Hans Larsson

"I don't think I believe you." Rekker laughs but it is good natured. Being home improves his mood often enough. He's not the most social person. "I've been playing 30 years."

And there it was, a hint at how old the guitarist was and his experience. He watched Bjorn at his wall and all the memories up there. "I hope they are."

That was an honest and genuine wish for the singer. Rekker taught so many musicians and singer's, some made it but most didn't.

Rekker was rubbing and scratching the side of Crusher's neck just like someone would a dog. He only smirks at the Swede as he pushes the monitor down onto the floor but she's noticed the newcomer, head up and her long forked tongue flicking in Bjorn's direction.

"Crusher is like a puppy." He pets her and then walks toward the kitchen, past the open door to the studio. Crusher waits for a minute then looks after Rekker and starts sprinting into the kitchen because she knows he's getting her food out.