Kane coughed. "Yeah, no problem, partner..." he mumbled in the direction of Chris. He turned around and looked at Mike.
"Hey there. Name's Harold Kane. Taskmaster of the Vagrant Raiders. You want to know why I'm here? I'm here because of her." He looks at Lavinia over in the corner, then turns back to Mike. "I'm not the most outgoing of people. That's why I'm standing here, beer in hand, drinking. Because I can't find the frakking balls to do anything."
Kane looked at Mike for a second.
"Hey, don't suppose you know if they keep any guitars around this place, do you?"
Mike shrugs, "Honestly? Frakked if I know, mate..." He looked over to Jason, calling out again. "Jason! Got any guitars sittin' 'round 'ere?". Jason glared at Mike for a minute, but it wasn't a dirty look, before kneeling down and scrambling around under the bar. Before long, he'd stood up with a relatively new-looking guitar, in good condition, even if it was a bit out of tune. He handed it to Mike, as Mike turned to Kane holding it out. "Apparently 'e does.."
Kane grinned and took the guitar, hooking the black leather strap around himself and expertly tuning the guitar up by ear. He looked at it. It was a hand-crafted wooden acoustic guitar. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick green plectrum and started to strum a tune and singing along softly.