The morning sun made an entrance through the window with a snail's pace as it bathed a passed out Damien in it's golden light. He had fell asleep the night before giving a song last looks and practicing just a bit longer. He needed to knock it out of the park at the diner if he wanted to attract anyone. Damien had been listening to songs for weeks to try and figure out what could carry his voice the best and grab the hearts of whoever he was looking for. He settled on a Panic song. A recent one actually. He'd cover the shit out of it. This is Gospel, for the fallen ones...

The sun finally started to warm up Damien. His eyes cracked open a bit, not quite awake, despite the alarm that had been going off for three hours since 9 a.m. His dreary eyes looked up to the sun, and upon meeting it the poor guys snapped awake and fell out of his chair. "I'M FUCKING BLIND! AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!" He yelled, rolling over several strewn clothes and a hanger. It took him a full five minutes to understand where he was and what was going on, which compelled him to look at the clock. 12:00 P.M. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit." He chanted, jumping out of the floor.

He had 7 hours to get ready and go through the song a few more times. I mean, he couldn't do it the exact way the song is, that's almost a rip off of intellectual and musical property. He HAD to put HIS stamp on it. His voice desired a more darker version of the song, despite happier notes on some of the verses.

Damien shoved a leg in a pair of torn shorts and shoved his torso in a shirt and ragged vest. He looked somewhat like a hot mess. (Let's face it, he needs a chick to tell him he looks like a dork.) He didn't bother with shoes at the moment and went back to his laptop and turned his recording software on and went to work analyzing himself and thinking. His heart wanted to explode into a million pieces of razor sharp shrapnel and cut him up from the inside. He was nervous. The owner of the diner gave him a look when he signed up a month ago, that look that said "Not for sure what YOU of all people are gonna do, but okay kid."

Damien resigned himself to that feeling and let it work it's way down to his toes. It was a good thing to have a strong emotion when singing, it changed your voice in a certain way. Damien looks around his room at various poster of singers he had felt something from: Gerard Way, Lacey Sturm, Adam Young, John Cooper, Brendan Urie. He lingered particularly on Gerard and Lacey, they were the most powerful people he had ever heard. Two way different people, but dear fuck that sound. He could only really describe it as listening to a harp made of your own heart.

His dad made a noise outside in the hallway, probably something to do with "Get a life, Damien."

"Truth be told I never was yours."

The blinds were drawn on every window in the little studio apartment, but the light from outside still managed to sneak in a glow around the edges that wasn't enough to stir Aleskey from snoring off a drunk in his bed. As the day passed, what ended up waking him up was the shrill cry of the baby next door. The sound easily penetrated the wall and his warped his dream. His brow furrowed. He frowned. Seconds later, he shot up with a stricken look on his face and his eyes wide with panic. A beat later and the headache kicked in with the same amount of pain if he had his head beaten with a sledgehammer rather than a shot too many at the party last night.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know which he preferred; The nightmare or the hangover. A colorful Russian curse left him. He was never having kids. Ever.

Slowly, he rose from his bed and stumbled to the bathroom, removing his clothes as he went. Moments later, he emerged, at least physically recovered after last night's romp with a towel around his waist. He navigated easily around his cluttered apartment in the relative darkness. He didn't own much and what furniture was in the apartment when he first moved in he got used to having. The clutter came from clothes and an empty bottle here or forgotten pack of cigarettes there. He went to the drawer and pulled out a few fresh clothes and put them on, habitually rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He didn't expect May in America to be so... hot. And it was only going to get worse, his friends told him. He couldn't fathom it getting any hotter than it already was.

The baby next door was still crying. He could hear the faint murmur of the baby's father trying to shush it to sleep as he went over to the kitchenette corner of his flat. Nothing seemed to be working. If anything, the poor bastard wailed harder and harder, making the pounding in his own skull go harder and harder. It was just one of those days. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged it as he navigated his way to his bed again. He reached under the bed and pulled out Iskra's case. It came open with a few snaps of the latches and he threw her strap over his head.

He settled down on the bed with his back to the wall and the guitar in his lap and the water bottle within arm's reach on the mattress. He quickly tested the strings for intonation. That sound alone reached the ears of the baby and quieted it down somewhat. He searched his fogged memory for a moment and let his fingers pluck out the beginnings of a lullaby his mother used to sing to him. Soon, he joined his voice with the guitar. His throat was a little dry and unsteady from disuse, but it did the trick. By the time he was finished, the baby had gone silent.

"Finally," He sighed in his native tongue and let his head rest against the wall.

"Thanks again," The weary father from the other side of the wall.

There was a delay in his response as he translated it to English, but it was slurred and raspy anyway. "My pleasure."

If a million alien-robot-dinosaurs had decided to attack and invade planet Earth at the very moment, many things would happen. Things like people running around while screaming about the end, governments deciding to shut down in panic, or even entire nations going on paranoia induced martial law. Krisanthamum Levyn waking up ready to go would not be one of those things.

It was only three hours ago that the red-head had finally managed to catch some shut eye. Thanks to an absurd amount of forced drumming practice from Auntie Willa and some extra caffeinated coffee given to her by her dad, the drummer had received absolutely no sleep. Not that Kris was complaining of course. She loved playing Ol' Jericho and staying up all night. Then again, she also enjoyed getting enough sleep to last through the day; a luxury she only experienced rarely these days.

"Rise and shine, Krissy! Breakfast is on the table, and this time it ain't burnt!"
The cleared voice sailed across the blue walled interior of Kris' bedroom and into her ears themselves. Kris, stirring from beneath a mountain of blankets and pillows, only answered with a disgruntled groan as her aunt peered into her room. How the forty-something year old woman managed to be so cheerful in the mornings was beyond the young drummer's understanding. If anyone asked, she blamed dark magic.

"Aw, c'mon girly. You've slept for long enough," her aunt said dismissively as she strode over to the bed.
Kris poked her head out from her comfy kingdom and shot her aunt a withering look. She was pretty sure that only three fucking hours were definitely not long enough. Aunt Willa only rolled her eyes and smiled. "Breakfast is waiting, girly. Time to get up." With a light laugh, she quickly ducked out of the room and left Kris glaring after.

Reluctantly, Kris dragged herself out of bed. She stumbled into the closet, choosing a simple green shirt and blue jeans as her outfit before heading off into the kitchen. It was here sat her father, the fresh smell of pancakes and bacon wrapped around him like a scarf. If Aunt Willa was fire, then Kris' father was water: smooth, clear, and free-flowing. If Kris had inherited her laidbackness from someone, it was definitely him.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked with a small smile. Beneath his twinkling eyes were dark bags. No doubt last night had affected his sleep schedule as well. Kris grunted in answer as she plopped herself down in the chair beside him. She rested her head on the table as her eyes half-closed, a mumbled question escaping her lips:

"Where's the coffee?"

"..that's why I think that the issue that our current mayor and his administration should be focusing on is deliquiency and youth-related crimes. In many cases, these are youths that have been forgotten by our society, and I think a program needs to be introduced to decrease this demographic. In other cases.."

"Hey, Jay, isn't that your dad?"

Sweet, sweet rest came to a jolting end with a rustling set of shakes on her shoulder from some enigmatic invader. After a few yawns and a clear rub of her eyes, the invader takes on new clarity. It's that guy from last night's party that acted like they were the best of friends. She didn't know his name, though she's sure he's introduced himself at least twice. In a sea of knocked out partygoers collapsed on the floor - or in Jennifer's case; the couch - this guy was perky and active, having set the TV to blare loudly to the dismay of everyone.

A few glances towards the electronic box revealed the truth. It was indeed her father on the big screen, doing one of his bits on justice and the goodness of his heart, or attacking his opponents. She didn't care, but it'd been the occasional joke in her circle of 'friends'. Scrambling out of the couch tiredly, she tries to take in what remains of last night. Yet another hangout turned party. In the end, just another blur of smokes and alcohol and loud music. Her head certainly regretted it now.

Hunger gripped her stomache, along with that nauseating feeling that says she either didn't sleep enough, drank too much, or both. Either way, this place was dead now, save for the one guy now flipping through channels to find his favorite cartoons while munching on leftovers. Time to go. If that broadcast was live, maybe the house would be clear. A quick food and re-clothing run wouldn't be out of order.

"Uh, are you leaving?"

She had to get into the basement for her instrument anyhow. Might as well skip the argument about doing something with her life. With a small shrug she tip-toed around a throng (more like three) sleeping guests, and made her way to the door. Just another day in paradise. Sigh.

The saying the early bird gets the worm was always something Blake followed. He rose at the crack of dawn, literally sometimes at the crack of dawn, starting his day off with a morning jog, a shower, and a cup of coffee. By now he considered himself a master barista, having made his own coffee for a couple of months now. Living on his own was quite the headache, but it was much more worth it than being at home with his parents where the headache didn't come from real life, only plastic problems. By 8am, with breakfast and coffee in hand, Blake was on his keyboard playing a few tunes or watching TV catching up on the local news. The town he picked was new and interesting to him, having little to no idea or details about it, having to just pick up on things by himself.

This morning was no exception to what was now his daily routine. After his early morning jog and shower, he brewed himself a small pot of coffee and cooked himself a nice breakfast of eggs, sausages, and a bowl of tasteless, bland cheerios. Saturday mornings and Saturdays in general for Blake used to be relaxing, not having a job before moving, but now he kept himself as busy as possible. Making money was no small thing and he wanted to do it mostly on his own. The once spoiled rich kid had saved enough of his own money, but was only willing to use that for emergencies, so finding a job was a must. Quickly sipping the last of his milk from his cereal bowl he smiled, looking at his dirty counters, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Blake worked at 9 until 3, having the rest of the night off after that, and the following Sunday. It was one of his only weekends, off where he could go out and have a bit of fun around town. Blake somehow worked up the courage and signed himself up for an open mic night at a local diner, having been practicing a song for a few weeks. He wasn't so sure on his singing, but was definitely confident and proud in his skills on the piano and keyboard. Singing didn't come until way after he began playing the piano so his skills weren't as refined, plus he had piano lessons not singing ones.

With another spoonful of his eggs and a sip of his coffee he was ready to start playing. His little cozy loft had great acoustics, making his playing and singing sound even better than what he thought, but knowing full well it was all just in his head. Smiling he began the intro to his song, warming up his voice, and confidence.

"I'm holdin' on your rope, got me ten feet off the ground..." He paused for a moment and re-sang the first two verses.

"Woah," he muttered, shaking softly. A chuckle escaped his lips as he felt shivers run down his spine. Blake had found that he sang the first two verses beautifully for once, noting that it was obviously just a fluke, but a good enough fluke for him to carry on confidently with the song.

The stage wasn't much of a looker in complete honesty. Just a wooden platform built up in a corner overlooking the somewhat greasy tables with napkin holders and cheap menus. It was one of those burger and pizza places that every town has. The kind that everyone visits and everyone throws their child's birthday party at. It was definitely the best place to go to find people, the problem would be finding the right people. Damien had faith though, which was why he was standing up there armed with nothing but a microphone.

He looked over the darkened room with that same feeling in his chest that he had earlier. No pressure... Just the idea that all of his role models were staring him down through some magical portal entry or something. That idea slowly evolved into CANNOT DISAPPOINT LACEY AND GERARD. He signaled the music, the piano version, and began his song.

"This is Gospel, for the fallen ones..."

Damien grabbed the thoughts and memories of his father while he sang and forced that emotion into his words. Its time to break away from being just a son. Every emotion of hatred and annoyance, the desire for freedom, he took that and let it permeate every part of his being. It wasn't an experience you could rightly describe in words, broadcasting your emotions through song.

Throaty and on the verge of screaming he went into the chorus and he had control over the entire audience.

"If you love me let me GOOO!!!"

He closed his eyes to the room full of people and let the rest flow until he drained himself empty. Then casually rushing off the stage in embarrassment. Did he just get a bit to intimate with the crowd? Dammit.

He took a seat at a cream colored table in the corner of the grey and red striped building. Head in hands, but a smile.

He didn't even notice if anyone clapped. Dammit. Maybe he didn't do that good.

After Alex straightened up his flat a bit- just in case he had a visitor over the weekend, he paid a trip to the fridge again and, much to his dismay, found it completely empty save for a few bottles of beer and a dwindling pack of water bottles. No food. He checked the cupboards and found some saltines and a jar of peanut butter. It concerned him how quickly food things vanished in his flat when he was the only one living in it.

Or, as he recalled, there was going to be an open mic night tonight at the diner. There was much to earn in way of tips there, but it was great for publicity. And the food was great. He knew one of the waitresses and a little flirting always got him a discount. He grabbed Iskra since she was already out, put her in the case, and left.

He was already chowing down on a burger and some fries in a booth by himself, save for Iskra who sat in the booth beside him. It was also one of the few diners in the area that had a smoking section, which was opposite the non-smoking section, but still gave him a decent view of the stage. He signed himself up, but he was a little later in line, so he had plenty of time to hang out.

He was polishing off his fries when a guy about his age took the stage with nothing but a mic and some background music. He never saw him take the stage before, but when he heard the first line the guy dropped, Alex was pleasantly surprised. He had style, he had talent and substance, but the feeling he was putting out was so strong and so, well, relatable it was off-putting for some members of the audience.

Personally, Alex was fascinated. His English wasn't so great that he picked up every lyric, but he got the idea. He had sat through enough first-timers with their awkward karaoke covers or lovesick or heartbroken original indie songs to make himself sick, but this guy mixed it up. The game changed now. Belatedly, he realized the guy was walking off the stage and he was supposed to be applauding. His eyes followed him to a table in the corner and put his head in his hands. Damn. Maybe he should say something. He was hardly a veteran, but he knew exactly what the guy was going through.

He slid out of his booth, confident that no one would steal Iskra in the few minutes he left her alone, and crossed the diner to the guy. He put his hand on the back of one of the empty chairs at the table.

"Hey," He said to get his attention, "First time, right?" His accent coated his words, but he knew English well enough to be understood when speaking. "You did a great job. Very impressive."

Running into the diner at the start of a performance was just his luck. Blake had been busting tables at another small diner down the road but got out a bit later than he had first expected. The pianist wanted to get in as soon as possible to play and listen to others, hoping that while he and the rest of the audience were listening to the vast majority of musicians they would forget his performance. He tried his best to sneak in without making a sound, but like when you try to do the best you can something always seems to go wrong. The sound of the door slamming shut sounded obnoxiously loud, causing Blake to bite his lips has he tip-toed away to an empty table. He hoped that the door wasn't a big deal, and felt that it wasn't as the singer was going through his song magnificently.

"I actually know this song!" His head whispered, listening to the piano play in the background. The young man didn't know the actual song, as he has only heard the piano version of it, having become fascinated with knowing that it was a rock band's song turned into a simpler more pretty version.

As the singer finished his song Blake clapped his hands wildly and loudly. The guy got brownie points from Blake too, with the usage of a piano version, he always gave extra loud claps to those who did songs with the piano or a piano cover. Blake, without confidence, walked up to a blonde MC as the last performer rushed off the stage. "I... Err, I'd like to perform next if that's cool?"

The blonde MC gave Blake an examination, scanning him from head to toe, before raising and eyebrow and muttering, "OK, you're up next then. Name, and what equipment did you need?"

"My name's Blake." He bowed, giving thanks to the man. Pointing at a piano in the corner he went on, "Can I use the piano?"

"Of course," he stated monotonously. Snapping his fingers and pointing at the piano another stage tech hopped onto the piano, checking everything before giving Blake the go ahead. "Alright buddy, you're up." He patted Blake on the back as the MC on stage had already began his introduction.

"Up next is Blake!"

The pianist hesitantly skipped onto the stage, waving to the crowd. With an awkward smile on his face he tried his best to look at the various eyes that were now on him. "Evening, I'm Blake..." He restated, waving his hand again nervously. Creeping his way to the piano he slid in place and tested out the sound of the piano, hitting random keys as he belted out a quick song.

"Here we go," he whispered to himself, trying to create and boost his own confidence and morale. "You got this, you got this!" He hit the first key and began his song. With the first note gone he felt things were going smooth.

"You tell me that you're sorry, you didn't think I'd turn around..." Blake confidently sang, preparing himself for a bigger part of the song, it's chorus. "And say... It's too late to apologize..." With what he considered a simpler and hopefully emotional take on the OneRepublic song he swiftly and proudly circled around to the last line.

"I'm holdin' on your rope, got me ten feet off... the ground." As he ended the song, Blake sat for a few moments, taking everything in. He muted out the crowd and whatever claps (if any) he got, just reeling in the feeling of actually performing. He stood and nervously and awkwardly bowed before hopping off the stage, rushing back to his table. The musician had a big smile on his face as he felt some confidence rise in his chest. He felt proud of himself, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

A rapid set of taps on the table brought her out of her dreamlike state. The diner zoomed in around her, complete with it's cacophonous clientele, and more pressingly, the large man hovering beside the table she'd unceremoniously fallen asleep at. At least that's what her head told her, with an urge to yawn and the need to blink several times to even make out the world. The outside world once more brought with it an invasive assault on all of the senses, though the stink of food was certainly the most volatile aggressor this day.

"This ain't a hotel, kid. Order something, or get out."

She waved him off with an unstable flail and a nod, trying to catch her bearings. That argument back at her parents' had really taken it's toll. Such a bother. And now you had some guy working for this 'fine' establishment playing warden. Why was she even here? Some vague hope that open mic night would put a shine to a day that'd turned out horrible. An open medium for what was working up to be a very Blues-y song, perhaps.

"Coffee, then." She murmured half-asleep, but it was good enough for the man who finally left her alone, trundled off back behind his counter. She should probably take off before he came back with some coffee that wasn't worth the price. Pushing up, she escaped her table to plod tiredly towards the exit. She'd just about had enough of this particular da-..

"If you love me let me GOOO!!!"

The mere power in the voice from the shoddy stage in the diner made her stop against her better judgement. Watched the man on the stage intently as he poured his everything into the microphone, to a crowd that quite possibly wasn't expecting just such an envigorating performance. But it found her. He had talent. She was amazed. Not because of the song perhaps, but how he'd captured everyone. While some may choose to see the rush off the stage, Jen elects to watch the crowd as some clap, and others just watch stunned. But for a few moments, everyone watches. The world cares.

Maybe she should say something. The halfway plod back into the diner proper is cut short when another guy flanks the recent singer and starts talking to him. She'd just be intruding. Guy's obviously going though a lot. But she'd have that coffee. Maybe give playing a go. Just then she caught someone rising from her previous table. She watched him slide towards the stage with just about no confidence. That stage was a confidence-killer, though.

Giving the previous performer a few glances during the new guy's - Blake, apparently - show, Jen slid down into her previous seat. Standing up made you seem way-too-enthused or just odd. She didn't want to lose track of the guy though. For better or worse, she felt like someone should appreciate his effort more than a handful of claps. If she was -that- good at singing, she'd want to know.

The guy on the stage was no pushover either. This was quality mic night, apparently, and she'd almost skipped out on it. The entertainment value was fairly high too, with the awkward bowing and skipping off stage. There was a smattering of applause this time too. The people of this fine establishment were expecting someone to screech a country song and got quality. Probably. She remains seated at her - now his - table when the pianist returns, offering him a casual, subdued smile. He seems to be in his own world though.

"Nice." She eloquently suggests across with a voice still unused from her recent-enough sleep. Maybe she too should get on the stage. First she'd need that coffee, though..

The idle hum of the age-old car filled the air as it pulled into the diner's parking lot. Kris peered at the eating establishment, her breath fogging up the glass until all she could see was a whites out blur. Rarely did her family go out to eat. When they did, it was usually for holidays, or birthdays, or anything with that nature. So, with today holding no real significance, it was a bit odd going out. Not that she was complaining. It was a relief from the usual ramen noodles and sandwiches.

They made their way inside and settled into a booth. As Aunt Willa and Kris' father chatted about miscellaneous subjects, a song caught Kris' attention. Her head turned to face the stage.. A boy was up there giving his all and more into that one song.

And it was absolutely beautiful.

It was only after the song that Kris realized that she was holding her breath. She clapped softly, her eyes blinking with surprise. As the other singer left, another boy took his place. The new performer situated himself behind a piano and began singing a song Kris knew and liked. His voice carried fluidness and confidence, giving his song a boost of quality.

Kris clappedd as the singer hopped off stage. She laughed lightly and shuffled out of the booth. She planned to give the singers a congratulatory thumbs up for a good performance. Maybe a pat on a back or a cookie. That is if they sold cookies at the diner. If not, well...a pat on the back was good enough.

"Oh, are you gonna perform?"

Aunt Will a grinned at her niece excitedly and grabbed her arm. Kris tensed her eyes traveling to her father in panic. This was open mic, not open instruments. Kris was going to look like a fool. Her aunt, though, paid no heed to her struggle and pushed her on stage. Willa talked to the MC briskly before giving Kris a thumbs up and leaving.

Kris forced herself not to make a beeline for the exit and trudged to the drum set. She wasn't aware of the MC introducing or her family clapping in support. She just focused on the instrument in front of her. Her drumsticks in hand. A rhythm in her mind.

Her shakiness eased away as she began drumming the song she had practiced all night long. For a moment everything seemed right. Sure she wasn't playing on Ol' Jericho and that she was probably looking like an idiot right now, but hey, at least it sounded good. As the song ended, her nervousness returned. She quickly clumsily set down the drumsticks and stumbled off stage. Her eyes kept to the ground as she made her way back to her family.

"You're welcome," Aunt Willa called as she returned. Kris shot her a glare. Of course she had been planning on dragging her here. Kris buried her face in her hands, silently thinking on how her aunt would 'accidentally' put glue in her hair instead of shampoo.

Damien looked up from his hands to see a tall Russian savior and for a minute wondered if he caught the gays. Then he shook his head and put up his normal, clueless smile and seemed a different person than the emotional steam engine he was on stage. "Yeppers. First time, practiced all month. Damn, is it always like that?" He asked, suddenly taking control of the conversation without skipping a heartbeat. That was Damien for you, spilling it to complete strangers. "So tense, I thought for sure I'd crawl into a ball and die before I started singing."

He talked with his hands, somewhat excitedly as he began to run through words like they were cheap candies as he explained to the Russian his entire experience. How he psyched himself out at the stress of the thought of embarrassing himself, then how the metaphorical spirits of Gerard and Lacey pushed him onward, how he let his emotions take over and how he felt almost sick after the performance, and he explained it all in less than 5 minutes which seemed inhuman. His anxiety was starting to show as he coulda swore a confused look overtook the Russan, but that might've been his imagination.

Then there was a keyboard.
A song.

Damien's head snapped toward the stage and his anxiety was soon forgotten. I want him. he thought. Damien remembered why he came here at that moment and looked back at the Russian with a changed look. (If he didn't seem crazy and insane to the Russian by now, thanks to his spasticity, then something was different about the Russian.) "You going up there tonight?" He inquired a little creepily. Godammit Damien slow down.

Then there was a drumbeat.

Once again Damien threw his attention to the stage and he was almost awed by the fact it was a girl. "Oh I definitely want her." He said to himself, but out loud by accident. He didn't notice, but his new friend almost certainly did. It shouldn't matter he heard unless he was performing too... Damien's ideas and desires were coming together a bit too fast all of a sudden.

He was going to have a fucking panic attack if he didn't take a breather.

Alex thought himself to be a good listener, even when it came to English, but once the guy started talking, it didn't look like he was going to stop. At the rate at which he was speaking, some of the words were coming too fast for him to understand, but he didn't really leave him any room to stop. So, he got comfortable with a placid smile sliding onto his face and just listened to the guy let out whatever he needed to let out. He seemed... excitable. Probably still riding that high after a performance. He understood that completely.

He kept his eyes on him, nodding occasionally, but couldn't help to listen on the pianist that took to the stage. When the singer stole a glance up to the guy on stage, Alex looked over as well and enjoyed his playing. This guy had a good vibe about him. Like he could just kick back and listen to him for a long time. The question brought him back to the singer. He shrugged. "Maybe. It's busy tonight."

The start up of a drummer caught both of their attention this time. Her hair was red- that was the first thing he noticed and he rather liked the color on her. But she was tense to begin with. After a while, she seemed to relax and he found himself itching to go up and play something. The singer said something else, but in his distraction, it took a second to process what he said.

"Yeah, sure," He said, realizing too late that the singer didn't even seem to realize what he said. He brushed off the comment. Now was his time to finally get out what he wanted to say in the first place. "Hey, it gets easier," He told him with an assuring nod, "Playing in front of people can be scary at first, but you just have to be confident in yourself. And you clearly have a talent, so you have a lot to be proud of."

Satisfied with that, he caught the eye of the MC who waved him over. "I'm next," He told the singer across from him, "But I will see you around." He made that a promise with a flash of a grin and a wink before departing. He passed the drummer on his way back and, undeterred by the presence of her family, stopped and briefly touched the redhead on the shoulder to get her attention. "Hey," He said, "Well done." He punctuated the compliment with a quick smile and continued on to the booth where he left his guitar.



Moments later, he was set up on a stool with Iskra in his lap and a guitar pointed at his face. The MC introduced him while Alex adjusted the sound off the amp to his liking.

"Hello everybody," He greeted, his accent coming thicker as his nerves started working on him, "I'm going to play one of the first English songs I ever learned to play. It's called 'More Than Words'." He never talked a lot before playing, mostly because he knew people were eager for him to get to the music. He took a steadying breath and began to play.

The first few bars of guitar made any tension he was feeling melt off of his body. That made it easier once he began to sing to communicate with the audience. He kept it light, peaceful even as opposed to bearing his soul. He didn't feel like it was the right time to dig that deep, but that didn't make the music any less sweeter. Even when he sang, his accent was present, but less so and he wasn't afraid to look out and make eye contact with the listeners. He tried not to look at any one person for too long, lest they get the wrong impression. That's what happened with him and the waitress, but he managed to work that in his favor.

He started to smile while he sang. The song brought back the memories of his struggle with English. A lot of tourists came to his family's bar and he spoke with them to get better at the language, which included singing this song on numerous occasions. And playing guitar was just so much fun for him. He couldn't help but smile.

He waited until the last chord rang out from Iskra before he dampened the strings. "Spasibo," He said into the mic, "Thank you." He wasted no time coming off the stage so the next person could go up and made a beeline for the booth he claimed for himself.

A tangible silence grew from Jen's own side of the table after her initial deep and inspiring commentary. Surely conversation wasn't something anyone was interested in anyway, and this particular evening at the diner was turning out to be quite something else. There'd been two very good performances already, and it seemed as though the night had more surprises. Leaning forwards on her elbows lazily, she trails the red-haired girl up the stage with a neutral glance. Her expression shifts to an intrigued smirk as she realizes just what she was going to play on.

Open mic, perhaps not, but it was excellent all the same. Eased the blow for the future as well, as Jen sure wasn't going to sing when she went up there. Probably. She too rushed back off the stage in a self-conscious hurry. She seemed to have people to back her up though, which was something of a relief. Nothing to torpedo your budding skills faster than naysayers. She forgot to clap, though. Oh well. Needless ritual anyway.

"Pretty good here, today." She offered conversationally to the pianist by her table, though admittedly she's not all that intent on carrying it further, attention already stolen again as she pieces together just whom is next from the eager gesturing of the MC and the guy standing up on the far side of the diner. Same guy that flanked the singer earlier. Still pretty hot. Maybe they were friends? Good musicians had a way of finding eachother, after all.

His accent was rough, but when he (finally) started playing, it didn't matter. It worked. It sounded good. Great. What was with this night? Almost spellbound watching despite the lighter take on the music, she prepares mentally for what's to come. She has to play now. There's just no way around it. The itch is in her fingertips, the beat is in her blood. She didn't bring her own instrument, but that wasn't really any major hindrance.

The guitarist drew his ensorcelling tune to an end, thanked the crowd and hastily beat a retreat to clear the stage, though he still seemed confident enough. Jen found she didn't clap this time either. Damn. Next time for sure.

After four solid performances however, a strange situation seems to have arisen, albeit no doubt only temporarily. The people normally up there screeching something about the total eclipse of their heart are sitting back. Stunned, awed or expectant. There is a gap in the roster, or someone isn't taking their chance. But where was that coffee? Neither the man who bothered her about ordering nor her coffee was anywhere in sight. Oh well. She may as well, then.

"Watch my seat." She murmurs over as she pushes from the table and mosies on over towards the stage in no real haste. The man in charge seemed to pick up on her intent, and introduced her after she murmured a hasty 'Jen' to him in passing. There was always a bass in here, though she'd be damned if she'd ever hear anyone use it properly. First time for everything, really..

Without much ado, she assumes a position on the same stool as the previous performer, lifting her chosen instrument up with careful preparation. She'd have to sing. Otherwise the song she had in mind would get tiresome. Damnit. Oh well. She'd get right to it, at least.



With a centering breath she begins, quickly setting up a beat in what turns out to be a bass cover without the 'supporting' instruments. She'd keep the pace up and make something of her own with it. Played it too much in the past to fail. A little improv. She breathes a last sharp breath before offering lyrics to her little cover, a throaty, subdued version of the original. She doesn't really know if it sounds good. Does it matter? The beat sounds good in her head. The music flows. That's really what matters.

When her song comes to a natural end, she returns the bass to where she found it, and meanders off the stage in the same undisturbed pace, moving back for her previous seat with no intent of really listening to the crowd. But she felt good. She'd made her mark. Participated in this inpromptu music festival. That'd have to be enough.

Alex put away his guitar and sat back down in the booth. His plate had been cleared away, thankfully, so he was free to light up in the smoking section as the next act took the stage. American cigarette were by far inferior to the strength and potency of a Russian smoke, but he found the moment the smoke rushed into his lungs that he didn't really care. That's how addictions went, at least for him. It was like some knot in the back of his head was relieved only by the act of smoking. Took the edge off of everything.

He didn't even realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them to see who was up after hearing the introduction. Jen. He had to keep that name in mind. With the way tonight was going, it wouldn't be a bad idea to learn some names and maybe take some numbers. He tapped off the ashes into a little glass dish at the center of the table and patiently waited for the bassist to start up.

It took him a moment, but he recognized the song as soon as she came in with the lyrics. One of his friends introduced him to this band. It was right up his alley, but she really captured his interest when she began to improvise. She knew exactly what the hell she was doing and her take on the song was damn good, too. As she ended the song, Alex decided tonight was the perfect night to come to the open mic. So many new faces got him jazzed about making some music.

When his waitress came by again and he asked for the check, flashing her a smoldering look that put a little color in her cheeks. She scurried away and he climbed out of his booth once again, but crossed over into the nonsmoking section with the lit cigarette still between his lips. He still had about half of it left and didn't see about a couple yards between the sections really made a difference. Simply put, he didn't really care.

"Hey." He really only knew one way to casually greet someone, so he used it often. He leaned on the side of the booth opposite and removed the cigarette from his lips. "You rocked it on stage. You were-" There was a word to put to the feeling he was trying to convey. He remembered some slang someone used a few days ago. "Sick. Sick can be good, right?" He certainly hoped he wasn't implying that she made him ill in any sense of the word.