Kuro felt the sweat run down his pale skin, intending to douse the heat of his face but not quite succeeding. He automatically slicked back his drenched hair and moved to unwind off his arm the cord of the microphone, which he then proceeded to carefully rearrange on the mic stand with fingers slightly shaking from the 'aftershock' of performing.

Although he wasn't covered in smiles and sparkles like his bandmates were, he wouldn't deny the ecstatic pounding of his heart, wanting to break free from his rib cage to join the thunderous crowd in their merrymaking. He dawdled onstage for a while, pretending to secure the body of the microphone as the others tidied up their equipment. The only drawback of being the frontman was that- while everyone else busied themselves with the necessary setup- you had absolutely nothing to do.

More often than not, he would find himself wringing his hands awkwardly as he stared down at the guitarists hunched up over their pedals. Most of the time, as the instrumentalists traipsed with cases slung over their shoulders and amps secured by straining arms, he stayed behind the conga line of musicians with his hands in his pockets. The only excercise he got when they journeyed for gigs was helping the drummer haul the surprisingly lightweight bass into the rented- occasionally borrowed- van, then out.

Well, it's not as if he was complaining.

The responsibility heavier than any amplifier out there, though, which fell on his shoulders, was the duty of having to 'speak to the crowd' while the sound system was being adjusted. There was the taxi business that befell him sometimes, too, but that was another story. Unlike the stereotypical loudmouths other vocalists were, he would turn his back towards the audience for a few moments, making a show of helping the bassist tune his instrument. In this period of time he wasn't blatantly giving people a glimpse of his lack of social skills and his refusal heretofore to bounce around asking for cheers, he would be wordlessly going over the lyrics of his least mastered song in his head.

Of course, his bandmates knew of all this, of how he wouldn't even move from his position back when they first started, as he sang, as if he was rooted to that spot. Hell, on their first bar gig, he used the mic stand. He used the microphone stand all throughout. And if that wasn't bad enough, his facial muscles did not even move, as if they had all fallen asleep, refusing to watch his hopeless attempts to interact with the audience. That inside joke was partly where they got their official name from, although his innate inclination to staying away from all activity was the biggest contributor. And, admittedly, his habit of spending more time sleeping than listening to their setlist.

Ushered by their guitarist, who had once attempted to 'educate' him about the negative effects of lethargy, he descended the stairs situated at the side of the stage. When they had gotten back to the small tent that served as their backstage, the remnants of elation from the performance were still coursing through his veins. The feeling of wanting to go back up to blast out a few more songs until they dropped to the floor in exhaustion was tugging at him, and he barely felt the playful punch that hit him on the arm.

"Hey." he protested, his voice slightly fading, strained by the final song, which had firmed their decision to place it at the end of the lineup by its difficulty.
"That was pretty sick, you absolute bastard." the bassist was grinning at him, towel slung over his bare shoulder and a water bottle gripped uncapped. "Bet Hyde would be losing his shit over missing this gig, of all things."

"Right? Kuro killed the stage today!"

Kuro almost blushed. He picked at the fibers of his towel.

"And I can very well say we played pretty cleanly. What say we have a little drink later?"
"We're all underage, you brainless duck. Just go buy us some soda. 'Cept for the vocalist, of course."

They laughed. Another one of their hobbies was poking fun at Kuro, who was rendered unable to enjoy the feeling of wrapping up a concert with a can of cold fizz. He normally wouldn't care, but their pitted hopes for getting to the top was, although he wouldn't openly tell them, spurring him on to do better. He was aware of the expectations from his bandmates, and they were of his own as well, which served to solidify the unspoken agreement between each of them.

Lazy as he may be, Kuro enjoyed performing, though, he couldn't be quite sure if that was him or if he had magically sprouted another personality that took over everytime he held a microphone. During the few minutes of vigorous activity onstage, he would lose himself to the energy that surrounded gig and live show venues. Romantic as it may be to mention he would lose himself in the music and would only have a blur of the entire lineup for memories by the end of it, he knew for one that it was an undeniable fact.

He pulled his shirt over his head to cool off, running the towel over his torso and his back. Then he downed a whole bottle of water. As he donned a clean sweatshirt he usually would set aside for the exact purpose of replacing his drenched after-performance shirts, the yelling outside the tent heightened, heralding the end of the main band's setup. The booming voice of their frontman echoed throughout the mall at the same time a distorted chord was played, and he began shouting introductions over cheering, accompanied by improvised background noise to stir up a vibe. Man, he was good. They were good. No wonder they earned a place among the multitude of musicians who were currently working under STRIKE.

No sooner than Kuro sat himself on a folding chair did he feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. He found himself in a state of irritation as he read over the text message he had received from their one bandmate who volunteered to grab some drinks, requesting for 'backup', brought upon by the silly happenstance of having forgotten to fish his wallet out of his bag.

Kuro ordered the man on the bass to put a shirt on and make a delivery, refusing to take on the extremely exhausting journey to the grocery section. His command was made absolute as he made a show of leaning back on his chair, phone in his hands as his adrenaline pumped out of his system and back to wherever it lay dormant most of the time.

Before he could decide on what game to open, though, his ears managed to pick up the sound of his name being called out over the loud music coming from outside.

"Kuro! Some kid's here to see you, new fan most likely!" the bassist exclaimed jokingly, holding up the tent flap with the back of his wrist. His grin never left his face as Kuro eyed him with a scrutinizing stare, which prompted the latter to begrudgingly haul himself out of the comforts of his seat. Their drummer simply continued to examine his sticks, looking out for a new splinter in their bodies, as Kuro felt a leather wallet pressed onto his palm. He gave his bandmate a final look of distaste before his wine-red irises met a pair of beatific- albeit passionate- eyes.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't deal with this..."

off to a slow-ish start, but we're getting there~ you have no idea how many minutes i held fistfuls of my hair trying to remember the technical term for the improvisations by the instruments (which i have failed to pull out from my rusty memory).

if the whole STRIKE organization thing is confusing you, please read "the setlist" chapter as it is dotted with details about the entire concept.

up top is a VERY basic sketch for kuro's band persona as vocalist. other "designs" will be following suit as i progress.