#rosalind-bennett

[violentloch-blog]

The Heart of Glass — Who is the person who means the most to your character?

heard it through the grape fine – accepting

Ant, without question. The Violent Vale bassist is basically Silas’s older brother. They’ve been friends since they were just teenage gutter punks back in Bristol and Silas probably wouldn’t have lived this long without Ant. Ant taught him how to survive, taught him how to pick pocket and take care of himself on the streets. And he’s had his back when fame becomes too much for him. There’s no one in his life more important than Ant.

Second only to Ant is probably Sonny. Sonny is the savior for four punk kids who had all the energy and the talent but lacked the knowledge and the means to make something of themselves. Everything that Silas is, he is because of And and Sonny. Even if he has a hard time showing either of them how much they mean to him.

[vitalwildfire-blog]

The Cherry Bomb — What is your characters favorite outfit to wear out on the town?

I heard it through the grapevine...

Sonny is incredibly low-maintenance, in that the type of outfit he likes to wear out on the town is the same as the one he wears almost everywhere else. From the ground up, the outfit consists of shiny black Doc Martens, blue jeans (the first thing he purchased in New York), whatever band T-shirt he picks up off the floor that’s clean (most of which he nabbed from merch tables or a Vital Noise junk closet), and his favorite leather jacket. It’s his only leather jacket, but he doesn’t need any other. 

When he needs to look a tad more presentable, he swaps out the leather jacket for a blazer he keeps in his office. 

[marimarxagui]

The Fame — If your character were to grace the headlines of a tabloid, what would be the juiciest bit of gossip the readers would find out about?

If the public must know, there is a certain someone Mari crossed paths with, a known ‘disturbed genius’ who she managed to catch on one of his more disturbed days.

Things started out fairly benign, an acid trip she followed down a rabbit hole, reading the poetry of Shelley and Blake with the man — she wasn’t big on that kind of thing, those dead poets, but she indulged him, let him do his readings. It wasn’t a physical attraction she felt; far from it. His rock-god days were in the past and it was a pot-bellied, bearded, grizzly bear persona she was getting to know, rather than the handsome posters she’d been accustomed to when younger. 

At any rate she was having a good time, amusing and being amused, letting alcohol and lysergic acid bring her visions carried on technicolour winds. Until, somehow, those very tides turned nightmarish. The man was on top of her, shouting obscenities, fingers digging white prints into her neck. Mari couldn’t breathe, just about the most terrifying sensation she’d ever felt. 

Luckily, the shouts and commotion alerted a nearby friend, and the altercation was cooled off (not until said disturbed genius had to be talked down off a roof). Even more luckily, no prying eyes were privy to this scene, or it very well may have ended in police escorts and front page news. Needless to say Mari never saw him again, and eight months later he was found dead in Paris.