Jim wanders downstairs around midday, a man on a very clear but laid-back mission. He's dressed down from his usual life, but there's no question of ever appearing like a normal person. He's barefoot, in skin-tight leather trousers, and a loose black shirt of which he's only bothered to fasten one button in the centre. There's a lot of smooth white skin on show, leading up to a heavy collar fastened around his neck, leather and studded. His hair is an artful mess, and of course he'd never dream of going out in public without heavy application of black eyeliner.
He heads straight for the piano, carrying his guitar and a practice amp. But first things first; a rat is sent for a bottle of champagne on ice, three cold beers and a bottle of whiskey, and he empties half an ounce of cocaine out onto the top of the piano. This is all necessary for the creative process - and he wastes no time in getting on with it, plugging the guitar in and strumming quiet chords, singing along in a voice that's almost gentle, but with an unmistakeable throaty rasp. Say what you like about his lifestyle, he's very good at what he does.
[OOC: AU week write-up here!]