milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

duster,
santo

(no subject)

No vampires or risen mummies or international gangsters running around loose in Mexico City today. There was a match, but it wasn't a particularly crucial one, and Dos Caras put up a pretty good fight without anybody getting seriously hurt. So, all in all, it's been a decent day at home.

Santo's gonna celebrate by parking himself at one of the more prominent Milliways tables with his security badge prominently on display and keep an eye on things here for a while. It seldom hurts for people to know there's guards on duty.

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Duster sits on a barstool he took and placed on an empty corner of the room, wearing an afro wig and playing a bass. He's been playing simple blues lines as a warm-up for the past ten minutes, grateful that he has found something else to pass the time in Milliways.

He looks up from the fingerboard to check on the listeners when he spots a large, intimidating man in a cloth mask sitting near him, catching his glance. Duster gives the man a small smile goes back to working on his music.

Santo returns the smile, leaning forward a little to listen more closely. He hasn't seen many performers here before, and it seldom hurts to pay attention.

Santo seems not to be too bad, unlike another muscled fan of his band that always claimed front-row seats.

Duster, now finished with his exercises, goes straight into a syncopated, jazzy piece, fingers flying with emotional precision and the bass shaking and he plucks the strings.

Santo has sat through some pretty awful musical numbers in clubs in the past. This is not one of them. It's easy to be polite when you're watching somebody who's good at what he's doing.

He'll save applause for once the piece is finished. It's not polite to interrupt, and anyway there's always a chance of something horrendous erupting out of the floorboards and interrupting the music.

... what? That's the kind of thing that happens at home.

Duster has learned to expect silence from the patrons while playing here. It's strange after performing onstage in front of a hundred excited fans, but then, they don't come to hear gentle bass music. Here, it feels like playing in his room for himself.

He finishes the piece without any noticeable slip-ups, but he wishes that he didn't miss those few eight notes towards the end. He sets down his hands on the body of the bass and takes in a deep breath.

It's good enough for Santo's liking; he smiles, and applauds. "Well done, señor," he says. "I don't see many musicians performing here, but that was good playing."

Duster just nods, his typical response to compliments. The other patrons continue eating and enjoying their separate conversations, but Santo went out of his way to comment on his playing.

He shifts the bass around so that it rests on one side of the stool instead of between his legs. "Thanks. I met some other musicians here, and we sometimes play together, but I haven't seen anyone else that does it as their job back home." At least, Duster thinks it counted as work. His father might say otherwise.

"Ah, so you do it professionally?" says Santo. "It didn't just seem like leisure practice. At least, to someone who isn't a musician it didn't, for what that's worth."

"The last song I did wasn't practice, but everything else were some warm-up exercises and pieces," Duster says. "I thought that it would be better if I played out here instead of in my room."

"I see. Forgive me, señor, I should have introduced myself; they call me Santo,"says the masked man. "I make my living as a wrestler at home. Here, I serve on the security team. It's good to meet you."

Duster nods again, now with a slight smile. "Nice to meet you, Santo. I'm Duster." He reaches out a hand. "My stage name is Lucky, but it's not really relevant here."

"I've never met a professional wrestler before! That'd make sense for you to help out with security. Bars always need someone who can keep guard." And it looks like Santo is much more aware than the two bouncers back in Club Titiboo.

Santo leans over to shake the offered hand. "We have several other people who also handle security here," he says. "I may not always be around, but Señorita Fray makes sure to hire a decent number of people with the right kind of skills to make sure this place stays decently safe. Which is all right by me, since it means I can come here to relax, not just to work."

"I haven't run into any trouble since I came here, so I'd say you're doing a good job." He picks up his bass and rests it against the wall, then walks over to drab a chair to Santo's table.

"Do you mind if I sit with you? I need to take a break from playing."

Santo nods, edging sideways a little to make more room. "Of course," he says. "How long have you been coming here?"

Still not taking off the wig, Duster flops onto the chair. While he has been sitting while playing, it wasn't the same as relaxing on a regular chair laying firmly on the floor.

"A little over two months. I never left this place yet, but Lucas said that he could go back home and here whenever he wanted, and he's been doing that for years," he says. "But I doubt we can go to our world for a long while."

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