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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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.

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

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.

The audience certainly is appreciative, from the applause. Chuckling at the bar, Wik puts two of her fingers to her lips and lets out a surprisingly loud wolf-whistle before returning to clapping.

Bianca is looking smug, at her table. She is pleased.

Jason tips his fedora and skips off the stage, heading for the bar. He gives a nod to Bianca, then to the occupied seats at her table. In essence, asking if he can boot them.

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?"

"Gentlemen, could I bother you terribly? There are not enough seats for my friends!" Bianca says behind Jason, followed quickly by the sounds of chairs moving and people rising.

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."