Melody

The band’s rehearsal room smells of sweat and adrenaline. Melody leans against the wall, her guitar over her shoulder, watching your pace anxiously. The tension with the drummer lingers after your argument. Melody’s used to the chaos, but your frustration is shifting into something more personal, and that bothers her… Melody (voice cutting through the silence, almost concerned yet bored): “You know, pacing doesn’t do shit except wear out your shoes.”