mogget_cat | 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.

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One of Wik's two black, arched eyebrows becomes even more arched.

"Really?"

She looks him over.

"You any good? Most people wouldn't come right out and admit that."

He chuckles. "I like to think I am. I'm one of the headliners at any rate. So...yeah, I'm pretty good."

He cocks an eyebrow at her, giving her a roguish look. "Why lie? You never know when someone's going to call you out on it."

"Explains the attitude, at least," she chuckles lowly into her rum'n'coke. "Where're you working? Anyplace local?"

"Use what you've got, right?"

He shakes his head, scooting a little closer to converse without shouting.

"Nah, I'm from St. Louis. I'm here visiting an old friend." His grin is mischievous. "Why, you want to catch the show?"

"Possibly," she smirks at him. "It'd at least give me the opportunity to see if you've got anything to back up that attitude of yours."

In the background, the mediocre band draws its enthusiastically mediocre song to a close, to mediocre applause.

He looks more than a little pleased with himself as he leans in to smirk. "Why wait so long? I could show you right now."

The laughter in his eyes means that he might be teasing. Then again, he might not...

"Ohhh," she smirks. "So you're performing tonight, too."

She meets his teasing with her own.

It just so happens that after Outrageous Flavor has cleared the stage, Bianca Silvestri is called up. From the applause and few cheers as the pale girl from the seat behind Jason takes the stage, her name is recognized.

"I got talked into it, but unfortunately I'm not going to be dancing. So I have to try to impress you before they get me up there."

He's about to make another suggestion when Bianca is called up. He smirks over his shoulder, turning so that he's able to see Bianca onstage, but still remain close enough to Wik to converse. And to just be close.

"You better work fast," Wik grins. "You might be called at any moment."

Up on stage, Bianca sits at the piano. After a moment of pause, her head tilted as if listening for something to inspire her, she begins to play.

Whoever said that rock piano was impossible never met a Bright Shiner on a mission. The beat is fast, the tempo driven on by the fierce, rhythmic chords of the keyboard. It's a challenge, picking up the spirits of all of the bar patrons who hear her, urging them on, especially when she begins to sing. Her voice carries the challenge, the quick, forceful chords of the piano carry the urgency of it.

"Gotta fight- gotta strike-
'cause there's no turning away
From what you don't want to know.
Gotta see- gotta be-
If they're all going astray,
Don't let them take you in tow.

You're a one-man shift in the weather...
You're the woman who just won't sell...
Climbing up, I'm ringing the belllllllll-

Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you're gonna make your-
mark this time...
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you gotta set your-
hope on fire..."

Jason can feel the influence of the Bright Shiner as soon as she begins her song, and he smiles to himself: she does have his back.

Well used to having his mind manipulated, he opens himself fully to the power in Bianca's song. It tears through his cool, playboy demeanor, leaving something more akin to a primal hunter in its place. He suddenly finds himself much closer to Wik than he remembers being, but he notes with with satisfaction her flushed cheeks and pounding heart.

Well done, Yri...

He leans close enough that his mouth is hovering behind her ear, and his breath is hot against it as he whispers, "Just how fast do you want me to be?"

She can feel his breath, hot on her ear and neck. Her calm is enough to let her drain the rest of her rum'n'coke, her hand only slightly unsteady. "Not so quick as to fail to make an impression, I'd hope," she murmurs, her eyes flickering between her glass Jason's hand resting on the bar, hesitating at making eye-contact, should that prove too much.

In the background, the music continues, the audience rapt. Some soloists with their attention fixed on the musician on stage, others becoming more and more focused on their conversation partners.

"Gotta leave- gotta bleed-
You've gotta stop lying still
'cause this is no kind of life.
You don't need guarantees,
You just want something to build
Before you turn to the knife.

When the streets are aflood like a fever,
It's a holiday of the new.
We're coming closer now to the truuuuuth...

Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you're gonna make your-
mark this time...
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you gotta set your-
hope on fire..."

He'll gladly make the move. His hand slides over to press against hers, a single finger suggestively caressing over the back of her hand; over her knuckles and along her wrist.

"I'm sure I can make a good impression."

He raises his eyebrows questioningly, a sly smile on his face as he nods his head back toward a dark hallway in the bar where the bathrooms are.

Wik lifts her eyes to his, glancing at him sideways. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she slightly raises her eyebrows in challenge.

"You're on."

And maybe her hand is turning to grasp at his as she gets to her feet.

"Gotta move- gotta choose-
You've got a difference to make.
Don't watch it happen again.
Gotta change- rearrange-
Something's bending to break,
It's just a matter of whennnnnn...

Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you gotta make your-
mark this time...
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you gotta set your-
hope on fire...

Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you're gonna make your-
mark this time...
Ooh-Ooh-Ooh you're gonna set your-
hope on fire...

Ooooooooooh, you're gonna set your-
hope on fire...

Set your-
hope-
on-
fire..."

What's he got to lose?

He moves to follow close behind Wik, responding with a smug grin to the dirty looks being hurled at him from the other guys. Well, the ones who aren't entranced by Bianca's music, and there aren't many that aren't.

The bathroom is one of those small, one-at-a-time deals, which is perfect for Jason. The door is barely closed before he has Wik against it.

He'll apologise to B later for missing the rest of her set.

They don't have long to glare at the retreating pair, because soon after, the song comes to a close, and there is cheering and applause going on.

For a while.

When the crowd comes to its senses again, as Bianca is making a similar walk from the stage to the bar as Wik had earlier, there's a space of general conversation as the next little garage band sets up.

With her guy friend otherwise occupied, Bianca, it seems, is set for drinks for the rest of the evening. Those that were glaring before are looking hopeful and attentive now as Bianca smiles and chats with them; the knowledge that one guy has already gotten lucky with one of the hot-yet-hard-to-get performers this evening is just adding further wood on the fire.

Just wait until they see who Bianca leaves the club with.

Poor Bianca has most of the garage band to suffer through before Jason and Wik emerge from the bathroom, much to the protest of several people who'd been waiting to use it.

Jason's cocky smile speaks volumes as they approach the bar. He asks Wik, "Funny to ask after the fact, but can I buy you a drink?"

Bianca's not really paying attention to the garage band's song, anyway. She's discussing politics with a small handful of guys at a nearby table. One of which is trying to talk her into admitting she's a Democrat, two of which are trying to talk her into admitting she's a Republican, and one who's secretly harboring a suspicion that she's an anarchist.

She's talking circles around them.

Wik chuckles. "Sure. Sazerac for me."

Jason catches snippets of Bianca's conversation and tries not to laugh as he orders the drinks.

"I'd order you a big bloody steak as well, but I don't think this is that kind of place." He winks at her. "Hey, excuse me just one second..."

He leans over into the group conversing with Bianca. "Try asking her about her stance on the Charter," he suggests with an evil grin, then turns away again.

"We could find that kind of place," Wik suggests as he comes back, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "Who was that?"

Behind them, the conversation is confused for a moment, before Bianca offers slight (and filtered) explanation.

Then the conversation inevitably shifts towards a discussion of religion. Two of the group are trying to get Bianca to admit she's actually a Christian, one is verbosely convinced she some godless Atheist, and one is privately wondering about her personal beliefs on Shinto.

He nods to the pack. "You mind?"

Letting her light the cigarette for him, he explains. "Old friend. The one I'm visiting. Her name's Bianca." He breathes the smoke in gratefully. "I'd be up for some food later on if you are. Any of the places around here open late?"

"Places that aren't open late in the French Quarter don't last long," she smirks, glancing over at the back of the white-haired head. "Dickie Brennan's is always good, and it's just a couple of blocks down."

"Hmmm, but I don't think either of us is dressed for that," Wik bites her lip. "What about the Embers? It's just around the corner, practically."

He laughs. "I don't know the town: you let me know where to go and we'll go."

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.

"I don't have sex with people I haven't met."

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.

He laughs. "Then I'll have to introduce you."

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...

Elbow on the bar, Wik settles in to listen.

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.