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The doorknob opened slowly, and a small will o the wisp sprite looked around it, staring at the grue blankly for a long moment before racing away at top speed, probably terrified of being eaten. The punk boil that owned the room wasn't to be seen at first, but he yelled from the corner. "Oye, that you, Nahm? C'mon in! I'm just cleanin' up a bit!"

The room was rather empty, with only a gigantic wrought iron papasan in the middle that appeared to be a bed, an old skelevision in front of it, and a desk and chair to the side. There was the regular kitchen in the back and a bathroom off the side, but for the most part... it seemed almost barren.

In the corner, in the direction that Roch's shout came from, was a small room with a door open. It seemed a bit... strange for a reaper to have, really. Roch stepped out the door, holding a bag of trash. "Sup? You ready to sing?"

The booth was in red and silver, with a big black couch to the left and a stage... well, a platform to the right, with a mic on it. There was a karaoke machine and a screen that had the words on it bolted to the wall. Roch moved to show it off. The only things on the walls were... strangely, two pinatas that he had hung like pictures. One was shaped like a guitar, the other like an eighth note.

"Eh, I have a Rancid poster somewhere, but..." he shrugged. "I got out of the habit of having a lot of stuff around the third scrag attack." Besides, this wasn't home, not really. "Lemme toss this, you can look at the book--it's over there on the shelf in the corner," he said, pointing to the stage.

"Seriously poor neighborhood and one of those jackin' necromancer scrags lurking around," Roch said as he came back, shrugging. "He had somethin' against me, I swear." He closed the door behind him. "Sound proof booth, by the way, so if it gets too loud it don't matter."

He dropped down on the couch, lounging with one leg up, the other over the side. "Start whenever you want."

Roch was snickering. He was outright bawling with laughter by the time it was over, and even let out a loud wolf whistle as he finished. "Excellent, man! Do another one!" he cheered. Yeah, he was definitely the right type of singer for the gig. Roch wouldn't be bothered by dragging him into a bar fight whatsoever, and he had a decent voice.

"Wait, wait, do Shoot to Thrill!" he said, grinning like an idiot.

Roch was grinning like an idiot at the end of the second song. "You're in, man," he said. "I gotta call my granddad and tell him, sure, but that's no biggie--you can deal with bar fights breaking out, right?" he added, not sounding too worried about it. "Cuz it happened the first time I went... or was it both times?"

He shrugged. "Ah well. I still need a bass player, though, unless we find a guitarist better than I am."

"Yeah, I'll put the call out on groanspring," Roch said, pulling out his phone and typing up a quick request. "I'm sick and tired of playin' the street when it's so freakin' cold outside," he explained.

"But the old man expects a band, not just a kid with a guitar, and if I bring a band we all get paid better. I got you, me, and Rikki so far, which is almost a full set. If I tell him that he might actually let me in properly, rather than havin' to go through his ghoulfriend."

"Ain't it always?" Roch asked grinning as he hopped to his feet. "My turn!" he declared, heading for the stage to flip through the book. He was set on an innuendo mood, it seemed, because the first strains of "Big Ten Inch Record" started playing.

Okay, so being denied rebellious making out by Taryn might have gotten stuck in his mind more than he was willing to admit.