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The only thing better than an elf is two elves.
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I feel like I'm learning to write all over again.
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Roleplaying is like a fine wine. I don't get enough of it, and most of the time I fail to appreciate it properly.
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being last up on the stage is scary :/
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.
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.
I will sleep for 4-8 hours then I will write a post, oh great Lawdy. Don't know if anyone wants/will interject with their own goodness between now and then.
RC hasn't introduced Kris to the diner yet
..Lady?
..Lord?
...Lordi?
I am not good at these things. x.X
..Lord?
...Lordi?
I am not good at these things. x.X
Please forgive my tardiness, o lord/lady of the thread. *grovels*
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..
"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..
Noo! I am aiming to have my post up today. Life happened, is all :3
I was worried my intro wasn't up to specs, true story.
Your post forced me to find this:
Your post forced me to find this:
"..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.
"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.
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