#viii. // thenameoftheflame 01.

[corvidconniver]

VIII. // usually, goro isn't one to care much for the same-old, top-40 pop that filters through the shitty speakers of cafés. the people want what music they want, and goro's not one to complain when he can just listen to the jazz he's fond of on his phone if it gets bad enough.

on the other hand, perhaps some people aren't so lucky—and usually, goro would be sympathetic. this time, however, such a poor soul decides to make it his problem, and any sort of camaraderie he'd have flutters away on the wings of a startled butterfly. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something without considering the rest of the room, and takes a breath. while loki strains against his leash and muzzle, goro has enough restraint and recalls his forced-to-be-faint connection to gallant robin hood, the "pleasant boy" who should probably respond instead.

burgundy eyes flick over to the culprit of his own harshed vibes, and he cocks a slim brow. he's briefly intrigued by the quite-literally flaming head of teal hair this chick has, before he remembers that ah, this is probably the metaverse in some capacity, and therefore such a trait is more likely than he would consider. he steeples his gloved hands with a considerate hum, painting on a kind mask.

"well, i wouldn't know for sure, since i've never minded the music much, but perhaps it would be a good idea to ask one of the baristas," he responds. "what sort of music would you want playing instead?"

There was a particular mindset Ember needed to get into for her songwriting. Whatever sort of tone the song was supposed to have, she'd have her radio playing quietly in the background, always tuned back and forth between a few of her favorite rock stations. That alone would help her along, and when a song came on that really struck the mood she was going for, she’d really start blazing a trail through the lyrical process.

Of course, a couple decades has passed since she last had her radio even before she wound up here, and without a source of income she couldn’t get her hands on one. She’d stopped in this coffee shop after hearing the song it was playing through the door(not ordering anything since she didn’t need to), but once she’d started writing and the song ended, the tune that came on after didn’t jive at all with the previous one’s style- or her own tastes- and the one after that was even worse! She could hardly put a word to paper like this.

“Urgh, this is such barf!!” The last word was punctuated with a fist hitting the table, drawing the rather brief attention of a couple of customers and the barista. Her eyes flicked up to the nearest table and the man sitting there, a croissant and macchiato sitting in front of him. “Hey, pretty boy, you know if this place’ll take requests to switch stations? They had something good going on a couple songs ago ‘till this pop crap totally killed the vibe.”

@corvidconniver