<div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1075.photobucket.com/albums/w434/Alycia_Monique/Rhyanon.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>Name: Rhyanon Young (Ree-ah-non)<br/><br/>Age: Twenty<br/><br/>Birth date: 24th of April, 1992<br/><br/>Race: Human<br/><br/>Distinguishing feature(s): aquamarine eyes, posh accent.<br/><br/>History (Abridged): Born of a wealthy family in Liverpool, Rhyanon was never want for anything. Her life was an easy one, sent to the best schools, ate the best food; Nothing but the best for their little girl. But it bored her...Bored her to tears. Nothing about the life she lived gave her a reason to try, to get excited. So, on her twentieth birthday, when talk of her transferring to one of her parent's alma matres, she left England, taking up residence across the pond. Granted, she had no money, no help from her parents, and was barely scraping by.<br/><br/>But she was happy.<br/><br/>----</div><br/><br/><span style="color: #8000BF">"Rhy!" came an angry voice from off to the side. Eyes sparking to life from their momentary blank state, Rhyanon turned toward the voice, an inward groan as she saw the stout, bald man waddled over to her, the sound of his steps reaching her far before he did. "What have I told you?!"<br/><br/>"I'm sorry, Mr. Farone," she mumbled, a hand picking idly at the cloth in her hand before setting it down on the table, both smoothing over her apron. "I was just thin-"<br/><br/>"You were just thinking? You should have been <span style="font-style: italic">cleaning,</span>" he chastised her for the fourth time since starting her shift a mere three hours prior. "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean!"<br/><br/>"Yes, Mr. Farone."<br/><br/>"Given that you're new, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt that this atmosphere is more than you're used to." A brow perked, ever so slightly, as she glanced around the nearly empty club, holding back a sarcastic remark. "It's a lot to learn in a short time, but we're desperate. It's going to start filling up, and I need you to be on your game. So, stop standing around, clean your tables, and get ready for the influx of customers we're bound to get."<br/><br/>Leaving it at that, he wandered away from her, the sound of his wheezing and heavy steps diminishing as he went out back. A slew of remarks tumbled out over her lips beneath her breath as she hastened to finish wiping down her table, a task that shouldn't have taken nearly as long as it did.<br/><br/>The more she thought about it, the more she couldn't quite pinpoint exactly why she was so distracted. It was a blessing to get this job, given that she'd only just gotten to the area and didn't know anyone. She'd gotten her own apartment, using the last of the money she'd come over with for the security deposit on the lease agreement, and was lucky enough to find a job the next day. Sure...she'd had to fib about her employment history to land it, but he'd seemed fine with what little she had to say on it. So, here she was, busing tables while watching "the usual lot" roll in, awaiting the open mic night.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">So I should be happy...right? Not distracted...</span><br/><br/>Shirking off the thoughts, Rhyanon let her mind go blissfully blank as the hours progressed, the club filling up as she flitted from table to table, taking orders and pushing out drinks. So focused on the customers she had, she didn't notice the form that had taken place on the stage, until his voice resounded, the crowd having hushed. It took her a moment to shift her focus to it rather than what she'd been doing, the voice painting images of pain and sorrow finally breaking through the haze. Aqua gaze shifting to the stage, her mouth opened slightly, breath hitching.<br/><br/>He seemed so broken, so disheartened by whatever life he led. His eyes were blank, hollow, with a tone to match. All the while, she found herself wondering what'd happened, what could have possibly been so horrible to send this man into such a hollowed existence.<br/><br/>Even as he left the stage, she wanted to follow after, to simply watch and observe him (despite how creepy it sounded), an urge she quickly squelched as her duties called. Instead, Rhy went about her night, cleaning up tables, wishing people well, and closing down the club. It took a while, but she managed to hit her stride, and the night closed without a hindrance. Forgetting her change jar at her check out, she walked back in, heels clicking lightly on the floor and snatched it up. Yet, when she turned around, she let out a sound of surprise, hand clutching at her chest as she saw Erik on the stage.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">How'd I'd not notice him?</span> she asked herself as her breathing slowly returned to normal, eyes remaining locked on his form. Clearing her throat, Rhy took a few steps toward the stage, hesitance in her words and posture. "...Your poetry...was beautiful," she remarked softly, stopping a few feet shy of the stage. "...Sad...but beautiful."<br/><br/>Rather than linger and make things more awkward for him, she continued her way out, only to stop again beside the stage, glancing up at him from the door leading out back. "...Do you always hang out here after hours?"</span>