[Closed] 'Mums and Rum

“Shit, sorry --” Prax watched, startled, as Andy sputtered and choked on her on drink. “Andy it is.”

At Atticus’ remark, he scoffed, looking over towards the stage instead of meeting anyone’s eyes. “... You and your flattery. I -- thank you.” Despite himself, the corners of his mouth eased up into a half-smile. “You’re not so bad, yourself.”

As Owen drew closer, however, a bit of Prax’s mirth was lost to bemusement. The pale young man wasn’t just dressed down; he was dressed a bit oddly for the current setting. Did he know what he was walking into, or had he come here on a mistaken whim?

… But, then. It didn’t really matter now, did it? Atticus and Andy seemed comfortably familiar enough with him, to the point where the kid had gotten a bar stool and an introduction out of the former.

“Good to meet you,” said Prax, rather sincerely, turning away from the stage and towards Owen. “I’d tell you my name, but this guy here --” a nod towards Atticus “-- did a fine enough job of that. Anyways.” The bartender had come back with a colorful-looking drink, offered to Owen, ordered by… who, exactly? Prax looked between the others, then to Atticus, but said nothing on the matter.

Instead, more teasing came, still via Atti. Prax shook his head, moving one arm to rest it on the counter. “It's funny how coincidence works,” he agreed, “but despite what Atticus says, I'm not glued to a desk. Just... busy. Not always necessarily at a--”

“Papa Prax!”

Interrupted, Prax flinched as the words carried over, leaving the remainder of whatever he had to say suspended in midair, left unstated.

"... Chase," he managed, in a tone that could've been interpreted as an acknowledgement or a warning. Then, declining to address the statement further on his own, he asked the others, in a lower voice: "What's a drink I won't regret in the morning?"

    As the song played on, Winona continued her glide across the stage, eyes glancing over the crowd as she did. The patrons were, generally, being respectful and calm—as they usually were. She hadn’t had many humdingers in the many decades she had worked at ChrysantheRum; nothing much more than a couple overly ossified Apprentices. Nothing like the Culture Fest—which she had tried to forget by now, but the bad reception still nagged at her. This place just seemed to have the perfect atmosphere, and none of whatever highly concentrated liquor had been served there. Not that she wouldn’t have enjoyed some years ago.

    Oh, she almost missed her cue to continue. She quickly—but gracefully, she hoped—made her way back to the mic, smiling out into the crowd as she began to sing again.


    She swayed along with the music again, gently sweeping a strand of coiled hair from her face as she moved along to the melody, her garnet lips widening into a tooth-gapped smile.


    As the music ended, she danced on a bit more, twirling in a small circle as the very last note played. She brought her gaze back to the crowd, taking a breath as she awaited the ever-lovely clamor of praise for the group’s performance. And as predicted, the crowd began to clap, Winona taking a small bow as she took in the wave of ovation. To say she lived for applause would be shallow, of course, but to be considered exceptional in something she worked so hard to achieve in life was a feeling she wouldn’t trade for anything.
    Well, except, maybe, ascension.
    As if.

    ...Anyways, after a slightly longer than normal pause, she turned to send a quick smile at to band. She brought herself to the microphone again, a hand resting gently on her hip. “Thank you, everyone,” she spoke, her voice cool and smooth, “I hope you all found that song as darb as I did. The next swell little song we’d love to treat your ears with was made famous by Cab, Ella, and Nina; Exactly Like You.”

    And as with the first song, she signaled the band to start, and immersed herself in the melody, guiding her voice along every little note. She danced across the stage, her joy plain on her face as she went. To the next song, and then one more after that, she sang with ease, as if it were as easy as breathing. She finished the fourth song, taking a few deep breaths, but no-where near tired. She could never get bored with this job, with this feeling, no matter how many decades passed. It wasn’t as necessary as, say, being a Guardian or Bookkeeper, but, if she could help just one Apprentice dissolve their sorrows away, it was good enough for her.

    “Thank you all for your attendance, you were the bee’s knees~” Winona started, twirling a strand of her cloudy hair as she spoke on, keeping her cool toned voice. “After a brief break, we’ll serve you perfectly pleasant patrons another set as you enjoy your giggle water.” She continued, adding a slight edge of humor to her voice.

    “But please, don’t get too spifficated.” With that, she took a bow, and with the band, walked off the stage. Only the pianist remained, serenading the crowd with more smooth, instrumental jazz. The rest of the band drifted off in separate directions—to the bar, to a table, one complaining about how much their lips hurt, and on. Winona also intended to roam through the tables; partially to get a drink, partially to convince solitary patrons to get up and mingle. Or ultimately, to also visit the bar.
    Nothing wrong with using her charisma.

    The woman made a beeline to the bar—while also saying brief hellos to the patrons she passed—straight to a familiar bartender. She knew many of the night-shift employees, and this one knew exactly what drink she always ordered. They handed said drink to her—something a bright, vibrant green—and as she held it, she looked through the crowd again. As far as she could see through the dim lights and tall people, a few vaguely familiar faces were near the stage. She waltzed her way through the tables; with a confidence level she seemed to tone down slightly when out and about, holding her head high.

    She recognized her coworker first, Rabbit; She had watched him perform now and again when she wanted to get tipsy, and it was absolutely sublime to experience. He seemed absolutely charming, and it was as good a time as any to actually talk to him. Then to someone with hair like strawberry lemonade, who seemed somewhat familiar—they had hot pink hair, didn’t they? At the culture fest, Winona could see them a mile away, and they seemed to be one of the few respectful guests. Then to a man who frequented the bar—almost monthly? She could never forget gold jewelry that bright, a smile so pleasant, and the fact that she hadn’t talked to him yet seemed odd to her, someone who made it a habit to meet more of her people. And then, a smaller woman with a beautiful, long chestnut plait, whom she had the nagging feeling that she had met before. Maybe years before?

    They were somewhat close to each other, just enough that she could passably speak to them all without being rude to the pianist. So, again, she strode to the scattered group of four, her most charming smile on her face.

    “Now how are you fine folks this evening?” She asked, her voice a bit less sultry than on stage, a bit more personable. “Are you all enjoying yourselves?” She wondered if introducing herself again would sound too prideful, having already said it on stage, so instead, she moved on.

    She turned to her co-worker briefly, her smile still plain on her face. “It’s lovely to see you again, Rabbit,” she started, then looking over the other three, “But I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting the rest of you.”

    With that, she took a small sip of whatever green alcoholic beverage she possessed, allowing the others a chance to speak.

After finishing about half his drink, Chase walked over to where Prax and the others were seated. “Praxxu,” Chase drawled, already feeling slightly buzzed from the alcohol. Perhaps the caffeine in his coffee-liquor was helping to speed the effects of alcohol a bit.

“Are these your friends?” Chase asked Prax, glancing at Andy, Atticus, and Owen. Chase was unsure of how he felt towards Andy and Atticus, especially since their first encounter was rather... awkward and involved the pirate expressing overt desire of throwing him in the ocean. But if they were friends of Prax, they couldn’t be THAT bad, right? After all, how many friends could serious, Papa Prax possibly have?

And with Owain… Chase has deemed the child to be rather erratic after their first meeting, and by the looks of it, he probably stumbled into the bar completely by mistake. “Is… Is he lost?” Chase asked, eyeing the poorly dressed child. “And… is he not wearing pants?”

They were young, Rabbit rubbed his eyes, still holding hands, didn't even see it coming, just one red thread--

He swallowed, picked up his drink, downed some of it. It burned in the back of his throat just that much as he held on before pushing it down. When he set his glass down, he rolled it around a bit, watched the pinks of it swirl, the ice clacking against the sides. 

Click, clink, tink tink, clink-

There was movement next to him. Rabbit perked up, refocusing on his surroundings. Winona had finished performing, the stage cleared say for the lone pianist, the lights were still dim, the chatter everywhere louder. 

    "Excuse me, but you seem familiar, have we met before?"

A gentle voice. Rabbit turned, tilting his head, hair falling softly over his brows, tassels of his earrings slipping past his open collar, collarbones peeking as the fabric slid past. Dim lights really do wonders for accentuating with shadows. He smiled, sensing the beginnings of a pick up line. A welcome distraction, and a pretty face. Soft looking hair. 

The other narrowed their eyes (very green), then smiled. Finished the line. 

Rabbit laughed lightly, turning his face just a bit. 

"Likewise, I'd say," he sat up, propping an elbow onto the table. "Greetings are in order then?" he moved to extend his hand, but before he could introduce himself, a warm voice rang out like a bell. 

    “It’s lovely to see you again, Rabbit,”    

Rabbit blinked, looked up, over. 

"Oh the lovely Winona," he greeted, nodding his head. "It was such a pleasure listening to you perform tonight, darling," he cooed, winking at her. 
        

Andy nodded as Atticus introduced Prax to Owen. She's only seen him in passing and hasn't really talked to him all that much, she was more focused on hanging out with one of his teammates whenever it did happen. Still, it was interesting to see him out in a lounge, considering all the rumors she's heard of him being buried in paperwork, despite being a Guardian like herself. But then again, Andy avoided paperwork like the plague so she could understand why it was different. When Atticus started to seemingly flirt with him, Andy couldn't help but chuckle. She had to admit, he was fairly good looking but unfortunately didn't seem her type as of now. But, she barely knew him so who knows how much that would change later.

At the mention of this being an odd venue for Andy, she scoffed in response and planted a hand on her chest in a feign expression of shock and hurt. "Why Atticus, ye don' believe a pirate such as myself would partake in a place like this? Alcohol, good looking mates, and nice music? Ye wound me so! Looks like ye need to spend more time around a pirate me friend, ye'd be surprised where ye could find 'em if good booze are involved." As an added emphasis, she took a quick swig of her drink, still laughing slightly at her little display.

At the call of 'Papa Prax', Andy almost instantly recognized that voice as someone that Atticus, or at least someone, wanted her to throw into the Atlantic. She laughed a bit more at Prax's question and got the bartenders attention, "See, the thing is with alcohol, just drink a fuckton of water and don't down everythin' at once and ye won' regret it as much as some newbie alcoholic would." A short while later, the bartender came back with a orange-ish cocktail with a cherry and a separate glass of water. "Manhattan' is pretty good, not as big of a fan of whiskey as I used to be but it' alright," she pat Prax on the back to encourage him to actually drink it. She's found that sometimes people need a little push.

She did the same when she saw how hesitant Owen was to drink the beverage in front of him and gave him a gentle pat on the back as she took a look at the drink to try and figure out what it was herself. "Looks like it's a mix lad, ye'll be fine as long as ye get some water into ye. Don' worry, they mix fruit juice into those things."

Abbie always lost a bit of himself to music--today was no different. All too soon, the music came to its close, leaving him with no clear knowledge of how long he'd been actually been listening. That was the beauty of this club: it urged its guests to take time off like jackets, hanging it by the door and thinking nothing of it until they made their leave. In other words, his kind of place.

It was around this time that Abbie usually did leave. He only let the house songstress bind him in one good spell before he shook it off and slipped back into drabber realities. That's what he did--usually. A matter of time, though, that he'd question the usual. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't entertained the thought of staying long enough to actually talk to her. Her charming voice, her gapped smile, the command of her aura as she fluidly swayed between tables, no doubt that that woman was interesting. He moved from table to bar, slipping beside several unfamiliar others--save one. He'd say hello to Tullio if he wasn't ... busy. The sight of him set a grin on his face nonetheless.

When he heard a familiar stranger's voice, he turned his gaze to Winona, a corner of his smile tightening when he saw her fully. All that draw in such a little body; if he stood, would she even reach his shoulders?

He chuckled softly. "It's hard not to enjoy yourself here, especially when we have such fine music to listen to." He gave her a smile, something warm and sweet to contrast any bite her drink might be giving. "You're a very talented singer, Winona. There's a passion in way that you sing that tells me song is closely intertwined with your heart. A gift to listen to any time I frequent here."

"As for who I am," he continued. "Call me Abbie. A pleasure to finally meet you." Another soft chuckle served as a vocal period to his sentence.

As the lead singer made her way towards the bar, Rayen followed with her eyes. A group was converging within seconds, and she suddenly was swept inside the talkative bubble. It must've been the drinks, she mused. Discreetly as she could, Rayen leaned up on her knees on the stool, to see if she casually tries to reply via phonee could pin point any familiar faces.

There was a man clad in fancy clothes, with a smile brighter than the jewelry he wore. No, something like that, Rayen would've noticed immediately and made a committed memory to. He seemed nice enough.

Over nearby were three men talking in passing. One seemed to be drunk enough already--the pink dye in his blonde hair matched the pink telltale tint of intoxication in his cheeks. Rayen quietly wondered if the larger gentleman he referred to as "Papa Prax" was his guardian for the night. For his sake, she hoped so. The pair chatted with another man who--...wasn't wearing pants.

Good for him, Rayen smiled to herself. If he's comfy, then let him be free!

The singer greeted them all as one and gave off a comforting friendly air. Without thinking, Rayen immediately waved back, her features splitting a grin across her pink lips. She nearly shouted her name back for Winona to hear, but stopped herself, blinking and looking towards the tall glass of coke she had.

Hopefully nothing was in it.