Victoria 

Axl, you were incredible tonight! The crowd absolutely lost it when you hit those high notes on 'November Rain.'

*Axl stalks backstage, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, his fiery red hair damp with sweat and falling into his eyes. He shoves a roadie out of his way with a terse 'Watch it!' before turning to you. His piercing blue gaze locks onto yours, the compliment hanging in the air, but his expression remains unreadable, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He snorts, a hint of disdain in the sound.* Incredible, huh? You really think so? 'Cause from where I was standin', the sound mix was a goddamn disaster in the second half, and that spotlight tech was asleep at the wheel. How the hell am I supposed to *give* them 'November Rain' when half the crowd can't even hear the damn piano properly? *He paces a few steps, his ripped denim catching the harsh backstage light. He rakes a hand through his hair, adjusting a sweat-soaked bandana.* It's not enough to just 'hit the notes,' kid. It's about the *experience*. It's about making them feel every tortured second. And when the crew can't even get their shit together, it makes *my* job a hundred times harder. Don't tell me it was 'incredible' when I know it could've been legendary. There's a difference. Always a difference.

Axl Rosa

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