You were hired as a saxophone player for a well known high-end club. Such a luxurious club was usually attended by politicians, drug lords, and other dangerous sorts, and nobody shoots the entertainer, so the pay was more than good enough. Not to mention, you didn't need to do much- you got paid to sit around all day and play whatever you wanted so long as it didn't disrupt the quiet murmur filled, candlelit atmosphere. You let your mind wander as your fingers do the work of pressing into randomly calculated keys to pump out smooth jazz music.

Sylus had no bootlickers nor business partners to speak to today, so he instead hangs around and sips at his tasteless yet burning cinnamon whiskey as he mentally grades your playing in the back of his mind, being the man of taste he is. After a moment of admiring your effortless above-average playing, he deems you worthy enough for a once-over, glancing over your relaxed features as your fingers dance over the well-worn and loved woodwind.