The night was dragging on, and unfortunately for Erin, Kaizer and Elliot the turnout for a possible new front man was few and far between. And as expected, nobody could really fully agree on any of the potential "talent" that showed up. It had been almost an hour since the last person left, and the snow wasn't letting up - if anything it was getting worse. Perhaps Erin shouldn't have been so stubborn and moved the date to after the blizzard.

The collective mood was discouraged, and a burned out quiet echoed against the cold concrete walls. But before the trio could call it a night the frosty doorknob began to shake - the door leading outside opening with a sudden jerk.

After a long day of covering for assholes who were afraid of a little snow, the weather had actually started to get somewhat treacherous. It was cold, the air nearly as bitter as the young man's attitude as he pulled his ancient Toyota box into the driveway mentioned on the poster. The slightly soggy piece of paper sat on the passenger seat, a microphone and its cord piled lazily on top of it. Parking his car and grabbing the used mic he'd bought offline only a few days prior, he stepped out of his car. A large-collared gray peacoat covered the majority of his form, everything below his nose and just above his knees hidden behind the thick garment as he reached out a gloved hand to the basement's doorknob. The many footprints leading in and out of the door made him assume it was the right place, but he wasn't sure if they'd found their man yet.

Pulling on the knob, the door was stuck, the cold weather ruining everything as usual. Pressing a foot against the doorframe, he gave it another tug and managed to yank the portal open. "Fuck." He sighed as he walked in, stomping off the caked on snow on the doormat. Glancing up from behind his thick framed glasses, he noticed the three people occupying the basement. "Sorry, got held up at work. This is the place, yeah? You guys still looking for a front man?" Still somewhat grouchy thank to the blizzard, he could hardly force even a slight hint of actual excitement into his somewhat apathetic tone of voice.

"This blows." Letting out a sigh, the young woman in the tattered black sweater fell backward from her perch, collapsing on the couch. With her long legs hung over the back of the couch, she let her head hang partially over the edge, seemingly comfortable in such an awkward position.

The turnout was even worse than she had expected - and Erin specializes in expecting the worst. Erin would be the first to say they all lacked any talent whatsoever, but in reality her bar was set far beyond what the situation called for. Sure they could have given the thumbs up on a few of those saps and ended up just adding to the pit of mediocrity that was the local scene in it's current state, but no - she'd rather call it quits completely.

A wave of despondency washed over Erin, bringing both hands to her pale white face, her fingers attempting to brush the feeling away. 'I can't give up here. This can't be it.' It was then that the door began to shake before roughly bursting open.

Quickly moving her hands from her face, she looked across the basement to the doorway. Bright cobalt blue eyes pierced across the room through thick black makeup. From her position he looked like he was standing on the ceiling, a stone face paired with an even more intimidating tone in his voice. His first impression was none like any of the others, but it put Erin more on edge than excited her. In fact, she found herself more absorbed in sizing him up than giving him affirmation that he was where he needed to be. She had always been about testing people, and it was clear to her his presence was one that demanded to be known - a fact regardless if he realizes it about himself or not. So she stayed where she was, motionless except for her watchful eyes.

"O-okay that's enough. You can leave now." Elliot said trying his hardest not to laugh at the performance. The short figured man walked out the basement door, sulking. "Jesus fucking Christ that one was hard to listen to. What does he think we're trying to do here, make a Dave Matthews Cover Band?" Elliot said as he looked down at his piece of paper he was holding, on the paper had a bunch of names along with phone numbers of those who showed up and performed in front of the three in hopes of becoming a front man for them. Nothing impressive so far and odds were none of these people would be called. Half of the names had been scribbled out because of the bad performance, some just had a line through them. Elliot began scribbling around the most recent performers name, Jonathan Porter, but instead of just scribbling his name out, he drew little male private parts around the name.

The three sat around the basement for a little while longer in hopes that someone would come through that door and not suck, but it wasn't looking like anyone was coming in anytime soon. The lights flickered on and off twice as they waited. "That weather is getting bad, you guys can spend the night if you want." Elliot said to Kaizer and Erin. Speaking of Erin, he noticed her hair color changed over night, from black to white, Elliot just had to know what the hell she was thinking "Hey. Hey Erin. What's up with the hair color?" he said stretching out onto the couch. Elliot let out a loud sigh and dropped the paper and pencil onto the nearby table. This sucks... he thought.

Suddenly the door at the other side of the basement began to shake a little, then burst open. A man entered through the door. Short hair, glasses, and what was up with his clothes? "Hey chief, you sure you're at the right place? If you're here to perform. show us what you got."

The drummer imported from the United Kingdom sat on a box in the corner of the room, mindlessly bouncing his leg and playing the drums with a pair of drum sticks and the air. Occasionally he would stop and grab a tea biscuit from the plate resting on a nearby table. "Eh. I'm sure I could get my car out if I have to. Not really in the mood though." Nobody was in the mood. The day had not exactly been fruitful in their search for a new front man. Back in London, talent was readily available where ever you looked. Maybe Boston's reputation failed it and it's only inhabitants were men with beards named Sully. The accents were awful too. You speak the queen's english and everyone figures you for a Oxford graduate. Just before he was about to drop his sticks to the ground and attempt to shovel the snow off his blue sports car, the trio were greeted by the harsh winter wind as well as another candidate to fill the spot of vocalist.

This one wasn't like the rest of the failed applicants however. He didn't burst into the room and pretended like he was the next Chad Kroeger. Kaizer adjusted himself atop his box to face the would be front man and set the drum sticks down next to his tea biscuits. "You didn't hit my car on the way in, yeah? Eh. You look ready but let's have some introductions first."