Ariadne (building_dreams) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-06-10 19:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | ariadne, hayden mcclaine |
WHO Micah & Bianca
WHAT Meeting!
WHEN A recent Tuesday
WHERE The club Micah plays at
WARNINGS None!
The club Micah played at was not one of the more popular ones in Las Vegas, but it had its dedicated clientele that came time and time again. It was not a place for loud music and drunken hook-ups, but quiet conversation and good liquor. The walls were painted in shades of blue and grey, a stormy sky setting for the music that was crooned, the keys that were kissed with talented fingers. Micah’s set started at 9, and it was as simple as the club was; just him, the baby grand, and the circle of light he existed in with his music and his music alone. He was dressed sedately in charcoal grey and black, leather shoes polished to a gleam. His cane was absent that night, replaced instead by a pair of crutches resting nearby, propped up against the edge of the baby grand. He hardly seemed to be aware of the audience as he leaned into the piano, an easy blues number that resounded through the intimate setting, eyes closed, fingers dancing over the keys as though he and the instrument were made for one another. Bianca had arrived just a few minutes before 9, hoping to slip in and listen to Micah play. She hadn’t forgotten their first conversation but given that he’d been drinking, she didn’t hold what he’d said against him. The real way to get a feel for someone was to see them in their element, doing something they loved. From what she could tell, music was something he loved. It was a passion she shared but one she couldn’t indulge in as often as she wanted to. She wore a short black dress with gold along the bottom and black stockings to match, which didn’t lend easily to blending in exactly but dressing for clubs had never really been her expertise. She found a booth and slipped in, moments before the music began to play. A waitress came, to ask if she wanted something to drink, but Bee waved her off. The music was what she’d come for and it was exquisite. It took only the first few notes to make her smile and he held her attention through every note. Even from the back, she could see his hands move across the keys, a true artist at work. This man was far closer to ‘Micah’, whoever that was, than the drunk she’d offered advice to. After the first song, Bianca moved closer, now more in the middle of the room as opposed to all the way in the back. The applause between songs was quiet, polite, appropriate for the venue, and it left Micah to move smoothly into the next song. This one was quicker, brighter, something to tap your foot to as he moved into jazz, the corner of his mouth lifting in half a smile as he leaned in to the keyboard, feeling the music through his body, from the tips of his fingers to the shined toes of his leather shoes. The rest of the set went by too quickly for Micah’s comfort, but all too soon his time was done, leaving him to rise to one foot, balancing carefully for a short, humble bow. The stage lights dimmed in preparation for the next act when Micah took his crutches and eased his way off the stage. Once his eyes had adjusted to the low light of the main floor of the club, he looked around for familiar faces, though he doubted anyone would have shown up considering the spectacle he had made of himself in the last days. Given that he had never met Bianca, he didn’t know what to look for, and thus, didn’t stop on his way back towards the bar for his traditional whiskey after the show. She let the experience wash over her, from the music to the applause between songs. Listening live was something that would always resonate deep within her. Bee had relied on her music and her friends when her mother had died, more so than when Becky had. There was something about the feel of the ivory keys against her fingers, the sound of the notes wrapping around her. It was a comfort unlike any other. When Micah was done, she applauded as he eased off the stage and waited to see if he’d leave or if she could introduce herself. He looked around, she assumed for a familiar face, before heading to the bar. A slight frown crossed her features as she made her way over to where he’d taken a seat at the bar. Bianca took the seat next to him and smiled. “You play beautifully,” she commenting, asking the bartender for water when he handed Micah his drink. “Bianca,” she introduced, holding out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The smile she offered him was a warm, friendly one and she didn’t hold the drink in his hand against him. While she chose to live a life without such things, she firmly believed that others could enjoy their vices in moderation. Bee wondered if he remembered their first conversation and if he’d renege on the offer to play together if he did. Micah glanced over at the woman who joined him at the bar, offering her a small smile as he ducked his head back to his drink as it arrived, his shoulders hunched and his fingers curled around the heavy tumbler. “Thanks,” he said in return for the compliment, and he assumed she would leave it at that. When the woman continued on, Micah turned towards her, something incredibly tired, worn out, in those blue eyes of his. “Micah,” he replied in that soft Irish lilt, shifting to offer her his hand, giving her fingers a warm shake before he politely withdrew his hand to let it curl back around his glass. The whiskey was warmth, liquid courage in a glass, and while his counselor (call me Drew, he had said. I hate the term ‘doctor’) had discouraged drinking in the slightest, he emphasized that as long as it was in moderation, then he wouldn’t hold it against the young man. The drink was his first since the disaster at the bar, and Micah considered that some sort of victory considering everything. “Good to meet you too,” Micah murmured, and then he paused, head canted slightly to the side. The name was familiar, a distant sort of recognition that dawned on him bit by bit. He gave her a closer look then, blue eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re on the journals. The girl who plays piano.” He looked worn out, like he’d been through a lot and seen a lot worse. “Of course,” she murmured, shaking his hand before letting it drop to the bartop. The bartender came back with her water and a slightly odd look, but she slipped him some bills anyway, used to it by now. Her smile widened at the accent, learning even more about him with every passing moment. Irish, from the sound of it, and coupled with his comment about having a piano shipped from Ireland, Bee could deduce that he’d spent at least his formative years in Ireland, if not longer. The whiskey was just a natural drink of choice, clearly, and she couldn’t help but smile. That smile only grew after a moment when he paused and she knew he recognized the name. “That’s me,” Bianca replied, noting the slightly narrowed eyes. “I play classical, for the most part. My tutor had a profound love of Mozart and Tchaikovsky. A bit complicated for an eleven year old, but I enjoyed it.” Music had been a part of her life since the age of six, something her parents encouraged along with her schooling. “Where did you learn to play?” Micah took a sip of his drink, savouring the alcohol instead of simply binging on it, something that took a lot of willpower on his part. It was hard to break old habits. Turning back to face forward, Micah ran his thumbs along the tumbler, sliding back down before he answered. “Started on piano when I was, god, I must have been four. Pre-school, I believe.” He paused, glancing back to her for a moment, realising she must have been more interested in the where than the when.” I’m from Ireland. Cork, to be precise. My family’s from the area, lived there for as long as anyone can recall. I believe I am one of the first to make the trip overseas for more than pleasure.” “Six,” she offered with a smile, taking a sip of her water. The clear liquid didn’t look too out of place at the bar, something Bee had always found interesting about clear liquor. When she was younger, back in New York, she used to love clear liquor more than any other. She drank with Andrew for the most part, whenever he wanted to go out and he needed a wingman. Her mom had shielded her as much as she could from Becky’s destructive behavior and living in New York had made it easier to forget the trouble at home. That had all changed after both of their deaths. Bee hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since, nor even a drag from a cigarette. Maybe that was a bit extreme, but it had served her well over the past few years. “Cork is in...southern Ireland, right?” She’d taken a class once on the relationship between Ireland and the UK, but that had been during her Freshman year at Harvard nearly six and a half years ago now. She didn’t ask why he’d come, music was the answer to that from what she could tell. She didn’t ask why Vegas, the fact that he had a journal answer enough. “How are you settling in? It seems you’ve got a great set up here,” Bee asked, readily making conversation. “Southern part, yes,” Micah answered with a small nod of his head. “As for how I’m settling in...” His expression grew cloudy and he gave a shake of his head at that, thoughts immediately straying in the direction of the past week, the hotel, and what had happened. “I’ve been better.” Micah drained the rest of his drink and pushed the tumbler away, fishing a few bills from his pocket and tucking them beneath the glass before he swung around, away from her. That bit of conversation had darkened his mood, his entire person, and he took hold of the crutches and tucked them beneath his arms, easing down from the stool carefully, keeping the weight fully off of his left leg. “I hate to be rude, but I ought to go,” Micah said, and he didn’t meet Bianca’s gaze as he said it. “There are better guys in this place that you could be talking to. Trust me on that. But. It was good to meet you. I’ll give you a call if the owner’ll let me bring someone next time.” Bee hadn’t expected his mood to change to quickly and she wondered just how bad things were for him. She wondered if it had anything to do with the post he made while absolutely hammered, but she had enough tact to not ask any questions. “It’s alright,” she reassured him, resisting the urge to put a hand on his shoulder. It wouldn’t be something he’d appreciate, she was fairly certain. “I’d try to convince you otherwise, but I’ll save that for a Wednesday.” There was a smile in her words as she watched his back, wishing he’d turn but knowing he probably wouldn’t. “I’ll see you later, Micah.” |