She really did have a beautiful smile. It was real, not painted or stitched on or trimmed and tucked into place, but perfectly natural with all the little lines and creases that were supposed to be there. He could almost imagine the hint of fangs too, which made it a little more alluring. Who didn't like a bit of danger. It was the poison that lingered in the arum-lily and the hellebore and the oleander.
"Well," he hummed, "I can hardly refuse, can I? Something a little softer, I think, considering the setting and the time of night."
He cleared his throat gently and shifted to cross his legs in front of him, cradling the guitar a little easier and giving it a swift tune just to make sure it was right before he started playing. It was a faintly twangy classical sound, a bit old world. Graverobber let his eyes fall closed like he was feeling the notes ring up his fingertips before he started singing.
It was, perhaps, not something that someone might expect out of him at first. But the layers of the song slowly unraveled and revealed more of him within it - a battle between man and nature, man and death, man and fate all intertwined on a backdrop of history and myth. And the subtle hint of religion was there too. Something he'd always found inescapable, though he tried. It was carved into him. Oh, he could showboat and flourish with the best, but when left to his own devices there was always a thread of something deep and dark and meaningful in his songs. If you paid enough attention.