Frost waits patiently behind a trio of thugs as the bouncer for Proper's Vox Populi frisks them for weapons. Some bouncer, he thinks. I could probably take him. When they are finally revealed to have nothing worse than their shivs and the bouncer waves them in, Frost picks up his guitar case and steps up.
"Gotta check you for weapons, bud," says the bouncer.
Frost ripples out of his jacket almost carelessly, and stretches out his arms for inspection. "Got a couple knives in the jacket," he says. The bouncer pauses for a second before frisking him, and then, still distracted, inspects his jacket and finds the knives.
"Knives that size, you're good. What's in the case?"
Frost kneels and opens the guitar case. "I'm here for the Open Mic Night."
The bouncer picks up the guitar, hefts it, looks inside it, sets it back down gently enough in the case. "See that girl over there? She'll put you on the list."
Frost nods his thanks, puts his jacket back on, picks up his guitar, and steps into the room. It's restless -- the first performer hasn't gone on yet. He looks around the room, squinting a little because his eyes still aren't used to the constant dim underground light, to see what his audience is like, and heads towards the girl.