(no subject)
There's a dead priest plucking the strings of an acoustic guitar off beside the fireplace.
Nicholas Wolfwood hadn't played for a long time, and he had to kick the dust off that part of his mind. He recalled the last time he really played was for his kids at the orphanage, and it went a little something like...
How did it go again? Hell.
He started strumming, a simple tune, most definately one of those songs kids would get into, a campy, happy sort of song.
Sure, he knows knew the blues, but it would take time. It had been years since he'd had a guitar.
Requests?
Nicholas Wolfwood hadn't played for a long time, and he had to kick the dust off that part of his mind. He recalled the last time he really played was for his kids at the orphanage, and it went a little something like...
How did it go again? Hell.
He started strumming, a simple tune, most definately one of those songs kids would get into, a campy, happy sort of song.
Sure, he knows knew the blues, but it would take time. It had been years since he'd had a guitar.
Requests?