Mitch didn’t expect to be, but they were genuinely a fan of Pencey pretty quickly. For the most part they didn’t really understand what the singer- or more accurately, the person who screamed the lyrics- was saying, but the guitar was ridiculously good, it was loud, it was destructive and that guitarist brought a kind of energy to it that made it almost entrancing in a chaotic, disorganised kind of way. Either way, it worked, and Mitch admired it- though more theatrical in nature themselves, they wanted to tap into that kind of raw energy, so the balance between the chaos and noise that a crowd like this obviously wanted and the theatrics and flair that mitch desperately wanted to bring to it all was found. Their aesthetic, though constantly changing, was briefly incredibly specific, and they committed to it completely- though, in all honesty, it wasn’t too hard to look like a vampire when they were, actually, a vampire. They were pale enough, looked dead and tired enough, and they had the set of fangs- all they needed was some red eyeshadow and black hair dye and they were set.

It didn’t look like it, but they got nervous easily, as did the rest of their band- Evan had downed a few drinks beforehand to quell his nerves, and though Mitch wanted to, they just kind of steeled themselves, trying to focus on the performance rather than the audience. It proved surprisingly easy, but they did notice a familiar face at the front, right against the stage- Holden, the ‘crazy fucking good’ guitarist, singing along to the lyrics he knew and driving the crowd along with a similar enthusiasm. They were well received, thanks to the obvious approval of what Mitch assumed was a regular customer, a familiar face, a well-liked individual- Mitch was even more intrigued by Holden, then, who apparently knew like half the lyrics to both songs they had out and was presumably the one who convinced the rest of Pencey to give the newer, younger band some small assistance. That all passed through their head very briefly when they were back in the zone again, finishing off [i]Vampires[/i] and then coming to a stop along with the instruments, relishing in the appreciation of the small crowd, and retaining their persona until they were off.

Mitch had already decided that was what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives, and was living in the afterglow of that rather frenzied, lightning-quick performance. Making a beeline to the bar (that’s where they’d find Evan, probably, if he weren’t home, plus any other interesting characters who maybe wanted to talk to them after seeing them up there in stage, a new face to learn and know), they quickly leaned against it to get comfortable, and not seconds went by when they were looking slightly down at their apparently #1 fan. Giving him a second to greet them first, they wasted time examining rather meticulously everything they could see about Holden that was immediately obvious, piercings and tattoos. They seemed to be everywhere that Mitch could see skin, and the invasive thought of [i]i want to see the rest of them[/i] was met by a quick self-check. Chill out, Mitch, you hardly know this guy. In fact, you don’t know him. Mitch exhaled finally, then began to speak.

Apparently temporarily immobilised by an offhand compliment with the [i]slightest[/i] flirtatious undertone, Holden was silent for a few moments before he flashed Mitch a grin. [i]Thanks![/i] Only one word, and Mitch could tell that accent was [i]thick,[/i] which was weird of them to notice considering their Jersey accent was just as strong. They felt a passing urge, as they often did, to try and bite the silver ring, but they imagined if they did that they’d draw blood. That wasn’t a problem for them, but regrettably their teeth were painfully sharp. They drew their tongue over the points absently, then shifted their weight, trying to refocus when Holden started speaking again. [i]I just wanted to say, uh- your band is fucking awesome.[/i] Mitch nodded, because duh. [b]”So’s yours.”[/b] [i]Like, 'I'd buy every record and not pirate it' awesome. You guys killed it.[/i] Mitch almost laughed, because that was a huge lie, but they settled on a knowing half-smirk. [b]”Oh, really? Lying is a bad habit, sugar, nobody actually buys records now.”[/b] They responded, pushing their thick hair out of their eyes again to prevent it sticking to their forehead.

[i]Oh, and I think you're really hot, so can I buy you a drink? Is beer cool?[/i] Now, Mitch didn’t care when people were forward, but this was a kind of forward they weren’t used to. After a moment, they laughed slightly, deciding they liked this guy, and nodded, turning their body almost fully so they were facing him now. [b]”Beer’s fine.”[/b] Fully knowing they probably wouldn’t drink it (they had very specific tastes, usually, though they weren’t always opposed to just plain old alcohol), they waited for Holden to take the cans from the ice and when it was pushed towards them, they brought it closer along the bar, cracking it open so they could at least have, like, a sip. [i]Speaking of record. When do I get one?[/i] [b]”Right now, specially for you,”[/b] They said, flashing him a grin again and lifting the fan to his lips to drink some, an action that only reminded them that they were actually quite thirsty. This thought drew Mitch naturally to Holden’s neck, where they noticed the scorpion tat yet again.

[b]"Hey, that’s cool,”[/b] They said suddenly, indicating with their hand the scorpion on Holden’s neck. [b]"I love tats as a concept, but I’m fucking terrified of needles,”[/b] Mitch said, with a hint of irony touching their voice, [b]”Which is dumb as fuck, coming from me.”[/b] Just to make sure Holden caught on enough to at least be curious, they hated their teeth, drawing their tongue over the points again. [b]”So, do they cover, like, everywhere..?”[/b] They trailed off, looking down to Holden’s arms and then up again to meet his eyes.