(Untitled)

[notaphony]

Sounds like somebody's found the jukebox.

Annette Hanshaw was always a favorite of her mother's - granted, it's 1960 back through her door, which makes the song an oldie even by her standards, but at the first familiar strains of the jazz singer's voice, Joan's already beginning to sway in front of the jukebox, hips absently moving to the tune. A

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[not_a_hologram]

It's a little before his time too, but Al has an appreciation for good jazz, so it makes his day just that much better.

It's been great so far--his meeting with the Congressional committee (from which he is still in uniform) had gone well, so they've got their funding assured for another year. And he's got good coffee, and a plate of very good lasagna, and now this.

"See what I mean about your taste?" he grins, and gives a bit of a wave.

[notaphony]

"Impeccable," Joan agrees, but there's just a touch of teasing in her voice as she sees him, recognizes, and gives a small wave of her own.

"But really, it's impossible not to love Annette."

[not_a_hologram]

"I'm not really familiar with her work," he admits, "but I'm liking what I've heard so far. It's got a soul to it. Most of the music back home, nowadays, it's... I don't know, too polished, like they've gone through and taken out all the human charm to make it as sellable as they can."

[notaphony]

It may be coincidence - or maybe just a natural progression, but either way, another song of hers begins to play as soon as the first has finished.

It will be a shame if Joan ever discovers that most of her original work succumbs to time and becomes lost, but for now, she's content to tap her toe to the beat.

"She's one of the greatest."