Some people are born with the gift of Perfect Timing. Jack Mallory was one of these people. He had that uncanny ability to be in just the right place at just the right time.
Well, for certain values of "right".
Jack at least knocked on Shae's door before entering, a broad happy grin firmly in place and his guitar strapped across his back. "Hey, wassup, mes amis!" he greeted the two men sitting on the couch, removing the guitar and leaning it against a wall before heading straight for the kitchen. Jack was never much of a man for formalities, especially around his old buddy Shae; a plaid workshirt with the sleeves rolled up, open over a simple wife-beater, and well-worn jeans (along with his typical collection of silver rings and bracelets) were good enough for Gumbo Night.
"Mmmm, shit, son, you have truly outdone yourself. This smells just like your Maman's place back in New Orleans." Quickly filling a bowl with rice and steaming gumbo, he spotted the case of beer. "Sweet, Abita! Best thing with gumbo." He set his bowl down and grabbed a bottle, then seemingly pulled the cap off with his bare hand. "Bottle opener ring. Because you never know. Oh, I didn't bring any food, but I thought I could contribute with a little mood music." He jerked his thumb at his guitar before retrieving his gumbo. "Some good ol' cajun songs make da gumbo go down nice, n'est-ce pas?" he grinned in a fair approximation of Shae's accent.
His entirely-too-blue gaze flicked between the cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk on his old friend's face and Ren's imitation of a bunny caught in headlights. "Oops. I'm not interrupting anything, am I? Don't tell me I missed all the fun!"