"Dance Upon a Cloud" Log Date: 8/19/00 Log Cast: David, Jackie (NPC emitted by David), Nat (NPC emitted by David), Breon (NPC emitted by David), Nox, Laena, Moebius (NPC emitted by Nox), assorted other NPCs (emitted by Nox, David) Log Intro: Ever since David was waylain in the street by a fetching enchantress by the name of Jorianne, his amused compatriots from the Pantheon have been giving him non-stop teasing -- and are eager to see not only if they can encourage lightning to strike twice, but to see also whether they can get some of the potential luck he has in attracting feminine attention to rub off on _them_! All it takes is to get David to open that mouth of his so his liquid baritone can come pouring out, or so is the thought of Jackie, Breon, and Nat. And what better place for a trio of ambitious, rowdy, drunken young Mongrel men to put their plan into action than the Siren's Song? *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Night (Dawnside) Date on Aether: Wednesday, December 18, 3906. Year on Earth: 1506 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Winter Weather: Partly Cloudy Temperature: Chilly *==========================================================================* Nox has arrived. The Siren's Song - Haven The dim recesses of the Siren's Song tavern have, on occasion, been justifiably referred to as "a barbarous assault upon the senses." In the stale air the earthy smells of alcohol and the subterranean fungi from which Varati rot-gut is brewed compete with the scents of blood and vomit. The walls, painted vividly with sea-scapes from an Atlantean fever-dream, slope slightly inward as they arch to the sooty, star strewn ceiling, which itself sags slightly, supported only by a massive central column. This column, the feature the tavern is named for, is carved into the likeness of a siren, and she beckons lustfully to patrons, leading them through the ring of garishly painted tables to the cracked oaken bar. There is a stone fireplace against one wall, to drive away the damp and chill on wintery evenings. Opposite that is a set of stairs, rising to an upper level where guests can spend the night--or just a couple of hours with a willing partner. Contents: Nox Loreena Obvious Exits: Stairs Out David Just another Mongrel, from the look of him -- but this one at least is easy on the eyes, as Mongrels go. He's young, seemingly fit enough, and not _too_ scruffy of appearance; his features, while not necessarily refined of line, are pleasingly symmetrical. Short but unevenly cut black hair stands out in striking contrast with his sunbrowned skin and big sky-blue eyes, of a shade that suggests he's got an Empyrean or two somewhere back in his ancestry. He's tall, his frame rangy and lean, though his awkward carriage suggests shyness, post-adolescent clumsiness, or both. So does his voice, since he appears to have a habit of stammering his words -- but still, something about the clarion young baritone falls quite pleasingly upon the ear. He fidgets a lot, too, seemingly unconsciously, often rhythmically tapping his foot or hand upon whatever's handy. He's humbly but decently clad as one might expect of a Mongrel -- especially one who's managed to score a position working in a fairly classy establishment like the Pantheon. His simple blue linen shirt, brown breeches, and brown boots are all a working man's clothes, clean and in good condition; the shirt is of a vivid enough blue, too, that it nicely sets off his eyes. What better place in Haven is there to warm a man on a winter's night? Granted, now, the lot of the young Mongrel men who normally employ themselves at the Pantheon have been rather vigorously occupying themselves for much of this night already, drinking, laughing, and in general attempting to carouse without attracting _too_ much attention from the Hounds. But eventually their thoughts have turned to the pleasures they could find in the Siren's Song: liquor, a warm bed to fall into if you've got the coin for it, and someone warm and curvy with whom to fall _in_ to said bed. The quartet of Mongrels therefore arrives rowdily at the front entrance, three of them grinning ear to ear and hauling in their fourth compatriot in a kind of manic anticipation. "Maybe we c'n find yer girlfriend, eh, Davey-lad?" "When you gonna tell us if she liked more than that pretty voice o' yours, boy?" "Awww, Ah-Ah-Ah dunno if she's even heah, lads--" This last voice comes from the fourth Mongrel, the one with the big shy blue eyes and the tousled dark hair, who shoots nervous glances back and forth between his cheerfully inebriated compatriots. With a guileless face like that, it's not tough to guess that David hasn't set foot in this place very often. Laena steps into the tavern from the docks outside. Laena has arrived. Laena Rich blue-violet eyes rimmed with kohl-dark lashes dominate the young woman's face, partly for their unusual color, partly for the way every glimmer of emotion seems reflected within. Hair of midnight black tumbles about her shoulders in a casual mass of gentle curls which reaches to about midway down her back. Slender of build, with skin on this side of dusky, showing just a hint of muscle - perhaps that of a dancer, or a casual athlete. A skirt of soft violet swirls about her legs, bound about her waist with a broad ebony sash; her blouse is loose and white, decorated about the edges with fluttering violet ribbons. The place is crowded. Sailors and other simularly rowdy customers are occupying nearly every place, a number of them standing at the bar, making desperate attempts to flirt with the girls. There seems to be no show tonight, but the barmaids and cyprians happily chatter away to the customers, now and then slipping a glittering coin into their deep neckline, leaving little to imagination. The air is rancid and the smell of sweat and cheap beer fills the room. The only free places are at a shadowy table in the corner. Three chairs remain unoccupied, on the fourth sits a short Empyrean, his dark form blending in neatly with the shadows. Nox watches the ongoings at the bar passively, his expression unreadible. A halfful mug of ale is placed on the unstable wood in front, as well as -- surprisingly enough -- a thickly bound book, on which he rests his arms. Nox An Empyrean of slightly below average height, with sleek, swarthy skin. His heart-shaped face still has faint traces of femininity and smoothness from the past, but it has clearly suffered in recent times: The high cheekbones have become hollow and the curved lips cracked and dried out, giving the young man a haggard appearance. The light in his violet slanted eyes, below a pair of finely arched, deep black eyebrows, has become duller, now shining with the intensity taken from suffering and desperation. Long black hair flows losely down to his shoulders. His body is lithe and slender. Originally of thin, light build, recent training has given Nox broad biceps, a hardened musculature and a flat stomach, making him neither big nor bulky, but well-proportioned, even if somewhat underfed. The most remarkable aspect of him are his wings: Covered with thick feathers of raven-black, they arc high over his shoulders, broadening his frame and covering his back, elegantly curving down. At a closer look, a few pristine white feathers sprouting near his back on both wings can be observed. The dark Empyrean wears a set of simple clothes: a wide grey woolen shirt with short sleeves that slips over his waist, held together by a narrow, simple belt, and a pair of well-fitting, black leather leggings. Small feet snug in hardened, worn out boots of brown leather. Attached to one side of the belt is a sheathed gladius, while the hilt of a small throwing knife is revealed at the other. Clasped to his shoulders is a thin black cape that is hanging losely down his back, framing his lithe figure to his knees. Yeah, well, some people are just too stuffy to enjoy a good time in the Siren. Laena slides on in through the door - dressed like a cyprian, but not standing with the rest of them. Maybe she's just a patron who's not fond of modest clothing. At any rate, she works her way through the crowd like one accustomed to it, on her way in the general direction of the bar - but that direction takes several twists and turns. "HEY! Raven! Get our songbird somethin' special t' wet up 'is throat, will ye?" bellows out one of the lads from the Pantheon, clearing the way for his two friends, who have one each of David's arms and are hauling him blithely through the crowded room. "Aye, summat t' put fire in 'im, we gotta make a man o' Davey t'night!" Turning several shades of crimson, brow furrowed underneath his tousled dark hair, David blurts, "Wait a minute, Jackie, Ah thought you said -- Ah-Ah mean, since Jorianne done -- Ah mean--" Laughter, then, from all three of David's compatriots as they reach the bar and look for somewhere to plunk the boy down, preferably within easy reach of the bartender. "Get 'im summat to straighten out his stutter, too!" cries Jackie, the biggest of the other three young men, who claps David smartly on his shoulder. Two big, burly sailors pick up the request of the newly arrived Pantheon kitchenworkers and call out, "Yeah, let'im sing. We can use a good song!" -- "An' som'body to dance wi't." -- "Like her!" One finger points in Laena's general direction, accompanied with rowdy laughter and more guzzled down ale. A thin smile spreads on Nox' lips as he watches the scene, violet eyes sticking out of the darkness, wandering from David and his gang to Laena, and back again. It's not obvious from his features whether or not he has a good time right now, but, then again, why would he be here if he was not? He leans back on his chair, draping his wings lazily over the sides. "Naw, naw, I don' dance too well," Laena protests, with a grin toward the speaker. "'less y'want your feet stepped all over." She slides through the crowd a bit farther, brushing past a gathered knot of humanity as though unobtrusively trying to hide from those others. Aww, she doesn't want to dance. But at least she's not silly enough to bring a *book* to the Song. The bartender, taciturn as always, doesn't seem particularly impressed at the thought that this lamb-eyed young fellow might be a singer of any sort. But he does pour up a shot of whiskey for David's consumption, much to the glee of his companions. Nat, the apparent ringleader of tonight's Conspiracy to Get David Plastered, seizes up the glass and presents it mock-regally to the other young man, who eyes it for a moment as if thinking it might suddenly explode in his face -- but that's nothing compared to the consternation that crosses his sunbrowned face as the call for a song starts shooting around the room. "Nat," he hisses desperately to his friend, "Ah cain't sing _heah_!" Sing? _Here?_ In a room full of -- Tyche, how many people _are_ here? David flings alarmed glances in several directions, looking rather like a puppy about to be run over by an oncoming wagon. Singers shying away from singing, dancers shying away from dancing, yep, looks like some people are really too stuffy to enjoy a good time at the Siren. One of the sailors follows the boys to the bar, putting a few coins on the barcounter. "I'll be payin' the boy a few more whiskeys. Jus' the best, Raven. I'm sure he'll sin'en." Ok, so maybe David will see twice as many people after a drink or five more, but he surely won't mind. Meanwhile, the other sailor makes his way towards Laena, shoving his path through the crowd much less elegantly, though not less effectively. "Awww, c'mon, lady, y'wont even have ta dance with me. I'm sure yer' brilliant." He waves with one fat, hairy arm towards the stage, "Th'stage's all yer's." Laena pauses as she's approached, arching one dark brow up at the sailor. "Nuh-uh. I don' think so. That's Jen's stage, I'm not gonna even try t'match her," she retorts, resting hands on hips. "How 'bout you try it, if yer so sure someone's gotta dance, mm?" Cries of brotherly approbation burst out from Nat, Jackie, and David's third companion Breon; obviously, the sailor's unexpected largesse goes over very well with them. "Tyche give 'er right hand t' ye, mate!" "That's th' way, then, c'mon, Davey, y'ain't after sayin' nay if th' man's goin' t' be buyin' up f'r ye, are ye?" Three more sailors chime in on this little debate by chanting, "Song! Song! Song!" With each outcry, they thump rough-palmed hands upon the bar, all of them eying David hopefully all the while. Maybe the lad's got a good ditty in him? And how drunk will he have to be gotten to be talked into it? Under all this scrutiny, David has little recourse but to gulp down the first shot of whiskey he's been offered. He's obviously not skilled at the art; he belts it down far too quickly, making color flare underneath his tan and a sharp wheeze haul itself up from within him as he coughs the liquor down. "Hssh... Tyche, Nat, y'all tryin' to kill me?" The sailor standing right in front of Laena gives the ex-cyprian a totally weirded-out look. "Heck, I didn't come here t'do any dancin' meself. I wanna see some girls." With an angry shake of his head, he turns around, grumbling something about '...stupid cyprians...Song's not what'd used t'be...talk ta Jen...' in his filthy beard. While he is already on his way towards the exit, the second man takes the offers of David's 'friends' as encouragement. He reaches out in a seedy, friendly gesture to pat the young singer on his shoulders. "Awww, lad, the first's always hard on ye', but ye'll love th'second." He holds up two fingers to the barkeeper, "Raven, two." As two more glasses of whiskey get served, he lifts up one in David's direction, hoping he will pick up the second. Laena laughs softly and shakes her head, lifting a hand a moment later to push back the curls which were disordered by the gesture. "Easy t'scare that boy off," she murmurs before heading back toward the bar again with a dismissive flick of her fingers. Once at the bar she finds someone she recognizes and immediately sidles up to him to tease and flirt and persuade him to buy her a drink. Much more fun than dancing. Especially dancing for that lot. Breon chortles at the look on David's face, having managed to squeeze onto the stool next to the young singer, and he chimes in knowingly to the sailor's advice, "Go on then, Davey, belt that down an' then belt it out f'r us!" Nat and Jackie, already a couple of sheets to the wind themselves, positively beam at the sailor who's joined them. And as for David, it occurs to him to wonder which is more alarming -- getting drunk, or letting the others talk him into actually... *gulp*... singing. But he does gingerly take up the second shot of whiskey, casting the sailor a liquid-eyed, puppy-trusting glance before attempting to belt the second shot down. "That's the spirit," Moebius, the all-too-friendly mongrel cheers to David. Seeing as his buddy has left, he looks around if he can manage to encourage anybody else for a dance. Laena only receives a look of sour grapes, but when he spots the pair of violet eyes peering out of the shadow at him, an evil grin spreads on his lips. "Hey, darkie! I'm sure ye' wanna dance to entertain us." With a roaring laughter, he empties his own glass, expecting his offer to be ignored. A few other patrons join his laughter, but the Empyrean mecenary smiles only with feigned charm. "Of course. If the man will sing for us without being roaringly drunk, and if you can find a partner, I would gladly dance for you." The sarcasm just drips from his deep voice, which is pitched so low that it is hard to overhear through the other noises of the tavern. Having managed to mooch a drink off her flirt-buddy at the bar, Laena takes it and starts over in Nox's general direction. Maybe she's going to visit someone else who's sitting by him or something. But anyway, she manages to walk through the crowd without spilling her drink on anyone, and even takes a sip every now and then. A couple of close calls earn those patrons derisive comments from the mongrel girl, but they remain only close. She peeks curiously in David's direction for a moment, but he doesn't seem to interest her all that much. David certainly doesn't _look_ like much, all big eyes and stammer, especially when he's flanked by his far more voluble companions. But Nox's answer to the call from the sailor renews the chant of "Song! Song! Song!" -- and the young Mongrel, a second shot's worth of liquid courage now sent blazing through his system, finally mumbles, "Okay, okay, Ah-Ah'll sing--" Delighted cheers burst out from his friends, who haul him up off his seat and commence tugging him towards that little stage as if eager to help him along before he changes his mind. Nox' eyes wander from David to the approaching thief. In a casual motion, he kicks a free chair near Laena out under his table, offering her a polite smile. "Laena. Care to take a seat? Or could you have possibly considered to opt yourself up as my dancing partner?" Moebius joins the cheering loudly, interrupts himself with a loud belch, then slams the glass back on the bar counter. "Raven. 'nother two. One fer' me and one fer' the boy." Moebius A big, bulky mongrel sailor with sun-tanned, hairy skin. He has the massive face of a bulldog, with deep set brown eyes, a bulbous nose and massive lips, that are drawn often to a grin revealing a few missing teeth. His hairline is receding, the brown hair that does still remain on his head is usually tumbled in a wide disarray. Despite the fact that he is overweight -- his massive chest cannot hide the layers of fat that wrap around his belly, arms and legs -- his fingers seem amazingly nimble. He wears thick, rough sailor clothing: A short sleeved, chequered shirt of horribly matching green and purple, baggy black pants and a pair of cheap, worn out boots. The shirt is half unbuttoned, showing a yellowed chain necklace as well as leaving some chest hair spilling out. "Huh. Didn' know y'danced," Laena observes, draping herself over the chair comfortably, and takes a sip of her drink. "'least, y'wouldn't without s'much t'drink as that boy," she adds, gesturing in David's general direction. He's not the type, y'know. Too stuffy. Waaaaay too stuffy. "Didn' even know y'frequented th'Song. Doesn' seem like yer kinda place." "Bree! Get yer whistle out, lad, get Davey started up!" Jackie exhorts the fair-haired Breon, who of the four lads from the Pantheon arguably looks as if he's got the most Empyrean blood of any of them. Grinning widely now, Breon pulls a tin whistle out of a pocket while Jackie and Nat shove David up on the little stage... and while David has to duck sideways, when one of the rowdier patrons decides to take an opportunity to lob an empty bottle at him. It crashes into the wall behind him, and the fact that it got hurled in the first place makes a scuffle break out in the corner from which it had been thrown. Pulling himself up cautiously again, David faces the packed tavern with unmitigated terror in his eyes -- but then Breon starts up with the whistle. The melody's jaunty, light-hearted, and at a fast enough pace that it does in fact encourage the feet to dance. And something happens. David closes his eyes. One of his legs starts to twitch in time with the whistle's melody. And he begins to sing. "Whenever I dance with the girl I love, my head goes round and round When she's close to me, I can't stay on the ground Whenever I dance with the girl I love, I never have a care All night I'm so light, I walk right on the air...!" The cheers and applauds quiet down the instant David lifts his voice. Amazing, how well behaved a bunch of drunkards can be when there's a show going on. Nox sips of his ale, the enigmatic smile remaining on his lips. "You can never know until you find out, Laena. And be assured that I can still control my motions...as well as other things." His eyes seem to add something different, 'And, my dear, you have got so little of a clue of who I am and what I can do.' He lifts himself slowly from the chair, offering one hand to Laena, palm up, "Now, the question is, of course, whether or not /you/ can dance." Not that Laena particularly cares much about him or who he is. Well. Except in certain ways. Sort of. Anyway. She grins just a little, impishly, and sets her drink down on the table in order to free up a hand to take his. "Why yes, m'boy, I can. I used t'work here, y'know." Although if that teaches cyprians anything other than lap dancing remains to be seen. David's first few sung words are breathless, a little thready, but after a few measures in the boy's voice gains strength and confidence. It's difficult to make him out from the back reaches of the room, what with the noise from what few of the rowdy patrons haven't managed to shut themselves up yet, but still... he's got a rich, resonant baritone despite that country accent of his. And now that he's gotten going, Breon picks up the tempo with his tin whistle. Somebody else across the way comes out with a small hand drum to keep the time, and as the drummer joins in David belts out the chorus that might make one wonder if he's got the makings of a bard after all; given the shouts for a dance, he _did_ come up with this song awfully quickly, didn't he? "Oh let me, oh honey let me Let me do what you know I love to do Please take another chance and let me Let me have another dance with you..." Nox chuckles as he lets his fingers rest lightly upon Laena's palm. "I remember, yes," he says lightly. "But, even back then, I cannot recall ever seen you dancing. But perhaps you were just busy with...other things." With his free hand, he unclasps his cloak, letting it fall over the book remaining on the table. Yet he doesn't get rid of his weapons -- how romantic. With a slow measured pace, he leads Laena towards the stage, "Sounds like it was about time that I dance with you, then." "Oh, is it now?" Laena glances toward him sidelong, one brow arching upward. "Not like y'have reason t'be int'rested in me at all - fact, y'might have more reason t'want t'be *dis*int'rested." There. Beat that. She wrinkles her nose slightly, almost absently detaching an overly-interested patron's hand from her anatomy. It is perhaps a little unfortunate for Laena that a few of the girls who actually do still work here have had their attention distracted off potential customers for the evening by the boy warbling out the dance tune up on stage -- for this means that there are more restless eyes left over to fix gazes upon _her_. David's eyes, however, are not among them. The young Mongrel seems intent on keeping those baby blues of his closed even as he loses himself in song; his right leg is twitching steadily along with the melody now, and there's a certain looseness coming into the movements of his entire lanky frame in general. Maybe the whiskey's kicking in? "Whenever I feel those pretty arms a-reachin' round about That feelin' goes to my toes, and all the lights go out, go out, go out Whenever I see those eyes of blue a-smilin' up so shy I'm in such a spin, I take right off and fly...!" For some reason, Nox doesn't lose his calmness so far tonight, despite all attempts at poking at him. "It's just a dance. A way to enjoy the beautiful melody. Doesn't mean anything else, Laena, so let's forget about all the other things for the moment." The deep bass voice is still smooth and cheerful enough. With a wide grin, he adds, "If you squint hard enough and don't think any further, you may even see simularities to Dante." With that, he steps up on the stage, taking up the rythem with some nimble, lithe movement of his legs, trying to draw Laena lightly closer to him to start the dance. Behind his back, the edges of his wings flutter a bit, but don't quite flare outward. Oh, sure, right. If she squints hard enough she could see resemblances to Cynara, Khalid, and that guy singing on the stage, too. Laena just gives a quiet and distinctively unladylike little snort and allows herself to be drawn in closer - perhaps a little closer than he intended, even. "All what other things?" she inquires, feigning a totally innocent look. "So let me, oh honey let me Let me do what you know I love to do Please take another chance and let me Let me have another dance with you!" Well, David, unlike Nox, the Lady of Thorns, or the God-King of the Varati, is just a bit sans wings. But that voice of his seems to need nothing but whiskey and the encouragement of his to soar, wings or no wings. The song he's belting out goes up a step in key courtesy of Breon's tin whistle, and David's baritone follows it up. "So let me dance in the arms I love, thrill me through and through I'm so drunk with love that all I see is you I never hear the music play, I never see the crowd Only you and me, dancin' on a cloud...!" Nox turns himself around on the spot in a turbulent, leading his own and Laena's arm over his head, before slowing down to face her directly, leaving little distance between the two bodies. His second arm reaches out to lay it around his partner's back, just above her hip. Sure, he seems to be enjoying himself for the moment, and won't get any bickering get in his way. "Those things that'd make me disintered in you," he whispers to her smoothly. "Talking about them now makes it a birt hard to forget them, don't you think?" Along with David, he hums the tune, echoing the last words, "...only you and me, dancing on a cloud." Neither a professional dancer nor a great singer, he still manages all right on both accounts. Okay, so, she's not going to bicker then. Laena just giggles softly, wrinkling her nose at him. Just the absolute picture of youthful innocence, really. If one doesn't know just how very fake that picture is. "Unfortunately, it ain't no cloud," she observes. She manages all right, as well - not even stepping on her partner's feet, despite the comment to the sailor earlier. "I think th' clouds smell a lil' bit better'n th' Song." The final chorus -- and by now, a good third of the room is belting it out with David, having picked up the simplistic words. A good number of feet are stomping along with the melody, adding a raucous, heavy rhythm to what would ordinarily be a sprightly jig of a tune. Another third of the room is cheering Laena and Nox on by now, and in the midst of it all, David's three friends from the Pantheon are happily alternating between sucking down ale from Raven and helping David out with the last chorus. As soon as that last appeal for another dance with the hypothetical girl of the song wafts out across the room, Nat's on his feet and yelling enthustiastically, "Davey-lad! Davey!" Nox can imagine how feigned Laena's behaviour and the image she portrays of herself is right now, but he doesn't care, right now. There's always enough room to argue later on. "They do," he comments in a rogue-ish, wisecrack sort of way. "But I didn't make this song. So you might want to tell our young singer here." His arm twirls Laena, sliding off her skirt as he steps back, feet still moving to the rythm. "Unless you are set on giving me the next dance on a cloud." His eyes twinkle with mischief, as he'd just sure that the woman will decline that offer, but still has enough fun asking. "Small problem with that, I kinda don' have no wings." Laena laughs, adding a little extra bit of movement to her end of the dance that makes her skirts flirt upward teasingly. "S'hard t'dance up there without 'em." Usually, at least. Okay, okay, he's sung! Can he flee now? David smiles a sort of watery, lopsided smile at his three friends, the sailor who'd been thrusting whiskey at him, and the other faces in immediate sight, and after a moment it seems to dawn on the boy that they actually... liked what they heard. Looking more than a little thunderstruck, the young Mongrel sort of half-climbs off the stage and half-falls into Jackie's arms. Tyche. Whiskey's catching up with him! Nox releases Laena from his light grip, takes a step back and makes a galant bow. The cracked grin on his face and the irony in his voice betrays, however, that he is not quite the solemn, serious gentleman his behaviour could reveal. "Ah, not really. It'd just takes a little tighter dancing-style to hold you up...than some other people might care for." Dante. He must be refering to the bigger darkling who's known to be Laena's lover. It couldn't be Cynara who's jealous, after all. His gaze wanders over to David, but as he opens his mouth to call something to him, it occurs to him that there's no way his voice'd carry over all the cheering and applause of the crowd. Moebius hands David another glass of whiskey (Raven's finest) to David as soon as he climbed off the stage. "Boy, you were great! Take this, you earned it yourself." His own face looks a bit watery...could it be that the song made him cry a bit? Cry when he realized that there was no girl around to dance with a clumsy sailor like him, even though his heart yearned for one? Laena's return curtsey is a mockery of the formal gesture, and shows much more leg than it technically should. But hey, the onlookers enjoy it. Whatever works. "Nothin' wrong with it," she opines, but only shrugs a little. "Not so bad a dancer y'self, though," she admits, perhaps a tad bit grudgingly. Whiskey? More? "Ah-Ah-Ah don't think Ah c'n drink no more," David mumbles. His stammer is back, and the vigor and resonance that had seemingly swept into his voice out of nowhere have drained away as fast as they'd come -- attack of returning shyness, or the alcohol going to his head? Or both? Blue eyes blink owlishly at the glass Moebius thrusts into his hands, and only that woebegone expression the big sailor's wearing convinces the singer -- reluctant a singer he might have been -- to gulp down this third helping of whiskey. "Ah'm gittin' all swimmyheaded...!" "'twas a pleasure. Thanks for the dance." Nox' hands wander around his belt and leggings briefly, just to check if any possessions are missing. He doesn't really take notice of how much skin Laena is showing, perhaps actively avoiding to take note. With a light hop and a flutter of his wings, he hands on the ground below the stage again, making his way through the crowd back into his corner, hoping his book and cloak are still where they should be. Moebius reaches once more out to pat on David's shoulders with his large prank -- wellmeant as the gesture is, it threatens to crush the boy's bones. "Aww, dat's ok. You've done a good job. I'm sure yer' friends will accompany you home. If ye' can't find a girl to share yer' bad tonight." His wink seems awfully clumsy and slow, but still gets the message across. If any of Nox's things are missing, Laena didn't take them. At least not *his* things. She just flicks her hair back behind her shoulder and goes a little more slowly to fetch her unfinished drink. Supposing that nobody has taken it upon themselves to finish it for her, at least. "Howsabout it, gels?" hollers Jackie, to some of the surrounding young cyprians who'd gathered around to watch the dark-haired fellow who'd hopped up on the stage for them all. "Any o' ye be after our Davey-lad, then?" The giggles that ensue, and one bold comment from a saucy redhead, are enough to turn David scarlet again -- that is, if he weren't already flushed from the whiskey Moebius keeps trying to pour down him. "Maybe... maybe s'mothah time," he drawls thickly, rubbing a hand across his eyes. No doubt about it... the whiskey's getting to him. His evident lack of interest -- or, perhaps more appropriately, lack of _consciousness_ -- provokes 'awwws' out of the same girls who'd been giggling... but his friends take pity on him, Jackie hoisting an arm around him and hauling him towards the door. "We'll be back, ye c'n all be countin' on it!" is Nate's parting sally... and in short order, to a roaring wave of cheers, the four boys from the Pantheon stagger back out into the winter night from which they'd come. [End log.]