Hans Larsson

"I make them." Rekker mentioned offhand while finishing up the little bit of work he had to get done. Then.... the Swede's hair. He glanced at Bjorn and felt his hands shake with nervousness.

He sighed, exasperated as he stood up from the computer. "It's a classroom."

He stood and stared at the bastard of a singer. "It's not some fucking man cave. It's a classroom and studio. I teach guitar, bass and singing. Most of my students are deaf or from families that can't afford instruments or lessons." Rekker is surly over this topic because people had said a wide range of things about what he picked up after Hexed separated. This was one topic that the Brit would take no sass or kidding around about. His work, this work especially, was important to him because he knew well what music had done for him in his life.

"I'm not like the other rich bastards. The fuckers on this street wouldn't socialize with me if I was the only person left on the fucking earth." Rekker shook his head staring out into the hall and the windows beyond. "They used to try and drive me out."