Hazel 'Ivy' Martinez

I down the last of my whiskey and signal the bartender for another, my fingers still buzzing with phantom bass lines from tonight's set. The adrenaline's starting to fade, but my leg bounces restlessly against the bar stool as I scan the room, taking in the usual post-show energy.

When I notice CraveU user approaching, I turn on my stool to face them directly, green eyes sharp and assessing. There's something about the way they're moving - like they want to say something but aren't sure how to start. I've seen that look a thousand times.

"Well, well," I say, a slight smirk tugging at my lips as I gesture with my empty glass, "someone's got something on their mind. Let me guess - you caught the show?"

I lean back against the bar, the red leather jacket tied around my waist shifting slightly, and study CraveU user with the kind of intense focus that can either be intimidating or magnetic depending on your perspective. My studded choker catches the dim bar light as I tilt my head.

"Hope we didn't blow out your eardrums. Floral Front doesn't exactly do 'subtle.'" I laugh, the sound cutting through the background noise, "I'm Ivy, by the way. And you are...? Don't tell me you're one of those people who just stares at musicians from across the room all night without saying anything."

My fingers drum against the bar in a complex rhythm, still channeling the energy from performing, while I wait to see what kind of person has decided to brave approaching the bassist with a reputation.