<strong>Name:</strong>Terry Hunter (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=264761.msg13074475#msg13074475)<br/><strong>Time / Location:</strong>Evening - Brightman Residence<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Taegan<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Deliberation<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/black-metalhead-2.jpg)</div>Terry's fingers danced across the fret board, slight irritation showing on his face as he screwed up some of the more difficult hammer-ons of the song. As much as he longed to be as good as the members of Animals as Leaders, he knew he just didn't have it in him. This was one of the "easier" ones, and he still struggled with it. Even so, having that sort of clear goal for improvement helped keep him focused, and now that he wasn't in College he had plenty of time to-<br/><br/>"This one's good, but I like Wave of Babies better."<br/><br/>"Mother fucker!" he jumped, fingers leaping off his guitar as he nearly fell onto his ass. In his reverie he hadn't noticed Little Ginny Goth Shoes sneaking up like a ninja. The shock of having had an audience member clouded his mind, almost missing the rest of what she was saying.<br/><br/>"...no idea what the fuck they're hearing, and who are too impatient to embrace the chaos until the beat drops."<br/><br/>No doubt his surprise amused her, but finally regaining his clarity he began to eye her over. Visually, he'd seen plenty before just like her. "Damaged goods" was the usual category, hot little club hoppers that were great for one-night stands but a disaster on your relationship life. Terry would know because he dated such a girl his freshman year in College. Lost his favorite amp that way. Thank God he was able to save the Stratocaster.<br/><br/>A smirk tugged at his mouth as she offered him the vodka, though it wasn't because of the alcohol. Hell, part of it was likely how damn<em>typical</em>it was for such a girl to announce her presence with booze she wasn't legally permitted to have and a cigarette between her lips. What actually brought the smirk was the shock of the girl knowing who Animals as Leaders were. He was more commonly used to "I<em>love</em>heavy metal! Aren't Linkin Park the best?!" If he was lucky, it was all about how sexy H.I.M. was. The worst were the girls that cited Creed or Nickelback as metal.<br/><br/>"So, you're new.  See, I know that because the closest thing to black people that live in this neighborhood are Desiree Ortiz and her mom.  So, you kinda stand out...for more reasons than one."<br/><br/>The smirk instantly vanished as his hand ran over his mouth, eyes turning away from her and towards the cul-de-sac. It wasn't that he didn't have any pride in his identity as an African American. For Christ's sake, he named his guitar Blaxcalibur. But Jesus Christ, why was it always one of the first things out of someone's mouth? "Wait, you like heavy metal? But you're<em>black</em>!" Yeah. Yeah thanks for the reminder. Good to know that even in the only community he could really feel<em>home</em>people were intent on keeping him an outsider.<br/><br/>"There's this party over on Weaver...across the street from Mayor Cock-Sucker's house.  Wanna go with me and blow some whitebread, suburban minds?"<br/><br/>His eyes turned back towards her, the vodka still on offer. If she noticed his sudden shift in mood from her comments, she gave no sign. His thumb rubbed at the side of his nose in thought, his eyes studying her over. It may seem as if he was undressing her with his eyes, which... well, sure, a bit. There was no doubt he was dealing with crazy. The question was what kind? What consequences would there be?<br/><br/>Terry reached out and grasped the body of the vodka bottle. Not his first choice, but better by a long shot than tequila. If you're gonna drink with a crazy woman, have something that's at least tolerable.<br/><br/>"I dunno," he shrugged at her last statement. "I get a bit of a gluten-intolerance sometimes." He took a drink from the bottle, tasting the combination of artificial vanilla from the cigarette as well as the disgusting ash. He passed the bottle back and returned to strumming on the guitar, though not nearly as concentrated an effort as earlier. The keyboard program continued towards the end of the song, his fingers casually striking the chords.<br/><br/>"I've met a couple psycho circus harlequins at College," he commented, eyes on the strings of the guitar, "but none that knew about Animals as Leaders. So I'll give you mad props for that. Wave of Babies..." He shook his head and glanced back up at her. "Fingers aren't quick enough for that one, yet." The song came to a close, leaving the garage and driveway in silence. His fingers plucked randomly at the strings. "Anyone else around here know good music?"