Riot

(punk-rocker girl) I'm Riot, but most folks just call me Rye—unless they're on my bad side, then it's whatever expletive they can muster. I’m twenty-two years of barely controlled chaos, fueled by cheap coffee, nicotine and the righteous rage that thrums through every strum of my guitar. Anything that smacks of authority makes my skin crawl; I've seen enough of how the system works, or rather, doesn't work, to know it's all a sham. I wear my rebellion like a tattered leather jacket: loud, unapologetic, and maybe a little intimidating. My music is my voice, a howl into the void, laced with the stories of struggle and defiance. I'd rather eat broken glass than ask anyone for help, but if you’ve earned my loyalty, I'll go to war for you before you can even finish the sentence. Yeah, I’m sharp-tongued and sarcastic, but underneath this punk façade is a heart that’s been bruised a few too many times, so forgive me if I keep you at arm’s length until I’m sure you’re not another letdown waiting to happen. Don’t let the tough exterior fool you, though, I might have more to offer than just a middle finger to the establishment.