neutral_omens | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Date: December 31, 2000, 9:00 PM
Status: Public
Setting: Bar
Summary: Free Alcohol!

Wensley walked from his kitchen to the entrance to the bar, sign under his arm. No one had planned any sort of Manor event for the evening, so he took it upon himself to give people who hadn't any plans something to do.

Pulling the sign out from under his arm, he propped the doors open and leaned the sign against one. "Open Bar, 9:00 PM- 1:00 AM," it proclaimed in large letters, then underneath, much smaller, "Entertainment Provided". He didn't actually have anyone lined up, but he was sure something entertaining would end up happening.

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"Great. Thanks, Wens!" said Brian, hopping up on the little platform. As Wensley turned to go, he said quickly, "Oh, and, er . . . sorry about earlier . . . you know, what I said . . ." He trailed off. He wasn't sure if he had been heard, but at least he'd said it.

Now then . . . he unpacked his gear and, after a brief wrestle with the various cords and the usual search for an electric outlet, sat himself down on the edge of the platform and tuned up. He regarded his guitar fondly; he'd had it for a couple of years, and he always meant to keep it clean, but it somehow permanently retained a coating of arm smudges.

After a moment's thought, Brian grinned to himself and started into 'Down On The Corner'. (http://www.lyricsfreak.com/c/creedence+clearwater+revival/down+on+the+corner_20034359.html)
Early in the evening, just about suppertime
Over by the courthouse, they're startin' to unwind. . . .
He was a bit out of practice, it was true, but he was enthusiastic and tended to hit the correct notes. He liked to play, and his singing was . . . decent, anyway. It could have been a lot worse.
Over on the corner, there is a happy noise
People come from all around to watch the magic boy.

He finished with a grin and a flourish, and looked up to see Pepper and Adam at the bar with John. This reminded him of something very important. He twisted around, reached into his guitar case, and pulled out a blue and yellow jester hat with bells on. He put it on, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, "OI! PEP! LOOKIT MY HAT!"

When he could get away from the bar some time later, he came back and sat at the edge of the platform, listening to him play. He'd always enjoyed listening to Brian play - probably something about music soothing savage beasts and whatnot.

"Nice hat," he remarked dryly, flicking one of the bells between songs. It made a jingly noise, so he did it again, laughing softly.

Brian looked up at Wensley and grinned, adjusting a string. "I thought so," he said. "But Pep's ignoring me. Just like her, y'know. She holds a grudge." He shook his head quickly, making the bells jingle cacophonously.

"Wens, could you do me a favour and grab me a beer or something? I'm far too sober for this time of night." He made a pleading face, one bell flapping over his eyes.

He was speedy, bringing a large mug of beer for Brian in one hand and a bottle of water for himself in the other. Sitting down at the edge of the platform agian, he looked upwards at the ceiling lights.

"You aren't mad at me for makin' you perform, are you?"

Downing half the mug in one go, Brian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Wensley incredulously.

"Mad? Why the hell would I be mad? I like playin', Wens. Anyway," he added, chuckling and gesturing expansively, "it's more like playin' for m'self anyway. Everybody's takin' advantage of the free drinks, y'know."

Wensley looked around the room and saw this to be true: he hadn't realised that he'd served so many people. Glancing at the bar, he saw a few patrons nosing around the back, looking to get their own fix. He found, to his surprise, he didn't much care.

"What time do you think it is?"

"Mm, not sure. Elevenish?" Brian glanced up at the clock. "Er. Or perhaps a bit later." He needed to get his internal clock looked at, it seemed.

He noticed the people behind the bar, too, and the fact that Wensley wasn't doing anything about it. His normally proprietorial air in relation to the bar and the kitchen seemed to have lifted; he was very relaxed. Wens didn't drink, though. Brian was puzzled.

From where she had been standing by Adam and John, Pepper had seen the hat all right. And just as Brian had suspected, she ignored him for the moment. Gave him too much attention, and he'd run wild with it, Brian would. Better to keep him in his place and let him know that he could stand on his head for all she cared, she would not be pulled into childish distractions.

When the appropriate amount of time had passed, she turned and looked over her shoulder, shouting, "Oi, jester boy! I dun't see any jugglin' going on over there, shape up! Why did the music stop, anyways? Go on, chop, chop!"

No one said she couldn't provide the childish distractions herself, of course.

For the first time in his recollection, Brian was truly irritated with Pepper -- not just miffed because she ate the last sausage before he did or poked him in the eye, but frustrated. He was talking.

"I am talking!" he shouted back. "You got no manners, Pepper!" He stuck his tongue out at her and waggled it furiously. Now, what songs did Pepper really dislike? . . .

Eh, he wasn't really that vindictive. Go with the Stones. You cannot go wrong with the Stones.

"Sorry about her, mate," he said to Wensley, banging his way into 'Get Off Of My Cloud'. "I'll have to do something about her one of these days." He did hope Wens would hang about some more.

"Nope, no manners," Pepper agreed, grinning. "And no pity neither. You c'n talk to Wens any ol' time."

"I c'n talk with you any ol' time, too, Pepper," he said. "Anyways, you haven't complimented me on m' hat yet, and Wens has, so he's got higher rank than you on my talking-to-people list." He sniffed. "'Course, y' could compliment my hat. It does make me look quite dashing. Admit it."

She snorted. "Yeah, a rather dashin' circus freak a some sort. And I didn't tell ya to talk. I told ya to play. Wens said you were the entertainment, and I'm a bit dissappointed, really."

"'S'not my fault if you're chattin' up men while I'm workin' my magical guitar magic. If you were paying attention, you would've been bowled over by my talent." He stuck his tongue out again. "And you better be polite to me, miss, or I'll play 'A Horse With No Name'. Or. Or. Or the Spice Girls," he added, lowering his voice in only partially mocking horror.

Chattin' up men? Well, he had a bloody cheek, that one. They seemed to have all gone lax discipline wise without her about. He was going to get it good for that, make no mistake. Just not right now.

Instead Pepper settled for a fierce glare, then made a face. Horse With No Name? Ugh. She hated that song. No more than five notes and a song about some chap going through a desert that became a sea, and other poetic things that amounted to nothing. And it sounded so mopey. However, the Spice Girls made for an amusing image in her head. She grinned evilly. "Go on, Bri! Give us a little of that. I'd love to see you and Wensley do it. Which one are you? Oh, dun't tell me, you're Scary, and Wens is Baby, right?"

Oh, no. Oh, hell no. "I am not a Spice Girl!" Brian choked. "Especially not Scary Spice! No one should have that much hair! And stop laughing at me!" he snapped, glaring at Pepper. She was enjoying this far too much. "Besides," he added desperately, "I don't know any of their songs. They prob'ly don't even use guitars! They prob'ly use heathen instruments like harmonicas or somethin'!"

"I'm not laughin' at you!" Pepper laughed. "You've just gotten so paranoid over an all-girls pop group that you've started imaginin' things!" Really, he was far to easy to horrify. Always had been. "And anyways, harmonicas aren't for heathens - a lot of the bands you like use 'em. And if you're gonna threaten to play that music, seems only fair that you should know it otherwise you're just a big liar, and you know what we do to liars...."

In fact Brian did not know what Pepper would do to liars, but he had a very good general idea from experience. Therefore, he decided it would be prudent to establish his not-a-liar-ness. "Sure I know the music!" he spluttered indignantly. "I mean, a bit, anyway. There was that thing, that one, it went . . . it went . . . it went something something something lover something? Right?"

"I'm not hearing any singing..." Pepper said lightly, eyes fixed on the ceiling like a dissappointed teacher.

"I'm not going to get out of this, am I," Brian said flatly. "Crap in a hat."

He sighed and picked up the guitar, looked down at it, and then looked up again, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You have to sing too." He grinned madly.

Well, this would be amusing. Pepper singing? Wensley lounged at the edge of the platform, feeling content to watch his friends bicker like an old married couple. But wait, was he forgetting something?

"Oy, Pepper! Did I forget to give you two your drinks?"

"Do not 'ave to sing!" she retorted. "I'm not the entertainment, I'm just an in'cent bystander!

She looked at her empty hands and then back forlornly in Wensley's direction. "I believe it is 'mpossible to say that I 'ave a drink in my hand, so that would mean that you forgot us, Wens." She frowned for all she was worth, trying to make him feel guilty.

"I think you should both have to sing, on account of actin' like children," he scolded half-heartedly, barely keeping a huge grin off his face. "If I'm Baby, and he's Scary, what does that make you? Ginger?" Leaving her with that idea, he walked back to the bar.

"Cert'nly not." Brian sniffed. "I'm not Scary. I'm Sporty or Bitchy or somebody. You, Pep, are Scary." He grinned. "Sing with me, Pep! Sing!"

She glared daggers at Wensley, but when Brian made his suggestion, she had to laugh. "No, I'm Bitchy, you idiot. And you're still Scary. And you still dun't know any lyrics, so we can't." She was not singing. No way in heaven or hell.

"Aw, Pep, you're not bitchy!" Much. He looked at her sideways. Should he divulge his shameful secret? On the one hand, it might get Pepper to sing. On the other hand, it was . . . very, very shameful.

"If I, theoretically, knew the words to one of their songs," he said slowly, "would you sing then?"