[It's almost like a storm coming in over his head, something that he should notice. He doesn't, though, because he spends his morning drinking coffee and ignoring his phone (because that whole business of wishing himself modern still leaves a bad taste in his mouth).
When he does open his mouth to give instructions, he hears music. Worse, he can tell that it's coming from him, low and not as awful as he usually is, when singing his words.]
I'm still loaded and waiting, with anticipation to fly.
[It's all he manages before he gives his client an apologetic look. Opening his mouth, he tries again, but it happens again. At this rate, he's definitely not getting a good tip for today's lessons.]
You learn your lessons in the hardest time.
[Resolving to shut up and only use gestures for the rest of the lesson, Vasquez makes it to his smoke break, heading outside and hoping that because he's got a cigarette in his mouth, he'll be fine not to say anything.]
ii. proof you'll find it there
[He's not sure why he's come back to the same diner as before after his shift, maybe because it's a place that he can go without feeling completely humiliated. He knows everyone is singing, but the idea of embarrassing himself in song at one of the bars he likes to frequent is the furthest thing from his mind.
Of course, avoiding conversation is the best thing to do, but when someone sings to him and asks for his order, comments that he looks familiar, Vasquez sighs and knows that there's no avoiding it.]
I'm the same man now that I was when I changed.
[Grimacing, he gives in to the instinct to talk and sing.]
I saw my face in the mirror, though I know I've changed.
[Tapping the order on the menu for beer, needing a lot of them to get through the day.]
[Go crazy, let me know what you feel like. Vasquez is going to be pretty much in contemp-country world, with dips into indie and a little classic, but will be annoyed to have to sing at you. Ping me at lovelyambition if you want something specific!]
vasquez | ota
[It's almost like a storm coming in over his head, something that he should notice. He doesn't, though, because he spends his morning drinking coffee and ignoring his phone (because that whole business of wishing himself modern still leaves a bad taste in his mouth).
When he does open his mouth to give instructions, he hears music. Worse, he can tell that it's coming from him, low and not as awful as he usually is, when singing his words.]
I'm still loaded and waiting, with anticipation to fly.
[It's all he manages before he gives his client an apologetic look. Opening his mouth, he tries again, but it happens again. At this rate, he's definitely not getting a good tip for today's lessons.]
You learn your lessons in the hardest time.
[Resolving to shut up and only use gestures for the rest of the lesson, Vasquez makes it to his smoke break, heading outside and hoping that because he's got a cigarette in his mouth, he'll be fine not to say anything.]
ii. proof you'll find it there
[He's not sure why he's come back to the same diner as before after his shift, maybe because it's a place that he can go without feeling completely humiliated. He knows everyone is singing, but the idea of embarrassing himself in song at one of the bars he likes to frequent is the furthest thing from his mind.
Of course, avoiding conversation is the best thing to do, but when someone sings to him and asks for his order, comments that he looks familiar, Vasquez sighs and knows that there's no avoiding it.]
I'm the same man now that I was when I changed.
[Grimacing, he gives in to the instinct to talk and sing.]
I saw my face in the mirror, though I know I've changed.
[Tapping the order on the menu for beer, needing a lot of them to get through the day.]
You got to serve something, ain't that right?
iii. hey, I heard you were a wild one
[Go crazy, let me know what you feel like. Vasquez is going to be pretty much in contemp-country world, with dips into indie and a little classic, but will be annoyed to have to sing at you. Ping me at