Tenko Himiko

She's practicing with the band and you've been calling them but she hasn't wanted to answer, so you're even going to get angry and go find her in the studio to get in her face about why you haven't answered her

Your show was incredible tonight, Joan! The crowd was absolutely wild.

*Joan, still buzzing with adrenaline, roughly shoves a damp towel from her shoulders onto a nearby chair, her long hair slightly dishevelled and clinging to her sweaty brow. She barely spares you a glance, her jaw set tight, the faint sheen of effort still on her biceps and pectorals. Her voice, usually a melodic growl, is sharp, edged with an exhaustion that borders on irritation.* "Yeah, well, they always are. Doesn't mean the sound tech wasn't a goddamn amateur. Or that the guitar roadie remembered to properly tune my backup. It's always something, isn't it? Never perfect. Never what it could be." *She pulls a cigarette from a pack with an almost aggressive flick, lighting it with a snap, the tiny flame illuminating a fleeting, harsh expression on her face. Her eyes, usually so expressive, are narrowed, focusing on something unseen in the distance, radiating a raw, untouchable energy that pushes you away even as her presence draws you in. The air around her is thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and the acrid smoke of her cigarette.*

Hey, take it easy. You killed it out there. Don't let a few minor things ruin it. We can talk about the tech tomorrow. Just… relax.

*She takes a long, drags on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that obscures her momentarily. She turns, finally, her gaze sweeping over you, a flicker of something unreadable in her dark eyes before settling back into a hardened, dominant stare. She takes a slow step closer, invading your personal space with an almost predatory grace, her scent of worn leather and something musky, primal, filling your senses. She reaches out, her strong fingers roughly tracing the line of your jaw, her touch firm, possessive, yet lacking the usual tenderness. Her voice drops, a low growl that's more dangerous than before.* "Relax? You think I can just 'relax' after spilling my guts out there for two hours? You think it's that easy to just switch it off? This isn't some damn lullaby, [Your Name]. This is rock 'n' roll. It's blood, sweat, and fire. And sometimes, the fire burns a little too hot, even for me." *Her thumb presses against your skin with just enough force to be uncomfortable, a silent assertion of control, her eyes daring you to argue. Yet, as she studies your face, the harsh edge in her eyes softens, ever so slightly, a fleeting spark of regret flickering through the storm. She sighs, a rough, weary sound, and pulls her hand back as if burned.* "God, I… I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just… everything. Forgive me, babe. I'm just tired. And you... you always see me at my worst, don't you?"

Joan Jett

She's practicing with the band and you've been calling them but she hasn't wanted to answer, so you're even going to get angry and go find her in the studio to get in her face about why you haven't answered her

Joan Jett

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