Chapter Text
==> Be Tavros Nitram.
He comes in exactly 3:45 pm every Sunday to test the new stock of guitars in the front show room. He doesn't look like much, with unkempt hair and raggedy clothes but he knows how to make a guitar sing.
You first noticed him a few months back, when he asked you at the front desk if he could plug a white les paul into one of the Carvin stacks that Sollux is always bugging you to sell. Personally you like that fake vintage shit only for the sweet tone they produce, which is why you haven't really made the effort to get rid of them.
You said "Sure" and nodded your head. Watched him amble back to the amplifiers and fumble with the back for a few seconds. He didn't give it time to warm up and a bit of white noise made a mother and her brat standing in front of some of the more expensive stock clutch their ears. You had to hid your smirk at the shit eating grin he gave her as she hurried out of the store with a sour expression on her face. Fuck it if a potential grand just walked out of the store, her kid wouldn't appreciate it. You hate to see instruments being wasted on kids who'd play it for a few days and just leave in collecting dust in the corner.
You spend the next two hours listening to him run through chords and progressions. You're torn from the front desk to help a blind girl find the right cymbal in the back where the sets are kept because Sollux is in the basement studio recording tracks with Dave and no one else up here. She doesn't mind that you can't enter the drum room because of those two damn steps. It turns out she just wanted a second ear opinion. You spend the rest of your shift listening to her cane strike random crashes and dishing out your opinion on the merits of Zijians. She ends up buying a 14 inch China and a fuck ton of those shitty red plastic eyesore drumsticks. She smiles at you as you ring her up and she tells you to be at her bands next show. You're not doing anything this weekend anyway, and she's got you hooked.
Your ears pick up a familiar melody and you mentally hit yourself for not noticing he's still picking at the les paul. With fifteen minutes til closing time you have to usher him out of the store as nicely as possible. You wheel yourself over to him, still engrossed in his own little world it takes a few nudges and 'bros' to knock him out of it.
He turns and your stunned for a second by his indigo eyes and the wide smile he wears on his face.
"Wassup Motherfucker?," he says. You cough and put your hands on your wheels. Somehow he manages to make that insult sound endearing.
"Man I'd hate to kill your jam..... but I've got to close up shop." you say.
"Oh man I'm sorry, I didn't even notice the time." he pauses and laughs before continuing, "Ehehehe I got so caught up in my own little world."
You tentatively smile at him, and he stands up with the guitar in hand. As he's unplugging and shutting down the stack you suddenly notice how tall he is. Even if you still had use of your legs you wouldn't even reach his shoulders without standing on your tip toes. You kick yourself mentally for that line of thinking, no reason to get a head start on your own pity party til you're done closing up and home in your apartment alone.
You watch as he gingerly places the guitar back up on it's hanger, and he sighs.
"Hey man," you say, "You wanna buy it? I could ring it up for you real quick."
"Nah it's a good little guitar," He says with a tilt of his head."But I'm saving up for the right one."
"Yeah? Well we get new stock every Saturday morning, you can always come in and try them til you find the right one." you say.
"Motherfucking miracle man, you wouldn't mind?" he asks.
"Nah man, take your time." you smile, you personally don't like to rush the process. A guitar wasn't just a slab of metal and wood, it was a creature and Tavros knew first hand that the right guitar could make or break a performance. The bonding of musician and instrument was something akin to finding a soulmate.
"See you Saturday then, Tavbro." He waves one hand before shoving them deep into his pants pockets and strolls out of the shop. You tilt your head in confusion before you realize he read your name off of the tag on your shirt. You bring a hand to your face and shake your head before you roll over to the front door to lock it.
You regret not asking his name but you know you'll see him this Saturday.