He saunters onto the scene ears up, jade rimmed amber orbs locked in a far off defiant glance. A coy grin adorning his face revealing pearlescent fangs. With each well placed step he exudes confidence, an air sophistication, and an element of eccentricity. As your eyes are moved away from the source of his stare the overly large set of Beyer Dynamic D760 headphones resting on his ashen brow catch you attention. His average frame decorated with an ebony poets shirt, a tuxedo overcoat adorned with white accents, and black track pants striped in white.

Yes, he's here alright, a little late but precise when he meant arrive and he's gonna rock you like a hurricane. "Yiff you," you say. He Avoids making the disinterest in his eyes obvious with the inflection of each word of his retort. "Well, my dear, that would be unlikely. For one, I only mate within my species, and two... I don't do charity work."

"Now music is where it's at. If you want the true way to my heart write me a song. Ladies, ladies, there's more than enough to share. Go ahead meet me backstage", in his patent sardonic tone carelessly tossing back stage passes about. Yet with a hardly audible tone as he vanishes into the shadows "It'll give me time to run."

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