Forums » General Roleplay » All That Jazz (Closed)

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Participants:
• Henry Raleigh - 23 - trumpeter and band member - played by brokie
• Braden Flanagan - 27 - store owner and jazz enthusiast - played by Nico

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Braden managed to secure his table at the back a few ours back, and now he's enjoying his drink number three. He has been taking it slow as he normally would, since he's not there for the drinks - the drinks are mediocre, if not boring in the end - but it's the music he always comes for. It's not like it's the best, it varies a lot from artist to artist, but he finds the variation itself interesting as well. Moreover, he can stay by himself without too many people pestering him - neither servers, security, nor women come to talk to him; at least he has not tried that so far, and he can only hope that he won't.
Braden is dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt in a navy colour. His coat is lying on the empty chair next to him saved for no one, but he does not want to tempt fate and have anyone sit next to him. He is not here to converse, just to listen. His eyes are fixed on the stage, waiting for the next band to go on while he moves the glass of whiskey from side to side in his hand. The crowd is not that big, it's only Thursday, but he prefers it like this; more people are here to hear some good music rather than to get drunk.
He takes another sip of his drink before placing it on the table and letting go of it. He crosses his legs and leans back, trying to get comfortable. He has read a bit about the band beforehand, but he has never heard it play before, so he is very much looking forward to it. This is always the thing he looks forward to after a long day at work, even if he at work is surrounded by what he loves at work too. It's just a part of his daily life and routine: Working and hitting the different jazz bars around Detroit. At this point after years of living in the city, he knows which places he prefers, which places have the good drinks, and which place he has to avoid. This place might look rather lousy and sleazy, but the music is good, and that's all that matters.

Being a part of a jazz band does have it's obligations, but Henry is pretty sure he never asked for this. Jason had shown up with his arms saftely secured around a big box and a massive smile on his face - which always promise trouble for the rest of them - and somehow he's now in a.. costume, if you'd like, of black jeans, a big white shirt and black suspenders. He's even got those black things around his upper arms as well, and he feels incredibly tacky. He hates to be called a skeptic so he doesn't say anything, but he's pretty sure the looks he keep sending Jason - that goes right over his head - says enough. So he ends up taking a deep breath and walks out on stage with the others. The light isn't even on, so its not like they are much noticable anyway. They don't play before another 7 minutes, always 21:30 on thursdays. Henry has an incredible wild life, if you ask him. He sits down on the chair behind him, that he only uses whenever they are about to start, rarely once they play, and refrains from telling his team mates how ridicilous he feels. They would only accuse him of acting like a child, a thing they easily do as he is the youngest. So he settles for looking slightly discontent and concentrates on making sure he got the notes in the right order.

Braden nods to himself as the band enter the stage. The rest of the bar keeps buzzing with small-talk, glasses clinking, and laughter, but as his gaze has not moved from the stage the last couple of minutes, even the band's small movements catch his attention. It seems promising, the amount and selection of instruments, and he cannot expect anything else but a good evening. Just a small amount of jazz can make his day so much better, and he is looking forward to relaxing to some soft tunes. He reaches for his drink for another sip, this one a bit larger than the previous, almost emptying the glass. He frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth pointing in a slightly downward direction; now he has to either get up to get another drink risking that the band start before he's back at his spot, or sit through the whole gig with only a small amount of alcohol in his glass. The decision only takes a few seconds - he might not be there for the drinks, but he enjoys it as a part of the whole experience. After making sure that the neighbouring table will keep an eye on his as well as his jacket, he hurries up to the bar to order. Small taps on the counter state his impatience as he looks straight at the stage to ensure that he can make it back in time. Luckily, his drink arrives quickly since it's nothing but whisky on the rocks, and he can return safely to his spot. As he sits down, he lets out a smalls sigh of relief as he can now relax again after that small tour up to the bar.

It's not as if there goes much into preperation and he's above knowing exactly what to do, so eventually he just sits back with his trumpet in his lap and waits for the other guys to start. It's a small band, really, they're only him, Aaron on the drums, Danny on the keyboard and Jason as singer. It's incredibly modest and Henry is pretty sure that some would argue that jazz requires a bit more than that. It's as good as it gonna get for him right now, and despite his complains he's actually very satisfied with the band. It's not his dream or anything, but it's closer to it than he's ever been before and that's good enough. It's not until Jason announces that they might as well start, since they are all ready, that he stands up to attention and eveything sort of zoomes out, as it always does. Whenever he picks up his trumpet it becomes all about the music. They're playing a cover of Makin' Whoopee by Rachael MacFarlane, and it's a big song, where he carries a lot of the instrumental weight. It doesn't throw him off anymore, he just closes his eyes - a habbit - and follow the others the exact second they all start together, spotlight hitting right on them, making them all blind, and music exploding out into the room

With a satisfying smile, Braden leans back into the chair once again now with a drink in his hand and the music starting. The modesty of the band's size is something he fancies; yes, bands with a full selection of instruments fit for jazz are great, but on a simple Thursday night this four-person band seem to fit perfectly at least in his opinion. He crosses his legs, one on top of the other, as he with a drink in his hand escapes into the flow of music filling the room. For a brief moment he closes his eyes simply to enjoy every key, every instrument as its own as well as a part of a greater whole. To him, music is so much more than to most people, and with its help he can relax completely. The cover itself is performed well in his opinion, which is an achievement. He himself has never been very fond of covers, but he has grown to accept them the more he was met by familiar tones in different arrangements. He opens his eyes again to take a closer look at the band members, taking his time to measure each member. Their looks makes him smile; it's a bit too much and they honestly look like it's their first time performing and therefore dressed as "jazzy" as they could. Cute might be most appropriate way of describing their attires, but at least it's a nice look whatsoever - it could have been worse. His gaze moves from the singer, to the pianist, then the drummer, and finally the trumpeter. All of them really show a great deal of skill, not only musical finesse, but also simple talent. As he has looked at everyone, he cannot help but being slightly captivated by the trumpeter. He cannot say why really, if it's his skill or the way he plays the trumpet, the way he stands while performing, maybe even something as simple as the way he looks... He cannot really put his finger on it, but without realising it he keeps looking at him throughout the song.

After a heavy flow of steady old school jazz, such as Chet Baker, Teddi King, and Nina Simone, his fingers are sore and he's still a bit out of breathe, from playing an hour straight. Regardless of how many times he does this, he never becomes fully accustomed to it and it's never boring, and he loves that about it. It's pretty much the only exercise he gets here, since he spends most of his days either practicing, sleeping or roaming around Detroit. It's not the life of a star, but. It's his and he takes pride in it. Mostly. Despite the blinding light, there were moments where he had no part in the play and were able to skim the audience. Bit sad, compared to some Thursdays, but it wasn't really what caught his attention; mostly a man, sitting in the back, looking quite intensely at them sometimes. It made him a little self-aware, mostly because he sometimes felt like it was especially directed at him. Nevertheless, he honestly couldn't wait to get out of his outfit and it's only been 10 minutes since they were done playing until Henry quickly finds his way towards the bar, this time in dark blue jeans and a old white t-shirt, that's probably fading into something that looks very old. It's one of his favorites and he can't afford the luxury of buying a new one right now. He can't very well eat his clothes. He's still a bit out of breathe, mostly also from changing so fast, and his got a bit of sweat at his temples that makes his hair stick to his forehead and annoys his eyes. He shoots a small glance towards the man, not sure if he's still there, but decides not to pay attention to it. He's not sure of the man is a friend or foe, and the last thing you want to do in Detroit, is get on the bad side of the wrong people. He places to bag with his trumpet in on the bar and roams for his wallet, while he sends the bartender a well known smile. "Water, thanks."

Even if the band was slightly unknown to him, Braden really enjoyed the evening. Though he started out by leaning back and quite relaxed, he ended up sitting straight, slightly leaned forward paying close attention to the music. He would slightly tap his foot to the rhythm of the well-chosen songs, sometimes even close his eyes and let himself be consumed by the tunes. Most of the time though he would closely watch the band and its members, trying to look at everyone equally, though very well aware that he again and again would end up looking at the trumpeter. He felt silly, feeling captivated like this, but in the end it probably meant nothing.
Now, after an hour of great music, he had left his usual seat to go to the bar. A regular costumer, he knows not only the bartender well, but also a few of the other regulars. He is known around the music scene in Detroit because of his store and previous stage appearances, so most of the conversations are simply about music, but tonight - or at least now only 10 minutes after the performance - they talk about the band. The words are positive and light, a lot of nodding is going on, while drinks are being poured again and again. Braden is probably on his 6th glass now, taking it slow, whereas his friends are way ahead of him. Right now his friends are going on and on about something which does not really interest him, so instead of paying attention he briefly looks around only to see the trumpeter just a little further down the bar. It doesn't take him long to move closer, finding it more appealing to speak to this new, talented face than those old guys laughing their arses off next to him.
"You really played well tonight," he says as he sits down by the trumpeter with a slight smile on his face, "though you could use a new stylist for your next show." The smiles broadens, and he hopes that he doesn't mind a slight, verbal nudge, but he couldn't just leave their outfits untouched.

He manages to pull out enough money for a bottle of water, before he's taken a bit aback by an unfamiliar voice and he quickly looks to the side, to come face to face with an slightly older - he thinks - man. He should probably guard himself immediately, and he would, if it wasn't for the smile on the other man's face and he doesn't really have much time to think about it, before the man says something. Its ridiculous just how true the words are and he can't help but make a little burst of laughter, before nodding to show the man that he agrees "yeah, uh, Jason, our singer, thought it would be a good idea, so," He makes a grimace just to show how much he disagree with him "sorry if it ruined your evening." His smile dies down to somewhat genuine and apologetic, and he reaches for his water when the bottle is put in front of him and uncaps it, smile growing a little bit more- "but thanks, appreciate it." -and takes a big gulp of the water and looks back at the bartender. It's not as if he's being rude, he's more precautions if anything. It wouldn't exactly be the first time some creep decided it was a good idea to push some nasty plans on him, concerning one thing or another, and by now he knows it's awfully brave to trust a man on a few utterances. Despite how nice and good looking he might be.

Braden cannot help but smile as the trumpeter laughs at his comment, a smile of relief that his comment wasn't out of line. He takes another sip of his whisky, briefly looking at the half-filled glass, before looking back at the man beside him. "No worries, it didn't," he says while shaking his head slightly. "If anything, it simply amused me. In the end, only the music matters." He shrugs, hoping that he doesn't seem like this old, nostalgic fool sitting at a bar, trying to seem philosophical on a Thursday, because he kinda feels like that right now. He cannot tell how much younger the trumpeter is, but he is definitely younger. Not that he cares much about such trifle things right now, but when he says stuff like that, he cannot help but feel slightly old though he hasn't even turned 30 yet.
"How long have you been playing together?" He actually wants to keep the conversation going. Though he enjoyed the band as a whole, he was really impressed with this one's skills and performance, so now that he has the chance to talk to him, he doesn't want to simply let go of this opportunity. Why he feels so passionate about keeping the conversation going, he's not entirely sure of, maybe it's just the whisky talking, but since he hasn't been told off yet, there's no reason for him to return to his mates.

He hums a bit in agreement to the words the other man utters, in agreement, while taking another big gulp of his water and puts the cap back on. It's not really words you would usually hear anyone say. Despite the fact that they're in a jazz-club, it's often people who just want to try something new, that shows up. They like it, but they'll never really understand what it is to truly like jazz. He's pretty quick to look back at the man again, and something tells him that it's not an conversation that's going to end in a few seconds, and it's not like he minds. Not at all actually. He has to think about for a few seconds, before making it up to be almost two years now. In reality, it feels like it's been ages, feels like he's closing in on being forty and not just two years from being halfway through his twenties. He feels incredibly old, now he thinks about it. "Two years now. Yeah." He actually surprises himself a bit at the realization, which might show slightly on his face, before he shakes it off. He looks down at the water in his hands, before he glances up at the man quickly once. After a few seconds he eventually relaxes his pose and leans over the bar a bit, turning his body towards him. It provides him a new opportunity to actually look at the man, and take him in. He's nice. Very good looking. Nice smile. "Do you like jazz?"

Braden nods in recognition of the amount of time, they have actually played together. 2 years are a great deal, and it's really to no surprise after watching them play so well together. "Cheers to that," he says, lifting his glass as to make a toast, before taking yet another zip. He can slowly feel the alcohol flowing through his body, replacing the pleasant feeling after an hour of jazz, which tells him that his next drink is simply going to be water. He has no intention of getting drunk; even he has to work tomorrow, even if he's his own employer. For a moment he looks at the bar, simply pondering what he should do in the morning, as he could totally sleep in but miss out on a possible income, but he is quickly drawn back into the starting conversation. He looks back at the guy next to him, sending him yet another smile, before turning his body slightly just as the trumpeter so he can look at him properly. "You could say that, yeah." A vague answer, he knows, especially since it's more than just that. "Or, well, I really like it to be honest." He shrugs at the addition, taking another sip of the whisky, which is almost empty by now. "I don't think I've asked you yet - and I hope you don't mind me asking - but what's your name?" It may seem a bit sudden in the middle of a conversation about jazz, but a formal introduction seems proper to him, and in the end he really wants to know this guy's name. Now facing him, he gives himself permission to look at him closer after studying him from afar, reaching the conclusion that he looks even better up close.

He's more than happily surprised when he learns that the man is a big fan of jazz, his eyes might just light up a bit when he hears it. He definitely smiles a bit bigger. Again it's not everyone that comes here that actually likes jazz, really likes it, and it makes him feel protective about it in a lot of ways. Again, the man could also just say that because he definitely doesn't look like someone who's on his first glass of what looks like whiskey, and just say it to seem cool. That wouldn't be the first either. He doesn't respond to it before the man asks him another question, and he didn't really give it much thought before that. He doesn't answer it right away, more looks like he's contemplating something for a second, before he smiles a bit more friendly this time and extends his hand out between them. "it's Henry Raleigh." It could potentially be a very brave action, giving out your name to someone you've just met, but. If anything he's almost certain that the man will have forgotten it again come morning, and he really doesn't get that I-will-inappropriately-touch-you-at-first-change-I-get vibe that some men just seem to give at clubs like these. "And you?" He briefly wonders what the other boys are doing, if they're actually waiting for him. He did decide to get a cab with them, but when he left them they just opened up a beer each, so he pushes the thought away again, for the sake of giving his attention to the man in front of him.

Braden does indeed notice how he lights up as he briefly tells about how he likes jazz. 'Liking jazz' is probably a huge understatement for him, but it's also a bit intense to suddenly start rambling about what the genre means to him. He's maybe tipsy, but he has control of himself without much trouble, so he knows when to stop, even if it's easy to simply keep talking about his love for jazz. As Henry stretches out his hand, Braden gladly accepts it, giving him a firm, though short handshake, before once again letting go. "Braden Flanagan. Nice to meet you, Henry." He adds the last part as a nice courtesy, though he really means it. He seems down to earth, but more importantly he actually seems to really care about jazz as well. Not a lot of people seem to enjoy it the same way as he does, but he could definitely recognise that facial expression that Henry had before. "I own a small specialist store here in Detroit, you know, selling equipment and such to musicians and enthusiasts alike." He nods as if he's trying to legitimise his statement, still with a broad smile. It only seemed fitting that he would tell what he does for a living, both as a bit of advertising, but mostly to show his own connection to the industry. He is surprised how well the conversation is going, but Henry is also surprisingly easy to talk to even though Braden could imagine that he's used to being sought out by the more creepy types at places like this. Hopefully, he himself is not one of those, as he really tries not to seem too direct. stare too much or anything like that, though he cannot help but smile, which is due to the fact that he seems to have found a fellow jazz enthusiast who really understands it - something he is certain of based on the last couple of minutes only.

He's definitely more than charmed at the manners of the other man, even though he remains slightly on guard. It's just better to be safe than sorry. He drops his hand when Braden lets it go again and hums in agreement, at the nice to meet you part. So far their encounter has been nice and he finds himself more enthusiastic when he learns that Braden owns his own music store. "Really?" There's suddenly a ton of questions popping into his head, some of them might be a bit to daring to ask someone you've just met, but still. He can't help but feel a bit curious, and reaches out to grab his water just to have something to fiddle with. He takes a few seconds of looking away, while he determines what he should ask first, but his smile never fades, not even when he looks at the other man again. "What it is called? Maybe I know it." He doesn't exactly go everywhere in Detroit, nor has he seen it all yet, but he's been wandering a lot of lonely days, often ended up in some kinds of corners of the city, where there is a surprisingly huge amount of stores. He knows that the chances is that he's been to the exact one Braden owns are small, but. He could be surprised. He pretty's sure he's never seen Braden before though. He would've remembered.

Braden didn't expect that kind of reaction to his small business, but he cannot help but smile at it since it's quite a pleasant surprise. To him it's nothing compared to what Henry does, so he's also a bit humbled by such a positive reaction. "Yeah, really," he replies before emptying his glass. As he returns his attention towards Henry and his question, he quickly glances over his shoulder back at his jacket that he has left with his friends, but it's too far away for him to consider getting up and retrieving it, so he turns back to Henry once again. "If I had my jacket, I would give you my business card," he states followed by a small laugh, mainly because he finds himself a bit silly, "but it's called 'All About That Jazz'. I know, it's super cheezy, but I thought it was a good idea when I first bought it." He shakes his head lightly at his past self, who thought it was a great name for a store that sold music supplies but really focused on jazz. Normally he has no problem with the name really, since a business card makes everything seem legit, but saying it out loud trying to seem old and wise makes him chuckle a bit. "I think there's a stamp in here somewhere with it on it, but I really cannot remember where..." He looks around trying to remember, but he didn't put it there himself, the owner did, but he knows that there's a wall of different stamps somewhere in the bar, but it's a minor thing. Yet again he looks back at Henry, smiling at him hoping for another positive reaction.

He's slightly impressed, if he had to admit it, which probably shows on his face. He didn't quite expect the other man to actually own a bar, that apparently is quite famous. It completely beyond his knowledge, and he hasn't really heard of the bar, or at least not taken a big notice of it. He's pretty sure he has never been there, but he can't help but smile a little more and look around him at the mention of a stamp. "Wow. Then I'm truly sorry that you had to put up with our playing. Didn't know we were dealing with a pro." There's little smile at the words, just to make it known that he's just teasing a bit. Not at the pro part, but more at the making fun of himself. Although, it's not really as if he's any professional player, like anyone Braden might know or have knowledge of "I'm sorry though, I haven't been there. I usually don't get very far from my own apartment and the studio, where we practice." He know show sad that might seem to someone like Braden, but he can hardly hide from the fact that it's the truth. He's in a state where that's pretty much all he does - sleep and practice. And that's probably tremendously sad to the other man.

Braden cannot help but let out a short laugh, closing his eyes briefly as he leans back, though careful not to tip himself off the chair. Too him that's a bit too much of a compliment, but he must say that he's flattered. "I might have been a pro back in the days, but now I can only do what's necessary to help upcoming stars," he says nodding a bit in Henry's direction just to make clear that he sees Henry as one of those. He doesn't play anymore, but the fact that he can pass on his knowledge is enough for him now. As the bartender takes his empty glass, he orders a bottle of water just to finish of the night properly, so he won't be feeling it too much in the morning, but otherwise he looks at Henry. "But I know the feeling, that's the life of a musician." He shrugs; of course it's not glamorous or anything like that, but music takes a lot of dedication. The bartender returns, and he simply nods in his direction when he gives him the bottle, but before he opens the bottle, he looks at Henry, gives him a short "wait here", before he gets up to get his jacket. The short walk looks surprisingly effortless and straight compared to the fact that he's been here for so many hours, but he's a guy who can hold his liquor. After retrieving his jacket and brushing off his way more drunk friends, he returns sitting down next to Henry again. From his inner pocket he pulls out a small holder, opening it to show off a nice business card that he hands Henry. "If you have time at some point, come and visit."