Log:First Jam of Spring
| First Jam of Spring | |
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| Participants | 22 March, 2017 Cool cats jam, drinks are had, the Number of the Beast rocks the house. |
| Location | |
| It's a cat maxim that it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. But for once, Tom actually made sure he had the go-ahead to rearrange Cyclone for a makeshift stage area, enough to bring in amps or a drum kit and find space for the equipment that inevitably builds up when musicians congregate. It's also true that Tom is not known for being the brightest bulb on the tree, so it's no surprise that before anyone has really shown up, he is on hands and knees trying desperately to correctly check the wiring setup. He's assembled multiple microphones, but whether they're really set up to work yet is hard to say. There's been rugs rolled out on the floor to delineate the 'stage', however, and plenty of space to be filled. Whether this will work or not is hard to say; Tom's 'band', such as it is, is in a fallow period. Or it's broken up again, however you want to put it. The door flies open because -- well. Because Cobalt Rasender has absolutely no concept of making a subtle entrance, that's why. Would you, if you were him? The winged demon tromps into Cyclone with a frown and what might be a black guitar case in one hand, covered in stickers for various providers of instruments and other equipment, plus clubs and venues around the world. There's a black amp in his other hand, because he doesn't know what he's walking into. Or why, really. Maybe the reason the glowering Summer is here has something to do with the person coming in behind him, whom he is apparently holding the door for. Ting is only behind Cobalt because the likelihood of them fitting through a door walking shoulder to shoulder (they are totally /not/ shoulder to shoulder) is zero. The Spring Waterborn is hanging onto a handful of leather jacket, careful to keep out of the space of any wayward flapping wings. Since he takes up a lot of space, Ting has learned how to navigate around giant Cobalts. There is some ducking and dodging involved, but she has come to move like water around him. He's really entertaining and eats up physical space when he is, say, angry. Or happy. Or awake. The pale faerie circles around to be at his side once they are in the bar proper. She is looking around with open curiosity with those big, blue eyes. Then she looks up at him to gauge how he feels. Like it, hate it, ready to drink the place dry? His general disposition seems positive-ish, so she grins and bounces in place. "Oh look, a band. Or... a guy, um, a place for a band?" She seems instantly concerned that Tom does not yet have his shit together. "Should we help him?" We means Cobalt, the actual musician. Ting is mostly there for the food. Knowing about the show, Kat's appearance may mark a certain show of feline solidarity, because otherwise no one would mistake to mark her as a rocker, musical enthusiast, party person, or even bar-goer of any regularity. Making a big entrance isn't really her thing, though. She likes to lurk, to observe, and to be noticed only in due time. So in fact, she has entered quietly at some point after the venue is first open but early enough that almost no one has really shown up, and then found a corner to go lurk in. Tom being down on his hands and knees and burried in wires works out nicely for her stealthy approach. So she's been here a little while, and watches some of the new arrivals as the show time approaches and more people begin to filter in. Watches, but does not get up to go and greet. "I got this!" Tom claims. He hears voices, but he doesn't look up -- it might be only other bar-goers who get to appreciate the Metal God Walk-In. Tom sticks up one big paw. "Heyyyyy, brother," he calls to Cobalt cheerfully. "Ladies." Those greetings have an entirely different tone, though both are friendly enough. It makes clear that Kat is on his radar, even if she's lurking. "It's early, but we can have the venue 'til the last dog's hung if we want it. Dunno who else will show, but we can be loud out this way. Soundproofing's okay." "Told you we were gonna be too early," Cobalt says gruffly to Ting. Were she not here, he might outright snub the offered paw of Tom's -- but instead, he puts down his amp and slaps his clawed hand into the palm in the tough version of a shake, being carefully not to maul the other guy on those sharp appendages that don't appear to retract. "What's your name?" he asks Tom, with all the warmth and friendliness of someone who does not go out of his way to be warm or friendly; that is to say, very little. "Soundproofing's good, because I am going to blow these walls the fuck apart." He suddenly glances to Ting, like he just remembered she's there. Like he's checking on her. Ting slips her hand into the left inside pocket of Cobalt's jacket - yeah, she just gets right up in his personal space and does a lousy impression of pickpocketing right before his eyes. "I need money. I will bring you a drink," she notes, a kind of mea culpa for robbing him, politely. With his wallet in her possession, she holds it between both her hands and grins up at him. "We aren't early. We are right on time. Oh, you know what would be nice? If you bought everyone drinks all night." Aw, isn't she full of great ideas? "Help him, be nice," she says, giving Cobalt a soft push in Tom's direction. "Ask him what he wants to drink. I will be back," she notes as the spring in her step takes over and she is bouncing toward the bar. Though she hates the idea, she is dressed a lot warmer than she would like due to being in the middle of the Arctic North. Black leggings, a concert t-shirt that is most certainly not hers, and Muk Luk boots. Ting glances in the general direction of the well hidden Kat, but does not make a move to infringe upon the shy cat's space. For those with Kat on their radar, there may be some suspicious activity. Similarly, for those that may occasionally, but not persistently cast their gaze in her direction, it may seem suspiciously, every now and then, like she's actually moved a table closer between one glance and the last. Or maybe that's just a trick of the eye? It's still a far cry from her running up and saying hello, but her lurking seems to be slowly, incrementally, moving in from the shadowy periphery. Sometimes you just want angry music. So Hannah's here, heading for the bar and leaning against it with an expectant air. It's probably going to be a while before things get rowdy, so it looks like sitting on a stool with a beer is going to be the sum of her activity for the moment. Tom is as cheerful and, in his way, as affable as Cobalt is...not, it might seem. His grin flashes fangs back at the big demon man, but he actually laughs as Ting starts wheedling for the best idea of the night: drinks. "Oh, I like you," Tom tells the aquatic maiden. "Blowing the walls down, thirsty work. Property damage!" Cobalt's proposal to sonically wreck the bar with LOUD appears to be music to Tom's more laid-back ears. One paw is thrown up to wave as others start filtering in. "Not too early," he argues to Cobalt, mildly enough, as he starts setting up his own guitar. Cobalt sighs heavily, muttering something about how no one who is cool would ever show up at a party on time. He purses his lips at Tom, green eyes flaring. "What do you want to drink." It's not a question. "And you." He looks right at Kat before staring at Tom again. "One drink. I am not buying you fuckers drinks all night." He has a black guitar case covered in stickers in one hand, and there's a big black amp at his feet. Then he grunts and starts looking over the equipment and the setup, so he can right any wrongs and start hooking up his own shit. She has a beer. It's cold. Content for the moment, Hannah watches the band get themselves in gear, though Cobalt's actions and mutterings seem to amuse her. She lifts her chin in the direction of the band, likewise in passing to Ting, and still has yet to say a word. Dressed in faded jeans and a silvery t-shirt, Andromeda strolls in looking as pale, shimmery, and semi-transparent as usual. The only pop of color on her person is a bright pink flower tucked behind an ear. Combined with the very fresh smell of rain that seems to follow her person, this one is without a doubt a Spring. Weaving her way through Cyclone, she finds a spot near the stage and waves very cheerfully at the part of the band she recognizes. "Hi! Do you need some help?" she asks Tom, pointing a finger at all the wiring. "I may have poked at a setup or two over the years," she adds, holding her hands up. "I promise I will probably not break anything." Seeing Cobalt, she smiles brightly in recognition. "Helloooo." Twisting at the waist, her grin remains as she nods at the other Lost faces in the crowd, seeing Hannah and Ting. Ting is busying herself at the bar, ordering far too many drinks to simply be the appointed delivery person for a given table. No, she has asked that a tab be opened, and as people glance to her, she begins pointing down the line of the bar itself. "Fresh drinks for all of them. Double whiskey. Pina Colada..." That /must/ be for the Spring herself - do they even have a blender here for bullshit girly drinks? "A pitcher of beer. Whatever she wants," she adds, pointing to Hannah. The Waterborn could be there for a little bit still. Given that the credit card she handed over belongs to someone who is decidedly not her, generosity runneth aplenty. So much easier to spend the money of others. She glances back when Cobalt says, 'One drink,' and bursts into a fit of giggles that only ends after an almost too-long refrain. "He's funny," she tells the bartender who is expertly lining up a metric ass-ton of glasses. "Aww, Ting, you care." In a way they're both water creatures, it's just that Hannah's composition involves molecules moving a lot slower. (SCIENCE!) She tips her imaginary hat i the woman's direction, as she eyes the most recent arrival. "Hey, Rommie. Rom-Com. Andypants. Get a drink yet?" Cobalt is unwrapping a cord when Andromeda says hello to him. He stands up -- quite an impression with his height and wings and horns and full Summer Mantle and all that rot. Blinks in complete bewilderment for a moment. Starstruck? Might be a good word here. "Hi," he returns, and why does he look /so/ confused for a minute? There's a brief glance over at the bar, in Ting's direction, distracted enough to not realize that she is buying beverages for the entire bar on his tab. "Uh. I think we got this. Right?" That's directed gruffly at Tom. Tom swivels to point at Andromeda. "You. Andi! Yes. I think it's right, but." But Beast brains get awfully fuzzy when tasked with a big job that requires concentration. "Check it out? We will forgive you if you break anything. At least, I will, moonshine." He's in awfully good spirits for a man who just one night before tasted the rainbow and got an Invisible Prince Concert while high at a Court business event. He answers Cobalt with a shrug. "If you want to trust what -I- do with the setup, sure." Do you? Shall we trust the chaos cat with electronics? "Hi Hannah-Banana!" Andromeda calls out and waves so very vigorously and excitedly at Hannah upon hearing the woman's voice. "I don't yet, but I would -love- one so very, very much. How are you?" Her voice practically drips with cheer to the point it might be irritable for some. Cobalt's blinking elicits a sudden, amused smile. "But-- I think he--" She points at Tom as he speaks. "It might just take me a second," she insists. "Or not! I can go drink instead. I like drinking," she turns to beam over her shoulder at Hannah again. "Up to you," she tells the two musicians breezily. "I just, ah... you know. A lot of karaoke," she vaguely explains with a flick of her wrist. Hannah's nose wrinkles at Hannah-Banana, but then if Andromeda is Rom-Com, that's just karma, right? So no arguments from the Summer there. "What do you want?" Regarding booze, not the mildest of Klingon greetings. There's a soft snort, though. "Musicians who don't know how to handle their equipment. Awesome." She cups her hands around her mouth. "Jesus, Co, what's taking so long?" Just to add fuel to the fire. "Okay, lemme rephrase. /I/ got this," Cobalt says, liberally rolling his bright green eyes. He will actually push Tom out of the way to keep setting things up and/or correcting his work, if need be. "Go drink," he tells Andromeda, busying himself in wires and plugs and stingers and mics and the rest. Almost like he's trying to distract himself. Then Hannah calls him 'Co,' and he looks up with an angry jerk of his head. "Do /not/ call me that," he says, pointing at her, but it seems only half-serious. He's not actually as upset as he seems. Probably. Thing is, it's just as fun to /be/ angry as it is to /illicit/ anger. For some folks. Any further chanced glance toward Kat's shadowy corner may reveal that it to be her -former- shadowy corner, now entirely Kat-less. The other side of feline aloofness is (occasionally unwise) curiousity, after all, and there's an awful lot going on now to be investigated. These things may eventually include some of the assortment of people, but the first top will be the bar and the collection of concoctions being brewed and set up thereupon. Ultimately, she turns her nose up at what is being set out, though. "Do you have anything with milk?" See? Not a bar person. While negotiating with the bartender who is now very much looking at her like some little kid who has wandered in lost from the street, she turns to observe the mess of wires and electronics still being wrangled. These seem... bizarrely fascinating, for whatever reason. Tom is strictly amateur hour. Standing next to Cobalt should be the pipsqueak standing next to the musical giant, really; and yet, Tom is positively irrepressible. He blows Hannah a kiss. "I can handle it. Probably not as well as he can handle it, if you take my meaning," he says of Cobalt. "Shit just happens when I'm around. Any second." Funny thing is, he's not even drunk; Tom is, for once, sober and mellow and solid. He's actually trying, in his clueless way. "Okay, bye then," the constellation tells Cobalt, and then wiggles her fingers in a goodbye for Tom. Sad, and making no effort to hide it, Andromeda hangs her head a little and turns away from the stage. Toward Hannah! "Just a beer, thank you very much," she tells her fellow Fairest, her expression warming up as she settles near the Snowskin. "Have you seen them play before?" she asks, gesturing toward the musicians with a casual lift of her chin. "Now and again." Hannah says, signalling the bartender for another bottle of beer. Once it's delivered, she holds out hers to clink affably and turns her attention to the stage while continuing to talk to to Andromeda. "When some of my skaters are in competition I give them his stuff to keep them focused and prevent them from being distracted from opponent psych-out games. And it keeps them hangry." Yes, hangry. She lifts her voice, cupping her mouth with one hand this time: "Anything you say, Coco!" Buying a round of drinks for an entire bar takes time. Especially when people sudden become really, really, really-really thirsty out of nowhere. But the credit card is in the bartender's care and directions have been given. Drinks. For all. All night. Anger can be directed toward Ting should the bearer of the bill find fault in the generous arrangement. She smiles to people coming and going at the bar. Yeah, they are getting all these drinks free. It's a Spring Party, people. As drinks begin materializing, the Waterborn plays server along with the actual servers doling out alcohol. She excels at making herself useful. She eyes the double whiskey in her hand then cocks her head to the side. "On second thought, can I get the entire bottle?" Money is no object, right? The bottle appears from behind the bar and she deftly tucks that under her arm. She walks over to the staging area and hands the glass of whiskey to Cobalt. "Drink this." Then she lifts up the bottle to the demon's face. "Chaser. Hey, Tomcat, I got you a beer." She took a stab at what he might like. "Is that good?" Is free beer good? Yes. Yes, it is. Cobalt decides to ignore that he was just called Coco. Yes. Yes, he does. For the time being. Hannah may pay later, like in places where Summers punch each other to bits. He seems to have fixed most of Tom's tangled setup by this point, and is opening his own guitar case when the Waterborn appears with the glass and bottle of whiskey. He'll take both, if she lets him. "You sure?" Things may happen when Cobalt drinks. It's just science. He doesn't wait for an answer, though, downing the double whiskey with a shrug. Barely blinking and barely wincing. At least he doesn't throw the glass, though he looks like he wants to for a minute. Tom seizes the beer with gratitude, gulps it, and gives Ting a sketched bow that hints that she has made friends and influenced kitties. "A'right let's do this!" And, setting aside the bottle and trusting that the demon has made the music happen, Tom starts noodling on his own guitar. "We gonna need a damn drummer for this thing," he observes. "Eventually." "Oooh! I bet that's a fun part, picking the music. Do you need first aid at your rink sometimes, for the skaters?" Andromeda wonders, head tilting to the side, while fingers lift to pluck a petal off the flower behind her ear. "For events and stuff? I could be there! I'm a nurse after all all. Not that I hope you -need- anything like that, oh my goodness," she adds hastily, eyes wide. "Psycho-out games? That sounds horrible. And... hangry? What's that?" Reaching for the bottle, she taps it to Hannah's and ends with a relaxed smile. "Cheers!" Hannah smirks at Tom, and yeah, she may pay for Coco later, but a kiss from the fist of a rock star might be worth it, along with returning the favor. "Psych-out." she clarifies to Andromeda. "Athletes like to try and play mind games, you know? Get their competition off balance? They don't skate to that stuff. They use it like blinders." She pauses. "I got first-aid." the Fairest admits, but adds, "Be nice to have someone with more experience during hockey games and skate performances, though." Apart from continued eying the mass of wires like a potential enemy or food source, Kat eventually finishes her negotiations with the bartender, who has cream but not milk, doesn't -really- want to just pour her a big mug of it, and eventually talks her into a White Russian instead, which she's (amazingly) never heard of. But it looks creamy and good! And has something coffee-related, which she also knows she likes. So, win win! When he asks if it's on the tab with all the others, she thinks about it just a moment and agrees. More people happily taking advantaged of unoffered generosity. With drink in hand, she now makes her way forward, toward the actual gathering of people, or the outskirts of it, holding her glass in both hands and sipping cautiously. She also pokes at a stray wire with her foot. Don't temp me, wire! She's not the drummer that Tom hopes for, or a drummer at all, but Zillah at least looks like she'd make a good groupie. Maybe in the 80s, following around The Cure or something. The shadow is dressed in velvets and leather, making her way in quietly. Blue-on-black eyes taking in the place, the people, with a faint press of her lips. Cobalt tosses his hair, which has a tendency to float on its own, considering it's as much darkness as it is hair. It's an arrogant sort of rock star gesture towards Tom. "You seriously think you can keep up with me? I'm dubious." He takes his monster of a guitar out of the case next. Anyone familiar with his music might know that he is normally a bassist on stage, not a guitarist -- but this is definitely a guitar, with a green chain for a strap that matches his eyes. It's wicked and black and pointed in classic metal fashion, and he slings this diagonally across his person as he settles himself in the area of what is more or less the stage, adjusting the mic to his height next. He speaks into it, his low voice rumbling through the small bar. "Check, check. Check one, check two. Check." There will be minimal tossed glasses if Ting can help it. For now, while she is sober and still has her awareness operating at maximum. The same goes for Tom's beer bottle that was emptied so very fast... Rock stars, rock gods, rock wannabes. They all drink like fish it seems. The Waterborn glances back to the bartender to await a thumbs-up that all is running smoothly with the free drinks. Thumbs-up. She offers a glowing, Spring, 1000-watt grin then goes about finding a place to sit. Someplace close to the stage area, maybe not /right/ by an amp, however. She is all warmth and saltwater breezes now, so very pleased that people are pleased. That is how fulfilling desire works. Thirsty people get drinks, sore people get backrubs, sleepy people get fluffy pillows, etc. "Don't drink that entire bottle at once," Ting warns Cobalt, gesturing up and down the bottle to illustrate that there is a lot of alcohol in there. "And give it to me when you start playing so you don't smash it into someone's face." Safety first. When kitty Kat comes closer to where the Waterborn is perched she is offered a smile and a wave. "I like your tail," Ting mouths, gesturing behind herself where a tail might be on the Spring. Alas, no tail, but her iridescent hair is pretty rad. Tom gives Cobalt a look that tries for dignity, shaking his own hair out wildly. No floating in the air for him, really; Tom's just too earthy, in his fashion, a creature with all paws (two or four) on the ground. "Well, if I don't, you can be some kind of solo act and I'll just throw you mah panties and scream," Tom says. Yeah, that dignity thing never works out for more than half a minute anyway. If the Summer was hoping that the laid-back Moon was going to be all RAR CHALLENGE, it's a fool's errand. But for all that the electronic equipment might have made Tom go a little cross-eyed, it's clear he's much better indeed at actually playing. Kat, clueless as she is, also happens to be standing a little too near a speaker attatched to that wire she's playing footsie with. At first, this is all fine and good, and she smiles, albeit in her normally cautious, nervous way. Said tail even swishes a little, well, as much of it is visible beneath her skirt, while otherwise causing the garment to rustle a bit. "Thanks." She answers, and happily sips on her drink. However, in a moment, all is proven not to be fine and good when Cobalt does his volume check. As close as she is to the speaker, the cat-woman startles and SPRINGS, jumping a couple feet in the air and landing on top of a nearby table. It's actually all very graceful, and she doesn't even spill her drink... but it's probably a little suspicious looking if you happen to be a 'normie' at this particular concert. "Oh. Right," Andromeda lightly clears her throat, like she had a tickle in it, fingers pressed to her chest as she gives Hannah a sheepish smile. She quickly takes a swig from her bottle, washing her mistake away. "Sure! As needed, I would be happy to, if you like. Figured I'd offer," she waves casually, shifting to perch upon the edge of a stool and swing one leg over the other at the knee. "Oh no! Are you okay?" she calls out to Kat, eyes wide and concerned. "That was... wow!" The bottle in her hands is tucked under an arm, so she can applaud. Cobalt, strumming a few experimental chords on his guitar, smirks wryly as Kat lands on top of the table. His chest moves in a way that suggests he might be chuckling, though no laughter sound is heard over the mic. Cats, man. He's part cat, too. He gets it. That's why he can laugh. "Alright." He turns to Tom, all business. "You good at following along?" He drops his voice and says something else. Occasionally, he glances Ting's way as though hoping she's still watching him. Cobalt whispers “Gonna start with a classic. "Number of the Beast" by Maiden. You down?†Cobalt senses “Tom smirks, though amiably. "Cradle songs! In a good way. I'm on it, Mon Capitain." That mad-cat look in his eye.†Kat's insta-spring startles Ting who lets out a yelp and jerks a little in her seat. No harm, no foul, the Waterborn begins to giggle and shakes her head, laughing at herself for the over-reaction. As she begins to gather up her hair and orchestrate an out-of-her-face updo, she glances over to Cobalt and grins. Yeah, she's watching. She just has a lot of hair that shouldn't be roaming free with this crowd. This soon to be super-drunk crowd, compliments of Cobalt's credit card. Rowdy lunatics seem to be a thing when mixing Lost + Music + Copious Amounts of Alcohol. A recipe for awesome with a healthy dash of for fuck's sake. Ting's own drink is delivered to her table. A fruity Pina Colada with a slice of pineapple and a pink umbrella as decoration. Yeah, that happened. She sips it to the halfway mark then focuses on the stage. "Eh," Hannah says, at Kat's freak-out. "She totally meant to do that." Because that's how cats work, okay? Except with cucumbers. Cats never expect cucumbers. Zillah's silence continues, but at least there's a greeting waggle of fingers towards her fellow Moon when she sees Tom. A flash of smile, even, from the slim shadow. Her eyes seek out the familiar, and the tomcat is the only present one, so it is there she focuses as she finds herself a place to sit. Zee, apparently , will not be one of those to perform tonight. Kat looks very briefly confused, startled, and embarassed in the aftermath of her sudden leap, glancing one way and the other for further threats and perhaps checking to see if anyone saw her (as if anyone could have missed it). But indeed, she quickly affects a more controlled, cool demeanor, as if this was all very much intentional. In fact, she gets down off the table and sits in one of the seats beside it. Yep. She was just moving tables in an efficient manner. Nothing to see here. It will be from this vantage, still wide-eyed and ear-perked, that she will observe the unfolding performance. Cobalt takes a very good swig off that bottle, setting it down on a stool next to him. "ALRIGHT, CYCLONE," he roars into the mic, and given how loud his voice is naturally, they can probably hear him in Burlington. Or maybe Montreal. Jesus. "ARE YOU READY TO FUCKIN' ROCK?!" The crowd shouts out its drunken affirmations as Cobalt immediately starts into the chords of Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast." Despite guitar not being his main thing, he is more than adequate on the black shiny monster, shredding his way roughly through the opener before he starts to sing. His voice is deeper than Bruce Dickinson's, so the song immediately takes on a different tone. "I left alone my mind was blank I needed time to think to get the memories from my mind What did I see can I believe that what I saw That night was real and not just fantasy..." Tom blows a kiss to Zillah -- it's very obviously to his shadowy fellow Courtier, because Tom does nothing at all by halves -- and then it's OFF AND AWAY on a wave of Iron Maiden. Tom is, for anyone who has ever seen him before, a bar-band jack of all trades and master of none. Cobalt is always going to be more professional than he is, let's be honest, and it's clear the cat-man bows to his skills. But it can hardly be said that anyone, ever, has more fun than Tom on stage, or more love of the music. He keeps up with Cobalt strictly because he works his everlovin' fluffy tail off, and his eyes, always lit up with the glow of the Moonborn, are practically green globes as the pupils narrow to slits in joyful concentration. Music is chaos, carefully controlled, no more so when just doing it for the fun, and thus, it's Tom's favorite element. Although Cobalt is concerned with Cobalt first and foremost, at least when it comes to being on stage, he gives Tom a glance from time to time with a 'You're doing alright, kid' sort of smirk. Because he is. Tom somehow fits in perfectly in this little jam, and it bolsters Cobalt's mood. His voice soars like a night bird's over the audience, filling the room and the space with heat and power and aggression and majesty. To Lost eyes, Cobalt comes with his own special effects: the wind blows his dark/ness hair back around his brow, his eyes flash green fire, dark clouds and thunder and lightning gather about him. It's like instead of summoning Satan, he's just summoned himself instead. And he sings and shreds on: "Just what I saw In my old dreams were they reflections of my warped mind staring back at me Cause in my dreams It's always there The evil face that twists my mind and brings me to despair YEAH!" They are Moon Court, and the reaction to Zillah is similar. She catches the blown kiss, stretching out to do so, and makes a show of starting to drag it towards her face...only for it to end up against her layers of skirts instead. A grin comes to her face as she watches - and while she does not remember Iron Maiden, not really, there is a tapping of her toe to go with it that finds the beat. Ting's hands rise to her mouth when the guitar begins. Maybe because she is a great lover of live music, and this is thrilling. Or maybe still because she knows what kind of insanity is about to begin. She is all grins and shakes with delight when Cobalt begins to sing, but there is no small measure of admiration thrown Tom's way. Keeping up with a beast like Cobalt is no easy feat, to be sure. The Waterborn makes short work of her drink, and sets the empty glass on another unoccupied table behind her. Just in case, you know, Kat decides to pounce on the Spring's table. It could happen. A cursory glance is given to the bartender just to make sure there isn't some unwelcome surge of idiots wanting free booze. That would happen as well. Her chair scoots a hint closer to the stage area. Then a little more. Her knees are bouncing with anticipation. Ain't no party like a drunk Spring party. Or whatever this is. The crowd is getting pretty damn riled up. There might even be a teeny mosh pit. Cobalt continues to plow his way through the song, with its rather fitting lyrics of madness and demons. When he gets to the chorus, he bares all his teeth, gnashing his fangs as he cries out, "SIX! SIX SIX! THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST!" His great wings flap behind him, creating more wind. If only pyrotechnics were still legal in tiny bars like this. Any guitar solo he does admirably on -- how does he play so well with claws, anyhow? -- and by the time he's reached the last demonic bars of the song, he's kicked over his own amp, nearly impaled some dude down in front with a mic stand, drained half the whisky bottle and smashed it onto the floor, and looks like he's on the verge of punching a hole through the wall. Though he's doing all this with a shit-eating grin on his face. What makes the song better? When the jam gets bigger. When somebody - an altogether mortal buddy of Tom's, maybe -- gets the drum kit adjusted and makes the rhythm roll like thunder. When the guitar solo burns and the crowd starts getting into it. When Tom jumps on a chair -- is he gonna fall off it like a cat who misjudges oh god? -- no, no, he's okay, it's all good. They may have taken awhile to get there, but now that the music roars out, the bandmates of the moment are doing their level best to make the walls shake and summon Satan right along with Cobalt. When Tom falls behind, only at the end, he raises both hands in the air in exultation. Happily for Cobalt, he does not actually throw his promised panties, just yowls along at the top of his voice. Andromeda is moving along to the music with a beer in her hand. She's not quite in the mosh pit, but she's watching everyone enjoy, smiling, even if she can't quite get the rhythm of this particular music. She's better at hooting and clapping between songs. There's a long, shrill whistle from Zillah, done with fingers in mouth to get that extra bit of ear-piercing in. The display was an impressive one- very impressive, and hey, cat didn't fall off of that chair. She claps excitedly as the song comes to an end, and gives another whistle right at the end. Oh fuck. Nope, not on the docket. Ting is up and out of her seat at the end of the number to make sure a few things are in order. No impaling audience members with a microphone stand, righting that amp (which wasn't cheap), and fetching the empty bottle she told him not to down in one go - well, shit, he just tossed it. The Waterborn stands there a moment, staring at the stage like she was just slapped. Tom, anything, no? When it looks like Cobalt is gunning to punch a wall, however, she makes a move. "Alright, alright, alright. No, no, no. Coby, Coby, go take a break. There's glass everywhere. Let them have a minute to clean it up." The Waterborn is guiding the Summer demon away from the stage, receiving a few boos in response. The owner of Cyclone might well be honoured to have had Cobalt Rasender pitch a fit and break shit, but in the interest of not killing giddy spectators, Ting takes matters into her own hands. "Mis oli suur, minu lovi. Good, good. I will get you another bottle." Slowly. Like glacially slow. Tom jumps off the chair in one rattling thump, and does not smash an instrument or another person, yet. "Thank you all for coming out. You just heard Cobalt Rasender bringing the Iron Maiden. We're going to slow it down a little bit until he comes back, a bit more blues on the menu? While he takes his phone call." Tom leans back and slouches, and what he plays is something slow and blue, the kind of bent-notes guitar sound that struts and slinks; the auditory spirit of something feline, an instrumental shuffle backed just by the lone sad NPC drummer. Taking its sweet time before there's any kind of vocal, if there's even meant to be one. He might ruin it by talking over his playing, however. "Someone re-up my beer?" Re-upping a beer is something that Zillah can handle, no sweat. And so the woman rises up from her spot, to go and do just that. Her eyes are constantly wandering things - like she's looking for the rest of Team Moon Court to crawl out of the walls. Perhaps literally, in certain situations. But she's also taking in the unfamiliar faces, as she heads towads stage with a beer in one hand and a whiskey sour in the other. "That was pretty intense," she compliments. Andromeda slips out quietly, softly humming along to the music overheard. Before leaving entirely, she offers one brisk, friendly wave to those in the crowd. Tom accepts that beer from Zillah with the swift enough fingers of someone who's had to juggle his instrument and his drink at the same time before; times it just so that he can have it to hand and launch right back into that slow groove. Red House? Buddy Guy, or Jimi Hendrix, for those who might no, though that opening is just getting dragged out like some kind of a prowl. "Zee, it's ME. And Punchy McHellface, so of course." On the one hand, Cobalt might punch Tom for THAT nickname. On the other hand, Tom would probably enjoy the barfight just as much. He grins at his shadowy fellow courtier. "Glad you came out. Sad that Buddy Inkblot ain't along, but there's always another jam." He's not the one singing, it seems; someone else grabs the mic, sick of all the vamping, perhaps. Ting returns from wherever one might go when repurposing a Cobalt. Bathroom, outside for fresh air, a dark hallway for a couple downers. Whatever. Dutiful Cyclone staff cleans up the broken glass and no one seems worse for the wear. Leaving the Summer demon alone might not be the smartest idea, but it happens. The Waterborn returns to the regularly schedule program, finishes off her drink while standing over it, then goes to check on the bar tab. She's not about to close it out, but one would be remiss not to at least check. How big of a bellowing fight might there be if the gesture is not well received? Eventually, the Spring wanders back over to her table, the one front and center, the one now holding a new Pina Colada and pitcher of beer. Because someone in the area needs a pitcher of beer, right? Looking around the now-mellower room, Ting spots Zillah and offers her a grin since the dark haired beauty seems to know the singing Tomcat. "I know, I should expect nothing less than amazeballs from you, Tom," Zillah gives back with a grin. "Never saw...whatwas it? Punchy McHellface? Play before. He's gotta be pro, right? You can tell." There's a sidelong glance to the cat, and then she salutes him with her drink before sipping. "Glad that I could. I left the usual signs around, in case he crawled out of wherever he's hidden himself from the cold and daylight." A glance over her shoulder, as if to double check that the mute bug isn't hiding out somewhere in a shadow. "But yeah. Always another jam." The grin from Ting isn't missed - She offers one back in return, while asking the feline, "Who's that?" Surely he knows everyone, right? "I heard her name is Ting, and SHE...is the woman with the drinks. The provider of booze -- well. On Cobalt's dime, but." Tom doesn't know everyone, but he's a social creature, either knowing names so as to appreciate or ignore others pointedly. Can't do a proper catlike shunning if you don't even know a name. But Ting instead gets a big beaming fangy grin. "Lady, you made this party," he calls in the direction of the very aquatic Spring. Still slinking through his groove, paws moving on automatic as he plays. Cobalt has a lot of dimes, but getting him to spend them on strangers is another matter. Ting hears her name, half hears the comment and smiles like someone who hopes a muttered conversation about them is good. The grin she understands. Fangs are positive, yes? "I did? Thank you," she calls over to him. "He has a lot of money," she articulates with a pointed jab of her finger toward that place where Cobalt went into hiding. For all she knows, he is conducting a drug deal or getting some random affection from a doped up groupie. Either is possible with a rock god. "Your playing is lovely." Is 'lovely' a good term toward a musician? It is now. "You kept up with him." High praise, because Cobalt appears to be wildly competitive. Zillah takes a seat on the stage, next to the cat. She leeeeeans against his leg a little, because felines totally dig random affection, except for when they don't. It's a brief thing, at least. The shadow does not push her luck. "Glad that he doesn't mind spreading it around a little," she muses, and salutes Ting with her glass. "Zee," she offers with a gesture to herself. "I'll take lovely." Here's the problem with jamming with Tom, which both mortal and Lost fellow travelers have learned in his time having bands: Tom is distractable. Shiny thing? Chase it. Beer? Drink it. This doesn't ALWAYS result in Tom wandering literally off the stage in the middle of a song -- in fact, that's pretty rare -- but for once, this is just what he does. Slings the guitar off onto a stand near a chair, picks up the beer. "If I'm here, I'm here to play," he claims, in the very next breath. "I get to play with someone who really knows how, breathes the music, has the fire? I'm not going to half-ass it." Except like now. But it's not like Cobalt is front and center at the moment. No one to elevate up to, perhaps. The Spring makes her way over to the stage as well and takes a seat on the amp Cobalt was determined to knock over. He did, in the end, but she put it back up. Making things right is a thing for Ting. "I am happy to meet you, Zee. I'm Ting," she says in a 'I know you know this already' manner. Her Mantle is all sunshine and ocean breezes, which is a far cry from the fire and brimstone of Hellboy. "This was really nice, you two jamming," she tells Tom. Because playing sold out stadiums around the world can get old. Sure. "There is more beer," she adds in a whisper, pointing to the pitcher. Thankfully, the crowd is dying down. Sort of. There are still people lingering to hear more, drink more. Speaking of Hellboy...he's back. Cobalt emerges from wherever -- out back in the cold, maybe, where he wouldn't have been at all cold -- looking a mite more grumbly and a mite less manic. He stands near the door, hands on hips, and sniffs. "Where's my drink?" It's not directed at anyone in particular, not even Ting. He's just being grumpy and imperious, something he wears very well. There's an amusement that shines in Zillah's blue-black eyes as Tom makes his contrary claims. Cats. They're so damned adorable. When they're not hissing and clawing your face off. "Good to meet you, Ting." Her gaze flicks to the returning Cobalt, and she gives him a waggle of her fingers as well. But not a beer. There is a drink, coming from the hand of someone close by who had a drink. It's a gin and tonic, because, well, it's a gin and tonic. It's coming from a hipster girl who makes googly eyes at Cobalt. She's 22 if she's a day, but hey, Cobalt Rasender is so totally retro and sounds great on vinyl. "Hi. Hi. You can have that. My drink. Hi." To be fair, Ting looks about 22 as well, but Ling life is something entirely different. The Waterborn wrinkles her nose, but does not move to intervene with this little scene. He got a drink. Hopefully no one gets smacked in the process. One can never tell with him. She turns back to Tom and Zee with a wide grin. "I think playing a small club is the best. More intimate. The acoustics are prettier." Prettier mired metal might not be what Cobalt has in mind. "Drink? Well, there's beer." Tom might be offering the low-class wimp-route to the big demon-man by indicating the pitcher that's available. "It was great you all came out. Wish we had more, but, well. My usual band is pissed off at me again." Despite his amiability, it is not terribly hard to envision a world where Tom is seriously annoying his bandmates of any stripe. And then, it's his turn to have a phone call. The ringtone is..."You're So Vain" by Carly Simon? Well, whatever floats your boat. "Hey, I gotta take this. If I don't get back in time to hear whatever's next..." A little shrug, and then he's interrupting Carly. He probably does think this song is about him, come to think. | |
