Open Mic Night
The floor thumps beneath Jun's feet. A good baseline, fast like some dancing person's heart rate and a low-level buzz that's all sorts of pleasing. Jun can imagine the 'ka-ching' of the cash registers. Drinks are being poured, snacks are being served, and the J is bringing in money.
She's poured herself into a silver-scale halter top and wriggled into a pair of white jeans but she has yet to buckle her sandles about her ankles. A hot pink hibiscus has been tucked behind her ear. She's dressed to pour drinks and defy juice stains; make conversation and friends. But it's the first time she's had a moment to herself. She wonders where her houseguests are: Bayanai annd Sancho. She can't quite bring herself to think of Jinpei as a guest. He's too much a pain to be anything but closest family. She'd be glad to see Ken and Joe. She'd desperately like to know how Nix is doing.
But at the moment, she's sitting atop a low table, her legs spread before her, feeling the thump of open-mic night from the lounge below.
She's poured herself into a silver-scale halter top and wriggled into a pair of white jeans but she has yet to buckle her sandles about her ankles. A hot pink hibiscus has been tucked behind her ear. She's dressed to pour drinks and defy juice stains; make conversation and friends. But it's the first time she's had a moment to herself. She wonders where her houseguests are: Bayanai annd Sancho. She can't quite bring herself to think of Jinpei as a guest. He's too much a pain to be anything but closest family. She'd be glad to see Ken and Joe. She'd desperately like to know how Nix is doing.
But at the moment, she's sitting atop a low table, her legs spread before her, feeling the thump of open-mic night from the lounge below.