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londoncallingrpgThe 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.]
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.]
no subject
Date: 2016-09-29 02:58 am (UTC)"I think so," Pippa replied cheerfully. "And after we eat we can look into finding company for the night."
no subject
Date: 2016-09-29 05:14 am (UTC)"I might just skip that bit," Fin admitted. "I should be spending more time with Will. "
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 12:43 am (UTC)"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Have some fun, Fin. You're going to be with him forever and he clearly isn't the jealous sort. Be young, have fun. Enjoy yourself. You know you want to."
She reached over to give his arm a pat, her magic winding around his. For all that she was encouraging him and saying she'd like to meet someone too, all she really wanted for the moment was to spend time with him alone in the crowd.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 01:03 am (UTC)"I've had fun. Lots of fun. ...I don't want to have more fun. I'm going to sit with you, until you find someone you want to take home, and then I'll slip off home. I... I want to see him. I think I need him tonight."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 01:07 am (UTC)Tenderness warmed her magic and she gave it a little push to creep up his arm and into his chest. His heart called to hers and she squeezed his hand as well.
"I don't understand what you see in him," she said. "But you do. So we'll drink and chat and you can go home to him."
And she truly didn't understand. Willy was awful in her opinion, possibly the worst thing to ever happen to Fin in a long line of shitty things. But she could feel how he loved the fae and knew nothing she could say or do would change that.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 01:21 am (UTC)He swallowed hard, then closed his eyes for a moment, letting the magic coil around him. "We haven't been intimate since- Since before that night. The night he gave me to Hex."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 01:53 am (UTC)Pippa wanted to say 'good' but she bit her tongue. Instead she pushed a little harder and her magic rushed forward to envelope Fin.
"Drink your beer, love," she said softly. "Let's have a good time until it ends."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:11 am (UTC)"Sorry, I don't mean to be a misery."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:13 am (UTC)Pippa smiled and squeezed his hand. It was funny how time passed and things changed but all her life she had known Fin to have moods and it was just the way things were. Something she easily accepted as apart of the brother she loved. She would never ask him to change.
"Not a misery to me," she said lightly. "You're my best friend, Fin. Now quit being a pill and drink up and we'll dance a bit maybe."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:37 am (UTC)"You'll find a better dance partner than me. Go on, tell me who's caught your eye. Describe them to me."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:43 am (UTC)Pippa smiled slowly as she leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. Her eyes scanned the room to this bloke, that girl, the others around the club. Dancers and drinkers and people chatting one another up.
"There's so many," she said. "But there's one. He's lovely. He's got red hair, straight but wavy and he's got it spiked up on top. Not long, but long enough. He's got a bit of a beard and I'm going to guess his eyes are blue. It's too dark to tell. He's wearing a red flannel shirt and a black tshirt and his jeans fit his bum just right. He looks uptight. I think I might like to take him home and break the world open for him," she said. And before Fin could even react she continued on. "Or there's a girl over there. Black hair in a straight angled bob. Dramatic make up and dark lips. She's in a silver dress and strappy black heels. Her breasts are small and high. She's probably just twenty or so. She has a tattoo on her back of a snake. I can see it on her shoulder and neck, then the tail of it down her thigh, her dress is so short. Maybe I'll take her home. Maybe I'll take them both home."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 02:54 am (UTC)She lifted her own and tinked it against his, then drank down the rest of her beer.
"So I'll go home with a stranger and you'll go home to Will...which of us do you think will have the better night?" she asked.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 03:01 am (UTC)Fin frowned, but said nothing- Not until he'd finished his drink.
"I should go. I should call it a night."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 03:03 am (UTC)Pippa huffed softly but she let go of his hand and sat up straighter.
"I think I'll go smoke again if you're on your way out," she said. "Can you get home? Do you want me to wait for a cab with you?"
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 03:16 am (UTC)"Alright, Fin," she said. Pip came round the table to hug him and kiss his cheek, then ruffle his hair. "You're a good man, Fin. You remember that. You're a good man and you deserve the best of things. Now go home and be safe."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-02 03:26 am (UTC)"Goodnight, Pip. I love you, yeah?" Fin said, giving her arm a squeeze, then getting his cane out, tapping it as he headed out of the club.