[ OPEN!!! ]

[cheapredlights]

WHO: Roger Davis [cheapredlights] and hopefully lots of other people! OPEN LOG.
WHAT: A gig. Rock music, alcohol and dancing for all!
WHERE: Covo Club.
WHEN: I have no idea. Friday evening, around 8 PM.

Comments

BEFORE THE GIG (opening bands, coming in, etc...)

[cheapredlights]

Re: BEFORE THE GIG (opening bands, coming in, etc...)

[chasing_fury]

Lulu wasn't necessarily into the drugs/sex/rock-n-roll scene (okay, maybe that was an understatement) but Soiree was busy doing whatever it was he did, and she was beginning to go stir crazy, so when she heard about the gig she dressed up and went out.

She promised herself she would be on her best behavior. Whatever that might be.

[meandhavemercy]

When Rook walked into the bar, he was keenly aware of the fact that he was bored, and searching for something to do. When he had lived in Spain, or even France, there had always been something to do, somewhere to go, someone to fuck, or a car to drive too quickly, too fast, too hard.

Now, back home, there was little to do, besides drive from one point to another, wait, then drive back. It was maddening, and set his teeth on edge.

That boredom explained why he had gotten there so early, because Rook was, if everything else was denied to him, a man who liked to make an entrance.

Dressed modestly, he swaggered into the bar, towards the first thing he saw, tongue slicking over his canines as he moved to the bar she was standing by and ordered his drink: a beer from tap.

[chasing_fury]

Lulu watched the man approaching with casual interest as she leaned sensually against the bar, arching a sculpted brow at his seemingly wolfish look as she gave him the once-over, having no doubt he'd give her the same.

Sure, she'd seen him around, knew his reputation with fast cars--but there was something familiar about him. Something she couldn't quite place. She watched him a moment longer, taking a sip of her signature drink--the Godiva chocolate martini--before she parted her lips to speak.

"So what brings you here?"

DURING THE PLAYING

[cheapredlights]

[reginadiscena]

He had shown up, believe it or not. Emmett was wary. Punk/grunge/whatever rock n' roll was not his type. It was the thumpa thumpa of the dance club, the synthesizers, the electronic beats of classics that got his heart going. Swinging his arms over his head, hips swaying -- could someone do this at a rock concert? He had never been. It was as foreign to him as opera, maybe even stranger.

Nonetheless, he was here. Intrigued by the new faces, the new place. The air smelled heavily of smoke, most likely marijuana. He swore he heard somewhere that it was legal in Italy. Any way, it was a somewhat familiar smell, and then there was the bar -- his other favorite place aside from the dance floor.

Ordering a Cosmo, he leaned against the counter, looking fabulous in his rock inspired outfit. The opening act was finishing up, and he could see the stage lighting up as that man -- Roger, was it? -- appeared on the stage, singing his songs, playing his guitar.

OK, it wasn't so bad.

[meandhavemercy]

After the first three songs, Rook was starting to get into it. The kid was good, he had to admit at least that.

Rook was, coincidentally, on his third beer when he finally leaned across the lacquered counter and spoke to Lulu, far enough that it wasn't uncomfortable, but close enough that the woman could smell the mingling scents he carried on his skin: cloves, their acid-sweet smoke drifting around his hair, the light scent of beer carrying in his breath and the faint musk of cologne underneath it all, a package deal.

"He's pretty good, whadya think?"

That grin is back, his pose casual against the wood as he leans, fingers of his loose hand tapping in time to the driving bass filtering off the stage.

[stray_redbird]

He was probably supposed to show up before the show started to say hello, what the fuck's up to Roger, but he's never made it his habit to be anything but at least fashionably late, if not worse. He shows up unusually alone-- no girls, no boys, no teammates, no enemies. Just one little piggy, straying far from home, with his Rolling Stones shirt and his jeans dragging on the floor.

It been a long week, and it shows on his face-- but he'd be damned if he missed out on a good show, drinks, and drugs.

He has his phone out when he walks in the door, thumbs pressing at the buttons as he sends a text message to the number that's "1" on his speed dial. It sounds like the show's already started without him-- no big deal, as long as he catches some of it. His vibrant eyes take a casual glance over the crowd, looking for familiar faces and shapes.

There was a shape you didn't forget easy

AFTER THE PLAYING

[cheapredlights]