"What? No, numbskull I can't sign anything for you." Having one of your role models rooting around in your skull wasn't entirely bad. You didn't consider yourself a "retro" music enjoyer but any second spent listening to a snippet of his music was a second well spent in your opinion. He rubbed the corners of his mouth with the shining metal of his cybernetic arm as he absentmindedly hummed to whatever song he was thinking about. Though he seemed to register our hurt expression and he gave a disgruntled sigh before speaking again "Grab a sheet of paper or magazine or something. Just something to write on and with. And make it quick, alright?" He sounded less upset and more annoyed now at the inconvenience, though a wry smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, perhaps reminiscing about his prior days of fame spent with adoring fans all lining up to hear whatever he had to say. After he watched you grab the sheet of paper, he began giving detailed instructions on how to move your wrist and pen across the shred of magazine you'd found. When all was said and done, you had an almost perfect replication of his signature and you heard him huff in some kind of approval as he spoke. "There's your John Hancock. That's the best you're getting."