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Post by cadence amy ste julienne on Oct 23, 2012 19:07:15 GMT -5
(outfit)
It had been a particularly taxing day at work, and Cadence deserved a drink somewhere nice. Usually she'd just go home, pour herself a glass of her everyday boxed wine, change into her one set of 'leisure' clothes, hang out with her dog for a while. However, today hadn't been usual, because today she had reported a story about some new-age beach activity and she had fallen into the sea just moments after finishing her report. Just seconds earlier and she would have been plastered all over YouTube as the next big 'Local News Fail! So Funny!'- and her news presenting credibility would be all but ruined. She'd never become an anchor by falling into the sea, ironic as it was.
Jazz would make it all better, jazz always did.
Even though she had changed her clothes, from 'all business' navy blue pantsuit to 'business casual' black and white dress, she still smelled like seawater, and she still had a little sand in her underwear. She touched up her lipstick and had a smoke outside her car before entering the bar, ordering a drink from the older of the two bartenders working, a man she loved like a father and frequently had great conversations with. Tonight, however, he was pretty busy, so she didn't bother him, just took her (always impeccably mixed) gin and tonic down to a chair, where she sat and grooved discreetly to the band.
The girl at the mic was someone Cadence hadn't met, a beautiful Sarah Vaughan wannabe with a rich, lovely voice but uncreative phrasing. The band was terrific, as ever, just at the beginning of some swing number Cadence wasn't familiar with. She leaned back and watched a few older couples dancing. She sort of wished that she had taken some kind of dance lesson before. Because now, no matter how much she loved Jazz, she couldn't move to it in any sufficiently elegant way.
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Post by drake raphael elliot on Oct 23, 2012 20:22:31 GMT -5
When Drake had a difficult day, he usually either went home or went to Lucky's. Will did not approve of jazz bars, which would normally send Drake running toward them, but he didn't care enough about jazz to deal with Will being annoying. Today, however, he was just in the mood. He wasn't used to having spontaneous yearnings for things unless he was lacking protein or fiber or calcium and needed to eat, so it was strange to feel that the only thing he wanted to do after being yelled at by dozens of people who had no idea what they were talking about was go to a jazz club.
He didn't bother changing out of his work clothes--he would have just put on a different version of the same thing anyway. Instead, he went straight from work, stopping only to grab some dinner at Pitchers. He almost considered staying there, but sports bars were one of his least favorite places. Everyone there was loud and stupid and he could barely hear himself think, let alone hear a waiter. He thus made his way to Jazz it Up, prepared to sit down with a glass of scotch in the back of the bar and listen to the band.
The bar was his first stop so that he could grab his drink and once he was in possession, he set about to look for the loneliest, darkest table where he was sure that no one would bother him. Instead, however, he saw a familiar face. His intention was to just sneak by and lurk alone, but Will's voice appeared in his head--disconcerting any time it happened, no matter what it said--and so, with gritted teeth, he changed course and made his way over to her table.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. He would have forced a smile in greeting, but he was already speaking and he felt that this was enough of an effort. She should have been used to his stoicism by then.
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Post by cadence amy ste julienne on Oct 25, 2012 20:49:12 GMT -5
Cadence had been watching the dancers in some state of hypnotism when Drake showed up. She didn't talk to him very much, but she had gotten the same impression from the man every time. Quite stiff, very pretty, very much like a typical man. Set in his ways. Predictable, although that could be seen as reliable. No, please, sit down, she said. He didn't smile, but she did, as she felt it was necessary. After a long day presenting news stories, sometimes it was hard to shake the severe monotone she spoke with on-camera, and she didn't want to give the impression that she didn't want him there. She shifted over a few inches, leaving enough space for him to have his personal telephone booth, careful not to spill her drink as she set it down on a nearby table. She wiped the condensation from her hand on her dress and leaned back again, crossing her arms and shifting her attention back to the band.
After a few moments of silence between them, considering a very interesting bass solo, Cadence turned back. "Drake, I never took you for a jazz guy. I just don't get that impression from you." To be perfectly honest, Cadence was terrible at reading people. She had no idea what went on in other peoples' minds, and never made any assumptions about people, since they mostly always turned out to be wrong. Even growing up in a place with many different types of people, she had never really sorted out how to categorize them.
She picked up her gin and tonic again, swirling the little lime slice with the stupid little straw they always gave her and she never used. The ice tapped against the glass. Her stomach growled. Whenever she decided to go home, she'd probably have to eat something. What a nuisance- she'd probably eat a stale doughnut from her secret stash, have a cigarette and pass out face-down, halfway through an episode of Cheers. No matter what kind of effort she made to look like a composed, professional, young woman, she still had no idea how to actually care for herself.
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Post by drake raphael elliot on Nov 19, 2012 9:28:56 GMT -5
Drake pulled out the chair and took his seat, sitting down as though it were an infested wooden plank instead of a relatively comfortable chair at a nice club. He was glad to already have a drink in his hand so that he didn't have to have any awkwardness on that front and he took a tiny, barely registerable sip. He was not the sort to try and drink to get drunk when he was alone--especially if he was alone with a relative stranger.
At her observation, Drake turned his head a fraction toward her and raised an eyebrow. "Most people think I like jazz," he said, though he didn't sound annoyed that she hadn't thought this. "They think I'm boring." His lip twitched, the equivalent of a quiet chuckle to himself, and he took another, larger, sip of his drink.
"Not that I'm a jazz enthusiast or anything. Don't ask me about jazz." He didn't make a habit of paying close attention to things that were too 'artsy' unless he needed to--though he could likely keep up a conversation about jazz with anyone but a musician. "I wouldn't think you'd like it, though. Are you just here for the bar?" He was half teasing, but his facial expression remained stoic, one eyebrow raised with curiosity, as though his question was nothing more than politeness.
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