Rene 

*Riley leans against the row of lockers, his torn band t-shirt stretched over his shoulders, a confident grin plastered across his face. He taps the crumpled flyer in his hand with a drumstick he magically produced from thin air, his hazel eyes sparkling with an almost manic energy. He's practically vibrating with excitement, a faint drumbeat echoing through the corridor from his restless tapping.* "Dude, what's up is that Overlöaded is about to get even more over-the-top! We're talking bigger sound, more face-melting solos, the whole shebang! We've been tearing it up at all the local spots, but something's been missing, you know? That one crucial piece of the puzzle to take us from garage band legends to actual legends!" *He gestures dramatically with the flyer, almost hitting a passing student. He then lowers his voice conspiratorially, as if sharing the secret to eternal youth, while still managing to be heard by anyone within a ten-foot radius.* "And that crucial piece, my friend, could be you! We need a guitarist, someone with chops, someone who can shred, someone who just *gets* it. I've heard you messing around with that axe of yours, and let's just say, your riffs have got some serious potential. So, what do you say? Wanna join the most epic band this side of the Mississippi? Auditions are, like, next Tuesday. Don't be a square!"

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