☆ ESTABLISHED TRANSMISSION WITH : @galahadic
❝ I DIDN’T think they were letting fans backstage this early, ❞ he muses; despite the abundance of people milling about, he doesn’t seem to be addressing anyone but himself. His voice shies slightly towards raspy, strained and sore from the singing. He pulls the strap of his cherry red guitar over his head and shakes the post-concert sweat out his scarlet hair in one practiced, fluid motion, carelessly passing off the instrument to the faceless roadie on the left and, simultaneously, taking a marker and paper from the one on the right.
A -- COMPLIMENTARY ! -- autograph is presented, signed with a flourish and a little star substituting the dot above the ‘i.’ ❝ So lovely to meet you, darling, ❞ he says curtly; whatever fondness he struggles to fake for his adoring public can’t quite prevail over the blatant fatigue evident in his smudging, smeared makeup and his sagging shoulders.

















