Jazz (originaldixie) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-08-14 01:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | blues, jazz |
Who: Jazz and Blues
What: Blues is mourning Les Paul the way he knows how: drinking. Jazz does not approve.
Where: Grunge's place, where Blues has been staying
When: The wee hours of Thursday night
Warnings: Drinking, language
Jazz was worried for her brother. He said he was fine, had been to the store and had what he needed to grieve for Les Paul in a suitable fashion. That, however, was precisely why she was worried. If she knew Blues even a fraction of how well she thought she did, that meant he was stocked with enough alcohol to fell a small elephant and didn't plan to come out until he had finished it all. She had nothing against raising a glass in someone's memory, or in drinking to drown one's sorrows --Lord knew she'd done it enough times in her life-- but Blues drank enough in his daily life without adding more to the stock. And his idea of drinking to drown his sorrows would take considerably more alcohol than just about anybody else, mortal or immortal.
That was how she justified what she was doing at Grunge's past midnight, trying to pick the lock with hairpins pulled from the formerly-neat chignon at the nape of her neck. After ten minutes of effort, Jazz heard the soft click of the lock giving and she stood. The hairpins were dropped into a pocket as she entered, squinting in the dim light inside. It looked like Blues already had a fair start on his "mourning," and she sighed.
"Oh, baby. You gotta quit doin' this to yourself," Jazz said without preamble, easing herself to sit next to her brother and smoothing a hand over his shoulders. "Ain't no way to remember that man, drinkin' yourself sick all by your lonesome like this."