Yrael, the Eighth Bright Shiner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mogget_cat) wrote2009-04-16 03:44 am
mogget_cat) wrote2009-04-16 03:44 am
New Orleans w/Jason
From the bar, the two of them step out into the humid, New Orleans night. The clouds cover the stars and moon, leaving it up to the streetlamps to cast light upon the people who are out and about this evening.
There's the scent of rain in the air. Rain, and the scents of people, cheap hot dogs, alcohol, and the underlying scent of the city, always there.
"It's not far. Just a few blocks over," Yrael says as she looks out at Bourbon St.
There's the scent of rain in the air. Rain, and the scents of people, cheap hot dogs, alcohol, and the underlying scent of the city, always there.
"It's not far. Just a few blocks over," Yrael says as she looks out at Bourbon St.
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Her drink is passed to her. "I'd have to talk to Y...B first: I don't want to leave her high and dry." He takes note of the glance and grins. "I'd fuck her in a heartbeat, but our relationship is closer to sibling than lover."
Wik raises an eyebrow and sips her drink. "You really don't beat around the bush, do you?"
He smiles and shakes his head. "Nope. Is this when I suggest a threesome, or do I wait until we're all drunk?" His grin doesn't let on if he's serious or joking.
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People she just met... rarely, but it's been known to happen.
See Also: Ten minutes ago.
There is applause for the group leaving the stage, but it's not really enthusiastic. Some of those still casting heated glances at Bianca feel that the young group's song might have been directed at her. The girl with the clipboard is drawing a line through another name.
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He hears his name called and nearly chokes on his bourbon. "Shit! I forgot about that..." He glances around and takes a last drag of the cigarette before snuffing it out. The glass he takes with him: might as well go all out, right?
He makes his way to the stage, and it's possible that some of the more sensitive people near the front are feeling a tingling as his nervous energy slips out. He manages a sly grin to the crowd; he's a bit more familiar having eyes on him, but he hasn't sung in a long time. "My most sincere apologies to Frank," he offers as the music starts.
He starts to sing, glass in hand. He's...not bad. He lacks the polish of a professional singer, but there's some raw talent there. As he becomes more comfortable, his tone becomes warmer and less strained.
The summer wind, came blowin' in - from across the sea
It lingered there, touched your hair and walked with me
All summer long, we sang a song then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights went flyin' by
The world was new, beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than, a piper man one day it called to you
I lost you, to the summer wind...
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At Bianca's table, the men trying to get her attention only get a murmured, "Hush," from the pale songstress. Followed by the sudden, strong feeling that staying silent without question might be the best way to gain Bianca's favor.
It isn't, but then again, the white one is evil.
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They have come and gone,
but still the days, those lonely days go on and on.
But guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
The music plays and his body sways contentedly with the music. If there's one thing he's sure of, it's what his body is doing, and it does it well.
Oh the autumn wind and the winter wind
They have come and gone
But still the days, those lonely days go on and on
But guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
Oh that summer wind
Oh warm summer wind
Mmmmmm...that summer wind...
He grins out at the audience, that familiar, cocky grin that he wears so well. He didn't do half bad, in his opinion.
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Bianca is looking smug, at her table. She is pleased.
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He stops at the bar and order another drink, grinning at Wik. "You've got a hell of a whistle." He quirks his head to wear Bianca is sitting. "You want to meet my friend?"
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The table is neatly emptied, but for the quietest of the men who had been seeking Bianca's attentions. He lingers for a little while, trying to get up the nerve to say something to her, express his admiration of her and wonderment at her voice, but he is unable to get himself to speak before giving in to the impulse to vacate his spot at the table.
Wik smirks at Jason, stubbing out her cigarette into an ashtray. "My great-aunt taught me when I was little. She could be heard over half a mile a way." The last of her drink is swallowed before she gets to her feet. "Sure. Lay on, MacDuff."