Travis

Important is just that if he doesn't finish, he needs to remember to take a break. But if he wants a date, she's open. Whatever he wants, they can have that.

Sigh... It's always the same old, isn't it? She'll bring him some fresh water to drink and cut up some fruits so he can eat a bit while doing work. The brain needs energy to work.

Can she help? Or does he need silence?

Still working?

“Sounds like it was the bassist or the drummer.” Johannes flicks his cigarette on the floor and grinds it out with a sigh. He’s been reunited with two of his bandmates, but he still mourns the others he’ll never see again whenever he thinks of them.

“Huh.” Interesting. Was it Johannes? He can’t recall, but that could so easily be blamed on age and drugs. “Which one of those edgelords was it?”

Johannes always has time for the artists on his label, but other than that…? His ‘me time’ is sacred. “I suppose I better get back before the ghost starts missing me. Good luck building your hotel elsewhere.”

“I’m off the clock, so professionalism can suck my rock.” Johannes snorts, flicking ash on the floor before taking another drag from his cigarette. “Save it for your actual business partners.”

Johannes would by more open to the possibilities, but right now his priorities lie in personal interests rather than business. “Not interested, darling. You have nothing I want.”

“Does it matter either way?” He counters with a raised brow, taking a drag and blowing smoke in the other’s direction. “I don’t think it’s any of your business… No pun intended.”

Taking one look at the business card…and pressing his cigarette against it to burn a hole in it. “I won’t be changing my mind, darling.” Until they get Scotty out, Johannes won’t even entertain the possibility of selling that place. Mama Bear will protect her ghost.

“Guilty as charged.” Violin and piano? Not his type of music. Or Scotty’s. Thank god he got the venue before this guy. “Consider yourself lucky. The resident ghost eats the rich.”

“I dismiss you because I know your type don’t care for creatives.” He scoffs, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and lighting it. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll keep the music alive and honour Scotty’s legacy better than you ever could.”

So there is going to be a next time? Don't worry about the law, I know how to make my own.

... Damn it. Another night?

“You think that’s what a musician would want? A plaque in a hotel?” Rolling his eyes, he turns his nose up in disgust and waves a hand dismissively. “Yuck. Tasteless.”

“Of course. Don’t you know what happened there? Tsk. No respect for the dead, you people.”