Clinging onto the last ration of hope that Tom wasn't bringing her into a depressed trap house, She was pleasantly surprised on entrance -
Emerald vines blanketed the ceiling, Trailing and criss crossing towards what must have been a makeshift stage. Built almost entirely of scrap wooden planks. The sun escaped through the thin panes, kissing the room with a warm glow.
On inspection Isla noticed one stand out object amongst the usual interior. A black electric guitar.
As she slumped down in a sofa facing the stage, Tom grabbed the guitar and stroked it: clearing it of the generous layer of dust that must've had years to accumulate.
"We used to only come here. Me, Bill, Gustav and George" He stated tuning the guitar. "When we first started- We would come up with songs in this room"
Watching Tom spin around the room excitedly, Isla relaxed in herself. "no way, does that guitar still work?"
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He looked at her with a questionable smile, strumming the strings in one swift movement. It sounded so crisp- but fresh. Sending Isla tingles
As he made his way onto the planks, guitar in one hand he mentioned "Shit i almost forgot to tell you, apparently we have an interview soon- soon like maybe tomorrow?"
ugh...
"That was probably what Jeff had come to tell me!" She said.
Ignoring the annoyance that had struck her thinking about interviews. She hated them. They were just an excuse for an overly intrusive person to have Isla sit for an hour as they bombarded her with questions that no socially aware person would ask.
She asked Tom what it would be about. "i have no clue, i think Bill knows- he told me yesterday but i was too high to remember."
Analysing him, She had noticed the way that he hesitated before saying high, did he think that she couldn't hear the fucking word because she had one bad trip?
A couple minutes later, after the two had bitched about a popular interviewer in Germany, who had asked the both of them intrusive questions. Tom seamed like he'd finally tuned his Guitar-
"Oi Isla, give me a song and i'll play it right here" he said, Grinning from cheek to cheek
"ummmm, pain of love?"
She watched him- trying not to fangirl about the way he swung his head in momentum, moving his hand faster and faster as he played.
Somehow he looked equally at ease and concentrated, as he played. She admired him. He made it look so complex, yet he seamed so capable
She praised him after he was done, noticing him blush.
