[AW 1] Open Mic Night

edited August 2010 in In-Game
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.

Comments

  • Brink's working the list, marking names on a big sheet of tinted window glass, worn tape over the sharp edges, with a grease pencil. Lame looking night so far, couple of jugglers and an old concertina player. If it were up to her she'd not let Pole in to play that thing, but Proper seems to like it. He's the only one with veto authority.

    Salvation carrying a guitar case glides into view and Brink wishes she'd used some of her precious store of hair paste to touch up her drooping mohawk.

    "You want on first or last, sam?" Leaning forward to let her shirt droop open.

    A dog what looks like it could eat a barstool and shit thumbtacks gets up on his forelegs and cocks his head -now level with Frost's navel- and makes an appeal for some love.
  • "How about last? Let the other acts get the audience warmed up, and all."

    Frost offers his hand in a golly-gee-aw-shucks sort of gesture, and says "Name's Frost." His eyes linger momentarily on her drooping neckline - enough that she knows she's been noticed and appreciated, but not so long that she wonders when he's going to make eye contact again - and he smiles at her.

    "Unless, well, you think it would be better for me to go first, but I'd hate to take up too much time when the people might rather be watching" -- he glances a the board and picks the first name he sees -- "Pope, y'know?"

    As she writes his name on her list, he crouches down and scratches the dog behind the ears and says, "What's your name, buddy?"
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