mogget_cat | New Orleans w/Jason

Jason takes a deep breath and smiles. He'd chosen a black and grey linen shirt, knowing how humid it would be in New Orleans. Silk would have been bad...

He did find an old fedora, though, and he was stoked about that.

"Walking never killed anyone." He's in good spirits, reaching out to goose Yrael as they saunter up the street.

She smacks him lightly upside the head for that, thinking of stealing the fedora.

It's a nice fedora.

"Usually it's something that happens while one is walking, rather than the walking itself," she says, grinning.

People pass them, heading to clubs and bars or home, as the case may be. It's not nearly as busy as Mardi Gras, but it's still just before full dark on an evening in the French Quarter. There are always people.

He smirks at her and swings an arm around her hip, giving it a little squeeze. "Goddamn I like this body. Why does my brother have to be the one in it?"

Her first reaction is to say Because I, like fate, am cruel, but she just grins and says "Because I'm mean like that," and leaves it at that.

She's in her white dress, tonight. The one made of some fine material unknown to textile makers, that, to judge by its thinness, should not be so opaque.

But it is. She's mean like that.

Well she's a cat. That should explain a lot.

"Yeah you are." He eyes the dress as it moves. "You hiding the zipper in that one, too?" he teases.

"Not at the moment, no," she sways as she walks, smirking. "There's no need for it."

Innocence, what?

He snorts, moving forward to get the door as they approach the bar.

"I'm sure that will all change." He gives a sweeping bow, ushering her in.

"Maybe, maybe not," she smirks at him as she passes by, into the bustling bar. It's busy for a weekday night, but then it always is, when there's an open-mic night.

"Oh, it's a competition," she says, glancing at the chalk-board announcement before grinning at him. "You might have a chance, then. The patrons vote for their favorite performance." Stage presence, likability and personality are just as important as the performance of the actual song, this way.

He makes a face at her. "Only if you don't sing: I know how you work Yrael. And even without magic in this world, you still are...frickin' made of music."

Well, practically.

He scans the crowd happily. "A few drinks before we jump in?"

She nudges his shoulder with hers. "Fine, I won't sing. There's a piano. I can play something instrumental."

"Drinks sound good. We can scope out the competition," Yrael says as she turns to steer them towards the bar. "Hey, Jack," she greets the nearest bartender, who turns at the sound of her voice.

"Heyyyy! Bianca! Long time no see!" Jack's voice is thick with a Nawlin's drawl, his face friendly as they approach. "Where you been, girl?"

Yrael shrugs, grinning wryly. "Here and there. Things got a bit hectic after Mardi Gras; you understand."

He nods, then gives a smile to Jason. "Who's your frien'?

"Ok...that keeps it a little more fair. But if you win out just playing piano...well, you'll owe me."

Jason walks over at the exchange and molds himself behind Bianca, grinning madly.

"Jason. You're Jack? Good to meet you."

"Nice to meetcha, Jason," Jack grins. "You kids be wantin' something to wet your throats before signin' up?"

"You already know why we're here, of course," Bianca smiles. "A White Russian for me."

Jason snorted in her ear. "Guess Atlantean's out..."

He nods to Jack. "Bourbon neat."

He turns to lean his back against the bar, watching the other patrons. "Shit, I haven't done anything like this in a long time. I don't even know if I remember any jazz."

As Jack starts setting up their drinks, he cocks an eyebrow and a half-smile at Jason. "Ain't gotta be jazz, son. 'S preference, but it doesn't gotta be. Ya bourbon neat on Bourbon street," he says, setting the drink in front of Jason before starting on the White Russian.

"I hadn't really decided on what to perform," Yrael says, waking the seat next to Jason. "I guess I'll have to come up with something eventually. Before I go up there, at least."

Jason snickers. "Yeah, but you could probably just start playing random notes and it would come out beautifully."

He grins at the bartender and drops a ten on the bar top. "Thanks Jack."

There's a nervous sigh. "Not sure, Yri...I know plenty of modern rock, but even the softer stuff feels like it would be too much for this place."

"You know it," Yrael grins, exchanging money with Jack for her White Russian.

"I won't force you to perform, if you don't want to," she says as she sips her drink, amazingly without a note of if you're not up to it in her voice.

Jason rolls his eyes to her. "I'm not nervous...I just have no clue what this crowd will go for."

He's good at reading crowds...when he's dancing. He's not quite as in tune with reading their musical moods.

"What do you think? Honestly."

"In all honesty, I think you could get away with just about anything," she says, smirking. "Got a song that's cocky and unsubtle? You're good at that."

He makes a face and takes a swallow of his drink, wincing only slightly at the burn.

"Cocky and unsubtle? You know, I'm sure people said stuff like that about Elvis or Sinatra, and look how well they turned out."

Hmm....dead and...dead. "Career-wise."

He gives a distant laugh. "My dad loved Sinatra. He'd pop in the old records and swing Mom around the house, singing them to her. Man couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but damn did he love singing with Frank."

She tilts her head, looking curious. "I don't... I can't recall if I've heard any Sinatra." Or Elvis, for that matter.

It's the problem with having a holey repertoire of Earth music.

His eyes widen. "Jesus, Yri! How can you call yourself a musician and have never heard of them? Especially playing here?"

He shakes his head, pounding the drink. "The Rat Pack? Come on, I don't even really listen to them and I still know who they are."

His exclamation is met with a blank look. "I've never heard of them? I'm not exactly a native."

"You should sing some Sinatra," she decides, nudging him in the shoulder. "Try and sell me on their music."

He laughs, calling to Jack for another drink.

"And you think I'd sell it?" He sighs, obviously considering it. "Dad was the one who knew them...I don't know if I know any all the way through..."

Though he doesn't seem impartial to the idea.

"I think you could make a valiant effort at selling it, at the very least," she smirks, sipping her drink as Jack come back around.

"She tryin' to get you up there on stage with her?" he shakes his head, good-naturedly. "Dangerous, that."

Jason laughs. "Don't I know it. I don't think half of you understand what she could really do if she tried."

He laughs at his little joke.

"Ok...I think I might have an idea of something. Do we...do we just go up there or...?

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