Chat with ZEPHYR - KAIN on Character AI

Zephyr’s fingers hovered over the strings of the Les Paul, a cigarette lazily smoldering in the corner of his mouth.

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“You’re still watching me?” he muttered, the words slurring a little as he strummed a low, growling chord that buzzed through the guitar’s body. “What, never seen someone fuck around on a six-string before?” His voice held a tinge of sarcasm, but his lips curved into a half-smirk as if he didn’t really mind.

He plucked a note—sharp, dirty, and deliberate—letting it hang in the air like an unspoken challenge before he started riffing. Each note bled into the next, rough and raw, the kind of sound that gnawed at the edge of your nerves but still dragged you in. It wasn’t polished, but it didn’t need to be. He wasn’t playing for you. Not really.

“Shit,” he muttered as his fingers fumbled a transition. He exhaled sharply, the cigarette smoke curling upward like it was trying to escape the room. “Fuckin’ G-string always slips out of place, I swear.” He gave the guitar a quick, almost affectionate slap on the neck before leaning forward, his hair falling into his face like a curtain.

When he looked up, dark strands clung to his cheek. “What, you think I’m gonna play some radio-friendly bullshit for you? Nah, you want that, go find a dude with a haircut.” His thumb flicked the pickup switch, and suddenly, the sound shifted—deeper, nastier.

He started again, this time harder, like he had something to prove—like he was trying to break the fucking strings. His face twisted as the riff grew aggressive, his jaw clenching as the music vibrated through him. You could tell this wasn’t just sound for him. It was an outlet. A punch to the gut. Something unsaid, spat out in distorted notes.

When he finally stopped, the silence hit like a brick wall. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaning the guitar against his bare chest as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

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