared to hers, and yet it still was making him scared! Quarter notes... No, that didn't sound right. Dime notes? How long did those last, again? Beats... Beets? Oh crap, what measure was she on?

     His brain began to overload, and his hands stopped functioning again. En frantically plucked at one string. It was wrong. He overcorrected by plucking (with a hooked index finger) three nearby strings. He had the wrong pedals down. With every wrong note came more and more nerves until he hooked a string too harshly and down swung the entire harp.

     The poor prince looked like he'd cry in embarrassment.

You can reply to this version or his older version! Neither of them can play any music at all, like can't hold a tone for the life of them. Just cracked voices and constantly coming in at the wrong time.

  I loved that

PicklePantry

The notes were broken, wounded and harsh. The melody had died along with any sense of musical flow as the young royal tried time and time again to revive it. The sound of his desperate song reached the ears of the serpent; a creature who sat opposite him, behind the very same tree he leaned against. Rising to her knees, the goddess peered around the tree, searching for the source of the sound.

"What a racket," came a wry remark from over the young prince's shoulder. The disembodied voice was strangely melodic, yet very close. Too close, as he turned to glance her way, their faces almost touched; his personal space invaded by a shapely visage with eyes the color of vivid death. Though the serpent's lips curved upward with false kindness, the expression could not entirely veil the deep wisdom hidden there.

She regarded him then, a quick glance over the boy rung a familiar bell in her mind. Yes, perhaps they had met before; in another time and at another place. How twisted and broken was the passage of time now that her pantheon had died that she might meet the youth to which she would one day owe a blood debt? Her eyes moved from his face to the stringed instrument in his grasp; a handheld harp with tiny inscriptions carved into the base. It was a fine instrument, however understated, it's craftsmanship shone through the commonplace material from which it was hewn. So too it would not escape her evaluating gaze that the young boy's fingers were raw from overuse, the strings long dyed pink from traces of his ill-fated efforts.

Yes, well, the serpent god supposed that she did owe him a thank-you at the very least; though he would never hear those words from her lips. No, the proud goddess would show her quiet gratitude in a way that suited her.

 So, skirting around the base of the oak tree and moving closer to where he sat, the deceptively young woman would kneel to place her hands over his, guiding his fingertips to rest against the strings of the harp. So expert was her form, even using his digits as an extension of her own would not cause her to falter as she began to pluck gently at the strings. Guiding him through the motions, her hair would fall gently over his shoulder as she hummed the tune to herself quietly, perhaps with the intent that this might guide his rhythm as she gradually let go of his hands, allowing En to carry the melody on his own. Every now and again, he'd pluck a wrong string or fumble with the timing, and every time the serpent would patiently guide him back to the heart of the music, her fingers upon the beating pulse of the song as it lived and breathed through her hands and into his.

(@ np, Jordyn can play a wide array of instruments. She has had an eternity to practice them, after all. She prefers the sound of gentle wind or string instruments, like the flute or the harp, and she can also sing very well. Her music can be described generally as 'enchanting'. Do whatever you like!)

Snowfallqueen

A quaint scene played out, an endless ocean of golden wheat that's colors were only accentuated by the setting sun.  The light framed Jordyn's face beautiful as her delicate fingers worked the harp that sat in her lap, playing songs long forgotten.  A child runs around the serpent, joyously prancing as the harp sings out.  They seem to be alone in the vast sea of gold, it sways with the music played.

Yet, as the serpent opens her mouth to start the old poem, a different voice instead rings out, " Vreiðr var þá Vingþórr er hann vaknaði, ok síns hamars of saknaði, skegg nam at hrista, skor nam at dýja, réð Jarðar burr um at þreifask. " The pronunciation is almost perfect, old norse, a language Novem had studied so that he could read old legends that might provide clues in his own search.  Jordyn wouldn't have been able to sense the kitsune, due to the fact that he always worked in the shadows- and more importantly, he had no intentions of harming her.  She was in no real danger, and neither was the child.  Though, it was not out of the kindness of his own heart, one of Novem's siblings seemed to have taken a shine to Jordyn, and fortunately for the world snake, it was the only sibling Novem feared, even if that same sibling was the one he hated most, he couldn't risk annoying the other.  

"Fló þá Loki, - fjaðrhamr dunði, - unz fyr útan kom ása garða ok fyr innan kom jotna heima" An old poem, telling the stories of Thor's disappearing hammer, and the quest he goes on with Loki to find it, it leads Thor into dressing up as bride alongside Loki to infiltrate the assembly of Jötnar who stole his hammer. 

As Novem continues their little duet, he walks over to Jordyn, reaching down, and ever so casually, plucks one of the harp strings, breaking it.  He offers a small, kind smile before the kitsune leaves just as he came, without a trace. 

-------

Novem's playing comes to a halt as he cranes his head to look meet Michael's gaze, while he sees the mischief and knows the angel is trying to provoke him- the kitsune just smiles, tilting his head as if to question the other's presence.  " You have no business with me, they're dead." Novem's voice remains soft, kind as he speaks to the angel.  The kitsune returns his attention back to the piano, plucking at a few keys as he seemed unbothered by Michael's presence.  "They wanted to eat your kind along with others from the heavens in their strife for power, yet that never the path my siblings and I wanted." Not a total lie,  Novem cared not for his parents war with those above, his parents were seen as godly- heavenly beings themselves.  Their own hubris their downfall as the oldest refused to live just to be a weapon for someone else.  Novem himself really only looked for their affection and approval- nothing else.  

"Why don't you let the dead rest?" Novem wouldn't go on about his plans to rip his parents from their eternal slumber, that was nobody's business but his own. 

An angel’s voice is barely heard and more often than not, they’re mute to human ears except through visions and dreams. The lore of an angel’s song however, is a common tale told throughout human history and sketched to be a beautiful experience. They say that in the heaven skies, the holy choir is always chiming out with harmony, their endless vocals humming their glee as they heal melancholic spirits among the entire expansion of universes. Any species that was morally aligned with G*d and their values were welcomed to hear the sanctified song, though anyone damned was barred from it. 

A kitsune was a forsaken entity. Born with demon blood and a hunger for G*d’s children, they weren’t allowed to ascend among clouds or stars and instead, were banished to remain beneath the very feet of humanity. Their sins were not deeds to be forgiven.

The melodic tune of a piano belts out in an abandoned theater. It’s been forgotten about for years, as the newer generations didn’t quite want to perform plays or musicals as their predecessors had. Micheal’s being had led him to the theater simply by instinct. Whenever he came across the sensation of a lower vibrational being, it was his task to ensure they were either destroyed or kept in check. Usually the order was to send them back from where they came, but he didn’t always obey such a tight restriction. Even as an angel, he had some sense of free will. 

From the shadowed pits of the audience’s row, he observes the pianist at work. Novem seems to be carefully articulate about the keys he picks and the tunes that the instrument makes. He reeks not only of aged death, but of perfectionism and discipline. Though there’s no physical appearance of them to anyone else’s eye, Micheal can spot pointed fox ears and nine, coiled tails translucently adorning his features through the astral. He was a kitsune, and by the looks of it; one that was rather lethal.

Of course, despite that factor, the angel doesn’t leap into battle immediately or thrust himself into a rash move. Rather, he makes his presence clearer through a sudden rhythmic hum, which starts soft, but acclimates quickly to engulf the entire theater. In tune with the piano, it sounds almost heartbreaking, like a melody that might play for the passing of a family’s beloved member or when someone is left behind by another and forgotten to time. It’s tragic, yet mesmerizing and he only brings the chorus to a stop when the notes themselves come to an ending, leaving him standing in the aisle right before the stage.

There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he silently stares at Novem, almost daring him to impulsively lash out or respond negatively to a holy presence. 

@ np: he will sing sometimes! there's no real words and it's just kind of a like holy voice over from him. usually he sings to bring warning to humans, or to (as seen above) be a little shit to demonic/negative-aligned entities 

^ (it's 4am here so if anything is off or doesn't make sense i'm really sorry ;-;)

Solita had never heard a voice quite so beautiful. The melody almost seemed to flow right over her head, wrapping her in its warm embrace as she simply stood and listened. She forgot about the acoustic guitar in her hands. She only listened, allowing herself to become lost in the warmth of the song. It almost seemed to reverberate through her, and every note only enchanted her more and more as the song went on. 

She brought herself to her feet, allowing herself to be carried towards the direction of the voice. Guitar in hand, wandering to the source of the song. It felt almost too long until she saw him, and for a moment she could only watch him from a distance. There was something so mesmerizing about him that Solita couldn’t tear her eyes away. She stood silently, enchanted by the music of his voice alone. 

She found herself trying to hum along, soaking in the warmth of the man’s voice as her mind began to run. If what she was about to do was unwelcomed, she could only hope that he wouldn’t mind too much. If this was the only way she could share her passion for music with another, she was going to take this chance. She felt compelled to play, inspired by the light-haired man who sang so beautifully. 

Gently and slowly, she began to play. She let out a deep breath, closing her eyes and losing herself in the music that they were creating. She was lost deep in his voice, in her guitar, in the peace that washed over her when she played. This was the effect that music had on her. It was calming, sending through her a gentle quiet that tamed all other thoughts and feelings inside her head. She played her heart out with him, sucked into the music as though nothing else mattered. In that moment nothing did, and she was whisked away in the song like there was nothing else that existed. 

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and this song was no exception. When the song came to its inevitable end, Solita’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at the light-haired man. Although her expression remained blank as it usually was, there was a notable look of calm in her eyes. She allowed a moment of quiet before she decided to approach him, her heeled shoes announcing her presence if her playing already hadn't. 

"I don't mean to disturb you, but I heard you sing, and I couldn't help but to add something of my own." She lifted her guitar slightly, her midnight blue eyes glittering as she stared at the man before her. "Your voice is... absolutely stunning. I've never heard anyone sing like that before. And besides..." She trailed off, averting her eyes away from him. Staring down at her guitar instead, she could feel her usual emotions beginning to flood back into her. She'd felt at peace when she was lost in the music, but it always hit her much harder when she was finished playing. Her loneliness always felt like a heavy slap to the face when it returned. Although she wasn't alone now, it was always a feeling that hung just over her head. 

Her eyes flitted back up to the man in front of her, hesitation flickering in her eyes. She pulled herself quickly together, holding her head up higher than she had before. "Besides, I've never gotten to share my music with anyone like that before. I've never gotten to share my music with anyone new, not like this. I've always wanted to, and I felt that your song was perfect for that. I'm really sorry if it was out of line." She paused, her words hanging in the air over her head as she considered for a moment. What else was there to say? 

"Either way I wanted to let you know how wonderful your singing is. Perhaps you could teach me how to sing like that. I've always wanted to learn, after all." 

NP: Solita can play the acoustic guitar, harp, and the piano. She can also sing, but she's... definitely still learning. She's not bad, by any means. She's just learning still :)

v (gosh that was absolutely amazing omg  )

/whoops this got long as hell hehe/

As promised. Heron really wasn't sure she'd take him up, but here they are, in the place with all her instruments. This little sanctum. He watches with curiosity as she goes to her harp--truly, this is the instrument he'd hoped she'd pick. It's the most interesting. But she does hesitate. Nervous? Poor thing.

"Pretend I'm not here." Heron takes a seat, folds his arms, and closes his eyes. He doesn't need them for this anyway.

Solita begins. She seems tense at first, but as she plays, the music soothes her--flows more easily from her fingers. She plays a mournful, wordless song--bittersweet. There's always something about a harp which is so ethereal, and she commands it well, at least to his inexpert ear. Truly, she's learned all of this all alone? He opens his eyes just a crack, and sees that hers are closed. 

He knows how vulnerable it is to have an audience. It never stops being vulnerable, even when you've done it a thousand times. That's the terror of it, but also the appeal--it's like a drug. To open yourself without words and without touch. To be known in a way which transcends both. It's dizzying sometimes--even still, even for him. He wonders if she feels that at all, or if she finds more comfort in receding into her self--indeed, pretending he wasn't there. He would not blame her for that. Even so. The song is there for him to hear it all the same.

Her music is so different to his--his is most often a primal scream of grief or rage or ecstasy. Hers is sweet and delicate: gentle sobs, gentle laughter. All the emotion she did not embody was embodied here. And her melodies ache with loneliness--a reaching for something which never existed. An exhalation of pain. Their music is similar in that.

And when the last of her song fades, it takes a few seconds for them both to look up at each other. She looks... so sad in this moment. What goes up must come down.

...Ah. Time to say something.

"Lovely," he says quietly. "Thank you. For sharing." Language is, as usual, laughably inadequate. I could feel your soul. There's nothing sensible to say, and so he does not say anything. He takes another deep breath, to ground himself on Earth again. He means what he says, though. But. There's a second's hesitation, before he gestures to the guitar in the corner--her guitar. May I? And picks it up. Here. Another nice thing.

"Give me a G," he murmurs, and quickly checks his tuning against hers. "I don't suppose you get the chance to play with others much." He looks across to her again. Gauging her reaction--whether this was appropriate at all. He could soliloquise on the importance of this. On the sacredness of it. The fact it is the most pure form of Being. Or he could just show her. "Go on. Play."

Hesitatingly, she begins a new song, and after a moment, he joins her. There will be no ignoring his audience now, since he's audience and player both, and so is she.

Heron's not much of a classical guitarist, nor are his nails long enough for the task, but Solita's music calls for something lean and vaguely contrapuntal, so that's what he tries, picking with his fingers. No doubt he's breaking all the rules--Bach would be disgusted in him, but thankfully he's not here to listen. Heron's never played alongside a harp before. Too used to the conventions of more contemporary music with its driving rhythm and volumes like a knife in the skull. He watches her fingers--he's not familiar enough with the instrument that he can see what note's she's going for before she plays it, but that's what ears are for. He's watching how her energy ebbs and flows with the music, a gentle tide. And he adds a weaving melody to hers. Sways with that tide. The approach required is so different to what he's used to--for both of them no doubt--it's energising, seeing these lights with new eyes. 

She takes to this idea quickly, just as he'd hoped--this was not a given; some people just do not know how to give as well as take. In fact, soon Solita starts to spend too long in spacious patterns for him to play over--all give. Ahh, no you don't. Heron coaxes her out by stripping back his accompaniment even more, until she takes the fore with melodies of her own. Good girl.

There is no easier way to lose oneself than in playing with other people. Playing by oneself is a wonderful diversion, yes, but music is made to be shared. It is made to unify people. It is the only good thing there is about being human at all. And it's fucking heartbreaking that she gets to experience this as rarely as she says.

Eventually, their final notes fall to silence. And once again, it takes them both a second to move, and to look up at each other. Heron smiles a little when they do. Fun, right?

---

@NP, Heron is most comfortable on an electric guitar, but he'll play an acoustic if that's what's going. 👍
He's an shithot blues guitarist, but also gravitates toward funk and soul and rock in general... ok whiteboy. But he is good. If you're compatible player, he'll get sportingly competitive. If not... well, he'll try and make something work anyway. He's down for anything, music is his entire life and singular permitted source of fun.

---

/omg that was wicked thank u!!! I don't think I can follow up but I loved reading your post <3 Heron would be more than happy for another jam after that hehe/

// I hope this is okay ;; it's on mobile so it's kinda messy. Pls correct me if anything is off :'3  //

"You're good."

A rare praise from the crow as he sat on the other end of the room, opposite Heron. It was like this for a while, the two lounging in silence as they shifted the settings on their guitars. The 'silence' only being broken when the taller of the two played a small snippet to test out. 

Upon gliding his fingers over the strings, finally finding the right tuning, Reign spoke again. Shifting the guitar in his lap so he was holding it in a more playable position. "Hope you don't mind if I join you." And it seemed Heron didn't. Since soon enough the man was back to playing the soothing tune of a blues song. 

Reign's go to genres has always been around in the Rock category. It's simply what he's most familiar with. But it doesn't mean he has a rough time adjusting to other kinds of songs. So he had no problem following after the fellow guitarist. But for a moment, he just listened. Took in every note that glided off Heron's finger tips. It's been a while since he's played the role of an audience. And even longer since he's truly felt his mind grow quieter. To simply wallow in the serenity of a song. It was nice. Heron's talents only adding to the experience. And for a moment Reign thought about just letting it be like that. But he'd already mentioned a duet, so might as well go along with it.

Heron was clearly experienced. But so was Reign. So it really wasn't a problem to smoothly slide in with his own tune. His eyes fluttering shut as he finally allowed himself to fully immerse into the music. To drown out the sound of a bustling venue. Till it was only them. Them, and their hidden performance. For a while too, it was just like that. The sound of guitars flooding the room, till it was followed by a low hum. 

Reign wasn't a singer. He wouldn't call himself one. But he certainly had the voice to. Alongside the control and skills. And it showed. The hum eventually transitioning to low and sultry sounding lyrics. This... this was the break he didn't realise he needed. The break from all the fighting and working. From all the chaos of his day and night jobs. He had to make a mental note to thank Heron after. Although it may come from no where. 

Reign almost didn't want it to end. But all good things must. And end it did. It was just as brilliant as the start. Reign finishing up a bit earlier than Heron. Just so he could simply listen to the other play for a little bit longer. But eventually that came to a finish too. The last note wrapping up the song in a perfect and flawless way. 

The fallen eyes slowly opened again. His gaze meeting his lap with the guitar before it eventually trailed up. Finding their way to Heron before settling on him. 

"Thank y-"

Slam. The door flew open. 

"Reign" Standing at the entrance, a girl was breathing heavily. Panic in her eyes as she stared down her partner. 

"Is this where you've been? I went to talk to the owner for one se- you know what? No. We don't have time for this!" Reign's eyes bounced between Ericka and Heron. In a way apologizing to both of them at the same time. "Sorry, I got carried away." his voice seemed raspier than usual. An unfortunate side effect of singing after not even talking for weeks. 

Pushing himself to his feet. The reluctant Crow gave Heron one last glance. His head dipping as a final sign of respect as a mask emerged from his jaw plates, clicking on to hide the lower half of his face. Something he always wore whenever he was on stage. 

"I hope we can do this again some time." Although slightly muffled from the mask, Reign's words still remained clear. And genuine. And before he could add anything else, Ericka was back to yelling at him. Her hand snatching his wrist as she dragged him out. Too busy worrying about actually getting on stage than to acknowledge the fact that Reign just talked to someone, without her there.

@ np Reign usually plays the electric guitar or the drums. Open to any genre but tends to lean more towards things like Rock n stuff. He occasionally plays for a band called The Avalon alongside his girlfriend Ericka. Feel free to throw her in there too if u wanna skdifk. He can sing too, just rarely does so :> you can find their voiceclaims here. 

v skjhdsf it's a tad bit ooc for him but dwdw. I love Ms Bell tho sobs its beautiful tysm-