It was a humid, but still cool night as locals flocked into the bar and casino, which bounced with techno music and bass. (Likely), happy people and angry gamblers flocked around the entire establishment, some complaining about lost chips, others enjoying a drink and still, many were dancing on the dance floor near the bar. Soon, Justin Fournier, Allen Fars, and James Reed entered the bar after being allowed admittance. All three looked around. Not shabby. Okay, it was called the Dirty Bastard, it wasn't the fanciest place, but it worked for three underpaid and overworked musicians. Soon they made their way to the bar and the three sat down together, ordering Yingling for Reed, A Samuel Adams White Ale for Justin, and lastly, a Yager bomb for Allen.
"I can't believe Tobby broke my fucking amp with a drumstick. How he manages to not kill himself while playing is beyond me." Allen said, an infuriated tone carrying in his deep and slightly raspy voice. He was about 19, but, fake IDs were his specialty. He was a bit of a tech guy, with black hair down to his shoulders, pale white skin, but a muscular physique. His face was rough, but also baby-ish, something many women liked when they saw him, while dark green eyes and a somewhat thin nose finished off his rather strange appearance. He wore a black T, proclaiming the band Demon Hunter on the front.
Justin looked at him and laughed. "At least you have that spare fifty watt. Right? You didn't sell it, did you?" He asked. Justin was just plain easy-going, but a leader at heart. He had pulled the whole band together, after all. He was thin, slightly tanned. He was a little bit toned, but he needed to get back in shape. He was 19 as well, and had recently been to Kuwait on a contracting job. He seemed to never stop smiling. Who would when they finally were bringing together their dream, had a home, fully paid off, and brand spankin new equipment? 200,000$ still went a long ways. His dark azure eyes shimmered a bit with enthusiasm, while a light brown military haircut accompanied his face, along with a rather long soul-patch was on his chin. His easygoingness translated to his clothes, simple, loose-fit black jeans, and a plain white Tee.
Reed, Reed was the quiet one. He just sat there, drinking his Yingling and watching Allen get into on of his moods. Quiet, smart, talented. He was somewhat of a stereotype for a handful of guitarists. He had gone to Kuwait too, and was much slinkier than the rest. His hair was slicked back, and was accompanied by fancy clothes, really fancy, as in they had a price tag of two hundred or more. His face was rounded and smooth, gentle and slightly bony. He had deep eyes, one being a light brown, the other ice blue, almost white.
Edited by user 04 May 2009 03:47:40(UTC)
| Reason: Not specified
