milliways_bar | (no subject)

Jim wanders downstairs around midday, a man on a very clear but laid-back mission. He's dressed down from his usual life, but there's no question of ever appearing like a normal person. He's barefoot, in skin-tight leather trousers, and a loose black shirt of which he's only bothered to fasten one button in the centre. There's a lot of smooth white skin on show, leading up to a heavy collar fastened around his neck, leather and studded. His hair is an artful mess, and of course he'd never dream of going out in public without heavy application of black eyeliner.

He heads straight for the piano, carrying his guitar and a practice amp. But first things first; a rat is sent for a bottle of champagne on ice, three cold beers and a bottle of whiskey, and he empties half an ounce of cocaine out onto the top of the piano. This is all necessary for the creative process - and he wastes no time in getting on with it, plugging the guitar in and strumming quiet chords, singing along in a voice that's almost gentle, but with an unmistakeable throaty rasp. Say what you like about his lifestyle, he's very good at what he does.

[OOC: AU week write-up here!]

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Will's been camping out in the bar, trying to stay warm and comfortable while he dried out. This morning (it's totally morning if you're just waking up) he's actually wearing more than just his trousers. He's put on his coat too. And one of his swords. On his way to go let his dog outside for a while, he finds himself passing by Jim, and accidentally-on-purpose knocks the cord to Jim's device out of the wall.

Sorry? No, not really.

Jim blinks at his guitar, cut-off mid refrain. Then he looks up, a touch confused because the music is continuing in his head, but is no longer coming out of his guitar. And that's just not right.

'What the hell, man?'

Uncool.

"It's too damn early for that noise."

And Will may be more than a little hungover.

He opens the door for his dog and makes sure the animal's well out of the way before he swings it shut again. He considers going back to the fireplace, but that's a long way to go when you're feeling like the ass-end of a mule, so he finds a nearby seat and claims it for himself.

Edited 2017-08-12 15:39 (UTC)

Jim is off up his seat, plugging his amp back in.

'I wasn't playing loudly.'

This said, as he twists all the dials up to 10, clicks overdrive on, and slams out a power chord that explodes at twenty times the previous volume. It hurts his own hangover to be honest, but totally worth it.

Will just closes his eyes and waits it out. His pistols are way over there by the fire, and unlikely to fire without some maintenance, so the little scoundrel gets away with it this time.

He does have a sword though. Maybe he can stab that infernal device.

"Are you quite done?" he asks as the noise begins to fade out.

'Dunno. Are you?'

He stands poised, a silver plectrum in his left hand, daring him to be a jerk again. No one gets in the way of Jim and his music, and no one sensible would even try.

Will has no idea if he's supposed to be impressed or not. Because he sees an idiot in a collar standing before him.

"I'm not doing anything to upset the peace around here."

The only cure for how he's feeling right now is hair of the dog. As a rat scurries by, Will flags it down and orders a bottle of rum. Maybe then he'll feel better, and more equipped to deal with whatever this is.

'Neither was I. I was improving it.'

Jim hates silence, and people chatting in a pub atmosphere is just boring. Besides, he wasn't really aware the rest of the place existed.

He does turn the volume back down to something reasonable, because he has his own headache to work through. The rat turns up with his enormous drinks order at this point, so there's peace for a minute while he arranges it all next to the coke on the piano, and then tips a whiskey down his throat.

'People pay a lot of money to hear me play.'

"How about I pay you to stop?"

It's not even music. It's just noise.

Will digs through the pockets in his coat, and eventually comes up with a small purse with some large gold coins in it. He throws one of them at Jim.

Jim doesn't stop playing - still fairly quietly - as it sails through the air and hits the floor, rolling a bit before settling by his feet.

'No.'

Will's rum gets here, so he distracts himself with that. He pulls the cork out and throws that at Jim as well.

"Who in their right mind pays to hear something like this?"

Will downs a large amount of rum, hoping it either cures his hangover, or makes him pass out so he doesn't have to listen to this noise.

'Oh-'

Jim smiles beatifically, and moves into a blues riff Chuck Berry would be proud of. He does cut off afterwards, but only because he's dragging some cocaine off the pile to make a neat line of it.

'-thousands and thousands and thousands of people. All with impeccable taste.'