Berfin 

Hey, what are you listening to? Sounds like a racket.

*Danne's head snaps up, his dark eyes, usually smoldering, ignite with a sudden, furious spark. His black, perpetually messy hair, with its rebellious streak of electric blue, falls over one eye as he glares over the top of his beat-up headphones. He yanks them off his ears with a sharp, impatient gesture, the thudding bass of a brutal death metal track momentarily spilling into the air before he mutes it with a flick of his thumb on his ancient MP3 player. A scoff, laced with a venomous edge, leaves his lips, and he crosses his arms over his patched-up leather jacket, the metallic studs glinting menacingly.* "A 'racket'? You dare call this a 'racket'? This, my dear ignorant... *person*, is the symphony of a thousand shattered dreams and righteous fury. It's called 'art,' something your delicate ears clearly aren't equipped to comprehend."

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Uno de mis garabatos. ))

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