londoncallingrpg | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

leloupnoir

"What about any writing projects, then? If the soap doesn't appeal," Akeem asked, clearly involved in the conversation. He might not have been to get over his writer's block in years, but he still loved writing with a passion.

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"I'm working on another play, actually- Though It's stalled out a little lately. I have some poetry, but I'm not sure I'll ever publish it," Fin admitted.

From:

leloupnoir

"Ah, I could never write decent poetry," Akeem admitted, pulling another cigarette out of his pack. He chuckled at the memory. "My only attempts were... quite terrible."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"Oh, I'm sure they weren't," Fin smiled. "Maybe they just needed some polish."

From:

leloupnoir

"They needed a complete overhaul, trust me," Akeem answered, still smiling, and leaned back as he lit up his cigarette.

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"Maybe one day I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Fin offered, somewhat suggestively.

From:

leloupnoir

Akeem huffed out a laugh at the phrasing. "I'm frankly not even sure where they are."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"Maybe you can show me something else then," Fin said with a little smile, flirting shamelessly.

From:

leloupnoir

Akeem chuckled again, with neither mockery nor dismissal, but rather some amusement at himself for feeling so flustered by the baldness of the flirt. He was so direly out of practice, and all he could find to say was, "We hardly know each other."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"What better way to get acquainted?" Fin asked with a playful smile. The fae was shameless, but he never pushed too hard or got aggressive. That wasn't at all his style.

From:

leloupnoir

In his youth, Akeem had once been accustomed to such blatant advances. He'd very rarely made them himself, but he'd certainly accepted some, after so short a chat as Fin and he had had. It wasn't that the - man, or whatever he was to smell that way - was unattractive, far from it, especially with that scent. But Akeem was much less adventurous now than he had once been, and so he hesitated, then shook his head with an apologetic smile. "A conversation, some might say."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

Fin rested his elbow on the table, then his chin in his palm.

"Fair enough," he agreed, finishing his cigarette and lighting another. "So what should we talk about, hmm? The weather, the band... The fact that you smell like something wild and glorious?" Fin asked with a low purr beneath his voice.

That was the only way he could describe it, honestly. A faint hint of something that was fascinating to the magic in his blood.

From:

leloupnoir

Akeem winced slightly, ducking his head, only to look back up with a sheepish smile. "Is that what I smell like." He never knew whether any of the other supernatural creatures he could smell could smell him back, or even sense him in some way, not unless he'd already encountered someone like them. "You smell particularly -" tempting? appetising? intoxicating? none of those words seemed adequate since he had just shot Fin down - "appealing, yourself." There, slightly more neutral.

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"I'm not sure smell is even the right word, though that's certainly part of how it manifests to me," Fin replied. "The rest is more... Hmm, a vibe, I suppose, for lack of a better word. ...It's nice," he added, shrugging one shoulder.

From:

leloupnoir

"Smell is certainly the right word, on my part," Akeem answered, and took another drag off the cigarette. The cigarettes he smoked to tone down the riot of smells in the city. "Wolf," he offered, as an explanation.

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"Wolf, as in the were sort?" Fin asked quietly. "That's wild. I've never met a werewolf- Lycan? I don't know what you prefer," he admitted, pausing, and then realizing he hadn't offered anything in return.

"Fae," he said, gesturing at himself before taking another drag.

From:

leloupnoir

Akeem nodded in acknowledgement, and thanks for the confirmation. He had suspected as much, but Fin smelled different from other Faes he had met. Not that Akeem had ever spent much time around any of them. There had been something about them that had made him wary.

"Werewolf, Lycan," he gestured vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette. "Some of us care very much what you call us, but I don't."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

Fin had so many questions, but he didn't want to bombard the other man with them. So instead he settled on just asking a few.

"Were you always a wolf, or... I mean, all I know comes from films and books, but usually people are bitten, correct?"

From:

leloupnoir

"I'd answer your questions, but we seem a bit liable to be interrupted by a fan at any moment," Akeem pointed out apologetically. It was one thing to briefly speak of it, but to launch into a longer conversation at a table outside a crowded bar, with a celebrity? That put Akeem ill at ease.

From:

prince_of_nymphs

"Oh, right," Fin replied, leaning back and slumping in his seat a bit as he finished his cigarette. "Perhaps next time we meet, it'll be less crowded," he said, stubbing out his cigarette and unfolding his cane.

"Still, it was nice seeing you again- Or, well, hearing you again, I suppose."

From:

leloupnoir

Akeem hadn't meant to run him off, and he looked disappointed at the goodbyes. Feeling awkward for offering when he might very well be turned down, he still forced himself to get the words out. "Would you like my phone number? We could make sure it'll be less crowded."

From:

prince_of_nymphs

Fin had assumed he was being brushed off, perhaps because he was famous- Not unheard of, it happened more than you might guess- So he looked a bit surprised by the offer.

"How about I give you mine," he offered instead, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card that displayed his mobile number beneath an email address. It made more sense to him that Akeem be the one to pick a time and place. After all, he wasn't the one who was nervous about being interrupted or overheard. He should be, he knew that, Fin was simply all out of fucks to give, to be honest.

"Call me whenever. I'm not busy lately," he added as he slipped on his sunglasses and got to his feet.

From:

leloupnoir

"I'll call soon," Akeem told him as he took the card, sticking the cigarette at the corner of his mouth to pull his wallet out and stick the card safely in it. "It's been a pleasure running into you again, Fin."