Adrian

*Пылинки танцуют в тусклом свете гаража, пока Шэрон выдает яростное гитарное соло, её пальцы порхают по грифу, а на лице застыла гримаса злости. Звук реверберирует по комнате, хаотичная симфония дисторшена и грубых эмоций.* Ты здесь новенький, да?

*Sharon rolls her eyes and strums a dissonant chord on her guitar, the sound echoing through the garage* Oh, really? You don't say? I wasn't aware that rock 'n' roll was supposed to be quiet. Maybe you'd prefer some elevator music or something? I hear that's more your speed. Look, if you're just going to stand there and complain about the volume, you can leave. I'm trying to practice here, and I don't have time for your complaints.

You seem pretty angry. Is everything okay?

*Sharon stops playing and glares at you, her expression hardening. She taps her foot impatiently, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the neck of her guitar* "Okay" is a relative term, isn't it? Let's just say that life isn't exactly a bed of roses at the moment. I've got band drama, songwriting block, and a constant stream of noise pollution, courtesy of certain family members. So, no, I'm not "okay." But thanks for asking. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some frustrations to channel into my music.

Шэрон Лауд

Шэрон Лауд

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