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

Hell of a move. It was clear to Dante that this guy played his bass like it was a fifth limb that he had lived his entire life with, no questions asked about it, like they had never existed apart. Coming across a soul like that was a very rare occurrence- in all the other band members he had found and played with, not a single one of them had a shred of fire in their hearts that they used to play with. There was a certain amount of heart and soul you needed to play an instrument and get anything out of it, and their fires were akin to the deepest depths of the ocean. Not one bit of mind in any of them- and that's a part of why he went solo.

He's starting to have second thoughts now, but it's going to be a moment longer before Dante decides on anything.

The delinquent strikes a match against his boot to light the cigarette perched on his lips before he stalks up to the youth, taking a long drag before exhaling with smoke dancing on his lips as he spoke, sun highlighting his figure. "You've sure got a set of fingers on you, kid," Dante comments as he crouches down on one knee so he can get eye to eye with Elijah. "say, would you oppose to a few thousand more yen?" He glances back at his Mustang parked on the street, which has now been surrounded by another group of people taking photos of it. "Got my guitar and speaker over there. Won't ask for a dollar," he stands up, shoving his hands in his leather jeans pockets. "just wanna see what you're really capable of when we throw some more sound into the mix. Whadya think?"

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

The summer markets here in Japan, they don't seem too different from the ones back home. A little bit more of a tighter squeeze than most alleyways, but that might have just been him. Overall it's a pleasant and peaceful environment, one Dante probably shouldn't feel comfortable in considering he shouts it out best in the back alley slums, but he's not here to bathe in the sunshine and order a triple-decker ice cream. No, he's scouting for other wayward souls and lost musicians like him, or rather, people who can compete with him.

Though through the rumblings of his mustang's engine and the murmur of the crowd, he soon finds, or hears, what he's looking for.

Instantaneously he can tell whoever's playing has some significant balance. It takes a heart-wrenching backstory and some real talent to slap-bass like that. He rolls to stop in front of the mall where parking is totally not allowed, but he's not about to spend hours looking for a parking spot and coming back to find that the busker's long gone. He can take a parking ticket- it's less important than seeing whoever's here. He strikes a match on his cigarette as he walks over and moseys on through the crowd to get a closer look. A few people give him some odd ganders- not that he blames them, as he looks like a renegade from some A tier rock-and-roll drama flick where the lead singer dies in a shootout. Slicked long blonde hair with the pair of dog tags, tight jeans and some irrelevant ancient r&r tanktop, and the sunglasses to top it all off?

Dante, you do not belong here and you know it.

Still, he doesn't want to steal this kid's thunder. He looks young, but he doesn't act it. He clearly knows what he's doing. Dante, being polite for once, will wait until he's finished this song.

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

One thing Dante missed about America was the open roads of desert. Somehow, out there, he felt closer to the sky. Whether it being sunburnt under the glorious sun or shivering under the great expanse of brilliant stars, he didn't care- the desert could rough him up all it liked- but he loved it because it was home. Funny how the things that hate you the most are the things you come crawling back to, huh? But not here. There's no desert here. There's his home away from home, the slums and squats of the streets.

The delinquent's exploring his new home, at least, that's what he told the old man. A clear excuse to get away from that dreaded hero university he had just taken up in, but before there was any protest, he was out the door and roaring down the streets away from there. A hero school! The exact opposite of punk and heavy metal! Just being there drained the rockerboy from within him, and shit, he couldn't let that happen.

But then down one particularly abandoned road on the outskirts of what he thought was called Shinjuku, a desolate place rose from the skyline, a forgotten playground that could have been unintentionally mentioned in one of his songs. His '69 mustang screeches to a halt as he happens by the entrance, then reverses, rolled down the window, and Dante peered out, looking over his sunglasses. He should have said, "creepy" or "it's probably haunted", but nope.

"Oh, fuck yeah."

Once he tears down the straight of the entrance and finds himself in the middle of everything, he can't help but think, shit, what a fantastic place this would be for a concert. The dreary and empty horror aspect of the amusement park practically was begging for something to liven it up. Isn't that what amusement parks were for? Amusement? Well, he considered himself to have the right to make himself amused in such a place.

Wiring his guitar to the speakers of his electric guitar as he tucks it over his chest, he gives a few quiet experimental strums to test the sound level. All good, nothing seemed out of tune, thank god. He hops up onto the roof of the muscle machine, and gives the area a look around. There's a ferris wheel, too. It's begging to be haunted. Thinking for a moment, he mentally cycles through his available song list, before nodding and deciding on one. Oh, it's sure to stick out here. Though, he can't resist absolutely ripping the strings to hear that glorious howl from his guitar, and does the echo of his song sing back to him like glorious hellfire. "Killer acoustics," Dante comments, a wry grin on his lips.

God, it's actually an angel's choir singing to him. Shit, it's settled. Somehow he's got to get a crowd here.