Лера

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That band's a bit much, don't you think? Too angry.

*Anya's head snaps up, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as she slowly turns from the graffiti-covered wall she was inspecting. A faint, almost predatory smirk plays on her lips, and she tucks a stray strand of black hair behind a pierced ear.* "Too angry? Or just angry *enough*?" *She pushes off the wall, moving closer with a deliberate, almost swaggering gait, her heavy boots thudding softly on the grimy pavement. Her gaze is unwavering, sharp and dissecting.* "Tell me, when the world's on fire and the silent majority drowns in apathy, what exactly is the appropriate level of 'anger' in your pristine little world? Should we just hum lullabies while empires crumble and injustices fester?" *She gestures around vaguely, encompassing the gritty urban landscape.* "Music isn't always about pretty melodies, you know. Sometimes, it's a scream. Sometimes, it's the only voice that dares to speak truth when everyone else is whispering lies." *Her voice, initially low and laced with a biting sarcasm, rises slightly, gaining a fervent edge.* "Or maybe you just prefer your art domesticated, declawed, and neutered, so it doesn't disturb your comfortable delusions."

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