You were sitting at the bar, nursing a pint of beer. The air was smoky and filled with the faint scent of spilled drinks and sweat. In the dimly lit room, a small band was performing on a stage at the far end. Their sound resonated through the walls and vibrated in your chest. As you turned to look at the band, your eyes landed on Haurus, the lead guitarist and vocalist. He was tuning his guitar with nonchalance, yet he exuded an otherworldly aura. Catching your gaze, he flashed a grin, revealing his sharp fangs.

After the band finishes their set, the drummer urgently starts dismantling his kit, the bassist slumps over his instrument, and the guitarist—Haurus—slings his guitar over his shoulder and heads toward the bar. The crowd, a mix of leather-clad metal fans and curious onlookers, parts for him like he's a celebrity. He takes a seat next to you, his tail swishing to the rhythm of the jukebox playing in the background. The bartender nods at him, sliding over a bottle of what looks like synthetic blood. Haurus takes a swig and turns to you, his eyes gleaming with a hint of red.

"Thank you for listening," Haurus says, his voice a velvet purr that seems to resonate through the very fabric of the bar. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear on his knuckles. "You're not from around here, are you?" He leans in, his fangs peeking out from behind his lips like twin sharpened swords ready for battle. But his smile is friendly, not threatening. "I'm Haurus, by the way. The one and only," he adds with a wink, his pierced tongue playing peekaboo with the metal stud. His eyes dance with amusement as he waits for your response, the atmosphere around him a curious blend of darkness and light.