There is a hazing bulb that falls carefully and speculatively into an open-ended room scattered with old guitar strings; casted aside
The walls are painted in some scattered patches with powerful sculptures and artwork, in progress.
Hair is swaying, and it is dark brown and knotted and dry, it swings as the unknown person crouched on a chair rises with baggy jeans, buttons knitted and dangling in random places around it, and dangling from muddy sneaker white shoes, and a white men's T-shirt is hanging loose from her shoulders. She is carrying a broken blue ukulele with her three fingers and lets it dangle from her limp hand until it reaches the floor, staring at it slowly as the floor and slow drop does also, she then tilts her head suddenly, but softly as if listening to the air's music, and it fades apparently, as her eyes grow speculatively intrigued and distantly wondrous to a blank nod. She lightly dances in an interval of being; freestyle with flowing limbs and shivering bodies. She drops to the knees, continuing to shake and fall back, and her eyes are blankly unfamiliar to this character; scratchy like an un-pencil.
-Enters a teenager (resonating the age of 19) with long skinny legs in baggy jean-shorts, apparently self-cut, and a pale orange/yellow/white baggy button shirt, open to reveal a violet dress and eight necklaces dangling from his neck, one from his ear and another dangles from his hair, and his hands are grabbing at dryly dyed roots-blonde hair as if he was attempting to knot the pink string in the strands, with a struggling face, it falls in his hand and he fumbles once again, looking in the direction of the outside. The string finally catches on his longest lock that moves and hangs over his forehead. With his head titled down and looking at his friend, he grins wickedly and laughs, all in the while noticing her position.
The stranger dry brown-haired girl tilts her head from the floor and grins back. The string then slips from his lock of hair and he watches it fall to the floor and pulls a grimace, then he kicks a chair lightly and sits stiffly down on the floor, staring strangely at his friend.
"The fuck were you doing?" Annorare's hair falls at this scoff.
"The fuck were you doing mate." This is not appointed as a question, but both smile aloud. "I'm Owain, and Mikes taught us all that"