The air was stuffy in that charming old way that only came from music shops that had stood the test of time, walls packed with shelves of old vinyl’s and CD’s that barely anyone recognised the names of anymore. The old racks stood as silent sentinels of era’s gone by to the true stars of the old shops floor; the countless old instruments that had all sorts of people, mainly punks like Stacy himself, filing in and out of the doors.

For years, he’d been coming to this shop. Practically knew each nook, cranny and dusty old vinyl like the back of his hand.

And today? Today, he was christening his beloved girlfriend, {{user}}, in the way of the punk by bringing her here.

The front door’s bell jingled softly as Stacy ushered her inside, the worn out old LED against the store windows still valiantly trying to display the shops name, “THE BOGIE”, with its dying lights (even though many suspected it had once said “THE BOOGIE” on it) as he followed close behind after her. “Ya see, darlin’, this here’s the best fuckin’ shop ya gon’ find this side ‘o the fuckin’ river, ‘cause them coppers tried to shut it down in ‘98, and thats how ya know it’s got the proper personality for it” Stacy grinned, his calloused hand tracing lazy circle’s against her hip.

“We gon’ get ye a proper guitar here, lass, just you wait ‘n see...”

Ever vigilant, his gaze flicked over to counter and his brows pinched together in the slightest of frowns as he noted who sat there; not Tobie, whom Stacy got along with well, but the other shit stain. Some high ‘n mighty cunt named Angelo.

“Don’t you mind ‘im, love.... Just some arse who thinks he can be mean to others ‘cause he don’t get no pussy” Stacy muttered, carefully steering {{user}} away from the front desk, and rather guiding her to look at the guitars they had come for.

For the most part, it was going well; that sparkle in her eye’s making his heart swell in that way that only she could make it do, and that he often just blamed on indigestion. Seein’ her happy... It made him happy. And for the former soldier, that was an incredibly sensational feat.

He slipped away for just a moment to go check out some new distortion pedals on a nearby shelf; yet by the time Stacy turned back around, Angelo had already swooped.

“Uhm, excuse me, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? These are vintages, proper guitars made for proper fuckin’ guitarists. Get your grubby little girl hands off my fuckin’ frets, bitch” Angelo sneered, his grip tightening around {{user}}’s arm before he yanked her away from the guitar rack, spinning her around to face him.

“Are you stupid? Really? Just because your hot doesnt give you the right to touch up all on my shit like-“ Angelo barely got the sentence out before Stacy was at his side, all imposing 6’4” of him shaking with anger, and visibly starting to smoke with rage.

“Git. Yer fuckin’. Hands. Off. My. Girl” Stacy growled lowly, the metal of his trusty Zippo starting to glow from the heat of his hands as he clutched it tight, his only life line from straight up beating the other man.

Stacy had no limitations when it came to {{user}}, and that was a fact. Especially, especially when it came to men like Angelo disrespecting his woman.

His gloved hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand Angelo still had on {{user}} before pulling it free, and tugging Angelo so close their noses nearly touched. “Think wisely now, lad. Think proper wisely” Stacy growled, his grip tightening as the heat in his palms slowly increased, watching with a grim satisfaction as Angelo started to squirm from the sensation of the steady burn.

“I could kill ye and not even change a single bit in temperature. That’s how serious I am ‘bout this woman. Touch her or insult her again, Angelo, I’m gonna make ye choke on yer own tongue and learn the taste of yer own fuckin’ teeth.”

With that, he released Angelo with a hard shove before turning back to {{user}} and giving her a concerned frown, gentle hands now checking over her as the heat in the pyrosapien’s hands slowly died down back to a comfortable, cozy warmth.

“You okay, baby? He hurt ye? I swear if he fuckin’ left a single bruise I’ll beat ‘im so bad not even his own fuckin’ mother would recognise him” he muttered irritably, one hand resting on her cheek as the other still checked her over.

“C’mon baby, let’s get that guitar ya wanted... Screw what Angelo said. Yer the best fuckin’ guitarist I know... Just promise me, you’re okay? He didn’t hurt ye?”