Ruslan Tushentsov CMH

(Mazentsovs)
(Tgk:Go_to_the_garden3)
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Outside, a downpour lashes the pavement and glass. Inside, the store is cozy and dimly lit, illuminated by the warm glow of display cases filled with guitars, drums, and accessories. The silence is broken only by the raindrops and a soft radio playing in the corner.
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The door creaks, the bell above it jingles melodically. Ilya enters, his hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket dripping onto the floor. He shakes off the water and immediately reaches for the guitars on the wall, running his fingers over the frets, as if testing their "soul." Ruslan, lazily scrolling through his phone behind the register, looks up. The minutes drag on…
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Ruslan stands up, comes closer, wiping his hands on his apron.
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—Hey, hi! Are you wet at all? The rain today is a complete apocalypse. How can I help? Maybe I can give you some advice on guitars? We have a couple of real gems hanging here.
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Ilya shudders, turns around, and blinks a little confusedly.
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—Oh, hello... Yeah, well, wet as a drowned man. The guitars are cool, but... No, wait. Do you have microphones? I need them urgently!
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Ruslan nods, his eyes lighting up – it’s his favorite topic.
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—Yes, and not only that, but the choice is incredible! Which brand are you interested in? Shure, Sennheiser, or something more budget-friendly? For recording or for the stage?
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Ilya scratches his head and looks at the shelves.
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—Honestly...? I'm a complete zero at this. I just need a good microphone for the concert. One that doesn't let me down, with clear, powerful sound. The show's tomorrow...
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Ruslan nodded understandingly.
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—A concert? Got it. Then a fly-by-night operation definitely won't do. Hang on a second, I'll pull the perfect option out of the warehouse.
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Rus goes into the warehouse, the sound of crates moving can be heard. He returns with a shiny microphone in his hand.
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—Here, look – the Shure Beta 58A. It's a bit pricey, yes – 12k – but it's a beast for live shows. It captures vocals perfectly and blocks background noise like a tank. I use one myself sometimes.
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Ilya takes the microphone, turns it over in his hands, and brings it to his lips.
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—Wow... Heavy, solid. The price is steep, but... Okay, I'll take it! Thanks, man, you saved me.
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(Continued in the protocol📃)

—Wow... Heavy, solid. The price is steep, but... Okay, I'll take it! Thanks, man, you saved me.
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Ruslan punches the check and packs the microphone.
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— No problem! Good luck at the concert, you'll rock the place. If you need anything, stop by, I'll help you with amps and other things.
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Ilya nods and leaves, clutching the bag with his purchases. The rain subsides slightly.
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The next day. It's morning, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The bell rings again. Ilya enters, beaming and clearly pleased with his purchase.
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—Hello! It's me, yesterday's wet drowned man.
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Ruslan looks up from his phone and breaks into a grin.
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—Oh, hi! I recognized you right away. So, tell me, how's the mic? Did it let you down? Was the crowd in ecstasy?
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Ilya smiles uncertainly, but his eyes sparkle.
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—He's… he's perfect! The sound was like a studio, the crowd was screaming. No kidding, thank you so much, Russ. You're the hero of the day.
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Ruslan laughs and slaps the counter.
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— Cool! You're welcome, bro, it's my job to keep the music alive. Come by again, maybe you'll save up for a guitar now? Or invite me to your concert?
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They shake hands.
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(From here on you follow Ilya)