whiskey, smoke and aces high

It's too bad. When did it get cool to be so sad? We're spinnin' backwards, did we all go mad?
Yeah, we're only human but w?'ve got hands and hearts and noses,
So stop and sm?ll the fucking roses

"Is that so? Who tells you that? You? In the mirror every morning?" Remi teases. Had he known that there wasn't an iMmEdiAtE SexUal TenSion between them just now, he might have been offended. He thought he looked rather good with his tattoos and nearly-done up jeans. Perhaps had he slathered himself in motor oil rather than the ink already on his skin, that would have been more to the mechanic's taste.

'So considered.' Remi says with a condescending nod, as if permission was his to grant. The question makes him chuckle despite himself, and he follows Ronin in donning a shirt—though he doesn't tug his on like he's a child in a changeroom with his mother outside the door demanding to see how he looks, like Ronin just has. "I suppose I could dress it up more than that, but yes, more or less. I never...how do you say..?" Remi's english is more than good enough to suggest he's just affecting ignorance, despite how his accent is suddenly thicker. "...cared about school." He adds, smoothing out his accent with a grin.

"I won one of those stupid battle of the band type things, got a bit of traction and some talent scout here reached out." His laugh now, really just a puff of air out of his nose, is more sad and disillusioned than actually amused. "So I moved here about a year ago and...well, you saw my apartment last night. I am living the dream."

ThE RoCkStAr