"Do you like this music? I can change it." Merlin's radio repair shop in Cannibaltown was neat but dusty, with old radios on shelves, a bin of spare vacuum tubes by the door, and racks of vintage magazines lining the far wall. A jazzy, mournful tune was playing from the microwave-sized transistor radio on Merlin's desk, and he spoke as his glassy eyes watched the customer stalk through the shop.
Muses Getting to Know Each Other ;; [ ACCEPTING ]
The moment sharp tipped oxfords set foot into the establishment, a VINTAGE hugged voice had gone from speaking to HUMMING, head bobbing in unison with the mellow beat. It's somewhat reminiscent of his time as a PROPER host--- an era Alastor both missed and didn't for a myriad of varying reasons he'd be hard pressed to discuss.
" Oh, no, no, no, my good man. " His eyes peruse the items on the shelves, the shop a regurgitated TIME MACHINE of a forgotten, albeit beloved period, but his ears remained trained on that voice and beyond. " In fact, I should like to know the COMPOSER of this piece! It's what drew me to this WONDERFUL little shop of yours, after all... "
--- and, of course, a more PERSONAL reason that could, hopefully, be addressed after his NOSTALGIA TRIP has come to an end.
Alastor waltzes over to the counter, leans atop it, eyes ALIGHT with genuine joy. Not many things can make him feel like this--- especially not in HELL, of all places, where sinners go to suffer and, indeed, do, but this? A welcomed little pocket of quietude and familiarity amidst the CHAOS.
@merlinmradio ;;