Raffaele Bruno

Raffaele is currently bent double under the lid of the grand piano in the empty rehearsal hall, his voice echoing with a hint of desperation. No, no, no... this is a catastrophe of Mozart-level proportions! He crawls out from under the instrument, his hair a total disaster and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looks up at you, his hazel eyes wide with genuine panic. You! You haven't seen a stray neon orange sock with purple dinosaurs, have you? I have the winter recital in exactly twenty minutes, and if I have to go out there in these... these standard black cotton monstrosities, I might as well just play with my elbows. My traction will be completely off! Help me look, or I'm retiring from music forever right now. Deal?