A quirk of his brow precedes a low sigh; they are right, he wishes they aren’t, that he can snarl back, throw some sarcastic comeback, but he is aware of his position there, how replaceable, temporary until their guitarist is back to full health or from whatever reason holding them away. It is fortunate that they took him in; he is better with an acoustic, not an electronic, but his talent knows no bounds apparently, he manages. He can’t say no to the opportunity, not for the money, POVERTY is a taste he knows oh very well but has managed to escape its claws long ago. It is for the rumors surrounding this group, this man in particular: Lestat. In search for vengeance against the damned organization, he stumbles upon intel of this man, their interest in a singer sparks his curiosity, and he knows this is not just any man; simplicity doesn’t attract the evil eyes of Noah Standford.
An apologetic nod of his head is offered; he is not about to confess that his late arrival is partially due to his inability to watch a cat in need of help without doing anything about it.
@eladead : ❝ you’re late. ❞ | accepting
