SerafíneHole in the wall of holes in the wall. The entrance is from the middle of a long alley behind some shallow galleries and the space is strange and there's a red door and a purple light above it that is intuitively menacing but a strange scroll-worked sign above that says simply: cool bar. Then something like a bank big bank vault door and a long stairway down-down-down and: oh hello.
Bar and stage as likely to host impromptu walking productions of MacBeth written back into street slang as it is to have a band, but tonight there's a band. Not much notice. Folks who got the invitation late this afternoon only saw: pop-up show, @coolbar with a link to the location and a minute later come here are new stuff thanks, auto-correct.
PenHere is Pen - come through the ominous purple haze, come through the big bank vault door and the long stairway, the echoing stairway, the stairway which echoes (it does echo, echoes and contains, a tunnel) like some kind of nautilus, and: oh hello.
Here is Pen, who came because she wanted to hear the band and see the band members, in an artist's smock doubling as a tunic. The effect is airy and winsome John Williams Waterhouse, some Spring-witch, cobalt blue embroidery at the edges of the collar which is a split that goes down to her sternum the laces left loose like that, and her hips are banded by a belt of braided leather.
Here is Pen - but where is Dan; where is Sera? Pen sweeps the place with a glance, aspiring (the soldier) to alertness, and if she sees either of them: she beelines. Or she joins the small crowd at the bar, ordering a ginger rye from the bartender.
SerafíneBright and warm and windy the next morning. The snow mounded up so high yesterday now has a bright, granular crust and everything, everywhere is a paean to gravity, a lesson in watersheds. Easy to get out and back on the road home, even at the immoderately early hour of ten-or-so a.m. And she's curled up in the passenger's seat, knees drawn up, forehead against the glass, sunglasses yes, dark and huge, against the glare. He doesn't imagine she's slept. Doesn't imagine she's slept much, anyway. He knows how much acid she took two days ago. How long it takes to come down.
Well, hey! Dan and Dee and Rick are setting-up on the small stage and there's something easy and companionable about it all, some return-to-rhythm, something necessary and organic that passes between them as they go about the work in an unfamiliar space. Been forever since they 'played-out' after all. Sera is sitting on the stage while the others work. She wanted to wear her Easter dress again but it seemed that the skirt would be an impediment to the on-off she tends to do with her guitar, so she is back to one of her standards: a pair of tiny denim cut-offs and fishnets and filmy, lacy black bra beneath a ripped, worn, studded, shorn leather jacket.
Her legs are swinging, swinging, swinging and she sits while her friends work, and she has a beer and a shot and she's talking very companionably with an attractive young rather-earnest looking black guy sporting a pair of hipster glasses, worn jeans, and a distressed t-shirt which features a line drawing of an enormous sheep eating a tiny laser-eyed monster.
Sera waves and beams when she sees Pen making-a-beeline. Her hair is worn differently than it often is, and when she turns to say something to Tre about who-Pen-is it becomes obvious why: she is wearing a crown.
"Hey!" That smile. "You came!"
SilasSilas' pants are too loose for a true hipster, but other than that? There is the stubble, the hair swept just so, the button down shirt (with sleeves rolled up to approximately the elbow, displaying tattoos on his arms) tucked into denim that moves well with him rather than constricting his movements, the bow tie that coordinates, contrasts, something. It doesn't match, no, where would be the fun in that?
He drinks his whiskey neat, at least tonight, and of course he's here for the band. Why else could he be? But there are things that mark him out as different [as primal, as Other], and there are things that Echo from him, literal representations of the Ars Vitae with which he is so familiar. His skin is warm to the touch on the occasion it's brushed - a sunlit glade full of riotous growth. There is no jewellery but for one thin gold band on his right ring finger, and a paler bit of skin of a similar width on the middle finger next to it.
Sitting with drink in hand, his back is to the bar; his eyes on the assembled are a vivid blue, clear and vibrant, and observant. He sees Pen enter, sees so much.
SerafíneAwareness!
Dice: 7 d10 TN5 (5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 7, 10) ( success x 8 ) [Doubling Tens]
SilasSame!
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (3, 6, 7, 8, 10) ( success x 4 )
SerafíneThen, well. This moment when she lifts her chin and looks and looks and oh: everything in that moment is sharp, heightened, intimate, surreal. "Check that guy out." So she says to Pen, a lift of her chin toward Silas. "He feels like someone you'd know."
Pen[?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 4, 8, 9) ( success x 2 )
PenSera beams and it is Sera and it is that smile and Pen smiles back: a flash of a thing, burnished like a piece of silver, see, tarnished until suddenly: a rill of brightness, catching the day, and of course her entire expression is lit up by it and by Sera and by the prospect of music made by somebody fashioned and crafted by someones that she knows here on this particular night with snow a rim outside a créme brulee shell to be cracked get to the sweet within. "Of course!" - that rill of brightness in her voice, too: steadiness. "I feel as if I have been longing to hear you play, that it is exactly what I want to feel in my collar and my rib cage - Sera, I am very excited," and the flash of a smile and its left-over remnant pleasure becomes this curl of a grin. "Hello," to Tre. "I'm Pen."
And she might have said more, but there by the stage is Serafíne, observant, lifting her chin and Pen does check that guy out, turning so her back is to the stage and she can give that guy an assessing look (a weapon must be ready, always; she tries to be always ready).
"I don't, though. He seems as if he should have antlers, doesn't he?"
And if Silas meets Pen's eyes, she lofts her eyebrows and cants her head.
Penooc: Er, make that the fancier and more Pen-like: "He seems as if he should wear a crown of antlers upon his brow, doesn't he?"
Grace[Awareness!]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 6, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 4 )
GraceThere's an invitation. Grace responds to that invitation, not so much because she enjoys going to bars for music, but because of the sender. Sera could make just about anything worth it.
The swirl of different in this place doesn't surprise much. She still blinks as she steps in the door, this be-winged thing, at everyone else's oddness. She wears her coat-of-many-colors -- red, with strips of LED lights sewn in. If it looks a little worn, perhaps it's just because she wears it everywhere in winter.
A bee-line, she travels, straight to Pen, head down, like she is trying to forget the rest of the crowd is here.
SilasEyes are met, yes, and a brow raised in return; questioning, perhaps, from the bit of the bar closest the stage. Silas is not terribly far from where Sera and Pen met, and so after acknowledging their presence (and feeling their Presence) he takes up his drink, signals the bartender for two drinks of the women's choice to be added to his tab, and makes his way to where they stand. Why not? There is music, and there is quarry here, even if he chooses not to hunt, and there are people of interest.
Silas is brazen, he is bald, and when he moves towards where Pen assesses and Sera prepares his gait is sure, and nigh predatory. It is not rushed but measured just right to give Sera chance to give answer before he's close enough to hail them.
"Hello," he says and his deep voice is familiar to Grace. There's a slight accent there, as the Other carries itself from impression to reality; it's English, maybe, if you listen to it sideways, but the kind of upper class English that one hears in places that commoners aren't often about. "I feel that you two may be people I should know. I'm called Silas."
GraceSilas is Arianna's friend. So is Pen. It remains to be seen if Grace will be able to associate with either of them once it comes out that she'd much rather punch Arianna in the face than give her prejudices credit by being nice.
For now, though...
"You don't know Pen? Really?" Grace makes a 'huh' face. Lets them introduce themselves. "Hey, Pen."
Serafíne"You know we're loud," Sera-to-Pen, "right?" And there is a moment there of introduction: Tre to Pen and Pen to Tre, perhaps. Sera tells Pen that Tre is, you know, cool, which is code enough for Tre to understand that Pen, like Sera, is magickal. And to Pen's comment about crowns and antlers, all Sera has to add is: "Don't look now, he's coming this way."
With a neat wink. They can be all archaic together.
And: a twirl of Sera's fingers at Grace as she is bee-lining and this glance at Tre that includes a neat little smirk and this particular NPC might well shake hands with Pen and even Silas and also: Grace if she gets here soon enough but he also has a feeling that it is time to take his leave. He's gonna go chat up the bartender/manager and work the crowd and he has enough easy, unselfconscious charm that he can really work a crowd.
"Serafíne. Hey. Everyone calls me Sera."
NickHere is Nick, who was likely gently persuaded into coming and ultimately came because he wanted to hear the band play. He is come separate from Pen, though he went back to the house to change before coming out because he couldn't stand to be in his work clothes any longer. He is wearing a collarless chambray shirt and a pair of dark brown khakis and boots: the effect is a simple one, contrasting neatly with Pen.
It will also let him blend in here, which is just as well. Nick has the sort of air about him that could be a buzzkill in a place like this.
Nick gathers his bearings for a moment after he has stepped in the door into the haze and red and purple lights. Pen is easy enough for him to see, and so is Sera, and there is Grace. He lifts a hand to all of them, and he stops at the bar first, because damned if he is going to be at a loud concert without a drink in hand.
PenThey can all be archaic together, and here come to roost two bird-things (winged quake herald of change dark crow reverent portent) in the cool bar as well. The cool bar really is cool; look how many cool people have come to it (because of Sera - core of gravity; center of the circle). Silas has Pen's attention, as a stranger and a stranger who feels as he does, but when Grace cuts through the crowd she is welcomed with a warm look. She offers the man-who-should-wear-an-antlered-crown her hand. Her wrist is clasped in a metal bracelet; there are rings on every finger, including above the knuckle of her thumb, and she says -
"Silas. From Silvanus, I take it?" with easy good humor, and in the middle of the question this perplexed look for Grace, which winds past Grace to rest on Sera: the question continues. Why should Pen know Silas and not Sera, hmm?
GraceShe waves back at Sera, the twinkle of fingers, a quirk of a lip. But she doesn't understand the weird look Pen gives her. Some people are easier to read than others.
"Hey, Nick too. We're freaking flocking."
Silas"Yes, actually. My mother is ever interested in the esoteric." Grace is there and she waves her fingers, so Silas gives a nod of his head; it could be a bow but that it isn't at all, and while he may sound like it, look like it, he isn't quite that archaic. Any hand offered is shaken, displaying his tattoo-sleeved right forearm - it is cloaked in symbols of Horned Gods and Hunts, lending still more credence to the thought that perhaps there ought to be horns on his person. As stated, he is warm to the touch in a way that might be considered feverish, were it not so vigorous a sign of life.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both. And to see you again, Grace - I hope all is well."
SerafíneGrace says that we are freaking flocking and Sera favors the Virtual Adept (sorry: Grace, Sera has not adjusted to the name change.) with a neat liiittle smirk. Grace and her propensity for commenting on the coincidences of mages-coming-together. Well: no coincidence tonight. It's the first time Sera's band has played out in...
...months. Nine or more. She has a shot and a beer and when Siles orders another one of whatever the women are drinking to be put on his tab, hell, she gets another round. Of shots, not beer. Stranahan's Colorado whiskey: goes down a treat. She tosses it back like a pro. Eyes Silas' tattooes when he outstretches his hand to be shaken. Notes the warmth and goes, "Oh, your hands are warm!" And she remembers: others with warm hands. The passing wonder of it.
"I hope you brought your earplugs," Sera says this mostly to Grace, in a way that is teasing-serious, and reaches out to ruffle Grace's hair. Whom Dan pauses in his work doling out cords and setting up drums and amps and whatnot to greet with a grin framed by his blond beard.
NickWhen Nick appears behind all of them, it's without emitting a sound; a more forceful presence than his would be likely to startle other people. Lucky he's not like that.
"Hello everyone," he says, and when he finally settles on a place to enter the little circle of Willworkers here it's next to Pen. He has a whiskey and soda in hand. Dan, where he is setting up amps and doling out cards, gets a wave.
Nicholas, curly-headed and solemn, offers a moment's quiet regard for the other man present: he had not arrived in time to catch his name. "Hello. I'm Nick."
GraceGrace shrugs at Silas. He can hope all is well all he wants. She isn't going to explain why it isn't right now. But she leans into Sera's ruffling fingers, pulls out -- yes -- a pair of earplugs connected to each other by a wire from her coat pocket. Smirks.
"They are loud," she explains. Gives Nick a wave.
There's goodness to this. Coming together, waving at people, the meeting, the parting. Grace, for her part, is simply present. If her eyes go darting to some light fixture or other rather than a person, it's just the way she is.
Silas"Silas," he says for Nick's benefit, offering a hand as well; there are Manners to this one, and they are deeper and stronger than just a handshake might seem. And Grace's shrug is taken in stride - already he's come to realize that Grace tends towards the terse, at least with him, and that her reactions are not always what he would consider apropos. Or polite. Still, he reserves obvious judgement, and attempts to include her as much as the others, until it seems she'd rather be left alone.
"I've not been in Denver long, though if you are the Nick and Pen of whom I've heard, we have a friend in common." He's not as secretive as his Housemate in some ways - in this way. He doesn't much mind the assembled knowing who he knows.
PenPen's gray as gloaming eyes gleam when Silas blames his name on his mother's love of esoterica, but she does not discuss it (or the fact that she believes likely his mother was inspired by the mien of him, the clear and present godhood in his shadow; what will Margot make of this one?). Only seems friendly enough, inquisitive but questions will keep.
She executes a small double take when Grace actually pulls out earplugs; her eyes gone wide. She measures their proximity to the stage (the scant few inches, since Sera was and perhaps is sitting still on the edge of the stage, her band busy about her), then finds the speakers.
"Should we move if we hope to preserve our eardrums then?"
There is a Nicholas; Pen reaches for and takes his drink because she has yet to order one of her own and she wants to drink something.
Pen is sharp enough to: "Oh, you are Ari's childhood friend. Sera, have you met Ari yet?"
Grace[Manip + Subt = Ari? Oh no, I have no probs with her.]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (1, 2, 3, 7) ( success x 1 )
GraceNever let it be said that Grace has manners. Perish the thought. It's a rare day she remembers to thank people for gifts, and has a tendency to look at people oddly when they thank her -- because property is a bit distasteful when it comes right down to it. What are manners, except for the customs and rituals of tribes who've never claimed her?
"Well, we can," she says, to Pen. "I'm just not a huge fan of loud music, myself."
She tries not to let it show on her face the distaste in her when Ari's name is brought up. She licks her lip, snakelike, tilts her gaze to the side. Not paying attention anymore.
Nick[Oh? Perception + Empathy.]
Dice: 8 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) ( success x 3 )
Silas[You think so, do you. How droll. Per+Emp]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (5, 7, 8, 8, 9) ( success x 4 )
Serafíne"Tre always has extras," Sera assures Pen: of earplugs. If she is intent on preserving her hearing. "Dee too." Because hearing loss is a problem for musicians. Or at least: musicians who are not disciples of life.
They are indeed very close to the stage. Sera is still sitting there, letting her legs swing and swing and swing. She is excited, wired. Perhaps she is on some-small-thing other than alcohol, in addition to alcohol, but the darkness in cool bar is deep enough that there will be no good view of her pupils.
Gives Nick a quick, chasing grin. Shakes her head no to Pen: she has never heard of Ari and she takes no part in the examination of Grace who is trying-not-to-let-things show. That shake jostles a few of the curls pinned up amidst the glories of her crown but the whole of the mass is well-secured.
Then Dan is there with a hand on her shoulder because everything's set up and they need five minutes to go over the set list, don't they? In the past they've always done covers, or covers of their own shit that Sera-and-Dan have sold to other artists, stitched together by Sera's irrepressible and slowly raveling charm. Tonight though -
"We'll be out in a few! So glad you guys came - "
NickHis drink is commandeered; Nick allows this with hardly a sideways glance. This is the way of things. It frees up his hand to shake Silas's, and there is this glimmer of recognition there as the man says his name that Nick doesn't bother to hide. "Ari's mentioned you," he says.
His hand falls back to his side, and Nicholas is an insightful man and it's not difficult to notice the way in which Grace's gaze slants sidelong, how there is this slight wrinkling of her nose. Nick marks it; for now, he says nothing. His hazel eyes are for Sera, who is swing swing swinging her legs, and there is this crinkle of amusement at the corners of his eyes. "I didn't realize you were in the band, Sera. Thanks for inviting us."
PenNick didn't realize she was in the band; that brings out Pen's dimples, for whatever reason, a mischievous glint.
Then: "I am glad too! Break the bone and chase the echoes down," Pen says, earnest and whole-hearted and here a quick flash of a smile again that winds up not being quick at all; flash bomb, the way it just dazzles (lake-light, shield-light) for a moment but there's the blinding blot after effect. That lingers; in the place of this metaphor, it becomes diffuse. Dan gets a tilt of her chin, a pleased hello acknowledgment; then courtesy: "I am for the bar."
It is an invitation, sure, because there are people now crowding in, and their area is a coveted one; funny how a crowd will eddy, will whorl like a river against a stone-strewn shore.
She hands back to Nicholas his drink; it has been considerably depelted. "It is good to meet you, Silvanus." Pause; "I meant to say Silas," and she sounds perplexed: because she did. (When one is marked, such things often happen. Especially if one is speaking to someone myth-seeped as Penelope.) "In some other venue, I shall want most dearly to ask you questions!"
And she is for the bar, so.
SilasSilas marks the same shift in expression that Nick does, and he too lets it lie; he is the new addition, after all, and Arianna is more than capable of fighting her own battles when they're worth fighting. And sometimes when they aren't. More interesting is that Pen has labeled him a childhood friend, and that Nick's eyes sparkle recognition at his name. The way he sips his drink, finishing it, is casual, as are his posture and eyes.
"Yes, she and I know each other of old. If you'll pardon me - I promised my roommates I would remind them to be here for the show. Break legs, Sera."
He says this with sincerity, in the way of far older performance arts than this - and with pleasantries traded, he makes his way for the door - where he'll be able to make his call in more favorable conditions.
SerafíneThis is a ridiculously small venue and those invitations went out to maybe one out of five people on Sera's normal invite-people-to-shit contact list (which is of course, managed by Dan-not-Sera) and the other magi may well have five-ten-fifteen minutes or more of conversation before the quartet come out of - er - the back office and the hallway down to the bathrooms with their instruments and plug in to check a few levels and channels and whatnot but they already tried out the space on Monday when the bar was closed and figured (most) of that shit out. Dan and Sera with guitars, Dee with her bass, Rick on the drums. And this is new work and it is collective work, brawny and rhythm-section forward. Great big and (yes) loud as promised though the wave of noise has been modulated for the space, you see. It is also: loud as in, full, driving. The wall of instrumental sound and Sera's and sometimes Sera-and-Dee's or even Sera-and-Dee-and-Dan's voices a melodic cloud above it, floating through a river of noise.
(Er: thank you all for coming! I gotta sleep!)
GraceGrace huffs at Nick. Didn't realize Sera was in the band? Wait until the first time she does literal magic with that voice of hers. It is something.
Pen departs for the bar, and Silas departs for his roomates. "Want to follow Pen?" she asks Nick. "It's about to get loud right here. Might be better at the bar, eh?
She hefts her weight back and forth, clearly ready to move if he is. Clearly ready to wait with him if he isn't.
