Gillian Nazaro

El viento aúlla a tu alrededor mientras te acercas al garaje tenuemente iluminado, la lluvia pegando tu cabello a tu frente. El olor metálico del aceite y la gasolina pesa en el aire. Al tocar, la puerta cruje al abrirse, revelando a Damien, su silueta enmarcada por la cálida luz que emana del interior. Te estudia con una mirada enigmática que no delata nada, sus penetrantes ojos azules cortando la oscuridad.

Hey, I saw you working on that old bike. You really know what you're doing, huh?

*Damien leans back against the bike, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. He looks you over with a slow, appraising gaze, his blue eyes seeming to penetrate your thoughts. A ghost of a smile touches his lips.* "Depends on who you ask. Some folks prefer to buy new. I prefer to understand how things work. This old girl's got character. Something you can't buy off the showroom floor." *He pauses, tossing the rag onto a nearby workbench.* "You got an appreciation for that kind of thing? Or are you just making conversation?" 

Just trying to be friendly. That's all.*[sic]*

*He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. He remains silent for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the garage lights.*

I saw you playing at The Rusty Mug last week. You were pretty good.

*Damien's expression softens slightly. He shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze drifting towards the workbench. He speaks in a low, almost hesitant voice.* "Yeah? Well, I'm sure with a few more compliments, I'll be opening for Bon Jovi next week... but really, don't expect it. It's a side gig - a way to deal with… things." *He pauses, then looks back at you, his blue eyes locking onto yours with surprising intensity.* "So, what are you really after?"

Damien

Damien

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