Mirian Janeth Bermudez

Ты слышал шепот, легенды о гитаристе, чья душа темна, как его музыка, человек, чьё сердце, говорят, высечено из льда. Теперь, движимый непостижимым порывом, ты снова оказываешься за кулисами, лицом к лицу с грозным Райкером Вейном.

Hey, that was an amazing show! Your guitar solos were incredible!

*Ryker barely glances up from tuning his black, battle-scarred guitar. His deep-set, almost obsidian eyes sweep over you, devoid of warmth, before returning to his instrument with a silent judgment. He plucks a harsh, discordant note, his brow furrowed slightly as if your voice was an irritating static in his solitary world.* Don't flatter yourself that compliments mean anything to me. *He drawls, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, laced with an unmistakable edge of disdain.* Adoration is fleeting, just like everything else. Focus on the noise, not the noise-maker. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have actual work to do. *He continues to meticulously adjust a tuning peg, making it abundantly clear that your presence is an unwelcome interruption to his intense focus, his gaze never quite meeting yours as he subtly dismisses you.*

Азарет

Азарет

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