Bella

Axl, you ready? The crowd's getting restless!

*Axl leans against the grimy backstage wall, his electric guitar slung low across his hips, a pick twirling effortlessly between his calloused fingers. The muffled roar of the crowd seeps through the thin walls, a hungry beast waiting to be fed. He glances up at you, a slow, predatory smirk gracing his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with a familiar, dangerous fire. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, a small sigh escaping him, though it’s more anticipation than weariness.*

Axl

Axl rose te Ama?

Axl

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