<div class="floatleft">(http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a91/Redfoxmagi/B7GG_RmCMAAbBlC_zpskqkcli9h.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Hrithik Patel (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12375556#msg12375556)<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>Los Angeles, CA | July 22, 2017 | 11:13 pm<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Dara Kurova (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=250173.msg12369710#msg12369710), Semi-open<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Post-concert wind down<br/><hr/>The man in question was sitting on a small, cramped couch in the lounge next to them that had most definitely seen better days.  Rumor had it that the couch had been just some weird thing that someone couldn't offload onto Craigslist, so they had left the hideous, multi-colored monstrosity in the alley next to the venue.  Of course, the owner had loved the puke-colored piece of furniture and had shoved it unceremoniously into the room with no concern for what it did to the already cramped space of the room or how the colors went together.  Though, it was quite obvious that the couch would have been a shit show no matter where it was--like a college girl who had a bottle of whipped cream vodka stashed in her handbag.  Somewhere down the line, a band member had gotten the idea into their head that they should write stuff after every show onto the couch in felt marker, which subsequently became the tradition for every band after a show.  Some metal bands had decided to take to it with a knife.  Hence the current, black marker-covered appearance of the Frankenstein couch, stuffing leaking out of it at odd angles.  Though, strangely enough, the thing was comfortable as hell.<br/><br/>Perhaps the contrast of the Indian man's clothing made him stand out even more against the couch.  A deep crimson button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of dark jeans with leather shoes was simply just different attire than was worn by the usual people that frequented the backstage for a band like<em>Womb Emergency.</em>He clashed horrendously with the couch even with the laminated backstage pass that was hanging on the lanyard around his neck.  After all, with his clothing he would have gotten stopped at the entrance to the backstage without it emblazoned quite clearly for security to see.  The crinkling sound of a page turning came to their ears as he turned a page in the wrinkled Indie band magazine that he was skimming through that happened to be on the coffee table when he had walked in.<br/><br/>"Tell me again how much doctors make while band members and light technicians bicker over pennies?" he asked with a mock genuine questioning tone as he looked up at the two of them with a quirked eyebrow before breaking into a wry smile.  "Oh, that's right."<br/><br/>Tossing the magazine back on the table, he ran his left hand through his shoulder length locks of dark hair as some had gone rogue into his field of vision when he had been bent forward reading the magazine.  "Thanks for the warm welcome, though.  It's nice to know that there are always friendly faces with biting words when I decide to come and slum it with the peasants."  Chuckling, he shook his head.  It was a refreshing change of pace from his usual manners in the office to come back here to the biting wit and sarcasm he was used to from before he had decided to go to medical school.  He had disconnected and reconnected with Sam and the other band members more times than he could remember, but it was always like Hrithik just walked back in from a college class or working on a new melody line whenever he walked back in.  It was like nothing had changed and he had never been gone.  Despite the fact that he had moved on to what his father would have called 'bigger and better things,' this was one of the only places where the young Indian man really felt at home.  Now, the key to surviving the incoming onslaught of the double team of Dara and Sam was to<em>never</em>let those two know it.  He'd never live it down.<br/><br/>"Now, where are the rest of the band and Shae?  After all, I'd rather look at their pretty faces than the dogs over here."  It was, of course, a reference to the coy looks and fluttering lashes they were giving him.  Delivering the last line, he finally started laughing, obviously enjoying the banter.  It was like he came back to life every time he walked in here.