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Okay, so Roch had gotten his monthly allowance (something he still thought was WAY too low, his dad was such a cheapskate) and he'd spent it on--no, not food. PANTS. Who knew having a fire demon for a best friend would mean you went through pants so fast? He'd even gotten the cheap kind of pants, because, frankly, he didn't expect them to last long. But now he had another problem.

He had no money for the rest of the month. And even if he had cut back on his eating, he still needed TO eat. So he had no choice, he had to make some quick cash. It was really a good thing he was a good guitarist, he thought as he stepped onto the box on the street corner in town. Otherwise he'd be starving to death quickly (but wearing pants. Wait, would it matter if he had pants if he was dead?)

Something to contemplate, no doubt.

He summoned his guitar, earning shocked looks from the people that hadn't seen him do this trick before. This wasn't his usual crowd, they were high class gents that were out for their daily shopping trip, not the gutter trash he was used to playing for. He could only hope they had decent taste in music, he thought as he started tuning his guitar.

They were ignoring him. A street performer wasn't to their standards of entertainment, he thought with a twist of his lips. But he hadn't started yet. That would change soon. He tapped his foot on the box, getting the beat in his head, then started the song that would always remind him of Demi, Bulldog Bite.

A few glanced his way, another few, who had been scarfing down their meals as they raced to their next spot slowed down, moving closer to see what was going on. Usually street performers didn't sound like this. They often were second class players, second class singers, and almost always on an acoustic guitar.

This boil, although he had no amp and no source of electricity, was rocking a stage class guitar.

He finished the song, tugging off the hat he'd brought along and bowing to them with a flourish. "Thank you, thank you," he said as a smattering of applause came. He held out the hat, letting them discreetly toss money into it, then dropped it onto the ground in front of him.

"My name is Roch, I'm a poor student from Amity," he told them. "Any money that you would like to donate to my schooling--" Ha, right. This was all going to his stomach, but they weren't going to want to think that. "Would be appreciated! I promise it won't go to waste!"

He now had a crowd. Nice. He looked them over, evaluating them with an easy smile. Mostly adults, a few scarelings, and a ghoul his own age, or close to it. She would be useless, he thought. But he could do something with the scarelings.

"Next, just for you little ones, I'm going to play Mary Had a Little Lamb," he said teasingly. They protested, until he started to play and sing.

He didn't even curse before he jumped off the box, racing after her at top speed. As a reaper he wasn't as fast as other species, which sucked, but he'd had more practice going through crowds than she had.

He caught up to her quickly, grabbing for the back of her shirt. "Hey!" he snarled. "That's mine!"

He stared at her blankly, but took the hat quickly enough. "Biggest fan?" he repeated. "Reeeallly," he said with a snort, folding the hat with the seeds in it and shoving it into his pocket. "So even knowing I'm in the same school you only decide to STEAL my cash in the middle of town to get my attention, huh? In the middle of a performance, which is what you're such a big fan of, right? Nah, I'm not buyin' it," he told her, shaking his head.

"What are you really after?" he asked her, looking her straight in the eyes. His silver eyes were cold, but there was a hint of amusement, although whether that was a good thing or not was hard to tell.

"Traumatic memories from Mary had a little lamb," Roch drawled. Really, even if he had his own idiotic moments, he thought, you'd think a guy that had grown up in an extremely shady neighborhood (and LOOKED like it) would have the 'Don't try and con me, srsly' look on his face permanently.

"You remind me of someone," he said abruptly, frowning slightly as he tried to put a face with the vague memory. "So you're new, but you're already in my little hidden fanclub, huh? Do you get cards? Special handshakes, pictures of me shirtless or something?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Jackdammit, you lost me my crowd," he complained.

Then an evil expression crossed his face and he smiled at her. "But you and my fanclub, I bet you can more than make it up to me, right?"

He nodded. "You're right--or, you would be, except for one thing," he said. "My ultimate goal isn't to become a famous guitarist. I'm going to be a grim reaper. BUT you might have something there," he said, a little grin on his face.

"Can you arrange a concert? Do you have the connections to do something like that? Cuz I already spent my month's allowance. I need some cash, and I need it quickly. You'll be doing it with no money up front."

"Not just for me," Roch said, accepting her hand. "You're now in the FMC, our official PR ghoul. BUT," he warned her. "Take too many of our seeds and you'll regret being born." He gave her a wicked, charming smile as he shook her hand.

"I've got a party I wanted planned out, anyway. Besides, this should feed me for a day or two, what do you say we go back to school and discuss this... better?"