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Lux combed through the stacks of value records, searching and searching. She could easily afford the new records, but always went through that section first; call it selfish you'd like, or claim that she was taking from the less fortunate, but she liked a sweet deal, no matter the quantity of money in her pocket. Perhaps it was her upbringing- most things could be traced back to that.
It wasn't her usual place, which filled her with a sense of betrayal. Normally, she'd visit an aged brick building, off the corner of a crummy street, where a sweet woman named Jane worked the front. Lux had been going there since she had moved into Los Angeles, just a stumbling, poor baby then; Jane had given Lux a job immediately, cleaning the shop even though she didn't really need a cleaner. With that, whatever leftovers Jane and her husband managed to scrounge up went to the hungry Lux until she could support herself, and that called for some loyalty. So, being in Tower Records did feel like going behind enemy lines, but Connie had raved enough about the place to gain some attention.
Lux was positive she would much favour the company of Jane over the company of Tower Records' underpaid, grumpy teenagers, until she saw who worked one checkout line. Pale face, sculpted cheekbones. Placid eyes, lips over a red Solo cup which definitely was not supposed to be drunk during store hours. Most notably, strawberry-blonde hair falling to just pass his shoulders.
"You seem to just be following me everywhere!" Lux jokes, before Axl even looked up. He didn't even react, barely, as if expecting her to be there. Swiftly, he grabbed her records from her hands, examining her choices, "Rod Stewart and Little Richard? Really?"
"Hey!" Lux scoffed, genuinely defended, "Be careful what you say about Rod Stewart!" Axl only shook his head, muttering something underneath his breath, though his smile was impossible to keep off his face as he did so. She watched as he checked out her records, before gaining a gust of bravery, and tracing her fingers over his forearm, "I love your tattoo. Is that your band, Guns N Roses? Just realised you never told me about them, or invited me to a show!"
Lux studies the skulls staring back at her as Axl takes a moment to enjoy the forwardness of the woman now gripping his arm. The various bracelets crowding his rest go so far they nearly touch the bottom of the giant purple cross, embedded into his pale skin. Axl, Lux knows just by looking, rests in the middle of the cross; he is, effectively, at the centre. He is what Guns N Roses is formed around.
"You never asked." Axl answered, slyly. From underneath the counter, he pulled out a record. On it, the same symbol on his arm is displayed, and Lux gasps, taking the record, "You bastard! I'm so buying this!"
Axl just laughs, hands thrown up in mock surrender as Lux reaches across the counter and scans the record herself, slipping it into a plastic bag along with the others. Accepting her stash, she turns to leave, before pausing, "When's your next gig?"
