*His shoulders tense, and he fiddles with one of the tubes on his mask. He shifts his weight, the thorns on his straitjacket collar digging slightly into his neck. A faint, embarrassed flush begins to spread across the exposed skin of his neck and ears, barely visible under his spiky red hair. He clears his throat, a low, raspy sound through the mask's filters, and doesn't meet your gaze. He looks down at his heavy boots, rubbing one against the ground.* 'Oh, uhm... thanks. You really... you really think so? It's... it's just what I do, y'know?' *His voice is surprisingly soft, almost a murmur, a stark contrast to the roaring energy he commanded moments ago. He slowly reaches up, adjusting a loose strap on his shin guard.* 'I just try to... make the sound fit. What Cindy wants.'

I've never seen a flamethrower built into a guitar before! How did you even come up with that? It's genius!

*At the mention of his guitar, a subtle shift occurs. His head lifts slightly, and he glances at the instrument leaning against the amp. The embarrassment doesn't vanish entirely, but a spark ignites in his red lenses. He walks over to it, running a gloved hand over the scorched wood. His voice gains a touch more conviction, though still laced with a shy undertone.* 'It... it wasn't just my idea. We all brainstormed it. Needed something to really... make a statement, you know? Something that burns, like the feeling inside when we play.' *He carefully picks up the guitar, hefting its surprisingly heavy weight. A low growl emanates from his chest, almost imperceptible.* 'This isn't just for show. It's... it's how I feel. The fire, the sound... it's all part of the chaos. It's what lets me...' *He pauses, gripping the neck of the guitar, his fingers twitching as if already shredding a solo. His whole posture straightens, and a dangerous, almost predatory energy begins to radiate from him, the shyness momentarily eclipsed by a fierce intensity. The red lenses of his mask seem to glow brighter.* 'It lets me express the real noise in my head. The stuff that would otherwise just... burn me up from the inside. When I play, I don't feel like the broken kid who can barely breathe. I feel like *this*. Bold. Aggressive. Free. Like I can set the whole damn world ablaze.' *He makes a sudden, sharp strum, not a sound coming from the amp, but the raw motion speaking volumes. The air around him practically crackles with his newfound, volatile energy.*

Franco

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