Sid
Ogden Street South, located just a handful of blocks north of Wash Park, is not the best bar in Denver, but the regulars enjoy it. Drinks are cheap and flow like rivers into pitchers to be shared at tables surrounded by patrons both seated and standing. Most days of the week the small bar is packed depending on what sports event is being flashed across flat-panel monitors mounted high up on the walls. Friday and Saturday nights are a different story.
On Friday and Saturday the small raised dais in the corner finds itself used at last. People of all ages (over 21, of course, unless their fake ID has been particularly well made) and varying levels of inebriation grab up a mic and draw all eyes in the room as they attempt to drunkenly belt eternally popular CCR and Poison and Queen songs. Karaoke nights are the bar's main draw.
Sid said that she would be there late and she meant late. Sometime around 11:30 she sends Alex a text: Be there soon. It's nearing midnight when the tall redhead pushes her way through the crowd and to the bar, bringing with her an odd sensation of oncoming spring. As she goes, she keeps herself lifted to the balls of her feet, chin lifted and neck craning for any sign of a man she hasn't seen since winter. She is dressed in a fitted light purple t-shirt with the Star Wars logo emblazoned across her chest and tight fitting, dark-washed jeans tucked into a pair of knee-high black boots. A grey messenger bag hangs from her shoulder, the pouch nearly flat against her hip.
Alexander
Friday night at the karaoke bar. It wouldn’t rate particularly highly up Alexander’s list of Things To Be Doing, but it could be worse. Depending on who was singing at the time, anyway. Alex hadn’t had any trouble getting in. It’s been a while since he’d passed for under 21, and the stubble tended to add a few years on as well. He’d arrived... not early, but not as late as Sid does.
For maybe an hour and a half he’d sat at the bar, nursing his fourth bottle of whichever bottled beer the man behind the bar had fished out of the glass-fronted fridge. He’d been approached a couple of times, asked “Are you alone?” and “Want some company?” He’d spent a little time chatting with each of them, until each of them worked out that Alex wasn’t interested in anything more than the conversation and drifted back into the crowd.
He was just getting to the point of giving up on the evening when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He read the message then waved at the barman again. It wouldn’t hurt to wait a little longer, and the couple on stage weren’t doing a bad job of Bat Out Of Hell.
So there he is: leaning back against the bar with his elbows resting on it. A mostly full bottle of beer is held in his hand, and he’s watching the small stage. A red shirt left unbuttoned and with the sleeves rolled up, mostly covers a black vest top. Black combats hang over a pair of comfortable black boots. His own resonance, somewhat weaker than Sid’s, is of a moment caught in time more than caught in ice. That ice has thawed, at least for now. Maybe those random meetings of gazes last a little longer than they would otherwise, with the potential to become more meaningful.
Sid
Unless he seems restless or agitated at having been made to wait so long, Sid has no idea how long he's been there waiting for her. She offers him a slight nod of greeting, chin lowering before lifting again at an angle. There is something almost animal about the movement of her head, the way she cranes it, the way she takes in her surroundings, dark-eyes wary and alert. Like her long red hair, twisted into a loose knot at her nape, should give way to a shaggy red coat of fur. Like there should be a rack of antlers stretching out above her head, branching as far and wide as any tree. Like she belongs loose and free in an ancient forest lost to the sands of time.
Then she is there, leaning against the bar next to him, and she is just a woman, tall and too-thin, radiating warmth and life. The scents of cigarette smoke and cool night air mingle together on her clothing, skin, and hair. "Hey," she greets, now that she's close enough to be heard above the din.
The man behind the counter greets her like he recognizes her, and with the kind of smile bar owners hope all their servers wear: disarming and charming, the kind of smile that melts hearts and encourages just one more drink. "Are you going up tonight?" he asks. Sid looks back over her shoulder at the stage, then at Alex, then back to the bartender. Shrugging, she orders a bottle of beer before turning her back to the bar and taking a lean beside the one who feels a bit frozen. Static.
"How are you?" she asks, looking him over like she's looking for an open wound or a foreign object protruding from his shoulder. Not so much checking him out as she is assessing.
Alexander
There’s no agitation showing when he raises a hand in greeting as she approaches and he turns to look towards the movement. No snark in his voice as he returns the, “Hey!” No clipped statement about her being late or asking where she’d been because, basically, she’d said “late” and it really wasn’t any of his business what she’d been up to. The only reason that he’d started thinking of heading on was that she might have changed her mind about coming out and forgotten to say. No big deal. So he smiles along with the wave.
“I’m... alright! At the moment, anyway. Things change, you know?” He’s sure she does – she’s been at this for how much longer than he has..? He runs an eye over Sid, assessing her for himself. Trying to compare the figure leaning on the bar against the woman he’d met all those... god, it must be months ago now! Too long ago to compare.
“How about you?” When Sid’s beer arrives he holds up his bottle in a silent toast. To surviving.
And then, “You sing here?” There’s maybe a little surprise in his voice, even though he doesn’t know her well enough to know – or guess at – what she does for fun. Apart from drinking coffee with raspberry vodka with pink sprinkles.
Sid
She does know. She knows how fast the world can change, usually with the shutting of a door. Usually with loved ones on the other side of it. The past year has been a trial worse than most and it shows. Sid looked pale and haunted and too-thin in March and she looks pale and haunted and too-thin in August, but she looks a little better than she did laying on a hospital bed. There is color in her face - a smattering of freckles to darken her milk white skin - and smaller shadows beneath her dark eyes and her hair has some of its former luster back. It draws the eye. She draws the eye. There was a time when she wouldn't have made it through the door for fear of it but tonight she appears to weather it well. There are things she wants and wants to do and sometimes getting them and getting to them necessitate walking through fire. A sports-turned-karaoke bar isn't really akin to fire, but we digress.
Alex is alright and he looks alright, but he also understands that he might not always be. Sid, though she doesn't smile at his response, seems to relax at it. Relaxed enough not to tense up or move away when he looks her over in turn. Clinking the neck of her bottle to his, she says, "I'm..." bottle poised just inches from her lips as she pauses to consider her answer.
"Okay," is what she settles on, and takes a drink. She doesn't look terribly okay but she looks better at least, like she's getting there or trying to.
He asks if she sings here and she looks away to the stage, watching the man there sing some Bon Jovi. "Sometimes." Turning her head she gestures to him with her bottle. "What about you? Do you ever feel like embarrassing yourself for the enjoyment of strangers?"
Alexander
Alexander has had his share of closing doors, of loved ones left behind. That’s what brought him to Denver in the first place… but that’s another story. He maybe hasn’t had as many trials to face as Sid has, but he’s had enough to know that things can get bad. Although just how bad still remains to be seen. But being the nice young guy finding out that things – that reality - were never quite as he thought? That’s a doozie to be starting out on. If he knew her more, he’d be impressed at her ability to walk through those fires. And be asking how she manages it.
But he doesn’t. All he does know is that they’re both here with cheap, but drinkable, beers. And they’re both okay. Demons and skeletons safely wedged back into the wardrobe, even if there’s a chair holding the door shut.
His gaze? Shouldn’t be anything to worry about. There’s no lust, no expectation, there. Just consideration of how she seems to be bearing up. She’s not the same woman drinking gaudy flavoured coffee from those months ago, but she is looking a whole lot better than she did in hospital. He nods when she decides on “Okay.”
He smiles when she asks if he’s one for standing on stage and singing for a drunken crowd, shaking his head and looking down at the neck of his beer bottle. “I haven’t sung in a long time, in front of anybody else in even longer. It’ll take a lot stronger than this to get me up there,” he shakes the bottle as he finishes. Which, while not being a resounding yes, isn’t an outright no. “What do you tend to sing? I don’t even know what kind of music you like.” He glances at Sid before looking at the Bon Jovi-singing man.
Sid
Sid doesn't know what Alex knows about her. What he might have learned when he tracked her to the hospital, to the room she shared with another sleeper caught in a manufactured dream, what he may have heard from other mages, what he's picked up from the one other time she was conscious in his presence. But she can guess that the kind of music she likes is the tip of the iceberg of all the things he doesn't know about her. The way he asks it, though, gives her pause, has the bottle hesitating millimeters from her lips a beat before she takes a drink.
"I won't make you," she assures him. Go up on stage, that is, or much of anything else for that matter. Sid's is a quiet, steady presence that does not press or push at others.
Then she shrugs, leans her elbows back against the bar and watches the people bustling around them. Considering her answer to the question. "It depends," she says, tilting her head toward him so he can hear her better though her eyes stay out on the other patrons. "But usually I look for nineties alt rock songs. Our Lady Peace. Bush. Cranberries. Hole. Things like that." Shifting, angling her body toward him with a lifting of her far shoulder and a slight twisting of her waist, her gaze drops to the floor. It wasn't always so hard to confide even these little minor things. "I didn't start singing again until after the last thing. The dream. Before that, I hadn't done it for a long time, either."
Alexander
The two of them probably know roughly equal amounts about each other. That is: the little they could pick up from 20 minutes sat in an Irish bar somewhere else in the city and the random bits of gossip that worked their way through the Awakened grapevine. Nothing much more solid or significant than that. Alex had gone as far as tracking down where Sid was when she was sharing a dream. Others that he trusted had said that Sid was good people. And you didn’t really try digging the dirt on people who you wanted to get on with. Possibly work together with. Doing that, if they found out, tended to mean that they didn’t want to know you for very much longer. So even given access to information that most others in their little community – maybe with the exception of Grace – had access to, he hadn’t indulged his sense of curiosity. Some lines don’t get crossed.
Especially when the people involved can rewrite reality to their will.
I won’t make you. He looks back at the singer, making a reasonable job of It’s My Life although nobody’s going to be offering a recording contract any time soon. He shrugs, undecided. Maybe he will sing. Maybe he won’t. Maybe more alcohol will be involved first.
“Ahh, a rock chick then!” He salutes her again with his beer bottle. “Although I guess you didn’t really strike me as the kind to warble along to a Mariah Carey track. Cool choice, though.” He takes another sip from the bottle, holding it loosely in his hand and gesturing with it when he speaks. “My mother had some bizarre taste in music when I lived with her, but I finally managed to get over it with a bit of Floyd and went from there. I think she still has a couple of David Hasselhoff vinyls stashed away somewhere. I swear, Child Services should include copies of Looking for Freedom when they inspect places. That’s stuff's just cruel.”
He looks back at her again, watching her watch the crowd. “You missed it? The singing?”
Sid
"I don't have Mariah's range," she says, seriously. Mariah Carey has a five octave vocal range. Sid's range is smaller, lower, better suited to the bands she named and then some. So, Alex knows a little more about her, and something that no other mage in the city knows. Sid sings, and she doesn't have Mariah Carey's range.
"Otherwise I might."
There is a moment where he looks like he might be considering going up on stage, and still Sid does not push. It's just not her way. Her version of hedonism is to do the things that bring her pleasure, to revel in them when given the opportunity. That means not dragging the unwilling to go do those things. But perhaps she'll go up, herself. Later.
He mentions his mother and her taste in music, her possible collection of Hasselhoff vinyls, and something in her expression changes. Warms. Her lips part like she might offer an anecdote of her own, but the words, the stick in her throat. Tilting her head away, she clears her throat. Relaxes it. Breathes in deep the smells of the bar - fried finger foods and free flowing, cheap beers, perfumes and colognes - breathes it back out again as she forces her shoulders down and back.
Did she miss the singing? Without hesitation, Sid gives a slight nod that does nothing to express just how much she missed it. "I was in a band. A long time ago. We weren't very good," she admits, not quite smiling for the fond memories, "but, it was fun."
Alexander
There’s a sip of beer as he considers Sid’s choice of song and how her range affects that choice. “So it’s not a particular type of music you like to sing, then? It’s more the singing itself? Is there anything you wouldn’t sing, even if you had the range to cover it?” Because sometimes it’s easier to run through the things you don’t like than the things you do.
He goes back to watching the crowd, but not before catching Sid’s aborted attempt at her own story. He smiles as he asks, “What? You looked like you were about to say something.” There’s no pressure, though. If she doesn’t want to tell, that’s fine. But he’s happy to listen if she has anything she feels like telling. He won’t be doing any dragging tonight either. Barring bar fights and passed-out drunks.
“What happened? With the band, I mean. You guys drift apart?” School, college, work, family, creative differences; There are all sorts of reasons why bands break and go their separate ways. He’s expecting it’s one of those, though. “You play any instruments?”
There is the smell of things deep-fried, mixed in with other pleasant – and some not-so-pleasant – odours. “You want something to eat? Nachos or something?”
Sid
"It depends," she says again, but does not elaborate. He has fired off another question and she has to think about it before giving him a non-commital, "I haven't thought about it. Probably rap. I'm not young enough to mimic Faith No More, not anymore."
He asks her 'what,' mentions that she looked like she might say something and she gives a slight shake of her head. The flow of conversation continues.
Something about the way he asks after that old band causes her to shift where she stands, to shuffle her feet so that she's angled more toward him, to face him more directly than she does the crowd. Her increased tension begins to reveal itself in her short, quiet, "College."
She does not answer his next question, or the next, or the next. Instead she regards him with a steady and at once distant gaze. There is something about the way she looks at him that seems much older than her uears, and wary, yet infinitely patient. Something about the way she looks at him calls to mind a deer, but not the skittish doe prepared to bolt. She is the ancient stag standing at the forest's edge, watching, assessing, determining if there is a hunter near or not. Because this is all starting to feel like,
"Is this an interrogation?" she asks, more curious than suspicious, though there is some suspicion. Like her shadow it is always with her, sometimes ahead of her, leading the way. And sometimes, like now, it stretches out behind her, faded by a faint light and not quite blending into her surroundings.
Alexander
The haze of four-and-some bottles of beer fuzzes the edges of Alexander’s awareness, but not so much that the start of Sid’s reaction goes unnoticed. Her turn, the edge of tension. His gaze moves back from watching the crowd, the surroundings, the changing singer on the stage to look at Sid when she turns. Is this an interrogation? He cocks his head to one side, taking another swig. Then he shrugs.
“Last I heard, musical tastes aren’t a matter of national security.” He smiles a little, trying to show that he is joking. Although given the past suspicions of some of the others in town... The feel of his resonance, that he wears a uniform in service of The Man. (Although he’d argue he’s more in the service of the people than mindless servitude to the powers that be.) He waves a hand, dismissing the attempt at humour.
“I’m just curious about you, that’s all. Most people, really. And, honestly?” He meets her gaze, eye to eye. “I want to try to have a conversation with someone in the club that doesn’t revolve around the world falling to crap around us, or how everything is wonderful if you can just learn to see it. I want to know that getting on with normal stuff is still A Thing.”
He shrugs again, turning to look at the bar so he can put his now-empty bottle on it. “If you don’t want to answer, don’t answer. I’m not going to force anything.”
Sid
"You never know when someone's opinion of ZZ Top marks them as a threat to the American Dream," she replies. If she were lighter, or capable of being lighter, her own attempt at humor might be more obvious.
She listens to him, though, what he wants, what he's hoping for in talking to her, and for a moment there is...not pity, not even sympathy, but empathy, understanding. Sid takes a sip of her beer, holds the bottle up to check the level of liquid against the light, then turns to set the bottle on the bar next to Alex's.
When she turns back she rests her elbow on the bar and laces her fingers together before her. "I..." she starts, eyes cast down because revealing even the simplest truths is easier when one isn't looking into a pair of nice young eyes, in a bar on Friday night or maybe it's Saturday morning by now, with a stranger stepping up to try We Own It.
Looking up, meeting those eyes regardless, Sid says, "I'm very private."
Alexander
It may not be a blatant attempt at humour, but it does get a smile nonetheless. He considers ordering another drink, but waits for the moment. At least until it’s a little clearer which way the conversation is headed.
I’m very private. He watches Sid as she breaks the eye contact while she… works up the courage? Decides what to say? How much to say? He can’t tell and, really, it doesn’t matter. Because… “I’m not trying to trick you or analyse you or figure out your deepest, darkest secrets. I just want to get to know you. You know, the old fashioned way.” No reading police files, no mind magic, no picking up bits and pieces through the various grapevines running through the city. No dealing with the various crises they seem to get so easily tangled up in.
Sid says what she says, but he holds up a hand – open, palm down – and makes a slow down, stop motion. He turns again, leans both elbows on the bar and look down into the empty bottle, smiles again. “Even if it’s just for tonight, can we leave all that… stuff alone?” He looks up at the barman, raises a hand to get his attention. As he moves over, he turns his head to look at Sid again and asks, “Tequila?”
Getting drunk together: the good, old fashioned way of getting to know people.
Sid
I'm very private, she says. I'm not trying to trick you, he says, and Sid shuts her teeth down around the words that would have followed, listening instead to the Orphan apprentice, a frown shadowing her face. I just want to get to know you. Sid's expression softens. There is sad sympathy in her warm and brown and ancient eyes. He doesn't know the curse that comes with getting too close to her.
"It'll be better for you if you don't," she says. The corner of her mouth lifts with a shadow of a smile. "Especially if you're trying to avoid conversations about the world falling apart." She pushes herself upright from the bar. "I'm going to sign up," she says. To sing, she means, or must given her apparent trajectory. "Do you want to come?"
Alexander
He cocks his head to the side when she says it's best that he doesn't try to get to know her. He's not quite sure if that's intended to protect him, or protect her. But they're both adults and have at least a passing idea of what their life seems to involve.
"Just for tonight. One night of being human before the world turns to shit again."
Do you want to come? He thinks for a moment, watching her waiting for reaction, before quickly ordering a couple of tequila shots to take with them. One for her, if she wants it. If not, it's extra courage.
"What the hell, why not?"
Sid
There will be no more talk of pasts or pains, not unless Alex is in a sharing mood. And he can keep his liquid courage for himself. When offered the second shot of tequila Sid shakes her head, but that glimmer of a smile returns if only for a moment. It is good to do fun things. It is good to do the things that bring one pleasure. Because the world turned to shit ages ago, long before either mage was even born. And somewhere out there it is falling apart, unraveling, devolving into chaos.
But for tonight, for a little while at least, things are quiet for Sid and Alexander. Relatively, anyway. Sid scans the computer screen for something that speaks to her, something that will help her express...something. She makes her pick and gives her name and then steps aside for Alexander, chewing her lower lip in thought while he searches for his own song. Her hand alights on his shoulder, just long enough to get his attention, long enough for him to feel the warmth of her palm through the fabric of his shirt. Then it's gone.
"Would it be less, ah. Would it make you less nervous if we tried a duet?"
=====
[for the future because i rolled already hah]
niko @ 10:44AM
[charisma+performance+WP]
Roll: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 5, 5, 6, 6) ( success x 3 ) [WP]
Samael @ 10:47AM
Witnessed!
niko @ 10:47AM
Danke!
Alexander
Alexander has learned many things. One of those things applies more and more often these days. That you need to escape, to get away from the job, the work, the saving of the world. Otherwise you burn out and that serves no purpose at all.
So no, tonight he doesn’t talk of pains, of troubled pasts, of new starts and new Awakenings. Tonight is for escape, with someone who might need that same kind of escape from time to time as well. Time to forget that the world is turning to shit, forget about doing what they could to set it to right. Time to set their world to rights with alcohol and music and singing semi-drunken songs with a semi-drunken audience.
He carries both shots over to the screen with Sid, peering at it as she skims through the list. Would it make you less nervous… He smiles as she offers, feeling the warmth of her brief touch, sipping at one of the shot glasses. He is nervous – this is something he’s never done before. But that fear, that’s something he knows he needs to face. And this? At least this doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of thing. So he shakes his head and starts flicking through the list once she’s done with it. “Probably, but what the hell. You only live once, right?”
Probably.
So he flicks through the list, a few songs catching his eye. He picks one, signs up.
vesta @ 8:17AM
[Cha+Per - Doh, a deer, a female deer...]
Roll: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 9, 10) ( success x 3 )
vesta @ 8:17AM
What d'you know, he can carry a tune.
HDub @ 8:19AM
he can carry a tune pretty well, actually!
Sid
Sid's relief at that shake of the head is...well it's not terribly great or outright noticeable. It's not that she offered to do something she wouldn't want to follow through with. It's that as she asked she tried to recall what duets she'd seen on the list and they all came up romantic. I Got You Babe. Islands in the Stream. I've Had the Time of My Life. This is only the third time she's even been in a room with Alexander, and only the second such meeting where she's been conscious. She just doesn't want to sing a romantic song with someone she hardly knows.
He picks a song for himself, and then they have to wait. Not long, as it turns out, but long enough that idle conversation can happen. And it would happen, except that another regular to the bar sees Sid waiting over by the stage and drunkenly weaves through tables and chairs toward her. She's shorter than Sid and Alexander by a handful of inches, but even so Sid edges back a little when the woman leans toward her. "Yer singin'?" she asks, to which Sid nods. She doesn't look uncomfortable, at least not any more than she did before. She likes her space, clearly, and she doesn't like people breathing vapors into her face, obviously. But she doesn't look like she's preparing to vanish in a puff of smoke to get away. In fact, she appears to recognize the woman.
"Y'should sing that one again. Uhhhh...Love somethin'. Love...love...love..." she trails away, her attention landing on Alexander. "You 'er date?" she asks, and then more excitedly to Sid she asks in a stage whisper that has the Verbena wincing. In a stage whisper anyone in a three foot radius can hear clear as day despite the young woman on stage belting out an impassioned Rolling in the Deep, "Is he your date??"
Sid puts her hand to the woman's shoulder, her touch light yet firm. "Not exactly. Sue, why don't you go sit down? It's almost my turn and I have something in mind. But you can make a request after." She presses against Sue's shoulder, urging her to make her way back to her seat, which she does, but obviously with great reluctance. Sue keeps looking at Alex, which causes her to stumble into a chair. Only then does her fixation finally seem to break, her attention held up a moment with a glare for the unexpected obstacle. Sid watches her the whole way, faint concern showing in her eyes.
Alexander
Sid’s relief goes unnoticed – in part because it’s not so obvious, in part because Alexander is busy flicking through pages of songs. The choice to go solo is quite simple, though – he hasn’t done this before and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever Sid chooses to sing. This is her escape as much as his. But even if he had chosen to sing with her, he would have had the same issue with choice – trying to find a duet that doesn’t involve declaring undying love... So he picks and joins the short queue to perform.
Sue staggers up and leans into their space, making Alexander lean back a little too. He looks to Sid to see how she reacts, making sure that the two do actually know each other. They do seem to know each other, so he takes a step back to avoid leaning. Because even after a few beers, the waft of too-much of something-stronger isn’t nice. And because he likes his space too.
You ‘er date? His eyes roll, looking away and around the rest of the crowd – hoping that she loses interest quickly. Is he your date? “No!” he answers at the same time as Sid replies with her not exactly, turning back to face the pair. He doesn’t say anything more, but gives Sid a puzzled look. This isn’t a date. Sid manages to steer Sue away after a few moments and he watches her stagger and stumble away out of the corner of his vision. He’s aware of her attention and trying very hard not to show her any recognition of it.
“Friend of yours?” he asks, finishing off the remains of the first shot glass. Eyebrows raised with the unasked question – Not exactly?
Sid
Alex fervently denies the suggestion that he's Sid's date and Sid, quiet, watchful thing, darts a glance his way, fleeting and swift - just long enough to see a hint of Oh no before her attention is returned to the drunken Sue. Luckily, the woman was focused just enough on Sid that the fierceness of his refusal went unnoticed. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe that's why she watches him so long, though he tries not to acknowledge it.
Friend of yours?
Sid pulls her attention back. "No." And then, slightest hint of humor curling at the corners of her mouth, "Not exactly. Didn't anyone teach you how to divert the drunk?"
Alexander
He looks at her for a second before smiling and looking down at the floor. “Yeah, good point.” His gaze comes back up to Sid, Sue still in his peripheral vision. Just in case she comes back to clarify things or, worse, try to stake her own claim.
“I usually just ignore them until they get bored and wander off. Or arrest them. But that’s far too much paperwork and I’m already signed up here any everything.” The smile fades and he shrugs. “I don’t get out like this a lot. Usually it’s the guys I work with at the same old place, so we tend not to get bothered much.”
Sid
Sue has made her way to a table to the side, where she rejoins a cluster of people who vaguely resemble her. Children, maybe, or brothers and sisters, or...something. Out for a good time on a Friday night, only now, as has become custom, they must keep an eye on their wandering Sue.
Sid isn't watching them, though, she is watching Alex. "A dog doesn't get bored if you give it a bone to chew on," she says sagely, then tilts her head a little at an angle. Offers him that slight almost-smile. "Something to remember next time."
Like there's going to be a next time for them in a place that is not the same old place. And maybe there will be. Probably there will be. But first, the MC for the karaoke gets on stage and speaks into the microphone.
"Amelia, you're up!"
Sid's chin lifts and she glances back at the stage before turning back to Alex. "That's me," she says, and before he can react she is turning away and taking up the stage, herself. Somehow, when she gets up there and takes the mic in both of her hands, eyes closing behind those dark-rimmed glasses, she seems different. More vibrant, more alive, like she is in a place where she belongs.
The music starts and she moves with it, tapping her heel on every other main beat.
"Crash and burn
All the stars explode tonight
How'd you get so desperate?
How'd you stay alive?"
Of course. Hadn't she mentioned Hole in her list of preferred bands? As she sings, low and husky voice carrying easily throughout the bar, she puts her all into it. Every part of her, every cell, every fiber of her being pours into the song, clear through until the final verse.
"I can't be near you
The light just radiates
I can't be near you
The light just radiates"
She finishes to a modest round of applause, nods to the crowd, and unhurriedly makes her way off of the small stage, making space for Alex.
Alexander
Sue vanishes back into the crowd, and neither of them are really tracking her any more. She’s not important and, with any luck, her brood will keep her under control for the rest of the night. Alex smiles, nodding, when she offers the advice. “I’ll remember. Or bring handcuffs.”
Then it’s Sid’s turn and she’s up and away before he gets a chance to even wish her luck. Or is it breaking a leg when you’re performing? That always seemed like a strange thing to wish on someone. She’s away and the music starts and she comes alive. Or escapes everything that holds her back, pulls her down. Just for tonight? For the song? For the moment? It doesn’t really matter. She’s singing and she’s alive and, for those few minutes, the song is all that matters.
It’s not a song that he knows, but he nods along as she sings it well. Listening to the words, he wonders if there’s a reason why she picked the song. Hadn’t she said that it would be better if he didn’t try to get to know her? Better that she doesn’t get close in case her light burns? Or is the alcohol helping him jump to conclusions that aren’t really there?
Either way, the song is soon over and she steps down making way for him. The MC gestures for him to take his places and Alex? He looks nervous now, taking a breath, trying to swallow with a dry mouth. There’s still that last shot of tequila in his hand. He passes it to Sid, though, before stepping up and grabs the microphone in both hands, subconsciously trying to make himself smaller. The music starts and he turns to face the screen. He’s a little late starting with the lyrics, but her gets back into sync before the song turns into a wreck.
“I know you didn’t realise
That the city was gone.
You thought there would be advertisments
To give you something to go on.”
The screen is a distraction from the crowd, from their attention. He can feel Sid behind him, watching him, but her presence is more reassuring than daunting.
“So we search the sky
For any flashing signs
We’ve gone too far beyond
The border, it’s just you and I.”
Euphoric, empowered. He feels it and it builds with his confidence. He’s staying reasonably on key, in time, and honestly? He’s starting to enjoy himself.
“And if this is the end
It’s the best place I’ve ever been
It feels so good to just
Get lost sometimes.”
He glances round at Sid, a smile back on his face as the chorus starts. He’s still following the lyrics on the screen, but is looking a lot more relaxed than he did at the start. The chorus starts and he’s starting to bounce along on his feet, enjoying his time on the stage.
“Only the horses!”
The song lasts minutes, but time being time it seems to be over in moments. It’s enough, though. For now. The song comes to an end and he passes the mic back to a reasonable amount of applause and steps back to Sid.
“That was fun!” He sounds surprised.
Sid
When Sid leaves the stage she makes her way back over to the bar, to place where she can watch Alex without standing right up front like a groupie. She accepted long ago that she can never truly be an anonymous face in the crowd - not unless she changes her hair or uses magic to hide the beauty of her features and figure, or to hide a powerful collection of resonance that will forever mark her as Other. But maybe Alex will be less nervous if someone he knows isn't right up in front of him, watching him intently.
Or maybe he'd be less nervous for the moral support. Sid is not a mind reader, hence why she chooses a place of visibility but at a distance. From there she watches him as he stumbles at first. She doesn't recognize the song, but the intro sounds fast. That will either be daunting, or he'll be so focused on keeping up that he'll forget to be nervous. Seems he goes the latter route. Sid nods in time to the music, a small but pleased smile playing on her lips. She warned him not to get close to her, but she invited him out here, to this place that is her escape. She's invited him to make it his, as well, at least for tonight.
Up on the stage there are no terrors. There are no ghostly figures chasing in the darkness, there are no demons, no Nephandi to be concerned about. In here, no one is worried about the rash of disappearances in the city, of fit and healthy people vanishing into the ether. In here there is only the heat and noise of the crowd, the smell of the alcohol, the feeling of release. Alex looks like he's releasing himself a little more, a little more, bouncing to the beat as he sings the chorus.
And Sid smiles warmth and encouragement. When he finishes, Sid is clapping one-hand against the inside of her left wrist, careful not to slosh the shot she's been entrusted with. When she offers it back to him the glass is warm from being held in her fingers.
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself," she comments, amusement dancing in her ancient dark eyes. "It's a little like riding a roller coaster, isn't it?" She nods to the stage. "Do you want to go again?"
Alexander
“I was.” He smiles broadly as he accepts the shot glass back, feeling the warmth that Sid’s hands have imparted on it. But rather than drinking it, he leaves it on a nearby table. Maybe it’ll be picked up and drunk by someone, or cleared away by the staff. But he doesn’t feel like he needs it any more. He’s had enough to relax and there’s no real need for any more alcohol-imparted courage. He shakes his head when she asks if Alexander wants to go again, though. “I think I’m good for now, but if you want to sign up again then go for it.”
Maybe he’ll try again later in the evening, but more likely it’ll be another night before he takes the stage again. Doing something too much can lead to it becoming old and stale, and he doesn’t want that to happen.
Earlier in the night, Alexander had made a request. To leave all of that alone, even if it’s just for these few hours that they’re sharing here. The world may very well be spinning down the drain, filled with Nephandi, vampires, murderous spirits, Union-created disease, insane AIs... They – the Awakened – may be the ones that stand in their way, but they all need their own lives too; A way to get away from it all. And right here and right now, and for as much of the night as it takes one or both of them to drift away home, they are simply two ordinary people enjoying each other’s company.
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