Who: Brigs Mercer, Jennifer Warda, Isolde Lyons. What: With a little bit of music and the right company, even a normal weeknight can turn into something special. Where: That fabulous dining establishment, Centro! When: Tonight, 10:30 pm. Warnings: Possibly language, TBD.
Centro was a curious place, Jennifer discovered. Ten-thirty cut right into the quiet heart of the evening, after the casual diners had already turned in their checks and right before the die-hards and scorned lovers began to nurse their first cocktail of a very, very late evening. The establishment reminded Jennifer every bit of home, now so very far away, where everything was seductive and dangerous and just a bit magical. Good old New York, the city that gave as just much as it took away.
The sentiment was enough for her to request a proper Manhattan (with a mighty ironic smirk) and the staff behind the bar did more than simply oblige. The clash of sweet and dry vermouth, quality whiskey, bitters and just the faintest hint of something citrus made the detective concede to a very pleased smile. With drink in hand she found the way downstairs to Centro's lower lounge. Darker, more intimate, it seemed to be inhabited by only a few select patrons, men dressed in suits, collars loose and slouching comfortably in their chairs.
But it didn't take long for Jennifer to discover something far more interesting than simply the patrons. Cradled in the center of the room, surrounded by a fleet of half-empty tables, was an elegant grand piano. Jennifer smirked. It was tempting. Not many around at this hour and certainly no one she recognized. It wouldn't be nearly so bad, she thought, to indulge herself in a bit of evening music. Jazz always had the curious effect of making everything worth enjoying simply that much better. She set her drink tentatively on the piano stool. Shrugging out of her jacket, she rolled up the sleeves of her white business blouse, enough that they wouldn't become a hindrance. As she took up a tentative seat in front of the instrument Jennifer placed a hand on the keys.
Perfectly in pitch. "Not bad at all," she said.
Reaching across to the nearest table and snatching the closest ash-tray, she dug inside her jacket for a beat-up pack of cigarettes. Casually slipping one behind her ear, she tried to think of a good tune for the evening. Nothing too broody and heart-broken, she certainly didn't have enough drinks in her for that quite yet, but something easy to slip into. Something she knew of course by heart.
Jennifer closed her eyes. Any half-decent musician at the keys was equal parts skill and graceful fingers, she knew. It was simply an effort of will. The patrons turned their heads a little, raising their glasses in appreciation as the detective began to play.