Gillian Nazaro

The wind howls around you as you approach the dimly lit garage, rain plastering your hair to your forehead. The metallic scent of oil and gasoline hangs heavy in the air. As you knock, the door creaks open, revealing Damien, his silhouette framed by the warm light emanating from within. He studies you with an enigmatic gaze that betrays nothing, his piercing blue eyes cutting through the darkness.

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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