londoncallingrpg | Gathering Post - Singles' Night (These Are The Times)

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Gathering Post - Singles' Night (These Are The Times)

The Tavern, as it was called, brought to mind images of faded Tudor quaintness: of whitewashed exterior, black beams, windows barred with cast iron, mulled mead and a fireplace in every room.

In truth, the pub was anything but. Located in one of the gentrifying suburbs, it was a modern bulwark of concrete, iron and glass. The first two stories were the pub proper, and the next ten were apartments. The owners had called it 'The Tavern' in a display of hipster pride, as if it was the only pub that mattered. Snaking through the two levels were a series of pipes, as small-scale brewing took place on site.

It was usually a lively sort of pub, populated mostly by the fussy, the well-off, the well-educated and those that aspired to be, although situated near a tube station meant it also got a lot of randoms peering in to grab a pint. The alcohol menu was diverse, the food menu was dominated by various pulled meats and a cheese board (if anyone cared) and there were probably far too many male graduate students with neckbeards who nodded enthusiastically at each other as they discussed Kant.

Still, on Saturday night it was even more bustling than usual. People stood on the stairs, beers in hand, and chatted. Every seat was taken. The wait staff had their hands full (literally), and moved with ease and grace through the throng to deliver food to tables, and collect numbers and plates.

Tonight there would be music. Tonight there would be bands. Tonight was Singles' Night, a guarantee of no sappy love songs, no heart break, no angst. Two local bands were playing: first there would be a set from The Flamethrowers, with a mix of classic rock and pop standards, and then after a break, there would be an electro-synth duo to allow for dancing well past midnight.

So at about 9pm, patrons were treated to the sight of the first band tuning up. There wasn't really a performance space, so much as a corner on the ground floor of the pub that was currently unoccupied by tables. It was a four-piece band: some shaggy-haired cross between hobo and hipster on rhythm guitar and vocals, a slightly older british caribbean guy in glasses with goatee on double bass, a short-haired woman in her mid-20s on percussion and vocals and a tendency to beat the ever-living fuck out of the drum set, and another woman, more long-haired and willowy, on keyboards and vocals. Mr Hobo-Hipster of the shaggy hair and blond tips sang lead most of the time, but he gave it up for each of the women through their eleven song set, and there were duets. The keyboard was set to produce a more honky-tonk piano sound, and combined with the double bass, most of the covers had a dirty feel to them, all loose chords and guitar slaps. Clearly they'd played together for long enough to have a good feel for each other, which just added to the looseness, the occasional digression or ad hoc solo.

And Mr Hobo-Hipster didn't so much as introduce the band members as say "Hey. We're the Flamethrowers" and then let his guitar speak for itself as they launched into a funked-up version of Money. His voice was a little rough, almost a growl, and his stage presence was contained but not muted. Even without posturing, John made it very clear that he was the driving force behind the band: he didn't preen or strut, he didn't need to, and only the hint of a smirk could be seen around his eyes. There was no grinning, not now: now he was controlled and contained and came off a little bit contemptuous of having to perform. He sang, sure, and he played, and played pretty well, but his focus were the frets of his guitar, the lyrics of the songs. That night, he was sleek and dangerous and full of pride. That night, he had no reasons to smile or grin or show how happy he was: he'd lost those along the way. He was pared back to his disdainful core. Overall, the band was good but not great, and with John being Intense, the performance probably came off somewhere between 'bluesy rock band' and 'satanic death cult'.

Grooving through the set-list for roughly 45 minutes, the Flamethrowers played a series of stripped-back, funked-up covers. Rock the Casbah. a slowed-down take on Time after Time. Versions of Dangerous and Sweet Dreams (are made of this) that were dominated by the keyboards and a sparse double bass. Everybody Wants to Rule the World. John's wry grin came out for a guitar driven, lazy run on Carole King's "It's Too Late", before he paused to finally introduce the band, have some water, and explain that the point was to avoid the melancholic and romantic: to not make anyone feel bad for being single.

Four more songs, and they then closed with Mama Told Me Not To Come, having meandered their way past some INXS, Living End and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

In the end, John thanked the band (again), thanked everyone for showing up, and hoped they passed the audition. As a nicety, he promised there would now be some 'music you can dance to' after a little break, and then disappeared to pack up his guitar and amp and find himself a drink and a quiet corner.

The night went on without him, and that was just fine.

[OOC: Saturday night at an upmarket pub and destination of note. Feel free to show up before, during or after the band. Complain about the noise, the locally brewed artisan beer, the hipster food, the even more hipster band, or just dance the night away.]

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"Half the reporters in London could do with that really, but no, just some unpleasant rumors floating around, that's all," Fin shrugged, smiling and doing his best to behave as though all was well.

"How have you been, Angelique?" he asked, moving to touch her face and letting his magic focus n her so he could see her more clearly. "I feel like I've not seen you in ages. ...Pun not intended."

"If this is how you're looking, now, then look all you like." Angelique leaned warmly into Fin's touch. He was always so sweet with her, respectful but affectionate. It was a heady blend, coming from him. "I'm well, as ever. I had an impromptu lunch with Pippa the other day, who is just as lovely as you've always said."

She hesitated a moment, realizing only now that Pippa had steered her away from associating her vampire quest with Fin at all. Though, if she were freely sharing such tales with a virtual stranger, surely she had told her dear brother as well. "Sort of knocks one off ones feet a bit, doesn't she?"

"She- Well, yeah. She's always been like that," Fin admitted, and it was true. Even before the magic, Pippa was a force of nature.

His touch lingered a moment, then moved lower, his hand resting lightly on her arm. To most it looked like a blind man depending on someone else's sight, but the reality was that touch helped him see a bit better, taking the club from a blurry painting to almost photo-realistic.

Angelique fit in close to him, supporting his hand on her arm. She wanted to wrap both arms around him; just being near Fin felt oddly rejuvenating, warm, good. "Don't worry, I still think you're something of a handful, too," she promised him, gently teasing. "Do you want a drink? To sit? Or would you like to brave the adventure of dancing?"

"I'd love to buy you a drink," Fin replied, leaning in and speaking close to her ear so he wouldn't have to shout over the music. "That is, as long as I'm not stealing you away from anyone tonight."

His voice close to her ear and the sensitive skin of her throat were somewhat thrillingly intimate in the public noise and bustle of the bar. Angelique closed her eyes for just a second to savor it. When she replied, she returned the favor, tilting her chin to speak so only Fin could here. "I'm all yours tonight. You don't have to get a look at this crowd to know that no one here is looking for a girl like me," she chuckled softly.

"Unless the rest of the crowd is blinder than I am, I don't believe that," Fin purred, pausing to kiss her cheek. "Come on, let's get a drink and find a table."

Angelique slipped an arm around his waist and turned them both toward the bar, which would be simpler than trying to flag down someone to bring drinks to them. "Is this all right? I don't know the etiquette. I hope you'll teach me, as I'm very certain we're going to continue to spend time together."

"It's fine," Fin assured her. "Though I can get about on my own quite well also."

He never wanted anyone to feel obligated to lead him around, and while being close to Angelique here and now was lovely, Fin didn't always like to be fussed.

Fin had been nothing but kind and respectful to her throughout their acquaintance; Angelique could offer nothing less in return. "Then you must tell me when you want a hand, or an arm... or any other bit of me that could be of service," she chuckled, winding through the crowd to the bar where she could get a pair of glasses of at least semi-decent wine for the two of them.

Fin could see the shapes of people, and reached for what appeared to be an empty stool, touching the back of it, then slowly perching himself on it as he pulled out his wallet.

"My treat," he reminded her, feeling the folded bills and selecting a large one. "Let's get something special, hmm?" he suggested.

Angelique was impressed by how well Fin navigated the details without his sight. Of course, he'd had some practice, but how did he know that seat was free? Really, Fin was an incredible person.

She slid up next to him, and took a moment to eye the note Fin had eased free. Angelique knew what she considered 'something special,' but her luxury could well be Fin's everyday. "I trust your taste, luv," she promised lightly.

Fin nodded, looking thoughtful and speaking to the barman briefly before ordering a rich plumb wine.

"That alright?" he asked Angelique.

"It sounds divine," Angelique marveled, her voice clearly delighted. "Are we carting this off to a private table? I think I can sweet-talk our way into one. There's a likely fellow at a small one I can see, that I'm quite certain I can coax into surrendering his seat."

"By all means, the more privacy the better," Fin purred, his voice a low rumble as he smiled. "You secure the table, I'll bring the drinks."

Angelique wasn't sure how Fin would find her, but he had said he didn't want too much fuss, and she wanted to give him all the autonomy he deserved. "It's to the left of the bar, back near the wall. Give us a wave if you want a hand," she added, pecking a kiss to his cheek before she pried herself away, not certain it was a good idea to leave him alone.

When she'd said the lone man at the small table was a 'likely sort', what she'd meant precisely was that he seemed the kind of wrapped-tight bundle of nerves that would be made uncomfortable by her. She was absolutely correct in that judgement, and within five minutes of her imposing herself upon him, the man was mumbling excuses and hurrying away, leaving Angelique with a table and two chairs all to herself.

Fin got the two drinks, then ordered a plate of appetizers and asked they be brought to the table as well. Since his appetite had returned, Fin found he could always eat.

His magic could guide him, and would nudge any sentient obstetrical out of his way. If he were feeling more patient, he'd have made a show of gently knocking into a person or two, but he didn't have the energy for a show. He just wanted to sit and chat. Though even though his magic was showing him where to go, he made a point of nearly going to the wrong table, so as not to appear too suspiciously able.

"Just a bit to your right, Fin," Angelique trilled from her spot, rising to get the other chair to a spot that Fin could find it easily. She didn't reach to touch him, lest she knock him off-balance. "Really, you are a marvel. Sit, and I'll pour if you like. I need to hear all the Finlay Flynn news. None of that deadly dull gossip stuff, mind."

Fin nodded, letting her take the glasses as he sat.

"Just have a lot of practice getting around is all."

"Just let me marvel at you," Angelique laughed, warm and affectionate. She took over distributing the glasses once Fin was settled. "So. I do believe your sister attempted to ask me what my intentions were with you," she confided, amusement still lacing her words. "Mind you, I do believe she approves, but she did ask one or two pointed questions about how involved I am in your life."

Of course, Angelique didn't know at the time that Pippa had been curious whether Angelique knew about Fin's supernatural connections -- which she hadn't. One mythological friend at a time was as much as she had managed so far. To Angelique, the conversation had sounded like a typical sister's concern for her brother's heart. To which, naturally, Angelique was no danger.

"Really?" Fin asked. "I mean, I'm not shocked she approved, just that she was interested. That part of our sibling relationship is sort of new, to be honest. Growing up I never really dated, and then we were apart for quite some time, so- Well, this is the first time she's known me to have intimate relationships, really. ...Starting with Will, who, erm, she very obviously isn't a fan of."

"I promised her that we are friends first and foremost, and I'm absolutely no danger to the state of your heart," Angelique promised him. She tasted the plum wine -- god, that was delicious -- and leaned forward.

"And... what is the party line on the Will question?" she asked, not wishing to sound too delicate or treat Fin like he was fragile. "You know I'm on your side, whatever it is."

"It's complicated," Fin replied quietly, wishing he could tell Angelique everything, but aware that here and now might not be the place to tell her he wasn't exactly human. "I'm living in the flat next door to his, and we're... Working on things. Pippa doesn't approve, but, it is what it is for now."

He shrugged, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

Angelique wasn't sure she approved, either, but approval wasn't her job. Supporting Fin was her only goal here. "How is it going? The... 'working on things,' I mean. Is it getting better?"

"I don't know. I have a hard time forgiving what happened. ...And then there's this," he said, gesturing at his eyes. "Doesn't make it easier. He's trying though, he just- He's um... He's a prince. He's a fairy prince," he said, knocking back his wine and then laughing.

"He's a prince, I'm a prince, my sister is a queen, and it's one big bloody mess."

She'd likely think he was joking, and that was fine. He was just sick of talking around it and lying to everyone. Especially the people he cared for.

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