"Can I get your autograph, mate? Big fan." ( I gotta properly write out his modern verse but!!! something nice 4 murdoc )
“An autograph? Yeah, man, sure thing.”
It wasn’t uncommon to see celebrities charging their admirers for the simplest little mementos, but it’s not like Murdoc really needs the extra cash. He makes back plenty in merchandise, ticket and album sales; no need to turn a fan’s special moment into a bloody business transaction. Murdoc’s sold out plenty ( for fuck’s sake, he’s got one of those new G-Shock watches from today’s advertisement strapped to his wrist ), but he hasn’t fallen so far he’d resort to money-grubbing. Not these days, at least.
He fishes around his jeans’ pocket for his trusty fountain pen, eventually plucking it out and pulling the cap off with his teeth, speaking around it as he takes the slip of paper being offered to him.
“'Tho… to whom am I making thith’ ou’ to?”