Plucking the highest string at around the twelve frets gave a chilling and crisp tone. For the way it looked and aged, the pick-ups were unnaturally nice, the front gave a warm tone melting into the ears whilst the back pick-up gave a rough crispy tone.
"He only picked one string and the room's drawn," voiced the younger musician, "-how's he done that?"
"Lacks in sustain," said Igna, "-however, makes up in this unique tone. I'm buying it," said he.
"Mister, Mister," voiced the younger folk, "-please, play us something."
"Sure," barred chords embellished by little maneuvers only a master or a hard-trained rookie could perform. Switching from chords to then solo over said chords, all in one flexible and smooth motion had the room in awe. Reaching for the last fret, the note bent out of tune almost screeching in pain.
"Satisfied?" wondered he resting the guitar.
