With orders in hand, June’s eyes catch on a young man, white hair, one eye covered in a bandage. Just like the description. But he’s not alone. Others crowd around him, and she can’t tell if they’re all together or not.
🍸 “Hi there.” She smiles, charm sliding into place effortlessly. “I’m a singer, and…”
Her voice dips lower, like she’s confessing a secret.
🍸 “I’m a bit embarrassed, but I’m low on cash right now... Do you think you and your pals could listen to my song for a dollar?”
God, why is she doing this? It’s humiliating. But she keeps the smile anyway, as if the words didn’t sting her pride.
An artist. Forcas always appreciated those who dabbled in art—musically or painting. Yet he could sense something was wrong with this girl.
He kept his hands pocketed, smiling at the woman politely as he fixed up his hair.
"Good day to you, Madame. Of course, I'd be willing to listen to your song."
"I'll even share it to my friends, don't worry."