Ian
There are plenty of bars to choose from downtown,
and while this one might not be especially remarkable by certain
standards (the decor is fairly plain, the clientele consisting mostly of
neighborhood locals,) it does have good drinks served with the proper
amount of alcohol. It also hosts regular karaoke nights, which tend to
draw larger crowds even on weekdays.
Ian has been to this bar
twice before. Both times, it was fairly quiet. He likes the bartenders
and he likes the fact that they stock a wide range of bourbon. It isn't a
place he typically goes to be social.
Except, as it turns
out, the place is markedly less quiet tonight than he remembers. He's just
finished getting dinner at a sushi place nearby. Before that, he spent
most of the day training. His body feels loose and tired and a little
sore, and he is not especially prepared for the sensory assault of the
amateur vocalist presently on stage belting out their rendition of a
Rolling Stones song. When he realizes what he's just walked into, he
almost turns around and leaves. But he's here, and he's thirsty. So he
gives this little sigh and rolls his neck, massaging the back of it
absently while he makes his way to the bar.
When he sits down, he waves over the bartender and asks for a bourbon (neat.) There is a likely chance it will not be his last.
Lavinia
This is actually not the first bar she's been to tonight, but the first one was actually to take someone else home, only to find out that maybe, just maybe, she would want to go to a bar during the work week because Lavinia Cervantes doesn't do
a regular, full time job. Demon hunting just kind of happened- it had
dry spells. And there were times that she didn't want to busk and play
guitar.
It was one of those things.
So, she walks
in, dressed like she intended to be here in a dress that was blue and
cut down past her sternum because she wasn't busty enough to be required
to wear a bra. In fact, Lavinia had always been a bra optional
kind of girl, and probably would be regardless of how busty she may be.
The dress was short, but mostly it was short because she was tall and
had on a pair of flat, gladiator-styled sandals because she didn't feel quite like sticking out too much. A six and a half foot tall blonde in a room is kind of hard to miss. A blonde that's just a little
over six feet tall gets less looks. Gets less questions about the
weather up there or men who are short trying to prove themselves worthy
of climbing Mount Barbie.
Lavinia gets to the bar, strides
like she owns the place, slips by high tables and past the obligatory
couches which are leather and brown and in fairly good repair, save for
the one budding split in one of the arms. Her eyes aren't drawn to that,
though, she's got her eyes on the bar- gives someone a look who thought
he might come up and give her a pickup line but suddenly thought
better of it and, instead, decided to go to confession because the look
she gave him conjured thoughts of you should go to confession. She had that effect on people sometimes. Only the most delightful of debauched darlings stick around.
That's why she was headed to the bar.
So she sits, with the requisite seat between herself and Ian, enough to give him space, but also enough to talk while having
personal space. Only jerks sat between two people who were talking, and
Lavinia liked her personal bubble. Orders a Malibu Barbie (bartender
can't make it) then a '57 T-Bird with Cape Cod plates (bar tender does have cranberry juice, so no problem.)
"You
know," she says, as if they spoke regularly, with the familiarity all
people have when sitting at a bar, "I normally get three or four list
items into my weird drinks I enjoy list. The fact that the bartender stopped me at number two shows this is a promising location."
Ian
Ian's
clothes aren't half as showy as Lavinia's tonight. There's a leather
jacket which he's finally seen fit to liberate from his closet after
months of summer heat. Beyond that, a tight-fitted black t-shirt, dark
jeans and black leather harness boots. He glances over when he feels
Lavinia's presence at his back (who could ignore it?) and there's this
little curl of a smile when he recognizes her.
Ian does not have any thoughts toward confession. (Not now, and likely not ever.) Whatever his response to her, it isn't that.
His
drink arrives about the time she sits down, and he turns slightly in
his seat to lean an elbow on the bar, his posture loose and relaxed.
"The bartenders are pretty good here. I am somewhat more dubious of the
live entertainment."
Lavinia
"Be the change
you want to see in the world," she told him, holds up her drink once it
comes and drinks it from the tiny, tiny straw in it that was intended to
be there to stir her beverage. She doesn't drink a lot. Doesn't eat a
lot either, but it's showing less. Either she's packed it on in muscle
or has been actively attempting to gain weight.
It's hard. She hates it. Lavinia does it anyway.
"Because, clearly world paragons of peace were talking about karaoke. I'm going up later, I'm not performing for cash tonight."
Ian
Ian laughs. "I'm not sure I'm drunk enough for karaoke."
Point
in fact, he is not drunk at all. Yet. But the night is young. After
some consideration, he slips off his stool and moves to the one
immediately adjacent Lavinia's. While he is, himself, rather fond of
personal space, there is something to be said for conspiratorial
discussion. So he settles in at her side and takes a long, savoring
drink of his bourbon. Meanwhile, the man on stage belts out one last
off-key note before exiting the stage to a chorus of exuberant cheers.
"I
wouldn't mind seeing you perform, though. How've you been lately? I
think I heard somewhere you were mentoring Arionna?" There's a lift of a
brow at that, as though to imply he still doubts the validity of that
claim.
Lavinia
Lavinia is deaf on one side.
She
had an unfortunate incident that ended in a particularly spectacular
fashion nearly a decade ago that she has sense made peace with. What she
has not made peace with, however, is the fact that her directional
sense is a bit shit when it comes to sounds, so when some offkey note
gets belted it's about all she can process and she visibly makes a face of something that was almost disgust. Almost.
At least people were singing? All voices equal and important in the Song?
... could people raise their voices perhaps a little closer to the actual pitch? Or even in the correct octave? Maybe?
Yep.
That's the look on her face, like a long-suffered piano teacher having
to teach someone Fur Elise for the seventeenth time this week and
hearing someone hit the same godawful E flat instead of E natural over.
And over. And over. And we practiced this all last week-
I think I heard somewhere you were mentoring Arionna?
"Yep," exhales, offers the kind of smile that says I have no idea what I'm doing and she takes a drink. "We are embarking on the quest for enlightenment and I'm starting to think she would be perfect for the Chorus."
Doesn't sound like a compliment.
"I
got an apartment? Aside from that, Arionna has eaten my life. We're
having some issues with ethics. In other ways, she's an ideal student-
very driven, very dedicated. She wavers, which I can attribute to age. I
would say I don't go easy on her, but I think if she knew the number of
punches I've pulled she'd be furious."
Ian
I'm starting to think she would be perfect for the Chorus.
It
doesn't sound like a compliment. Even if it did, Ian might not
interpret it as one. There's a shrewd cast to his gaze when he looks at
Lavinia - notes the angle of her profile and the shifts in her
expression. They're afforded a brief respite from the singing while the
organizer waits for whoever's next in line.
"Why does hearing
you say that concern me a little?" There's still an edge of humor in his
voice, a hint of that smile lingering at the corners of his lips, but
it drops a moment later. "I've actually met a few Choristers with very
similar temperaments to Arionna's. To be honest I kind of had her pegged
as more of a Verbena though. Or maybe one of those..." he has to think
to remember their name, and there's a slightly dismissive gesture with
his hand. "Hollow Ones."
He takes a drink, thoughtful for a moment. "It's probably good she has you, though."
Lavinia
"I think the only Hollow One I ever met was a broody goth boy immediately hated me," a beat, "and then wanted to know if I had any piercings that he couldn't see. Who thinks that's charming? What is with that?"
She
shrugs, it's a helpless gesture that isn't so much helpless because
nothing about her is helpless. Maybe clueless from time to time, but
certainly not helpless. She takes a second to reflect, nods with the
wave of his hand and idly stirs her drink. Counter clockwise, three
stirs and then she stops. Thoughts don't wander to whether or not she'll
actually show Arionna her apartment, might entrust her with a key,. but
when would she ever go there?
No matter, it's basecamp, as
far as Lavinia is concerned. If shit ever hits the fan, it's a neutral
place. She's always planning for that moment when things go bad, always
anticipating the bottom to fall out.
"I get it. As frustrating as she can be, I really get it. I hated everyone and everything for years, and it takes a long time
to get past that and get to a point where you can actually play ball
and grow up," a moment, "but if there's one thing I've been trying to
teach her it's that this isn't about your pride or who is right in terms
of the grand scheme of enlightened bullshit- this is survival. If she
can't learn to play nice, work with others, and coexist she's going to
stagnate or die at best. And I've been places. It's pretty much people everywhere- apprentices in particular- but everyone everywhere. It genuinely astounds me sometimes how readily people act against their own sense of self-preservation."
Lavinia
laughs, because why not laugh? In her mind it is laughable, the way
that people carry on. The way that people fail to realize when things
are sliding, the ways that people miss warning signs, the way people charge in without reason or time to assess the situation they're in. It dies back as quickly as it came, turns reflective.
She smiles, and this time it is fond.
"When we first met, Arionna hated me. Said she didn't like the way I felt, or anyone like me."
Ian
Ian
makes a low sound, thoughtful and a bit enigmatic. The conversation
reminds him a little of the one he had with Kiara not long ago. How
anger can become a part of how you live. How easy it can be to break things.
"That
gets me a bit too. I mean, look at me. I've been an asshole for years
and I still know how to be charming when I need to." There's a flicker
of self-aware humor, but his smile is just a little too sly and cunning
for it not to contain some actual truth. Whatever his relationships now -
however the people of Denver seem to feel about him (and the jury is
likely still out on that count) - he has never been above the use of
manipulation tactics. It doesn't mean that he uses them carelessly,
though there was a time perhaps when he did.
"Anger is a weakness if you let it cloud your judgment. So is pride."
And he has both to spare.
But
he didn't come here tonight to talk about that. He came to at least try
to relax. The next singer turns out to be marginally less offensive
then the previous one, and Ian glances at the stage to take her in
thoughtfully.
"People evolve, though. If they want to." He
finishes his drink and motions for the bartender to get him another one.
"You should go next. I'd like to hear you sing."
Lavinia
(odds shakira, evensbeyonce)
Dice: 1 d10 TN6 (3) ( fail )
Lavinia
"Can I just say that the first time someone called me a bitch I was so incredibly flattered?"
she says with a smile, a laugh, a look and sound of camaraderie in the
voice of a herald, as though her saying things made them so lest they
come from the voice of the divine themselves. Just a messenger, this
one. She is that which slides on wind, some sylph turned solid.
A
little bit of personal information there, a grin. A joke because she
suspected Ian would get it, he's seen her pattern- knows some fairly
intimate details about her that one only gets to know when you're
checking for injuries and taking in the entirety of someone (bursting at
the seams- she's too much for this body, for this world).
She slides off the barstool, "watch my drink?"
She
trusts he will, and goes to cue herself up in line, doesn't have much
trouble talking to the person spinning the tracks. She smiles. Lavinia
has a nice smile, a pretty smile that lights up her golden features and
turns dark eyes luminous for a moment. A smile that exists for one
person in the world, and that would be whomever she turned that
attention upon.
The woman takes the microphone, undaunted.
"Please
tell me someone watches Univision here," there's the one lone cry and
she beams, "thank god, one person in the house will know what the Hell
I'm saying."
Lavinia
[Cha+performance: In the words of Ru Paul- Don't fuck it up]
Dice: 7 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8, 9) ( success x 6 ) [WP]
Lavinia
[and dancing, because shakira- dex+perform]
Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 3 )
Ian
He
does grin when she mentions being flattered at the use of that
particular epithet. Because yes - he gets the connection. Knows that
there must have been a time when people looked at Lavinia and saw what
they wanted to see - instead of actually seeing her.
She
tells him to watch her drink and he nods, watching as she stands (she
really is statuesque, isn't she?) and makes her way to the stage.
There's a Univision reference. Ian smirks at that, though in truth he
probably won't understand whatever it is she's about to sing. He takes a
more measured sip of his drink while he waits.
Then the music comes on, and as it happens, she does not disappoint.
Lavinia
It's really not fair.
Some
people get all the luck. Some people are born tall and blonde and
captivating. To look at her, nobody would have guessed that Lavinia
spent a good chunk of her formative years being an awkward teenage girl
who routinely could not figure out how to be coordinated and graceful in
her own body. In that sense, she was completely like any other
teenager. She went through an awkward phase when she had raccoon-style
eyeliner and only wore ripped jeans and tight fitting band tee shirts
that showed off the fact that she was finally, finally, a mighty A cup. She wore Chuck Taylors unironically.
In
truth, she still wears the same ripped jeans, though her band tee
shirts have gotten torn to Hell and back and occasionally become crop
tops (because you can't find smalls for people who are exceedingly
tall). Plays punk covers even though she's somewhere around thirty and
doesn't look a day over her mid twenties. Some people just glow when
they're on stage.
She's always been one of those people. Bad eyeliner and hightops and everything.
The
music starts and it sounds familiar, though the song is pushing six
years old. She moves with a fair bit of grace, with the kind of freedom
that one expects in someone who just feels music, knows it in her
heartbeat. Even if she lost all her hearing she would still know songs
by the way they reverberate in her breast bone. The way they cling to
her ribs. The way that sound is made and travels. Sing songs only for
divinity.
But, that day is not today, and she moves like she
knows what she's doing and the lyrics come over the monitor in English,
visible to others-
"Suerte que en el sur hayas nacido, y que burlemos las distancias
suerte que es haberte conocido, y por ti amar tierras extrañas
Yo puedo escalar los Andes solo por ir a contar tus lunares
contigo celebro y sufro todo mis alegrias y mis males."
Whatever,
wherever- she has a voice. She has something that is commanding, that
is flirtatious, that is living and bright and vital. She does,
occasionally, intersperse some English. Sometimes, to be sure people
were still with her and not glazed over as people often are when someone
isn't singing in English.
When she finishes, she puts the mic back.
"And
that concludes our Spanish lesson for the evening," and goes back to
her drink. Strides back to where she was like she owns the place.
Ian
If
anyone in the bar has glassy eyes after that performance, it's only
because they've had too much to drink. No one in their right mind could
listen to Lavinia sing and not be captivated. Even Ian, who has
never listened to Shakira of his own accord and knows barely a handful
of Spanish phrases - most of which he picked up in high school and all
of which remind him of a girl he's seen maybe twice in the last decade.
It's
a fun song, and Lavinia is electrifying on stage. True to form, her
voice has an almost otherworldly quality to it. It carries with it the
resonant notes of an angel's call.
When she's done, Ian sets his drink down and claps, laughing.
"You have a fucking fantastic voice."
Lavinia
She
laughs in kind, retrieves her drink and takes a sip. She could nurse
one all night, truth be told. Wasn't accustomed to letting her guard
down but right now she's elated. She's having fun- in all honesty
she hasn't had this much fun in... well, it's been awhile. (She's a
creature prone to nostalgia, thinking of what was and what could be.)
For now, it's about being in a moment. This moment, and she's actually happy. It's been awhile. Yeah. Awhile's a good word for it.
"I make a living," she told Ian, "it's not a lucrative
living, but it keeps me capable of affording crap hotels and bouncing
across the US. Danny said we should sing together at some point.
"Do you sing, too? You've already got a presence."
Ian
Ian's response to that is thoughtful. "Mm. I can sing. It isn't something I do in public very often."
Not since Elijah's party, in fact.
He'd
said he wasn't drunk enough to do karaoke, and the truth is he still
isn't. There's a slight buzz spinning through his head, but it's muted,
warm. It isn't actually the singing that annoys him so much as the
culture (or lack thereof.) But there's a relaxed smile when he looks at
Lavinia, and maybe it's because he likes her, or maybe it's just because
he isn't in the mood to be detached tonight.
He glances at the empty stage with a considering look. For a moment, he catches himself feeling a little nostalgic.
"If I go up there, will you film me?" He's already sliding his phone out of his pocket to hand to Lavinia.
Lavinia
There will come a point when Lavinia considers Ian a friend, or friend enough.
She likes him, though. Likes his demeanor, likes what she's seen of
him, enjoys his company because he makes her laugh and pulls her present
when she would rather nurse wounds that aren't so much being nursed as
picked open again. And again. And again. Because that's what being alone
does.
So, she takes his phone, positions herself lithe and
comfortable perched atop a barstool, then sitting on the bar, sitting
tall and proud with her legs crossed in front of her at the ankles.
Gives a clear view of the stage.
"I've already committed to a filming position, if you didn't go up here I'd be sitting at the bar for no real reason."
Ian
[Alright Ian, let's do this. Cha+Performance -1 diff (ability aptitude), and yes he is spending WP because reasons]
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 10, 10) ( success x 5 ) [WP]
Ian
He
already knows what song he's going to ask for before he gets there. It
isn't anything especially unique or clever, but it feels like the right
thing to choose in that moment, with Lavinia perched on her stool at the
bar with his cell phone ready to record. Maybe she's already filming
him by the time he gets up there. Maybe he's about to regret loaning a
casual acquaintance his phone.
It is entirely possible that he may regret this entire evening, come morning.
He
left his jacket at the bar - the better not to overheat beneath the
bright glow of the makeshift stage lights. There's a brief delay when he
gets on stage, this settling silence in the audience as they watch him
adjust the microphone. He doesn't have quite the potent presence that
Lavinia does, but he's never had trouble capturing an audience's
attention.
When the music starts, it's slow and acoustic.
Dreamily sensual and (likely to everyone in the bar) instantly
recognizable. Ian starts with his eyes closed, singing almost to himself
(or to someone who isn't there,) but midway through the first verse he
opens his eyes and looks straight at Lavinia (at the phone being held
aloft in her hands.)
You've got your ball
you've got your chain
tied to me tight tie me up again
who's got their claws
in you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you
You come crash into me
And I come into you...
There's
something wholly authentic about the way he sings those lyrics. Not
just the smooth, sweet, seductive quality of his voice but the way the
emotions register on his face. The little subtle hints of a smile that
keep wanting to turn up his mouth. The suggestion of something a little more
raw and fragile. He's a good performer. Not so electric as Lavinia had
been, but he carries across a lot more emotion than one might expect.
Oh I watch you there
through the window
And I stare at you
You wear nothing but you
wear it so well
tied up and twisted
the way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash
into me.
Lavinia
It's
the authenticity that keeps her, really. He's got a voice, too, and it
affirms something to her. A strangeness, because magic was in song and
the Song and it wove through all things, was the herald from Nothing and
Sound gave the world form. It's the fact that he feels that
keeps her, has her hand held steady on a phone-turned-camera and she
manages a small zoom, something to catch the fact that Ian was alive.
That
this was a performance with reason, because she would be a terrible
friend were he not captured exactly has he was in every nuance. She
didn't have to hear to notice his smile, to catch the hints of fragility
there.
When it's done, she's zoomed back out, taken in the
full force of the crowd. The fact that this might have felt like a
private performance but it was before a number of people. Funny how that
is, how you can sing to someone in a packed stadium and they know what's meant for them.
She hits stop, hands the phone back over once she's confirmed where it is.
"Should you ever get tired of being a dancer, I might see a Tony in your future."
Ian
Between
him and Lavinia, the evening has taken a sharp upturn in performance
quality - a fact the audience seems pleasantly surprised by. The
applause when Ian leaves the stage is less boisterous than it had been
moments earlier, but no less enthusiastic. A few people call for the two
of them to take the stage again (maybe together this time,) but Ian
only smirks and gives this little shake of his head.
When he gets back to the bar, Lavinia hands him his phone. Tells him she thinks he could win a Tony.
"I
was a performing arts major. There may have been musical theater in my
background. But I think I'll stick to dancing." There's humor in his
voice, but he seems... a little withdrawn. Like he's still trying to
close whatever piece of himself he just opened up on stage. He pockets
his phone without watching the video and finishes off his second drink.
"Thanks
for that." There's a pause while he signals the bartender to close out
his tab, and while he waits he leans back on his elbows. "I'm
glad I ran into you. We should do it again maybe."
Then he gets his card and his receipt, and he slides his arms back into his jacket.
"Have a good night."
