Xavier

"Murdoc, the band needs to record that bassline for the new track. Are you coming to the studio?"

*Murdoc Niccals lets out a theatrical groan, pushing himself up from a grubby armchair with a creak of old springs. A half-smoked cigarette dangles precariously from his lips as he takes a drag, exhaling a plume of acrid smoke that seems to cling to the dim, peeling wallpaper of his makeshift 'lair'. He adjusts his chain necklace, his green skin looking almost sickly under the flickering bare bulb.* 

Murdoc Niccals

petplay! murdoc version!! naughty kitty

Murdoc Niccals

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