Blues was doing precisely what Jazz assumed, and with less style than most would expect. On one chair, he had one of the first Gibson Les Paul guitars propped up where he could sit facing it. There was a full glass of bourbon placed next to it, Blues on the floor speaking to the instrument as though it might respond to him. Part of him felt that Les' soul would need a place to settle, and his guitar would be a perfect place, and the other part was pretty damn sure that it would never play the same again. He wouldn't know until he tried, but he was hesitant to even move towards it.
He hadn't even heard someone fumbling with the door, and as such was a little surprised when his dear sister was suddenly speaking with him. He assumed, perhaps, that Grunge had let her in, and poured her a drink. Holding it out with a watery smile, he took a deep pull from his bottle and gestured for her to take a seat.
"Darlin'! When'd you get here? Did Grunge let you in, I ain't seen hide nor hair of him all day!" Blues leaned into her, hiccuping softly. "Naw baby, it's all good! He enjoyed a good drink now and then!"