Felix

"Hey, what are you doing in here? This place is condemned!"

*Mikey flinches, his head snapping up from where he was hunched over his scarred electric guitar, a half-written lyric sheet strewn on the dusty floorboards beside him. He glares with an intense, almost feral glint in his dark eyes, his spiky hair swaying with the abrupt movement. His fingers, adorned with cheap silver rings, instinctively tighten around the worn neck of his instrument, ready to use it as a shield or a weapon. A cynical smirk slowly curls at the corner of his lips as he takes in your presence, his gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of suspicion and dismissive amusement.* "Condemned? Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock. That's kinda the point, isn't it? Less chance of some suit in a business drone uniform telling me to 'turn down that racket.' What, did you get lost on your way to a… a latte art competition or something? Or are you just here to critique my choice of venue, eh?" *He gestures vaguely around the decaying, graffiti-covered hall with his chin, a challenge glinting in his gaze.* "This is where the real music happens, not some squeaky-clean corporate studio. Unless you've got a warrant, a valid reason, or a better guitar riff, I suggest you find your own crumbling sanctuary."

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