You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

Dante huffed. "Good music brings out the fire in people. It touches their souls in ways nothing else ever could." He looks around. "As far as I see, we've lit a good flame here. Joint effort." Dante shrugs, before groaning, realising that he was probably being the typical older-brother figure that Mark seemed so obsessed with being to him. Fuck, double fuck, triple fuck. He needs to get out of here before he asks if Elijah has a studio he can use and develops loving sibling syndrome.

Dante doesn't make any move to take the money thrown at them, simply walking forwards and pumping his fist in the air, quite obviously egging everyone on— the attention was payment enough for him. Without further ado, he retrieves his guitar and microphone stand, two-finger saluting at Elijah before walking back to his mustang. "Good session, was nice meeting ya or whatever. See ya around, kiddo."

Dante brushes off any personal get-to-know-you effort made by the civvies, only pausing when some random woman tips her his phone number. He leaves with a roar of his mustang, disappearing into the dying day. The night awaited him.

You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

"Classic rock ain't something that can be appreciated in your regular old underground snoot bar," Dante chirps back with a roll of his eyes beneath his shades. "Did you see him, I mean like, really see him? That guy was older than both of us combined— maybe even old Sheila here." Dante taps the roof of his mustang again. "You gotta be reaaaaaaaaal involved with rock to appreciate everything about it. Its origins, its meanings, why it keeps you up at night and why you keep sticking to this mutualistic, monotonous lifestyle we've all confined ourselves to. You get what I'm saying?"

"Two-bit thugs like him don't get my time of day. I've got better places to be," Dante says cockily. "also, you punching me would cause a traffic jam worse than the ones in LA at night. So keep your sticky fingers to yourself."

Eventually, Dante leaves the highway and stops outside a nighttime district, pointing at a nearby bus stop. "Since this day ended worse than I expected, I say that you either get laid or go home. Either way, don't fuckin' follow me again, okay?" Dante snaps. "I'm not your younger brother, so stop pretending we're related."

You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

Do you want this love of mine?

The darkness helps all to shine

Do you want it, do you want it now?

Do you want it all the time?

The darkness helps us all to shine

Do you want it, do you want it now?

Pick you up like a paperback

With the track record of a maniac

So I move it in and we unpack

It's the same as yesterday

Any way we roll

Everything must go away

Ah, what do you say?

Yeah, you don't know my mind

You don't know my kind

Dark necessities are part of my design

Tell the world that I'm falling from the sky

Dark necessities are part of my design

Ah, there it is. As the chorus ends and Dante descends into his crescendo of a guitar solo, it's almost too loud for his well-tuned ears to handle— but nonetheless, the quite literal electricity of his guitar is music to his ears, a harmonious symphony only attainable by two masters of their craft. For a kid, this Elijah had so easily fallen into step with Dante so effortlessly, almost like they had been both playing together their entire lives. Quite simply to say, staying in touch with Elijah is something he wants to hold onto, and not let go. After all, only artists can appreciate their art fully.

His worn and calloused fingers eventually leave the strings, and the last notes of the song fizzle out, the crowd holding its breath in anticipation as silence takes hold once more. There's nothing. Then there's everything— screaming, crying, clapping, not in terror of their lack of talent but in complete and utter appreciation of their performance. Dante only nods in satisfaction, his grin having never left his lips as he claps along with them, looking down at Elijah. As much as Dante wanted the credit, for all of his selfishness, the one and only thing he could appreciate in life was another musician of talent.

"Good job, kid." Dante says. "Wasn't expectin' that, I'll be honest with ya. Was almost like we've never not played together."

You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

He sincerely doesn't know about whatever the hell Mark is getting up to in his off time— from the few year's they've been together, Dante knows that the bane of his existence has always had a specific taste in women, as did Dante. That was probably the one, and only thing, they had in common. If Mark could summon a big tiddied goth girl friend to help them out here, then he might consider giving Mark a break for once in his life. "Your brother ain't got shit on this!" Dante spits back, also in English.

They're coming up to an intersection. Ahead of them is the highway— but it's on a bridge above the suburbs, and he has no fucking clue how to get up there. May as well wing it, he guessed! "Road safety laws, prepare to be ignored!" Dante shouts as he performed an effortless drift to right side of the intersection, and surprise surprise, it's a main road. Fortunately enough, it's not rush hour, and he finds himself stepping on the gas and blazing down the street with the bikers jeering after him. If they weren't on his ass, he probably would have liked to take a look at the Harley-Davidsons they were riding.

The delinquent takes one look at the side-mirror of the mustang, eyebrows raising above his sunglasses. "Oi, you got a couple on your eight-o-clock!" He announces. There's two bikers— both looking equally pissed, and equally readied to destroy property with a bat and a crowbar, one that has Dante shrieking out "WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY GET THOSE FROM?" while swerving to avoid a congested lane at a traffic light, just managing to make it through the orange. They sidle up beside the mustang, ready to hit Dante's most prized possession. "Hey! Don't let them hit the car, or I will seriously think about running them over just to avoid it!"

You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

Dante verbally growled when he saw Mark corral into his mustang after him— the delinquent's hand was on the ignition, turning the key but to no avail, hearing the engine whir in protest. Of course now of all times it was refusing to start! He probably needed a push to get oxygen through the air filter again, but doing that meant going outside and facing that angry mob. "I'll cause a damn riot whenever I damn well please," Dante hisses in response. He banged a fist against the steering wheel with a shout of annoyance at the dismal sign of life from the over century-old car. "Fuck, you saggy old grandma of a machine!"

Almost in response, he hears the angry pounding of fists against the driver's side window, Dante looking up to scowl at the face of the biker who's wallet he had stolen from. "Hey— HEY, HANDS OFF THE CAR, ASSHOLE!"

"Oh no, you're paying for what you did! When I get you out of there, you're gonna look far worse than this old piece of crap!" The biker snarls back, his voice muffled through the window pane.

"WHAT?" Dante squawked. "This car is worth more than whatever worthless things you and your pantheon of winners have ever stolen in your entire life!"

"I dare you to say that again, motherFUCKER!" In tandem with the biker's last curse word, the rest of the gang bulldozes against the rear end of the mustang, nearly making Dante break his nose on the dashboard but hearing the sweet, sweet roar of that engine made the delinquent laugh out loud in delight.

"I said, this car is worth more than whatever worthless things you and your pantheon of winners have ever stolen in your entire life!" Dante grinned in response as he shifted the clutch to the first gear, slamming down on the accelerator with his head hitting the headrest as the mustang squealed to life and ripped down the road. That was much more like it. His hand shifts to the panel on his left, winding down Mark's window. "They'll be back in a short minute, I'm sure." He chuckles. "Got any plan you wanna share with me to shake them off?"

You're so sweet[break] but I like it loud[break]
Light it up yeah smoke em if you got em

As soon as Mark's hand lands on his shoulder, Dante immediately turned his head to glare at him- if he hadn't been wearing sunglasses he would have probably frozen anyone else with his stare, Medusa style. Unfortunately, Mark had the avid talent of not giving a shit about whatever Dante thought. "Hands off." He growled, continuing out the door as the bikers grew in volume behind him, starting to shout over something. Not his problem.

"Y'know, you chasing after me has really taught me something in the past couple months, Mark." Dante starts- he knew Mark would follow, so he talks regardless of whoever's in proximity. Striking a match on his boot he lights a cigarette as soon as he's out of the door, placing the stick of death on his lips. "S' got me thinkin' on what I'm doing is really worth it or not. Am I making a difference? Do these people recognise the heart of rock and roll? Do they understand what I'm trying to tell them? Do they cheer because they love hearing a good show, or because they agree with me?"

He makes his best attempt at looking conflicted, which isn't conveyed very well considering the permanent smirk etched onto his features. "So what is the better path, Mark? To pursue chivalry through heart rather than violence? I thought about it and... maybe you're right." He tosses an item at mark. "Here, catch. It's a little gift to say sorry for all those times you've come after me."

As soon as Dante turns around again, the doors of the bar are almost unhinged with how violently they're opened, and several of the bikers charging out, vehement looks on their grizzled faces. "WHERE is it? I SWEAR IT WAS HERE, AND I ONLY LOST IT AFTER THOSE TWO LEFT!"

Like a bloodhound the owner set in, stalking over to the pair, searching for the item. If Mark had opened the item, he would see what the fuss was about.

The wallet of said biker.

If Mark turned to confront Dante, he would see the delinquent sprinting away as fast as possible towards his mustang and careening inside.