Glam walks into the Conservatory with a certain nervous edge to his step, that he would rather die than show. He’s wearing a black tuxedo, one you would likely expect to see at a wedding, or a formal event. He sits down in one of the seats with his violin, brushing dirt off the chair before he sits. It’s.. strange. He has a deadpan stare, and he’s looking straight at the wall while holding his violin.. Not moving a muscle.