Felix Satou
Posted: Wed Apr 14, 2021 12:41 am
1. Yes.
2. Many years of Forum RP and Tabletop RP
Sample As Below if you're inclined to read it:
The pink and silver haired spectacle drew Felix’ gaze again as she cheered on the very somber act. He admired her courage, whether it was born of self confidence, alcohol, or experience he couldn’t say, but watching her cheer on every performer no matter how eye catching or yawn-inducing they were was a boost to his own confidence. There’d at least be one person in the crowd who appreciated what he was going to do. It wasn’t easy to step on that stage. Not that Felix knew. He hadn’t set foot on one since he’d been a child at a talent show for his elementary school. He’d told himself that he didn’t want the attention or fame that came with dedicated performances; he only wanted to focus on his art and himself. Maybe that was true. Maybe he was lying to himself and had a bad case of stage fright. When was the last time he tested his limits in front of a crowd? What he was about to play wasn’t going to test his skills, it was a song he could have played blindfolded, deafened, and with a left handed guitar. It was a test of his mettle. Was he really avoiding the stage for personal reasons, or was he afraid? Maybe if he got scared he’d just picture that girl cheering for him and it’d do the trick. Hopefully the whole place would be cheering him on, though.
“Alright, uh, all that remains is…looks like Felix Sahtoo?”
Felix shook is head. For real? Did anyone ever just try and pronounce it how it was spelled? Sah-tow. Imbeciles. It was more amusing than anything else. He hopped up from his chair and grabbed the guitar case that was leaning against his seat. “I’ll have another when I get back,” he nodded at the bartender before shouldering the guitar case and heading towards the stage. He could feel the lift of excitement in his stomach, the gentle beating of his heart becoming more pronounced, the electric feeling of adrenaline that started to seep into his arms and legs and make them feel lighter. He felt it before his fights, though that wasn’t nearly as pleasant of a feeling. He felt it when he’d gone on little forays with his professors into the forest near Beacon. He felt it in his bones. Maybe this was the feeling he’d told himself to start avoiding. Did it get addictive? Did you start to crave that high before you got on stage when you became famous? Did it ever dull?
The questions bounced around in his head as he swiftly pulled out his scroll and had a quick chat with the ‘sound guy.’ Felix’ scroll was connected to the local sound system and he queued up a track to back up his singing and guitaring. A very short back and forth as Felix asked for a couple balancing tweaks for bass and treble and volume. It didn’t have to be perfect, but Felix knew that sometimes a little bit of salt and pepper went a long way. He opened his guitar case and retrieved his favorite instrument, Dover. A cherry red guitar, Les Paul, with very faint seams in portions of the head and body that wouldn’t be seeing use tonight. It was open mic, not Bring Your Pyrotechnics To Bar day. The audio cable made a satisfying click as he slid it into place and flipped on the guitar amplifier that they’d provided. He would have brought his own, but it was heavy as shit and he wasn’t gonna lug that fucker all the way out here for a marginal difference in quality.
Deep breath.
With Dover over his shoulder he started to roll up his sleeves as he approached the microphone. The tapestry of colorful, musical tattoos on his left arm was on full display, a testament to his greatest hobby and talent. The thin scar that adorned his opposite arm would be difficult for most to see in the light. He wasn’t thinking of either, he was only thinking about what he was going to perform. Sleeves comfortably rolled, he retrieved a pick from his pocket as he reached the mic. A small adjustment to get it to mouth height and he was as ready as he was ever going to be. A watchful eye would see the flecks of blue dotting the air around him.
“Hey, thanks for coming out here tonight and seeing a show that happens to contain me,” he said. He was surprised by how confident his voice sounded. He felt confident. The sparse laughter was enough encouragement for him. “Right, I’m Felix Satou, and the song I want to perform for you tonight is one that’s very near and dear to my heart. I wrote this for my little sister who I love very much and means the world to me.” That seemed saccharine enough to prime the crowd for the wrong genre. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He didn’t really know. It seemed like a fun idea, though. Without any more commentary, he pulled his scroll from his pocket, turned the backing track on, pocketed it, and began to play.
The amplifiers exploded to life as the backing track began to play a rhythm filled with power chords and heavy double-bass drums while Felix’ guitar soared over it with an aggressive melody. It was the beginning of an epic, heavy metal banger of a track. It was just long enough for the crowd to grasp exactly what was happening, but not so long that they wouldn’t be caught off guard when Felix started to sing.
Have not the strongest / And closest ties been bound so long
I’ve called upon them / They remind me where I’m from
With deep conviction / I am connected cross the miles
Without them, nothing worth relying on
His voice growled and screamed, and the expression on his face mimicked the concentration and passion necessary to produce the loud, gravelly, in your face vocals he’d written for the song. He’d been awed the first time he’d heard a death metal song. How could someone sing like that and not destroy their vocal cords? How could they do it for an entire album, or a live show? He’d spent ages and ages learning and practicing and perfecting the technique. He’d been to more metal concerts than one would expect of the rather clean looking boy. It was all to learn and perfect the voice he was using to belt away the lyrics.
It’s been so long since I could say / I’ve needed anything stronger
We can’t give up when we have ties that bind us
If I rely and I know the strength in those who taught me of the power in the ties that bind
And through all of it he didn’t drop a single, perfectly timed note in the fast paced melody of the song. Singing and performing guitar routines when their tempo matched efficiently was one thing, but the triplets, chords, and notes he played didn’t line up cleanly with the vocals. Any regular performer would be at the top of their game playing either one of these parts. A particularly talented musician could probably play both independently and put them together in studio. It took a singular talent to be able to make it appear as if playing both simultaneously was effortless.
When I turn inward / And look for strength within myself
And demonstrations / of courage are the result
If inspiration / Is wholly shared then more’s the gain
Then I will follow the selfless actions displayed
As the song progressed, so too did Felix’ level of comfort on stage. While the fact that he was playing and singing at the same time barred him from moving about, his posture loosened considerably, he moved his head, his body, his feet to the beat he was playing. He felt comfortable. He felt more than comfortable, he felt exuberant! The crowd was eating up the performance! It had taken them some time to warm up to the song, to see if Felix was just pulling off a temporary gimmick, but as he repeated the chorus a second time there were more than a few cheers coming his way as his fingers danced up and down the strings.
We are made powerful
WE ARE MADE POW-ER-FUL!
The backing track cut, and with a flick of a switch on Dover, Felix started to play an acoustic-sounding interlude. He fought the urge to clear his throat as the crowd cheered raucously. Maybe they thought this was his outro? Oh, but how wrong they were if they did. What was a good metal song without a solo? The somber chords would only serve as a palette cleanser for the ears. They were a relief from the aggressiveness only as a tool to pump up the action that was to follow. After only a few bars, he flicked the switch back and cut through the quiet relief with a chunky, distorted guitar line that sparked up, teasing up and down the fret between long, held notes before diving headfirst into a blistering solo.
No longer tethered to the mic, he was free to walk the front of the stage, but the energy Felix could feel had him more than walking. He was showing off! He spun, he jumped, he slid on his knees to the very edge of the stage and let his back hit the ground! He couldn’t care less if he looked like a dweeb or if he looked like a rock star, he felt possessed by an energy that wasn’t his own. Was it the music? The crowd? The whole experience wrapped into one? He couldn’t say. He very nearly forgot to get back to the microphone before he started singing again. A powerful voice wouldn’t carry over the amplifiers. Channeling his aura gave him just enough dexterity to flip back over the microphone and land in time to finish with a final repetition of his previous chorus. Was it extra? Yes, but the crowd loved it. By the time his final, sustained note petered out he was getting cheers from the whole place. He was glad he’d come to this place’s open mic night. It wasn’t just any bar that would have actively enjoyed what he was playing. Maybe he ought to see if he could become as much of a regular as that pink haired chick he’d seen in the crowd earlier.
“Thank you, thank you, if you really liked my song my name’s Felix and my favorite drink is a whisky old fashioned with too much sugar.” The crowd was still high enough to give him a good laugh and another round of applause for his meager joke. He wasn’t going to push his luck, though. The sound of the crowd still ringing in his mind, he gathered his things, packed away his guitar, and headed back to the bar from whence he came. By the time he got there, there were several drinks waiting for him. Three whisky old fashioneds with what looked like a visibly disgusting amount of sugar, an appletini, and what looked like a shot of vodka. He shrugged and picked up one of the old fashioneds, eyes fixed squarely on a point a thousand miles away, a grin plastered all over his face.
2. Many years of Forum RP and Tabletop RP
Sample As Below if you're inclined to read it:
The pink and silver haired spectacle drew Felix’ gaze again as she cheered on the very somber act. He admired her courage, whether it was born of self confidence, alcohol, or experience he couldn’t say, but watching her cheer on every performer no matter how eye catching or yawn-inducing they were was a boost to his own confidence. There’d at least be one person in the crowd who appreciated what he was going to do. It wasn’t easy to step on that stage. Not that Felix knew. He hadn’t set foot on one since he’d been a child at a talent show for his elementary school. He’d told himself that he didn’t want the attention or fame that came with dedicated performances; he only wanted to focus on his art and himself. Maybe that was true. Maybe he was lying to himself and had a bad case of stage fright. When was the last time he tested his limits in front of a crowd? What he was about to play wasn’t going to test his skills, it was a song he could have played blindfolded, deafened, and with a left handed guitar. It was a test of his mettle. Was he really avoiding the stage for personal reasons, or was he afraid? Maybe if he got scared he’d just picture that girl cheering for him and it’d do the trick. Hopefully the whole place would be cheering him on, though.
“Alright, uh, all that remains is…looks like Felix Sahtoo?”
Felix shook is head. For real? Did anyone ever just try and pronounce it how it was spelled? Sah-tow. Imbeciles. It was more amusing than anything else. He hopped up from his chair and grabbed the guitar case that was leaning against his seat. “I’ll have another when I get back,” he nodded at the bartender before shouldering the guitar case and heading towards the stage. He could feel the lift of excitement in his stomach, the gentle beating of his heart becoming more pronounced, the electric feeling of adrenaline that started to seep into his arms and legs and make them feel lighter. He felt it before his fights, though that wasn’t nearly as pleasant of a feeling. He felt it when he’d gone on little forays with his professors into the forest near Beacon. He felt it in his bones. Maybe this was the feeling he’d told himself to start avoiding. Did it get addictive? Did you start to crave that high before you got on stage when you became famous? Did it ever dull?
The questions bounced around in his head as he swiftly pulled out his scroll and had a quick chat with the ‘sound guy.’ Felix’ scroll was connected to the local sound system and he queued up a track to back up his singing and guitaring. A very short back and forth as Felix asked for a couple balancing tweaks for bass and treble and volume. It didn’t have to be perfect, but Felix knew that sometimes a little bit of salt and pepper went a long way. He opened his guitar case and retrieved his favorite instrument, Dover. A cherry red guitar, Les Paul, with very faint seams in portions of the head and body that wouldn’t be seeing use tonight. It was open mic, not Bring Your Pyrotechnics To Bar day. The audio cable made a satisfying click as he slid it into place and flipped on the guitar amplifier that they’d provided. He would have brought his own, but it was heavy as shit and he wasn’t gonna lug that fucker all the way out here for a marginal difference in quality.
Deep breath.
With Dover over his shoulder he started to roll up his sleeves as he approached the microphone. The tapestry of colorful, musical tattoos on his left arm was on full display, a testament to his greatest hobby and talent. The thin scar that adorned his opposite arm would be difficult for most to see in the light. He wasn’t thinking of either, he was only thinking about what he was going to perform. Sleeves comfortably rolled, he retrieved a pick from his pocket as he reached the mic. A small adjustment to get it to mouth height and he was as ready as he was ever going to be. A watchful eye would see the flecks of blue dotting the air around him.
“Hey, thanks for coming out here tonight and seeing a show that happens to contain me,” he said. He was surprised by how confident his voice sounded. He felt confident. The sparse laughter was enough encouragement for him. “Right, I’m Felix Satou, and the song I want to perform for you tonight is one that’s very near and dear to my heart. I wrote this for my little sister who I love very much and means the world to me.” That seemed saccharine enough to prime the crowd for the wrong genre. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He didn’t really know. It seemed like a fun idea, though. Without any more commentary, he pulled his scroll from his pocket, turned the backing track on, pocketed it, and began to play.
The amplifiers exploded to life as the backing track began to play a rhythm filled with power chords and heavy double-bass drums while Felix’ guitar soared over it with an aggressive melody. It was the beginning of an epic, heavy metal banger of a track. It was just long enough for the crowd to grasp exactly what was happening, but not so long that they wouldn’t be caught off guard when Felix started to sing.
Have not the strongest / And closest ties been bound so long
I’ve called upon them / They remind me where I’m from
With deep conviction / I am connected cross the miles
Without them, nothing worth relying on
His voice growled and screamed, and the expression on his face mimicked the concentration and passion necessary to produce the loud, gravelly, in your face vocals he’d written for the song. He’d been awed the first time he’d heard a death metal song. How could someone sing like that and not destroy their vocal cords? How could they do it for an entire album, or a live show? He’d spent ages and ages learning and practicing and perfecting the technique. He’d been to more metal concerts than one would expect of the rather clean looking boy. It was all to learn and perfect the voice he was using to belt away the lyrics.
It’s been so long since I could say / I’ve needed anything stronger
We can’t give up when we have ties that bind us
If I rely and I know the strength in those who taught me of the power in the ties that bind
And through all of it he didn’t drop a single, perfectly timed note in the fast paced melody of the song. Singing and performing guitar routines when their tempo matched efficiently was one thing, but the triplets, chords, and notes he played didn’t line up cleanly with the vocals. Any regular performer would be at the top of their game playing either one of these parts. A particularly talented musician could probably play both independently and put them together in studio. It took a singular talent to be able to make it appear as if playing both simultaneously was effortless.
When I turn inward / And look for strength within myself
And demonstrations / of courage are the result
If inspiration / Is wholly shared then more’s the gain
Then I will follow the selfless actions displayed
As the song progressed, so too did Felix’ level of comfort on stage. While the fact that he was playing and singing at the same time barred him from moving about, his posture loosened considerably, he moved his head, his body, his feet to the beat he was playing. He felt comfortable. He felt more than comfortable, he felt exuberant! The crowd was eating up the performance! It had taken them some time to warm up to the song, to see if Felix was just pulling off a temporary gimmick, but as he repeated the chorus a second time there were more than a few cheers coming his way as his fingers danced up and down the strings.
We are made powerful
WE ARE MADE POW-ER-FUL!
The backing track cut, and with a flick of a switch on Dover, Felix started to play an acoustic-sounding interlude. He fought the urge to clear his throat as the crowd cheered raucously. Maybe they thought this was his outro? Oh, but how wrong they were if they did. What was a good metal song without a solo? The somber chords would only serve as a palette cleanser for the ears. They were a relief from the aggressiveness only as a tool to pump up the action that was to follow. After only a few bars, he flicked the switch back and cut through the quiet relief with a chunky, distorted guitar line that sparked up, teasing up and down the fret between long, held notes before diving headfirst into a blistering solo.
No longer tethered to the mic, he was free to walk the front of the stage, but the energy Felix could feel had him more than walking. He was showing off! He spun, he jumped, he slid on his knees to the very edge of the stage and let his back hit the ground! He couldn’t care less if he looked like a dweeb or if he looked like a rock star, he felt possessed by an energy that wasn’t his own. Was it the music? The crowd? The whole experience wrapped into one? He couldn’t say. He very nearly forgot to get back to the microphone before he started singing again. A powerful voice wouldn’t carry over the amplifiers. Channeling his aura gave him just enough dexterity to flip back over the microphone and land in time to finish with a final repetition of his previous chorus. Was it extra? Yes, but the crowd loved it. By the time his final, sustained note petered out he was getting cheers from the whole place. He was glad he’d come to this place’s open mic night. It wasn’t just any bar that would have actively enjoyed what he was playing. Maybe he ought to see if he could become as much of a regular as that pink haired chick he’d seen in the crowd earlier.
“Thank you, thank you, if you really liked my song my name’s Felix and my favorite drink is a whisky old fashioned with too much sugar.” The crowd was still high enough to give him a good laugh and another round of applause for his meager joke. He wasn’t going to push his luck, though. The sound of the crowd still ringing in his mind, he gathered his things, packed away his guitar, and headed back to the bar from whence he came. By the time he got there, there were several drinks waiting for him. Three whisky old fashioneds with what looked like a visibly disgusting amount of sugar, an appletini, and what looked like a shot of vodka. He shrugged and picked up one of the old fashioneds, eyes fixed squarely on a point a thousand miles away, a grin plastered all over his face.