Brian looked right and then left, then crept down the stairs and snuck behind the bar (which is quite difficult to do when carrying a guitar case and an amplifier). Crouching down behind one of the taps, he poked Wensley on the shoulder and whispered, "Psst! Wens! D'you have entertainment yet, or is it okay if I play a bit?"
Engrossed in Luna and Stubby Boardman's conversation, he didn't hear Brian until he started talking. Jumping a bit, he grinned when he actually heard what his friend was saying.
"You're a genius, Brian!" Music always went over well. "Yes, it'd be great if you could play."
"Here." Wensley, feeling it was safe to come out from behind the bar at the moment, lead Brian to a platform that was raised about a foot off the floor - the perfect place to perform. "As for what to perform, just do whatever you feel comfortable doing to start, yeah? Then maybe you could start taking requests, if anyone asks." He wanted to linger, sit as close to the "stage" as he could and watch Brian play, but just then Luna called him back to the bar.
"Great. Thanks, Wens!" said Brian, hopping up on the little platform. As Wensley turned to go, he said quickly, "Oh, and, er . . . sorry about earlier . . . you know, what I said . . ." He trailed off. He wasn't sure if he had been heard, but at least he'd said it.
Now then . . . he unpacked his gear and, after a brief wrestle with the various cords and the usual search for an electric outlet, sat himself down on the edge of the platform and tuned up. He regarded his guitar fondly; he'd had it for a couple of years, and he always meant to keep it clean, but it somehow permanently retained a coating of arm smudges.
After a moment's thought, Brian grinned to himself and started into 'Down On The Corner'. Early in the evening, just about suppertime Over by the courthouse, they're startin' to unwind. . . . He was a bit out of practice, it was true, but he was enthusiastic and tended to hit the correct notes. He liked to play, and his singing was . . . decent, anyway. It could have been a lot worse. Over on the corner, there is a happy
( ... )
When he could get away from the bar some time later, he came back and sat at the edge of the platform, listening to him play. He'd always enjoyed listening to Brian play - probably something about music soothing savage beasts and whatnot.
"Nice hat," he remarked dryly, flicking one of the bells between songs. It made a jingly noise, so he did it again, laughing softly.
Brian looked up at Wensley and grinned, adjusting a string. "I thought so," he said. "But Pep's ignoring me. Just like her, y'know. She holds a grudge." He shook his head quickly, making the bells jingle cacophonously.
"Wens, could you do me a favour and grab me a beer or something? I'm far too sober for this time of night." He made a pleading face, one bell flapping over his eyes.
He was speedy, bringing a large mug of beer for Brian in one hand and a bottle of water for himself in the other. Sitting down at the edge of the platform agian, he looked upwards at the ceiling lights.
"You aren't mad at me for makin' you perform, are you?"
Downing half the mug in one go, Brian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Wensley incredulously.
"Mad? Why the hell would I be mad? I like playin', Wens. Anyway," he added, chuckling and gesturing expansively, "it's more like playin' for m'self anyway. Everybody's takin' advantage of the free drinks, y'know."
Wensley looked around the room and saw this to be true: he hadn't realised that he'd served so many people. Glancing at the bar, he saw a few patrons nosing around the back, looking to get their own fix. He found, to his surprise, he didn't much care.
"Mm, not sure. Elevenish?" Brian glanced up at the clock. "Er. Or perhaps a bit later." He needed to get his internal clock looked at, it seemed.
He noticed the people behind the bar, too, and the fact that Wensley wasn't doing anything about it. His normally proprietorial air in relation to the bar and the kitchen seemed to have lifted; he was very relaxed. Wens didn't drink, though. Brian was puzzled.
From where she had been standing by Adam and John, Pepper had seen the hat all right. And just as Brian had suspected, she ignored him for the moment. Gave him too much attention, and he'd run wild with it, Brian would. Better to keep him in his place and let him know that he could stand on his head for all she cared, she would not be pulled into childish distractions.
When the appropriate amount of time had passed, she turned and looked over her shoulder, shouting, "Oi, jester boy! I dun't see any jugglin' going on over there, shape up! Why did the music stop, anyways? Go on, chop, chop!"
No one said she couldn't provide the childish distractions herself, of course.
For the first time in his recollection, Brian was truly irritated with Pepper -- not just miffed because she ate the last sausage before he did or poked him in the eye, but frustrated. He was talking.
"I am talking!" he shouted back. "You got no manners, Pepper!" He stuck his tongue out at her and waggled it furiously. Now, what songs did Pepper really dislike? . . .
Eh, he wasn't really that vindictive. Go with the Stones. You cannot go wrong with the Stones.
"Sorry about her, mate," he said to Wensley, banging his way into 'Get Off Of My Cloud'. "I'll have to do something about her one of these days." He did hope Wens would hang about some more.
"I c'n talk with you any ol' time, too, Pepper," he said. "Anyways, you haven't complimented me on m' hat yet, and Wens has, so he's got higher rank than you on my talking-to-people list." He sniffed. "'Course, y' could compliment my hat. It does make me look quite dashing. Admit it."
She snorted. "Yeah, a rather dashin' circus freak a some sort. And I didn't tell ya to talk. I told ya to play. Wens said you were the entertainment, and I'm a bit dissappointed, really."
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"You're a genius, Brian!" Music always went over well. "Yes, it'd be great if you could play."
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"I know I'm a genius," he said. "Where shall I put my junk, then? And have you a preference for what I should start with?"
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"I'll come back after you've set up, yeah?"
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Now then . . . he unpacked his gear and, after a brief wrestle with the various cords and the usual search for an electric outlet, sat himself down on the edge of the platform and tuned up. He regarded his guitar fondly; he'd had it for a couple of years, and he always meant to keep it clean, but it somehow permanently retained a coating of arm smudges.
After a moment's thought, Brian grinned to himself and started into 'Down On The Corner'.
Early in the evening, just about suppertime
Over by the courthouse, they're startin' to unwind. . . .
He was a bit out of practice, it was true, but he was enthusiastic and tended to hit the correct notes. He liked to play, and his singing was . . . decent, anyway. It could have been a lot worse.
Over on the corner, there is a happy ( ... )
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"Nice hat," he remarked dryly, flicking one of the bells between songs. It made a jingly noise, so he did it again, laughing softly.
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"Wens, could you do me a favour and grab me a beer or something? I'm far too sober for this time of night." He made a pleading face, one bell flapping over his eyes.
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"You aren't mad at me for makin' you perform, are you?"
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"Mad? Why the hell would I be mad? I like playin', Wens. Anyway," he added, chuckling and gesturing expansively, "it's more like playin' for m'self anyway. Everybody's takin' advantage of the free drinks, y'know."
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"What time do you think it is?"
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He noticed the people behind the bar, too, and the fact that Wensley wasn't doing anything about it. His normally proprietorial air in relation to the bar and the kitchen seemed to have lifted; he was very relaxed. Wens didn't drink, though. Brian was puzzled.
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When the appropriate amount of time had passed, she turned and looked over her shoulder, shouting, "Oi, jester boy! I dun't see any jugglin' going on over there, shape up! Why did the music stop, anyways? Go on, chop, chop!"
No one said she couldn't provide the childish distractions herself, of course.
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"I am talking!" he shouted back. "You got no manners, Pepper!" He stuck his tongue out at her and waggled it furiously. Now, what songs did Pepper really dislike? . . .
Eh, he wasn't really that vindictive. Go with the Stones. You cannot go wrong with the Stones.
"Sorry about her, mate," he said to Wensley, banging his way into 'Get Off Of My Cloud'. "I'll have to do something about her one of these days." He did hope Wens would hang about some more.
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