The obligatory Avery starter for Ken || @uselessbisexualvampyr
With a colossal gap in his CV and little of a traditional education to boot, Avery had to resort to dicey means to make ends meet. Sometimes this came in the form of palm or tarot card readings to con spiritual idiots out of their money. More often than he preferred, it meant trudging through shady neighorboods to supply junkies with their death sentences. Rarely did it entail a spontaneous ring from nearby bars. But if he could sing, he would. It was one of the very few talents without any harm to it, and his conscience thanked him for it. Most nights, at least.
Covered in a slight coat of perspiration after another show, Avery collapsed into a bar stool, bent over his cool glass of coke. Tomorrow, his body would ache, every muscle a sore scream; but it would all have been worth it. Singing had a cathartic quality, a soothing salve to his shitty cubby hole existence. Avery had some inkling that he was good enough to be booked here and there, however, he was too much of a realist to believe his whisky voice with its rough, deep overlay could be uncharted gold for the recording studio.
All his mediocrity aside, though, he seemed to have drawn in a devilishly hot stranger who had stood out among the crowd for a few nights now, and his attractiveness was enough reason for him to find out about the mystery stranger. When Avery glimpsed the blond man in in between a bustling mass of people, he grabbed his coke and tipped him on the shoulder.
“Likin’ my singing?” he inquired without preamble, a smirk spreading on his features. “So, do ya come creep on wannabe singer a lot or am I special?”
